#carry on bot shenanigans
Text
carry on pornbots, what we know:
okay, so i’m sure many of you have noticed the carry on pornbot phenomenon that’s started happening, and i’m obsessed, so here is what i’ve put together so far. big thanks to the folks in the carry on server who found all the bots (at least, i think that’s all of them) and decoded some stuff!
if you’d rather see this all unfold for yourself, don’t click read more. but if you want to catch up or just keep your head straight, here’s everything i know:
so, the bots we know of so far, in no particular order. are:
Gareth @bucklemeup342
Daphne @strawberry-spreader-342
Natasha @headmistress-pitch-342
Smith Smith-Richards @the-real-chosen-one-422
The Minotaur @greekfurry342
Lamb @i-assure-you-im-real-223
Braden @youre-an-apocryphal-concept-223
Mitali @head-milf-in-charge-342
Jeff the were-badger @stay-out-of-the-quiet-zone-223
Ginger @level-me-up-223
Lady Ruth @i-eat-the-cake-422
Ebb @other-girls-definitely-count-342
also worth noting @real-cryptid-friend-shep-239, but we will get back to him.
we still don’t know what the numbers in these names mean.
most of the links in the urls lead to the ao3 page for their respective character or a ship they are involved in (for example Braden and Lamb both take you to their ship tag, which is woefully empty). however Jeff’s takes you to his ao3, the imdb page for I Was A Teenage Wereskunk and the wikipedia page for Carhenge.
so, the bots started appearing a few days ago, i think i got my first follow from one on boxing day, or maybe the day after. i didn’t pick up on the first few and blocked them. like many people, they came to my attention when Rainbow posted about them.
since then, Lamb, Braden and Mitali have been active.
first, Braden and Lamb had this exchange:
then Mitali responded to this ask from @thewholelemon
i messaged Ebb asking her to open her asks, and a few hours later when i checked again, all the asks that had previously been closed, such as Ebb and Daphne, had them opened. I’ve sent an ask to Ebb but she hasn’t responded yet.
then Braden reblogged this aftg art
i presume this was an accident and whoever is behind this meant to post it to their main account. or maybe it was a hint? Braden later added:
now seems like a good time to mention that Braden is double verified, which means not only time and effort but money has gone into this. i truly applaud whoever is behind it!
Braden also responded to another ask. this one is anonymous so it could have been sent by anyone.
finally, Gareth just posted this
and then there’s Shepard…
so, this account that resembled the others and was impersonating Shepard was found. in his bio is the link to his ao3 page and a rickroll.
but it isn’t like the others. it was created 3 months ago, it hasn’t followed anyone, and it posted some puzzles.
the first was this
which @raenestee figured out was hexadecimal code and spells out ‘Las Vegas’.
then came
which @thewholelemon worked out was page, line and word numbers in Wayward Son. that spells out “This is not Shepard”
then finally there was this wordsearch
@onepintobean found the word ‘contact’, then @yellobb solved the rest
and that’s all Shepard has given us. it’s funny, but personally, i don’t think it’s the same person/people behind this account as it is behind all the others.
but that’s it for now! i’ve reached the limit for photos i can add and that’s about all the information i can think of. i might add to this, we’ll see how complicated it gets. but either way it’s a lot of fun, especially to keep track of in real time. massive kudos to whoever is running all this!
251 notes
·
View notes
Text
SINGULARITY
MIRAGE/READER
SUMMARY: You and Mirage have been pining for each other for a while now. A nasty summer storm drives you straight into his arms. Shenanigans ensue.
WORD COUNT: 18k. Sorry I’m insane
WARNINGS: 18+ and I CANNOT STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! Explicit PWP, fingering + oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, mild spit kink. Reader is fem and uses she/her pronouns but is written fairly androgynous. No descriptors of appearance beyond the basics and no (y/n) used.
Familiar streets flashed by at increasing speeds, traffic and pedestrians flickering by and blurring together into a smorgasbord of color, all gilded by the setting sun. Unconsciously, you dug your fingers into the seams of the leather seat beneath you, worrying the stitches. Out of the corner of your eye, the radio blazed to life with color and that oh-so-familiar symbol.
“Hey, hey, easy on the merchandise, hot stuff,” Mirage crackled out of the speakers lightheartedly, and you immediately yanked your hands into yourself like they’d been burned. In your worrying, you’d seemingly forgotten about what — or rather, who — exactly was your ride.
“Oh— my bad, I wasn’t thinking,” you said, sinking your weight back and down, instead picking at your nails to give your hands something to do. God, you were so nervous, and for what? Mirage knew all these people— these bots, and knew them well. They were all friends! Or amiable towards each other, at the very least. And they were the good guys. Saved the world and all that.
So why were you so anxious?
“You’re good, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He slowed to a stop at a red light. Your leg started to bounce. “Sooo… you wanna tell me what’s on your mind? Save me a trip to Noah’s repair shop? I’d hate for you to start taking your emotions out on me, y’know.”
You scoffed, eyes sliding to the radio. The grin that pulled at the corners of your mouth was one you were helpless to stop. He just had that effect on you, where around him you became a slave to your laughter and, additionally, also became one half of a terrible joke machine that Mirage happily completed.
Leather creaked as you nudged the inside of the door with your boot to chastise him. “You love when I take my emotions out on you, dick. Don’t lie.”
“Only the good ones,” he shot back, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “You nervous about meeting the others?”
His probe was successful; you fought the urge to shrink at your feelings being read so accurately and so immediately. “I— yeah. I am, and I don’t even know why. I’m sure they’re all great, I’m just working myself up over nothing.”
Red faded to green. Carried on the tide of forward-moving traffic, Mirage rolled ahead, eventually slipping over to make a turn. You watched him twist his mirrors to check his blind spot.
“Ah, c’mon. Nobody could blame you, you’re meeting a bunch of aliens for the first time. Pretty trippy for anyone. ‘specially if those aliens are, like, double your size. And robots.” A short chuckle topped off his words.
“Right. I just don’t wanna fuck it up or embarrass myself, you know how it is. I don’t wanna embarrass you, either.”
“Oh, Primus, trust me. You’re not gonna embarrass me. I don’t even think that’s possible. Prime’s seen me in a lot worse shape than bringing you in to meet him.” The world continued to roll by. Brick buildings blotted out the sunshine in intermittent flashes. “You got good marks from your favorite bot, you’ll be fine.” The dismissive tone of his voice was working, in a weird way, to assuage your fears.
“Excuse me,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest pointedly. “My favorite bot?”
“What, am I not?” A downright theatrical gasp hissed out of the speaker. “Have you been cheating on me?”
Cheeks hot with a flush at even the joking insinuation of being together, you glanced away from the impassive Autobot symbol on the radio and out the window. Still, the laugh barked out of you was sudden and sharp, and quickly dissolved into giggles. “Yes. Mirage. I’m sorry. There’s another ten foot tall alien robot in Brooklyn that’s been vying for my attention. We’re done.”
“I should throw you out on the street right now,” Mirage fussed playfully, his evident pout tinging his voice. “For breakin’ my spark. Also I’m taller than that.”
“You wouldn’t dare. I’m fragile.”
“I dunno. Noah gets his ass kicked around pretty good and he’s still kickin’ it.”
“I am not Noah,” came your tongue-in-cheek rebuttal. “And Noah just refuses to give up even when it’s good for him.”
“Thought qualities like determination were supposed to be big things with you guys.”
“In moderation.”
Mirage barked a laugh. “Ha! Should tell that to Prime. He’ll blow a gasket.” You opened your mouth to reply, only to be cut off. “No, seriously, tell it to Prime, we’re here.”
The easy confidence that your playful back-and-forth had teased out instantly chilled into a dense mass in your stomach; Mirage was rolling slowly up to a nondescript warehouse buried deep within the old industrial part of Brooklyn, and the way the worn brick loomed over you even in the car made your heart rate pick up.
Now or never.
Familiar alien whirs and clicks of shifting and setting metal filled your ears as Mirage rose into his bipedal mode, the driver’s seat gently ejecting you onto your own two legs on the pavement. Following the motion, you took a few steps forward, but still balked a little at the half open door. Inside, you heard voices of varying timbre, and you fought the urge to turn tail.
Now. Or. Never. Gritted teeth accompanied the repetition of your thought.
The displacement of air behind you — and the soft, constant mechanical noises emanating from his body — signaled Mirage’s presence before his voice.
He said your name with surprising care, using a tone that only came out when he was really being sincere. You couldn’t help the way your face warmed at it as you turned, craning your neck up to meet his gaze. “Hey, you, uh, you want me to go in ahead of ya? Normally I’d be like ‘ladies first’ and all that, but you said you weren’t feeling too jazzed about going in—“
“Yeah, actually, if you could, that would be… great. That would be great.”
“Gotcha. Let you psych yourself up a little more before you go in, I see how it is. Let me do the talking,” he affirmed with an easy grin and a nod, bouncing on the balls of his pedes a few times before striding forward. His long legs folded easily under him as he ducked under the lowered garage door, and you traipsed after, smoothing your thumb over your knuckles repeatedly.
The warehouse yawned beyond you, orange shafts of light cutting gashes into otherwise brownish darkness. Old graffiti sprayed across the walls told you that Ramona had been there once, then Nick, then Darnell, and a million others. And you were there now, feeling impossibly small, yes, but a little more resilient with the fading sunlight at your back and Mirage, like always, at your side.
He’d become a permanent fixture in your life from the day you’d met him — when you’d strong-armed Noah into giving up his secret about his Porsche, and the mysterious car had ended up being a twelve-foot-tall robot with a literal motormouth that made a playful pass at you within the first hour of your first conversation. You’d been flustered out of your mind, but had just kept coming back out of unfettered curiosity and outright fascination. Aliens were real, and Noah was friends with one, and it— he could turn into a Porsche.
Mind-shattering observations on the surface, yes. Mirage tended to deflate the grandeur, though, because he never acted like aliens did in the movies or in books. There was no ‘We come in peace!’ bullshit. He was so easy. Everything with him was so easy. He was loudmouthed and extroverted and genuinely hilarious; you spent hours in Noah’s garage trading terrible jokes — mostly bad sexual innuendos — or buckled to Mirage’s driver’s seat as he flew down Central Avenue on the wrong side of the limit and blasted Haddaway so loud it nearly busted your eardrums.
Weird to say an alien robot was your friend, but he was. He gave you rides to work, to your lectures, to your labs, wherever; in fact, he got petulant when you dared to take the bus one day to give him a break, and made it a point to pry your routine out of you so that he could take you wherever you wanted, no fares needed.
So infuriating. You loved it.
You loved… maybe more than just the back-and-forth. Maybe more than the bad jokes. Maybe more than the late-night drives. You were starting to think— starting to realize you loved big blue optics, and the rumble of a 260 horsepower engine when you made just the right innuendo, and broad, incredibly intricate servos that dwarfed yours in size but were so, so careful…
Man. You tried not to think about it too much. It as a concept made you laugh with its own absurdity. Poor human chick fell in love with the giant alien robot that made her laugh. It wasn’t… debilitating. You still functioned like a normal adult. Mostly. Except for that one night like two weeks ago where you’d been arguing with him about some stupid shit and he’d scooped you up, right off the ground, in both servos and held you there, digits interlaced against your back and thumbs on your front.
It wasn’t the first time he’d ever held you like that — he’d done it a few times — but something was different that night… even if he’d only done it to gain an upper hand in your bickering. The air crackled with latent electricity, made your skin buzz in all the right places, especially when Mirage had gone quiet for once in his life as he stared at you in his grasp. When you’d prompted him with his name, he’d only responded by gently stroking a thumb over the swell of your chest, which had made you gasp air in so sharply that it burned in your throat. The metal left a tingling path on your skin under your shirt in its wake and immediately sent your heart rate skyrocketing past whatever the fuck was a normal BPM.
He’d snapped back to reality at the sudden expansion of your lungs and had attempted to play it all off as a joke. You remembered how you’d still stumbled when your shoes touched the ground, an absolutely insane feeling of genuine heat rocking you as your brain seized the feeling of his touch while it still sparked against your nerve endings and helpfully replayed it over and over and over again. Sure, the rhythm of banter came back after a stuttering beat, but you never really cooled the warmth on your face for the rest of that night — and when Mirage had dropped you off at your apartment, your door was shut and locked for about five minutes before your shaking hand was frantically worked beneath the waistband of your pants.
…Whew. Definitely something a little more than friendly there. Maybe even more than pure love, something a little slicker and deeper that buzzed against your bones and coiled low in your stomach. It made you feel a little weird — just objectively, because of what Mirage was — but damn if it didn’t feel good to indulge.
God, fuck, why were you thinking about that now, of all times? Escapist fantasies be damned, you were going to meet Mirage’s comrades-friends-coworkers and leave a good impression. Not drool over the worn-out memory replaying in your head for the thousandth time this week.
Out of the darkness and around corners, they emerged. The stealth wasn’t on purpose; you didn’t even think they could be stealthy. Oh, one was coming right for you now — tall was the only word your brain could muster. Tall and red and square were added to the list of adjectives as the stately bot approached, servos collected into fists at his sides and shoulders thrown back.
“Priiiime,” Mirage greeted warmly, throwing his arms out at his sides in his favorite pose. “Look, hey, I know what you said about bringing more people around, but I swear— Hey!”
Completely ignoring your friend’s (status pending) greeting, the bot— Prime, holy shit, this is THE Prime, was kneeling down, leaning forward, and he was right in your face. You fought the very biological urge to flinch. Blue optics considered you for a moment before narrowing and flicking to your right from his lowered position.
“Mirage,” Optimus started with a gravelly tone from behind his faceguard that communicated exasperation above all else. “I explicitly stated that for our safety — and yours — that we were to come in contact with no more humans.”
“Sir, I gotta be honest with you. Kinda hard on a planet that’s got, what, five billion of ‘em? Six?” Mirage glanced at you for backup. You stared back flatly, refusing to say anything that might put you on the business end of a laser cannon.
“You were told to remain incognito so you could recover.” Optimus continued, his gaze returning to you. With a shunk of shifting metal, his faceplate slid away. His faceplates were weathered; the chipped metal around his optics gave the illusion of wrinkles and eyebags. Tired. He seemed tired. “This is not incognito. What is your name?”
You gave it after taking a beat to steady yourself. He repeated it back to you. “How did you come in contact with Mirage?”
“I, uh— Noah, Noah Diaz, he’s my friend. I basically pried it out of him,” you said with a nervous laugh. “So it’s not Mirage’s fault. I’m just nosy.”
At the mention of Noah, Optimus seemed to visibly relax; he moved back slightly, though he remained kneeling, and the narrowed, suspicious squint of his optics rounded out into something much softer.
“…I see. Then I assume you understand the… precarious nature of our existence on your planet.” he said, his tone grave and his optics searching your face.
You nodded, pressing the flesh of the inside of your cheek between your teeth for a moment as you came up with a suitably diplomatic response that still conveyed your friendliness. “I do, yeah. Noah told me most of it. What he could, anyway. I just wanted to make it clear that I’m not— I’m not a threat here. Like I don’t work with the, uh, the government or anything. Whatever you guys need help with, I’m available, even if that just means keeping my mouth shut.”
Christ, you were glad this wasn’t your day job. You’d be such a shit ambassador. I’m available. What the hell did that even mean? Fuck yes, you were available, your brain guffawed, thinking of broad metal thumbs brushing over your chest.
You blinked hard, squeezing your eyelids together until the world came back in a photo negative, to scold yourself.
Although you’d stumbled through your reply, Optimus seemed to approve. He rose with a great creak of metal off of his knee and backed up to give you space, though he still regarded you with those sharp blue optics that felt as though they pinned you to the concrete below. “I see Noah chooses his company well. I should have assumed his sentiments would extend to his companions.” He shut his optics for a moment and dipped his head, as if considering deeply what to say next. “I am not sure how much Mirage — or Noah — divulged to you.”
“A fair amount— well. Any amount that won’t get them in trouble,” you called up, taking in deeper breaths to project your voice up the two stories of height to his head. To your side, Mirage snorted. “I know your name— Optimus, I know that, and I know about the Autobots. A little bit about the— fuck, what were they called—“
“Terrorcons?” Mirage supplied, and you were impressed at how quiet he’d been otherwise.
“Terrorcons, thank you. Other than that, not much. How much should I know?”
“Your knowledge is sufficient. All we fear — and all we risk—“ Optimus added with a pointed look at Mirage, who looked incredibly sheepish. “—at the moment is discovery. So long as you maintain secrecy, no harm shall come to us… or you, for that matter.”
It almost sounded like a threat, but Prime worded it very much like a warning. You decided it was best to heed his word — not that you really had another option.
“Right. Okay. Well— I mean, it was nice to meet you. People — humanity, I guess — aren’t bad. Most of us aren’t, anyway. Just, uh, let me know if there’s something Noah and I can get or do for you.”
Prime’s gaze shifted away from you. In fact, it seemed to shift away from the warehouse in general, looking somewhere far beyond the now-shut garage door. “Your generosity is admirable, but it is not humans primarily that we are concerned with.”
Brows furrowed at his vague answer, you thought it over for a second — and then decided not to push it. He probably knew best when it came to whatever foreboding nebulous space threat loomed over your collective heads; you would leave it up to the experts.
“Oh, well, golden rule and all that,” you still offered in terms of a response. That got his attention. His massive head tilted downwards to look at you once more with curiosity. “If I crash landed on someone else’s planet, I’d want them to be hospitable, y’know? Just trying to make the best of a shitty situation.”
Like he couldn’t handle the terrible punishment of silence anymore, Mirage butted in. “See, Prime? I told you she was cool.”
A short jolt shook the broad, boxy line of his shoulders, and at first you had thought he’d coughed, and then you realized he laughed. It was barely anything, a huff of a chuckle, but you glowed with the indirect affirmation. Just made Optimus Prime laugh. Maybe you weren’t such a terrible diplomat.
He wasn’t looking at you, though, rather at Mirage, and you swore from your low vantage point you could see a barely-there smile on Prime’s faceplates communicating…was that smug amusement? As the tall bot carefully made his way past you, he stopped in front of your companion, and let a heavy servo land on the headlight adorning his shoulder.
“No matter what you may feel, you chose well, Mirage.” Optimus rumbled out, before removing his servo and traipsing off into a darker section of the sprawling warehouse, ducking through a much-too-small cutout and speaking to Arcee about something indistinguishable. However, you couldn’t care less about whatever her and Prime were discussing — what the hell did he mean by Mirage choosing well?
You turned your head towards said bot, mouth open for inquiry and one brow raised. Mirage looked mortified, in every sense of the word; he stood shell-shocked, lips slightly parted and servos up and open as if to defend himself. His head was whipped around to follow Prime’s departure from the room. A whir started, bouncing off the walls — Mirage’s fans came on and off intermittently to keep his ambient internal temperature at safe levels, but the steady hum of this fan let you infer that he was flushing something fierce.
“Mirage? What—“
Interrupting you by breaking, nearly jumping, out of his trance, he clapped his servos together and started talking at a million miles a minute. “Well, damn, look at that, haha, it’s late, ain’t it? You got work in the morning, right? C’mon, hop in, I’ll drive you home—“
“No, Mirage, hold on, what was he talking about—“
“Seriously, c’mon, he was just messing around—“
“You’re telling me Optimus Prime was joking? Is he even capable of that?”
He said your name with a finality that nearly made you flinch. “Look, I can’t really— Just drop it, please?” It wasn’t angry, nor was it even commanding; in fact, his eyes were wide and pleading with you out of embarrassment. You knew the feeling all too well, and in the interest of sparing his feelings, decided to let it go, despite your intense curiosity.
You put your hands up in surrender. “Okay. Dropped.” A few beats of silence passed while Mirage was still tamping down his fluster. “You wanna take me home now or are we waiting for Prime to come embarrass you more?”
“Please, let’s get outta here,” he affirmed, dropping into his alt-mode and popping the driver door for you. As you slid in, you couldn’t help the little mischievous smile that grew on your face as your brain cooked up some other joke to take the edge off.
The garage door opened on its own. Mirage rolled into the noticeably darker alleyway. The burnt umber glow of the sunset-stained sky was only visible overhead; otherwise you were boxed in on the sides by blacked-out buildings.
Stifling silence was broken by a joke. Your joke, actually. “…Can’t believe your dad made fun of you in front of me.”
The noise Mirage made was only comparable to a squawk. But obviously much more masculine, clearly. Still, his tires jerked on the road, betraying his surprise. “Hey— Prime is not my sire— or dad, or whatever you wanna call ‘em. He wishes.”
“I dunno,” you mused, arms crossed over your chest and back sunk deep into the seat. Brooklyn in transition blurred by in messy constellations of lit windows. “He got you pretty good there. Pretty standard dad behavior.”
“Hey, I don’t know what suddenly inspired him to go for comedy, but I do not appreciate it. That’s my thing. He’s stealin’ my thunder!”
“Maybe you’re just rubbing off on him.”
Silence.
The radio crackled. “Ew.”
Accompanied by the loudest eyeroll you could muster, you whacked the dashboard with an open palm, though you couldn’t stop your bubbling laughter. “Oh my god, you are so gross, Mirage! I hate you!”
“Ahh, don’t say that, c’mon! You love it here!”
“You wish.”
The rest of the ride home was spent that way, bickering like normal, and although you couldn’t let go of what Prime had said, nor his knowing look while he said it, you appreciated the return to baseline. When you got home, Mirage parked directly in front of your apartment building, and you lingered on the sidewalk for several minutes after you got out of the car. With the passenger door opened so it looked like you were talking to the ‘driver’ and not completely insane, you leaned on the doorframe and traded jabs with your ride until the humidity of the night air got a little too persistent to ignore. Damn you, Brooklyn.
“See you tomorrow?” Mirage never said goodnight. He only ever asked when he could see you again, corny bastard.
“Tomorrow. My roommate’ll take me to work, don’t worry about it. I’ll just stick my head in the garage when I get home.”
“I thought we had a thing goin’, man!” His faux petulance returned. “You movin’ on already? You just met my folks!”
Your jaw dropped for a second at the fact he’d turned the damn bit around on you. “I met one folk, and you literally said he wasn’t your dad.”
“Maybe I was warmin’ up to the idea!”
Another lethal eyeroll. Your smile still remained locked on your face. “Whatever. Get the hell out of here, asshole,” you said, playfully shutting the door just a little harder than you needed to and slapping the roof like a horse you were trying to send off into the desert.
Even as you turned to walk into your building, you could hear the way his window shot down, far faster than a normal roll. “Ay! Merchandise!”
You stuck a middle finger over your shoulder, thumb out and all, to give him an idea of what he could do with his merchandise. Tires peeled against pavement as he screeched out of his spot and down the otherwise quiet street, letting you know in return how he felt about that.
Smiling like an idiot as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, you felt… airy. You were always smiling after hanging around Mirage, you couldn’t help it — especially as of late. But still, you were dying to know what Prime was talking about when he was messing with Mirage earlier. You chose well. Chose what? Your brain briefly entertained the thought of Mirage returning what you felt, and it made blood rush to your face.
It couldn’t really… work. You had made peace with your physical differences weeks ago. The both of you got along just fine despite the size difference, and it never impeded your normal interactions. But you doubted Mirage felt the same; no matter how familiar, how friendly you were with him, you could never shake the feeling of being just a little too alien. Your greatest similarities were in personality. The closest resemblance you held physically was the fact you were both humanoid in shape.
That didn’t stop you. No, not at all. It didn’t stop you from dropping into bed after a quick shower with a heavy sigh, your hand inevitably sinking beneath the covers as you thought of digits — Mirage’s digits, so well articulated for their size and so careful — playing with the hem of your underwear instead of your own fingers, pushing the fabric aside just a little roughly to explore your alien anatomy. It took very little time for you to grind yourself to climax; in fact, it was embarrassingly quick, and it left your face hot with some special kind of shame as you slunk out of bed to wash your hands. The entire time, you avoided your reflection in the mirror.
Even with the ancient AC cranked on and chugging away, it took you a long while to fall asleep.
Off in the industrial district of Brooklyn, meanwhile, Mirage was burning rubber as he took ninety-degree turns at sixty miles per hour. His processor was thrumming at max capacity, and his engine felt like it was about to either stall or explode.
Primus, it was all too much. Your teasing always got him some kind of hot and bothered, tight under his interface paneling, but the acidic rush of embarrassment still prickled at his cabling. Prime, come on, man. Mirage was still floored at the fact that Prime of all bots had embarrassed him like that, in front of you, no less!
He had it bad for you, and he knew it, but apparently every other bot in that warehouse knew it too. Ever since he’d met you, you’d stuck in his processor, the way the light glinted off your eyes and your all-teeth smile and the way he could get you to laugh. Sure, his flirts were only playful at first — and he only did them to mess with Noah, who’d harbored an on-and-off crush on you for a while — but the more he did them and the more you returned them, the more he started really… considering it.
It was so shameful. Primus, it was shameful. He’d barely ever interfaced in his life — there was just no time, especially not on Cybertron — and never with organics. After that one night where he’d hefted you up with ease in both servos and completely blanked when confronted with your soft, warm weight in his hold, he’d been on a spiral. It wasn’t just enough to be friendly with you; he was plenty friendly with Noah (though with the amount of stupid passes Mirage made at him, Noah would probably say too friendly) and he wanted something more with you.
He’d lost count of how many times he’d rolled into some long-abandoned warehouse or pitch-black deserted alley and scrabbled at his interface panel to pressurize his spike before he feverishly, frantically humped his fisted servo for relief, mental processors supplying increasingly filthy fantasies of your soft skin against his chassis and your mouth, Primus, your mouth on his own, on his spike, wherever, he didn’t care. Every single time, though, after coming down from his high with steam pouring off his lax frame, he felt just a little more discouraged than the last — because he knew that his fantasies would have to stay that way. Fantasies. Your friendship was enough, had to be, no matter how bad he wanted you, because he’d be damned to the Pit before he scared you off by being stupid and admitting his feelings.
Ugh. Ugh. He took another corner too hard and felt his tires shriek, let the burn travel upward and reverberate in his frame. The chaos in his mental processors quieted as he neared HQ. All he knew was that it was late, and he couldn’t be too loud or Prime would get on his ass for interrupting his stasis.
Can’t believe your dad made fun of you in front of me. Your voice played, unbidden, from some file that popped open in his memory bank. He willed it away with a vengeance as he rolled into the warehouse-turned-headquarters as quietly as he could, transforming as soon as the door was shut and stretching out his back. Clicking echoed off the walls as his spinal struts reset, and the residual burn in his scraped tires tingled.
Mirage turned, and—
Yelped. Bumblebee was standing right there, shoulder against the wall and fiddling with some holographic projection from his forearm. Mirage coughed into his clenched servo to preserve what was left of his dignity.
“‘Sup,” he greeted through gritted denta. “I, uh, didn’t see you there, man. How’s it hangin’?”
Bee gave him a flatly unamused look that communicated ‘No shit, you didn’t see me.’ very well. The projection phased out of existence and left the two of them in the dimmed space in some kind of standoff.
“Well, y’know, beauty stasis and everything, I’m just gonna—“
“I wanna know, what you’re feeling! Tell me what’s your mind!” burbled Bee’s radio in place of his voice. Mirage jerked back for a second, not expecting Information Society at whatever unholy hour of the morning it was.
“Look, man, I don’t really wanna talk about—“
“There are some things you can’t hide!” insisted the same song. Bee gestured for Mirage to talk. Clearly he wanted to know.
This was as good a time as ever to spill, he guessed.
Mirage groaned and clasped both of his servos over his face after explaining the bones of it, his head tilted upwards, optics fruitlessly searching the water-stained warehouse ceiling for a solution to his problem. His… very human, very embarrassing problem.
Not that he thought you were embarrassing— not at all, never. But Prime would have his head over falling for a human. Okay, well, maybe not his head; it was more like Mirage would be in for a lengthy disapproving speech about responsibilities and goals and distractions, and Primus, just thinking about it made the former option of decapitation the preferable one. Even though he seemed to approve of his choice, considering what he’d said earlier, the ‘Bots were still at war, and there wasn’t time for human distractions. Literal human distractions.
It wasn’t like he could help it. You were funny, okay? And smart. And you teased him in just the right way that made his cooling fans sputter, and you were so curious about… everything about him, he thought, remembering your impromptu Cybertronian anatomy lesson with a hot flash in his processor. He couldn’t help but be flattered by your attention.
“Ugh, Bee, I don’t know what to do, man,” he said despairingly after a moment, pacing in circles in front of said squat yellow bot leaned against the nearby concrete wall. “I mean, look at this, she’d be missin’ out if she said no,” he added, arrogance staining his words in an attempt to console himself. It didn’t work; insecurity eviscerated his bravado moments after he said it. “Or… I guess we’d both be, huh.” A short, self-deprecating laugh left him.
Mirage wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come to Bee of all bots for advice, but he was sure as shit not going to Optimus after today, and Arcee would have just told him anyway. Plus, considering that Wheeljack wasn’t even in the country at the moment, his options were slim. Besides, Bee had… experience with this sort of thing. Dealing with humans and all. Just… not in this way. But it was close enough, and Mirage was totally lost; if he thought about it by himself for any longer, his processors were going to fry.
Speaking of, Bee tittered through his gutted voice synthesizer to get Mirage’s attention. Expression drawn into a very human grimace, Mirage turned to face his friend, servos planted firmly on his hips.
“Well, you gotta tell her— wanna know what love is— want you to show me,” Bee’s radio clipped, first from a talk show, then from a nearby station, and Mirage felt energon surge to his face in a hot rush at a very personal song being blared back at him.
He had the words memorized at this point. The shape of them was practically burned into his memory files, considering how much he played it for you. It was reserved for days on both ends of the spectrum, bad and good; Mirage would pick you up in his alt-mode and take you for joyrides across the city, flying over the Brooklyn Bridge at daredevil speeds, all the while blaring music loud enough to make your head pound.
The two of you had discovered a few favorites, but the Foreigner song was at the top of the list, right next to Careless Whisper, of course. The sound of your voice belting at the top of your lungs, softened with that specific human accent, thrumming and reverberating through your chest— you sounded so alive, but so different from what he was accustomed to.
“Dude—” Mirage nearly barked, voice up a full octave before clearing his synthesizer into his fist and repeating himself. “Dude. I can’t just do that. Aliens— we’re aliens. Well. She’s an alien, too, I guess, but we,” he paused to gesture frantically between himself and Bee, “are the aliens here. I don’t really think humans are into the whole giant robot thing.”
“Noah?” Bee played a clip of Mirage’s own voice back at him questioningly.
“Yeah, well, Noah’s a different story.”
With a whir of his actuators, Bee shook his head and looked away for a moment, big blue optics considering the floor. With a soft clunk, he crossed his arms over his chassis.
“Come on, man, you gotta give me something,” Mirage urged, tilting his head to follow the other bot’s motions. “Should I just leave it? I mean, I don’t want it to be weird, I just—“
Bee straightened up off the wall, clearly done thinking. His arms opened out in a shrug and his optics squinted, communicating I don’t know what you want me to say, dude, far better than his vocal synthesizer ever could have.
His radio clipped again, this time a few seconds of a Beatles song and then Noah’s voice. “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah— right?”
“I don’t know, that’s the problem,” Mirage groaned, rolling his head back with a pained expression and letting his body follow the motion as he paced another tight circle. His faceplates felt hot at the insinuation. “And if I ask, it’s gonna be weird. And if I make it weird, I’m never gonna—“
He stopped rambling when a four-digit servo thumped on the headlight atop his shoulder, rooting him to the spot. Bee’s optics stared him down, wide and bright blue, and it made Mirage press his lips together firmly as he awaited whatever sage advice he was about to impart.
ABBA filtered through the radio first. “Should walk right up to her and say—“ What came next made Mirage’s brow ridges shoot up so high he thought they were going to fly off his helmet. “—when I get that feeling, I want sexual healin’!”
Mirage’s jaw dropped. Immensely flustered and ten times more frustrated at his friend’s useless advice, he shoved the other bot off. “Are you serious, dude? Primus, I never shoulda asked you. Thanks, I’ll go walk right up to her and ask to interface on the warehouse floor, that’ll go super well.”
Bee nodded quickly and gave him a double thumbs up with a series of approving beeps and chirps, the bottoms of his optics flattening into an amused look. Mirage dragged his servo down his faceplates in mortification, although his cooling fans kicked on a click higher than normal.
Sometimes he wished he’d been left on Cybertron with Soundwave and all his other goons. This was one of those times. As he dropped back into his alt-mode with an embarrassed mumble about ‘going on patrol,’ Bee whooped behind him, and the last thing Mirage heard before peeling out of the warehouse was “There’s nothin’ wrong with me lovin’ you, baby, no, no!”
Whoever gave Bee access to Marvin Gaye needed to be whacked upside the helm.
Knowing Mirage’s luck, it was probably you.
He stayed out for the rest of the night in his alt-mode, wandering the streets and staying away from your apartment, no matter how bad he wanted to go. The pool of people with any useful advice to offer for his predicament was steadily shrinking; after the disaster with Bee, Mirage just needed to stay away from that warehouse and let his processors cool.
Sometime in the morning he returned, though not to the warehouse. He almost immediately crashed into stasis as soon as he rolled into Noah’s garage, his simultaneously pent-up and exhausted processors eager for a chance to refresh themselves and defrag.
Ha, he thought blearily as he sank into stasis. Defrag.
You were waking as he was crashing, though you weren’t happy about it. The eight hour shift that loomed ahead of you on top of the bullshit from last night was a pretty potent combination for a headache of a day, especially when you couldn’t have your morning jam sesh with Mirage on your way to work. Thankfully, though, your roommate was a kind soul, and there was an extra cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter when you stumbled out of your bedroom.
As you sipped it, you wondered just how long you could keep the front up. By some small grace of God, your roommate’s schedule didn’t align very well with yours; you barely saw them in your daily life even before you met Mirage. It wasn’t on purpose, of course. It just happened that way. But on a few occasions, they’d been home when Mirage had dropped you off, and you’d been just calling him a ‘friend with places to be’ to excuse the fact that he never walked you to your door. Being somewhat prescient, they’d nudged you a couple times about this ‘friend’ turning into a boyfriend, but had never pushed it.
You just hoped it stayed that way.
Breakfast was a quick and quiet affair, though you traded a few jokes back and forth that had the both of you giggling into your food. The ride to your job was similar, and your roommate wished you a good shift before driving off leisurely — such a stark difference compared to Mirage’s affinity for peeling off into the street at Mach-fucking-10. Thinking of him made your face burn and your mind race. You tried not to.
Time was an especially cruel mistress today, though. You swore that people were actively winding the clocks back every time you looked up at them, and your shift felt like a thick slog, knee-deep, that you had no choice but to wade through. The worst part about slow shifts was that your mind wandered with nothing else to do, and like a moth to a flame— or rather, like metal to a magnet, your brain circled around to Mirage again and again and again.
Damn that bot. Damn it all. Every time you thought of him, it was some stupid joke he’d cracked or silly offhand comment he’d made or ridiculous flirt he’d lobbed your way — always accompanied by memories of his body, surprisingly lithe considering what he was made of, all legs and a dramatic waist topped with wide shoulders that made your own engine purr.
“Mirage, did you go upstate or something? You’re disgusting,” you’d laughed as you raked your gaze over his pecs, pretending to eye the dirt smeared there and not something else.
“Disgusting?! You gotta be kidding me, I’m not half as bad as the rest of ‘em. You should see Bee, dude!” He’d gestured out the door of the warehouse, where you assumed the other bot was lurking in dirt-covered shame.
“What the hell were you two even doing?”
“Pfft. Practicin’.”
“Practicing body-slamming each other?”
“Yeah, want me to show you?”
“Mirage,” you’d groaned, laughing despite yourself.
“C’mon, I know a few good ways to pin a bot down,” he grinned, winking at you. You fixed him with the most dead stare you could muster before breaking into a half-smile of your own.
“I’ll pass on the whole getting crushed thing, but I could be persuaded to spray you down by hand,” you flirted back, just for fun.
No, not for fun. Real flirt. It was real, all of it was, and you couldn’t shake the memory of his optics widening, brightening, with eagerness and the way he’d pleaded. Playfully. Playfully?
“Please,” he begged dramatically, clasping his servos together, optics enormous. “I’ll be good! Maybe even stay still!”
You pinched your nose bridge between your fingers and tried to think about something else, because you were starting to press your thighs together a little and you were still at work, damn it. Professionalism was something you were aiming to maintain.
Hot. It was hot. That’s what you were thinking about. You’d glanced at the weather report earlier in the morning, and seeing a row of little sun icons clued you in on an insufferable heatwave that didn’t have any intention of breaking any time soon. Even now you felt sweat collect under your shirt and dot your hairline; all you could do was wipe your face with the back of your hand and keep working.
And working.
And working.
And. Working.
And then, eventually, you watched the clock tick over the last minute of your shift, and you heard angels sing a holy choir as you all but slammed your things down and sprinted to clock out. Well. You didn’t sprint, but you did speed walk, which counted for something.
Such was your haste to leave your workplace and talk to Mirage that you speed-walked headfirst into the lashing rain outside without a second thought. Genuinely caught by surprise, you stumbled back into the safety of the entryway, eyes wide as you watched the storm front swallow the last dregs of the golden evening sky and pour rain on the streets outside. Ink blots bleeding across paper. Rorschach tests. Some other poetic fluff came to mind over the supremely annoying realization that you were going to have to walk to the garage in wet clothes.
At least it was a quick walk.
Patience waning, you nearly considered calling Mirage — or even Noah — to come get you, but at the last second your roommate swooped in, pulling up outside and honking the horn a few times to let you know your knight in shining Prius was here to rescue you.
They cracked a few jokes at your expense when they saw your wet clothes, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. Not after the trials and tribulations of Mirage. With a few clicks, the rest of your ride home was filled with Boyz II Men and intermittent conversation as you watched raindrops race each other down the window and considered what the hell you were going to say to Mirage tonight.
Mostly, you were dying of curiosity to know what Prime had meant to get him so flustered. Thinking about that, though, just made you go down a spiral of what-ifs… especially considering that one of them was ‘What if he feels the same way?’
You could handle rejection. You were an adult who paid taxes. But just this one time, you weren’t sure if you could handle reciprocation. Especially full reciprocation.
Mirage’s friendship was something you felt privileged to have. You were just quite scared to fuck it all up and lose out on all the things that made being his friend worth it — including him. Jaw tightening, you blinked and looked away from the window. No use stewing in it.
At home, your dinner was quick and light — something in a Tupperware that you didn’t look at too hard after microwaving. When your roommate asked about your rush, you came up with some lame excuse about hanging out with Noah, waving your hand dismissively.
Don’t worry about me. I’m going to go break Hynek’s scale of close encounters. Don’t worry about it though.
“In this weather? You’ll be soaked thirty seconds out the door. You were soaked thirty seconds out the door.”
“I’ll bring an umbrella,” you said, barely listening to them over the cacophony of your own thoughts. Mirage. Mirage. Mirage. I’m seeing him tonight. I’m talking to him tonight. I’m not going to pussy out of anything tonight. Now or never. “The place is like two blocks up the street, I’ll live.”
“If you’re so inclined to catch a cold, I’m not gonna stop you. Not making you chicken soup, though.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you snarked affectionately, and the last thing you heard before exiting your apartment was their familiar laughter. That bolstered you somewhat.
Even if the rain whipping at your face made you reconsider your stupid horny stubbornness.
Only two blocks felt more like two dozen as you tucked your chin to your chest and gripped your hood to keep the wind from snatching it off your head; in your other hand you white-knuckled your umbrella to keep it from tilting the wrong angle and washing water down your back. Thunder rattled your bones more than once and made you think offhandedly of Kris, the poor kid. He hated storms but refused to admit it out of pride; he was probably curled up in a ball under his covers right now trying to block out the worst of the noise. And you thought of Noah alongside him just out of pure association, and you weren’t sure what made your stomach turn, but it did.
God, you hoped Noah wasn’t with Mirage right now. You didn’t want to slam the door open to the garage soaking wet and wrestle Mirage’s true feelings out of him while Noah spectated. Wrestle. Soaking wet.
Fuck my life.
The side door to the garage was jammed like it always was, even after you unlocked it, and you huddled against it to stay under the mediocre cover of the awning as you shoved your shoulder into it to force it open. Old metal hinges wailed as you ground them open, and the blessed dry warmth of the garage — the temperature always heightened with Mirage’s presence — sighed against your freezing skin as you wormed your way inside.
“Mirage?” you called tentatively as you leaned back against the door to get it to shut and latch. A beat passed before your senses came to you and your hand fumbled behind you to lock it. Not for sordid reasons, honestly. You just didn’t want anyone to even have the chance of walking in on Mirage when he wasn’t folded into a Porsche.
Speaking of, you saw him then, pacing around the garage and seemingly very involved in a conversation with himself. Although the rain outside provided a dull roar of background noise, the whirs and clicks of his actuators and soft whooms of his pedes against the concrete filled your ears with their familiarity. It was Mirage, and you knew Mirage, and it helped dull the edge of abject nervousness in your gut.
He cut a sharp figure under the hanging ceiling lights, making sure to duck and avoid smacking his helm on them. When those bright blue optics registered your existence, you swore they flared with delight; he said your name with such enthusiasm it almost made you excited. For what, exactly, you didn’t know. “Hey, sugar, what’s k— Primus, you, uh, swim on your way here? Or do I just make you that wet? Cuz I appreciate the compliment.” He grinned wolfishly at you. Sparks flew off your rubbed-raw nerves.
The unimpressed stare you gave him was lethal. “That is not how that works,” you said, shaking your umbrella off on the floor and setting it against the wall to drip dry. “All the wetness is— would be in one place, dumbass.”
“Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention during my anatomy lessons. Wanna reteach ‘em to me? I’ll behave, swear on my spark.”
A scoff. “When have you ever behaved in your life?”
“When it counts! C’mon, you know you like it,” he said, gesturing down the length of his body with a flourish of his servo. “I mean, what isn’t there to like?”
“If I answer that question, I’ll hurt your feelings.” Excess rainwater dripped off your jacket as you peeled it off. Mirage’s optics followed the motion intently.
Amber lighting nearly glowed against the sleek metal of his torso. So what if your own eyes had wandered down it at his emphasis? He’d invited it. Expressly. He loved your attention, loved flaunting everything about himself just for a glance his way from you, for anything you’d give him.
It took him a second to register your words. He gasped and clasped a servo over his chassis— his spark, you remembered that from your own anatomy lesson a few weeks ago. “Gonna break my spark talkin’ like that. I hurt your feelings or something, sugar? What’s got you so bent?” With his question, he sank into a deep squat, draping his forearm over his thigh and leaning close to you.
A deep exhale left you. Your shoulders deflated. “It’s not you. Just the weather.” A short huff of a laugh, barely humorous, left you. “I mean, look at me.” You held your arms out and spun in a slow circle, errant droplets flying in every direction. “I look like a drowned rat.”
The lightbulb over his head was nearly visible. “You, uh, want a hand drying off?”
You stopped dead in your tracks. Your hands fell to your sides. Something akin to lightning danced up your spine.
“What?”
“Hold on, hold on, I got an idea,” he said, holding his hand out at you to tell you to wait, excitement ramping up in his voice. What the hell was he planning? Nothing good, you figured. Or hoped.
Otherwise harsh sounds of metal against metal were softened by the alien chirrs and trills of the mechanical viscera working in his chassis as he settled on the ground in a sitting position. His back was leaned against the wall, carefully adjusted so his darling paint job was away from the rough concrete. To keep his balance, he rested against his tires and scooched his hips away from the wall, kicking his long legs out with a flourish and gesturing at his lap.
Although he was shorter this way, it was still a climb you didn't want to make while you were damp and the general slip hazard was high. “Can you give me a lift so I can see whatever shit you’re planning?”
“I got you, sugar, don’t even worry about it. Just hang on,” came the reply, and your brain blanked just a little at the feeling of his servos on you again, picking you up just like they had done on that night two weeks ago. With zero effort — seriously, you didn’t even hear any mechanical creaking — you were scooped upwards.
Your damp clothes clung to your body, a fact both you and Mirage were painfully aware of; the chill of the soaked fabric contrasted against that fascinating living heat of your skin nearly made the sensors in his servos short-circuit. He’d thought about this, exactly this, so much that it had probably worn a path into his neural processors. So soft. You were so soft.
A shudder ran up his spinal strut and he prayed you didn’t notice.
You were set down with your feet firmly on the flat tops of his thighs, ignoring the slight wobble in your knees. Arms raised a bit for balance, you looked down at the living machinery beneath you. The flight paths of the butterflies in your stomach grew more frantic. Broad servos released you from their hold, but they didn’t leave; no, they skated down, down, down until they settled on the flare of your hips and stayed. They were so heavy.
A breath caught in your throat like a wild animal in a trap. “If I fall, I’m gonna be so pissed off. You know that, right?” Anything to make this more normal. You had no idea how you kept the shake out of your voice.
“Relaaax, hot stuff, I’m on it. I got it, I got it,” he replied, his voice a full octave lower than what you were used to. “‘sides, I’m Mirage, remember? Protecting humans is kinda my thing.”
You scoffed. “Not with the way you drive.”
“Hey, I drive perfectly fine! You’re the one who’s scared of fun.” His servos left your hips to brace themselves on the floor. “Mirage, don’t drive so fast! Mirage, that’s a red light! Mirage, there are cops behind us!” His voice pitched up into something high and nasally to poorly, poorly mimic yours.
It was your turn to be affronted, though your mouth was open in a disbelieving sort of smile. “I don’t even sound like that, you fucker! And sorry for trying to keep us from getting arrested!”
“I dunno, you all sorta sound the same to our audio processors.” He was lying, and blatantly so. He had the distinct tone and pitch of your voice memorized down to the wavelength. “And besides, we wouldn’t get arrested.” His own voice took on a smug, self-satisfied edge, accompanied by the raise of his brow ridges.
“Oh, really? Why’s that? Please, enlighten me,” you snarked, crossing your arms over your chest and staring him down. In response, he leaned his head in, closer to you, closer than you expected, and an insufferable smirk crawled across his faceplates.
“Cuz cop cars can’t drive that fast,” he whispered conspiratorially, like it was a clever response.
What should have been a minute movement — just a shift of the head — actually became very noticeable on a twelve-foot-frame; his hips repositioned of their own accord to account for the redistribution of weight, and the change was enough to trip you up. Especially when you had been leaning in already to match his movement.
The world tilted as you started to fall forward; fearing injury or worse by tumbling off your semi-precarious perch, you jammed your hands out in front of you—
And slammed your palms directly on his chassis. It was all very fast after that. Mortified, you stared down at the planes of metal beneath you, feeling heat creep up, up, up your neck and seep into your face. Mirage had cursed above you out of surprise, and you felt the displacement of air as his servo shot up behind your back and hovered. Right there. He was right there, and he always would be.
You raised your head and made eye contact, and you knew it was over. His optics were wide with surprise, and they searched your face for any expression of pain or discontent. They cycled once, seeing none, and then flickered down to your lips.
He was so done for. Something in his expression sagged at your proximity; in his field of view, he saw an alert stating that his internal temperature was rising beyond ideal levels, and he would have laughed if not for you. Finally. Finally. Finally. He was half-expecting this to be a dream, something cooked up by his fried processors that he would wake up from any minute now.
His servo was still hovering over your back.
“Can I—“
“Yes,” you said immediately in a sharp exhale — before he could even get the question out — and there it all went.
He surged forward like a flood from a dam, closing the distance between the both of you with a hungry rev of his engine. Explaining the logistics of it would sound silly; all you could do was go with the flow, just like every other time you’d ever kissed someone. All you knew was that it was satisfying, supremely so, and completely encompassing. Every sense was filled by him, and you realized with a kick of your heart that you never wanted it any other way.
Though your hand shook, you shoved past the fear and indulged in everything you had wanted for weeks, let yourself sink deep into that pit of want and refused to come up for air. Your fingers skated his curves and edges; you brought your palm up to the sharp angles of his jaw and smoothed it upward until it ran over the curve of his cheek.
He reacted to your touch like it was a live wire. Minute jerks of excitement ran through his frame, and when your hand rested on the side of his face, he tilted his helm into the kiss with barely restrained excitement. He was so careful, it made something inside you purr. That kind of caution was only reserved for something precious. You were precious. He couldn’t ever risk hurting you. Especially not by his own hand.
First impression was that his lips were far softer than you’d ever assumed. Pliable, hot metal pressed greedily against your mouth — more, more, more was a mantra echoed wordlessly between the both of you. The hovering servo came to rest on your back, pushing your front against his chassis as you shifted up on your toes to keep the angle of the kiss correct. Digits splayed against the planes of skin they found there, pressing down to feel your warmth — your heart slammed against your ribs so hard that Mirage could probably feel it against his palm.
With a hot flash, you wondered if the metal of his lips would bear the dent of your teeth from a bite. So you bit. It was more of a playful nip than anything, but the reaction you got was so instantaneous it was like Mirage had been waiting for it. Again, his engine throttled, the powerful rumble surging through you as his servo pinned you to his chassis. Against your mouth, his lips ticked up into a smile.
Air. You needed air. He let you pull away with no resistance, though his head did trail after your mouth for a moment.
You let your forehead sink down and rest against the top of his chassis for a moment; the condensation from your breath fogged the metal. Out of nowhere, manic giggles erupted from you. They shook your body incessantly as you rose and fell in time with Mirage’s heavy vents, your knees feeling weak and mind frazzled. From one kiss. One.
Laughter rocked his frame too, short chuckles of disbelief as his thumb rubbed circles into your back.
“Oh my god,” you murmured into the warm metal beneath you through shocks of giggles.
“Not exactly, but, eh, I’ll take it,” Mirage replied above you, and while he laughed at his own joke, you groaned and whacked him lightly with a palm. It wasn’t like he was unaffected though — far from it, in fact, judging from the steadily heating chassis beneath you and the tinge of static fringing his words.
“Bring me up,” you said hoarsely, twisting an arm behind you to paw at the servo on your back.
Without question, his other servo came up and curled under your thighs, hoisting you up so that his face was easier to reach. With most of your body now resting on his chassis and very much secured in his grip, you grasped his face in both your palms; he leaned so far into your touch with a shaky ex-vent that your noses almost brushed.
“Again?”
“Yeah, again,” he agreed, and this time you pulled him in, fingers hooking in some unseen seam behind his jaw as you crushed your mouth against his. Hunger, latent and now finally triggered, drove you closer, as close as you physically could, until your skin was starting to hurt from the random edges being pressed into it.
Curious above all else, you licked your tongue into the front of his mouth. The searing heat inside surprised you; it teetered on the edge of uncomfortable and reminded you very much of your computer at home when it ran for too long, with that special kind of mechanical stress and burning warmth that only came with overworked processors.
“‘S like that, is it?” he murmured into your mouth with a grin, his engine kicking up a notch and the vibration of his chassis hitting you very nicely right where you needed it most. You made some soft noise, half-gasp, half-groan, and hiked one of your legs up so it was bent at the knee, flattening your hips against his chest and fuck, there it was. The consistent rumble of his motor pressed a steady vibration right into your cunt over the seam of your jeans; a particular grind made you gasp and falter as you rolled your clit against the line of denim and held it there.
“Whoa-ho-ho! Heyyy, hot stuff, something feel good down there?” His voice was bursting at the seams with some rich kind of excitement; you breathed into his neck cabling as your hips jerked a little against his chassis. One servo pawed at your ass, clumsy with its eagerness, gripping and massaging the soft flesh it found there with intent.
Experimentally, his servo pressed down, pushing your pelvis down with it, and the pressure on your clit pulled a groan of satisfaction out of you that had his cooling fans sputter.
“Fuck,” you hissed through gritted teeth, and before he could say something stupid, you leaned your head down and pressed kisses to the delicate cabling of his neck.
A delighted noise rattled out of him, and his helm rolled back against the wall to allow you more access. Impatient, your kisses soon turned to bites, playful nips that tugged at the sensitive wiring and made his body jolt beneath yours like he’d been shocked. To your utter delight, you found that Mirage’s proclivity for talking extended to situations like these, too — noises streamed from his mouth as your curious teeth and hands worked over such a fragile part of his anatomy in ways that only a human could.
“Oh, Primus, babe, babe—“ he stammered out, and you lifted your head for just long enough of a window to allow him to swoop down and kiss you again, feverishly now.
Something thick and wet prodded past your teeth experimentally. For just a second you balked— and then remembered it was his glossa. His tongue. Yeah, you remembered that from your anatomy lesson; he’d stuck it out and pointed at it in a dumb way then, but fuck if it didn’t have your thighs tightening now. The hot biomesh probed your mouth, and it was so big you inadvertently drooled around it — but Mirage didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, you were pretty sure the spit dripping from your mouth around him was getting him even more worked up, judged by the way his digits tightened their grip on your ass.
You had been cold when you’d walked in that garage. Keyword there was had. Now your skin seared with a deep flush and steadily increasing heat; mindlessly, your hips started a slow, staccato rhythm that kept your breathing heavy. The servo on your back slid upwards to the point where it encompassed the back of both your neck and head. He could not get enough of your taste. He wanted it burned into the sensors on his glossa, for all he cared. Spit and lubricant swapped between the both of your mouths — you found that the metallic taste that seeped into your tongue did nothing but turn you on further.
Pulling away again for a deep inhale of air, you propped yourself semi-awkwardly on an elbow to look at him. Open adoration was written across his faceplates, along with blatant want that made his optics cycle frantically.
“I thought you were— fuck, I thought you were supposed to be drying me off,” you said, breaking in the middle of your sentence as his servo carefully started to move you. Just barely — just enough pressure to keep your hips working against him and chasing your pleasure.
“You really wanna?” He grinned at you, spit shiny on his chin. “I dunno about you, but I think I’m likin’ you being wet more.”
“You’re awful. That was terrible,” you laughed, brain foggy with arousal and general swelling affection for the bot underneath you.
“How many more of those you got left in you before you start admitting the truth that I’m the funniest bot you’ll ever meet?”
“I mean, you don’t exactly have stiff competition.”
“Aaand the best-looking.”
“I dunno… Optimus is kind of—“
“Hey!” he interrupted, bringing you up for another kiss to silence your thought before you could finish it. You happily complied, laughing into the heat of his mouth and then moaning in the same breath as his servo ground you down against his rumbling chassis again.
Hot. You were getting really hot. The damp clothes sticking to your skin were not helping; in fact, they felt as though they were going to start steaming being pressed against your skin like this. Against your wishes, you pulled backwards again, bracing yourself against the warm vents that substituted for his collarbones. They cycled hot, dry air against your fingertips, though it didn’t burn. Not yet, at least.
“Mirage,” you breathed, and that got his attention immediately. “…Are we fucking?”
“Please,” he instantly replied, so eager that it made your cunt throb. His enormous blue optics watched you with such intent that it almost made you want to shrink away from the scrutiny — but you steeled your resolve. You had him, and you had him right where you wanted. Opportunity of a fucking lifetime. You were not about to waste it.
You glanced down for a reprieve from the eye contact. “Fuck,” you swore softly, staring at the metalwork beneath you for a few heartbeats before shaking your head and glancing back upwards at him. “Okay, well— I— Okay. Let me just— do this—“
Hands shaking slightly, you balled your fists in the hem of your work shirt and wrestled it up and off you; the damp fabric lingered and peeled off of you, which made Mirage’s motor throttle powerfully underneath you. Other than that, though, you got no reaction, which made all that heat in your abdomen cool rapidly into a dense ball of abject horror.
Oh, you made a mistake. This was too much, you were too alien, too different—
The servo not supporting you against his chassis slid around from the planes of your back to your front, and you gasped sharply as he did the same fucking thing that drove you insane the first time, however many days ago. His thumb, warm on the palm-side, gently passed over the peak of your chest. His optics narrowed in on the indent in your soft flesh his digit created. Nerve endings in the trail it left behind sparked.
“Oh, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he said reverently, voice steeped in a combination of awe and victory.
Oh-kay! You sucked a deep breath in, a litany of responses running through your head. The boost to your ego was very much appreciated, and it helped lighten the sinking mass of worry that had formed in the pit of your stomach.
Mirage nearly groaned when you placed your soft palm atop the junction of his digit and the heel of his servo. “Do it again,” you decided on, and that worked damn well.
As his servo groped at your chest, he leaned in, tucking his face under your jaw. To accommodate, you tilted your head up and away—
Only to swear into negative space as he very much returned the favor from earlier and began carefully sucking the world’s biggest hickeys into the skin of your neck. Breaths came harsh and choppy as the expanse of his glossa, hot and spit-slick, laved over the gentle bites he worried into your skin with his denta.
“Ah, Mirage, Mirage,” you breathed; every mention of his name spilling from your bruised lips made his circuitry heat just a little more. It was so much all at once — his servos were so broad that their expanse covered huge swaths of skin at once, and his mouth on such a sensitive part of your anatomy wasn’t helping either. Your hands clawed for purchase against his helm and the back of his neck. One palm flattened as much as it could on the back of his head, trying with all of your laughable human strength to bring him as close as possible. The other ended up cradling the side of his head, your thumb brushing over the audial disk there. With no small amount of wonder, you watched the plates of his back ruffle at your touch.
Mirage wasn’t trying to be weird, but he could die happy so long as he had the taste of your skin still registering on his glossa. It was more addictive than any high-grade he’d had back home by leagues. That human flavor of salt and skin and some kind of sweetness had his processors thrumming at maximum capacity; you made his mouth flood with lubricant, a fact you could corroborate by the amount that spilled over your bare sternum. The feeling of his own spit sliding down your front between your bruised breasts made the muscles of your abdomen twitch. Fingers shaped like claws now, you pressed weak kisses against the smooth curves of his helm wherever you could reach.
Your jeans were just getting in the way at this point. The minute shocks of pleasure you derived from grinding your clit against the inseam were just that — minute. You needed something more now or you were going to get frustrated, and you’d dealt with enough sexual frustration over the past weeks to be very sick of that feeling.
“Oh, fuck, okay— Mirage,” you said breathlessly, giving him a light tap on the side of his helm to get his attention. Reluctantly, he pulled away from your chest, optics dimmed with pleasure. They cycled once and returned to their full brightness as he cleared the fog of arousal — barely — away from his processors.
“All systems go, sugar?” Static hissed underneath his words.
You tried and failed to stifle a snort of a laugh. “Corny ass,” you mumbled, although you were absolutely close enough for his audial sensors to pick up on it. He made a sound of indignation, but you pushed forward regardless. “I, um, I need to get these off.” Hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your jeans to emphasize your point, you glanced up at his optics again.
Blankness for a second. Then it registered. “Oh, right, right, of course, haha! You, uh, want help? Or you got it?”
“I think I can manage taking my pants off,” you laughed. “Just— let me sit on like— the top of your chest, there we go,” you instructed, and the hand under your ass pushed you up until you were turned around and seated on the lip of the top of his chassis. For a second, you wrestled with the denim — still not fully dried — but you managed to kick both your jeans and your shoes off. They were thrown somewhere in the direction of the door. God, you were so glad you locked it.
Underwear went next. There was a beat of hesitation — for what, you weren’t sure — but like you’d done so often as of late, you just ignored your trepidation and worked the elastic down your legs. A laugh barked out of you when you lifted the fabric up and saw the downright ridiculous wet spot that stained the gusset.
“Jesus Christ, look what you did to me,” you said with a faux accusatory tone, holding your panties out for Mirage to inspect. Two digits delicately took them from you; he held them up to his face, so close that it made you blush from sheer embarrassment.
“Wow. You weren’t kiddin’ ‘bout all the wet being in one spot, huh?” He examined them with no small amount of fascination, much to your mortification.
“Mirage! Put those down, oh my god,” you said, covering your mouth with a choked noise.
“What, I can’t admire my work?”
“No you can not.”
Mirage pouted at your denial, and mumbled something about you being no fun, but he still lifted you off his chassis regardless. Like he was helpless to your draw, he pulled you in for another kiss, though he couldn’t stop his mouth from wandering. Down, down, down, until his nose was nestled in your chest and he spoke into the soft flesh of your stomach. Shaky ex-vents tickled the damp skin there.
“Shit, baby, tastes so good,” he mumbled, and you were impressed by his ability to sound completely sex-drunk without even having done anything yet.
Your hips rolled against nothing; they bumped into his neck cabling and the top of his chassis fruitlessly, and a noise of frustration eked out of you. Mirage seemed to get the memo and pulled you away. Your body was brought down until your ass was sat firmly on his hips — his interface panel nestled right in front of your dripping cunt — and your back was leaned up against the flat support of his thighs; his knees were tucked up and his pedes placed firm and flat on the floor to give you the most stability. Fumbling for a second before you found somewhere to place your own feet, the enormity and absurdity of the situation brought more of those breathless giggles to your mouth that seized your chest and shook your shoulders.
Toootally breaking Hynek’s scale here. So beyond abduction. Way beyond abduction.
A few careful digits slipped around your knee, wormed their way between your legs. “Can I—“
Your thighs fell open without a word.
What had made you fall for Mirage the hardest was his motormouth. He never stopped talking; he always had something stupid to add, something to pitch in with, some silly joke to crack. There was a lightness he teased out of you that even you didn’t expect. But now? Now, for once, he was speechless. It made uncharacteristic shyness flare in your gut and heat your face as he studied your very bare, very human form with slightly parted lips and enormous optics.
His body caught up before his mouth did. The servo on your knee slid over it until it gripped your bare thigh; he watched the flesh shift back and forth under his touch with no small amount of fascination.
“Is it— it’s okay?” Your voice sounded very small. It was a special kind of insecurity to be faced with.
“Oh, yeah, it’s okay. It’s cool, you’re just— just different. A lot different.” He jiggled your thigh again playfully.
“Good kind of different though, right?”
“Very good.” To punctuate it, his engine snarled again, seemingly in response to the drool of your cunt on the hot metal of his interface panel. “Primus, you look good, babe. Shit.”
Ego boost! You smiled. Any other partner — any person — and this would be too much, this position too unflattering, your everything too open… With Mirage, though, it just felt like it always did. Easy.
One of your hands rested atop the servo still holding onto the meat of your thigh. The other slid down over your shining chest, passed over your stomach and pubic mound, and brushed past wiry hair, shiny with slick, in order to slide a finger up your folds. A whine ripped its way out of you at direct contact with your clit after mere heavy petting, and you couldn’t stop yourself from drawing tight circles with your fingers and twitching your hips forward to eke out more of that delicious pressure.
The servo on your thigh dug into your skin. Mirage’s vents became far heavier at the open display of your arousal; it has always been him vying for your attention. Now that it was the other way around, he wasn’t sure if he could handle it. Transfluid was seeping between the seams of his interface panel, joining your own fluids in a shiny pool that sent sparks up his struts. He made you like this, made you so wet you dripped, made your clit swollen enough to be visible, made your cunt tight with heat and Primus, he needed you on his spike so bad, he thought he might die without it.
He verbalized these thoughts with an unintelligible noise of adoration.
It was enough encouragement for you to slide down from your clit and venture two fingers into yourself. Zero friction. They glided. Christ, when was the last time you were this wet? You’d slept with a handful of people, especially in your first couple years of college, but you’d never been soaked like this. Mirage’s cooling fans choked at the sight of your fingers vanishing into you. His thumb dug into the crease of your thigh and hip as he leaned just a little closer to watch.
Very little time passed before it devolved into your fingers working inside your walls, crooking against that one spot that made your breath hitch and hips jump. Mindlessly, you ground against your palm, catching your clit on the heel of your hand with a sweet moan that nearly shorted out his processors. He had to hear that again. Without thinking, he moved his servo over, resting the digits on your lower stomach and gently, gently nudging the heel of your hand out of the way to replace it with his thumb.
“Ah!” spilled from your lips at the insistent, broad pressure of his thumb, and your hips jerked against it, working your fingers that much deeper. Tears pricked at your eyes from pure sensation. “Mirage, mmm, just— just rub, up and down— or circles, just move, I don’t ca—are,” you floundered, the last word breaking as he did as he was told, carefully sliding his thumb up and down on the bead of your clit and sending twinges of searing pleasure up your spine.
You found quickly that just your fingers weren’t enough. Not when the reminder of his servo lay heavily on your lower stomach, tips of his digits digging into the soft fat there insistently. Although you were loath to part with your hand, you pulled your fingers out with a sigh. Mirage froze, optics flicking to your shiny hand as you spread your fingers, examining the strings of fluid that connected them with a far-off feeling of pride.
“Sugar, you’re killin’ me here,” he groaned, and you saw, for one endearing second, a puff of actual steam rise from the vents near his shoulders as he ex-vented harshly.
“Okay, well, here,” you said, unable to come up with anything clever with the purr of arousal in your cunt fanned by the heat of his interface plate and consistent, maddening rumble of his engine. Your hand, still shiny and wet with your fluids, grasped the top of his servo and gently pushed it downwards, until the tips of his digits rested against your drooling entrance. To fight the whimper that threatened to claw its way out of your throat, you nearly chewed a gash into the inside of your cheek. A gasp of an in-vent jolted his frame in awe.
“You sure? I mean— it’s cool?” His flustered stammering was so damn endearing; supreme affection for him swelled in your chest.
“I’m sure. Just— just go slow.” His adoration was fueling your bravery. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you; if he did, it would never be intentional, and it would never be something he couldn’t fix.
He paused for a second before remembering the position of your own hand and flipping his servo so it was palm side up; you dragged a large enough breath in to balloon your lungs fully at the sight. Anticipation danced in the burn of your spread thighs. For a few seconds, it was just exploration; his digits slid over your silky folds, collecting the gathered slick with minute trembles. One delicious slide all the way up from entrance to clit had you gasping. Mirage silently thanked Primus above that your whole set-up was similar enough to his valve to know at least some of his way around it. It was just hotter. Wetter. Softer. So much softer.
“‘Raj, just— fuuuck,” you groaned out, your head rolling back as the tip of one digit sank into you, soon followed by the rest as it slid all the way to the base. Stars flickered behind your eyelids. The width matched the two fingers put together you’d just pulled out of yourself, though the texture was so wildly different to anything you’d ever put up there that it made your brain stutter for several moments as your nerve endings processed the feeling. The individual ridges and articulations of his knuckles dragged against the silk of your walls in a way that pulled the breath right out of you; your chest rose and fell rapidly with shallow breaths as your thighs twitched.
You were a mess. Mirage was in love. “Holy shit, baby, I get you this bad?” It was only partly teasing. “l— fuck, a second one good?”
“Good, yes, please.”
All thoughts were wiped clean from the forefront of your brain with the addition of a second digit. Slick noises and the sound of dripping fluids landing on metal and concrete filled your ears over the steadily climbing racket that Mirage’s entire body was making — his cooling fans competed with his engine to make the most noise, over top of the typical whirs and clicks that came with his motion. You couldn’t look, could only feel with your eyes squeezed shut as Mirage pumped both digits in and out, in and out, in and out. One arm was thrown up behind you, hooking loosely around his knee to ground you somewhere. The other was occupied: your hand clutched his wrist like a lifeline, white-knuckling it even as your sweaty palm slipped over the metal cuff. When his thumb returned to your clit, swirling clumsy but eager circles on top of it, that only contributed to the tight, hot coil building in your gut.
Mirage had half a mind to pop his interface panel right then and service himself, because the sight of you, shining with sweat and slick with his spit as you rode his digits, was almost too much to bear. The plush folds of your cunt, tight with arousal, were so soft against the hard planes of metal that comprised his servos; the contrast was short-circuiting him. Under his paneling, his spike was already pressurized. Had been for what felt like hours. Your ass was beginning to slide back and forth just a little due to the transfluid collecting underneath you; the rippling motion of your flesh was driving him insane. As were your walls, Primus, your walls that sucked greedily around his digits as they glided in and out of the tight ring of muscle that made up your entrance.
Your name left his lips in a groan that was an octave too high to be suave. The thought of your cunt clamping down on his spike — so soft, so hot, so wet — like it was doing on his digit had his hips rolling against nothing, working fruitlessly for friction they weren’t getting.
Sweat collected wherever skin touched skin. Condensation fogged wherever skin touched metal. The combination of his digits stretching you, curling in you when he realized what a dramatic reaction it incurred, and his thumb working your clit was getting to be too much. Heartbeat roaring in your ears like the rain outside, you clawed a grip into a seam in his leg and jerked your hips against his servo with breathy noises and gasps that you certainly wouldn’t be proud of later. For now, though, all it did was fuel Mirage’s ego and go straight to his spike.
Almost there. You were almost there, grinding your way towards it, sweat beading on your hot skin—
He pulled out. He pulled his digits out. A keen tore out of you at the loss of feeling, tears springing to your eyes as the hot edge you were so fucking close to fell away, your hips working unconsciously against a servo no longer there. With a gasp of a breath, you wrenched your eyes open, blinking away the collected tears and nearly baring your teeth at the bot beneath you — until you saw what he was doing.
In utter astonishment, you watched as the digits that were just inside you slid into his mouth, peeks of his glossa flashing as it worked them clean.
“Oh fuck,” you said before you could stop yourself. One of your hands slapped over your mouth; you tasted sweat and metal. His optics slid to you, lidded and cycling frantically as he processed your taste. A harsh ex-vent slumped his shoulders — the servo not preoccupied with his mouth clutched your hip like you were something precious.
“Sugar,” he breathed, static grating on the word. “Fuck, c’mere.”
Servos hefted you up, and you clutched onto them out of instinct as he helped you up to his face. Without thinking, you lunged forward to kiss, your tongue seeking out his glossa and tasting yourself with a resurging thrum of arousal. He cut it short, though, ignoring your protests as he cupped your ass in one servo and held you aloft.
For a second, you stared at him in confusion. “What are you—“ Then it hit you. “Oh.” Your heart rate skyrocketed.
The grin stretching his faceplates was downright devious. “Hang onto something, wouldja? Not that you’re gonna fall. Just want you to enjoy the ride.” A short, heady chuckle rounded out his words.
“You’re insane— oh!” Your lighthearted scold was immediately interrupted by the press of your hips against his face and the slide of his slick glossa over the entirety of your sex. “Oh my fuck!” sobbed out of you as your upper body jackknifed over his helm. One arm curled around it with clawing fingers; the other slammed, palm flat, against the concrete wall.
A groan of satisfaction rumbled into your cunt as the taste of salt and sweat and girl bloomed on his glossa — just like earlier but so much stronger now. The proud line of his nose bumped your clit for a second before his glossa followed, narrowing so he could flick at it experimentally. Lubricant spilling from his mouth mixed with your own slick and ran down his chin; his cooling fans sputtered and spun weakly for a second as he pushed up further against your hips, malleable mesh drawing shapes between your clit and your hole.
Your fingernails scraped against the wall as your hips jerked of their own accord; the edge stolen from you earlier had very much returned, and the feeling of his faceplates sliding over the plush, soft skin of your inner thighs was doing something terrible to you.
“Mirage, ah, ah— I’m— fuck, fuck!” Broken syllables and curses streamed from your lips as a substitute for real words. When he closed his lips around your clit and sucked, it was over. It was so quick, embarrassingly quick. The orgasm that had been building suddenly snapped free and tore through you like a fucking hurricane, leaving spasming muscles and a wonderful endorphin afterglow in its wake. As you sobbed out his name, he slid two digits of his free servo back into you just to give you something to clamp down on, and it made tears spill down your burning cheeks from pure stimulus. Mirage drank you; he wanted nothing more than this, to swallow you down and leave your taste buzzing on his glossa like high-grade. Several thundering heartbeats later found you hunched over his helm as his glossa continued to work lazily against you, forcing twitches out of your thighs from pure overstimulation.
“Okay, okay,” you managed to croak, voice hoarse from weeping moans and boneless from what was probably one of the most insane finishes of your life. You tapped out weakly on the side of his helmet. Reluctantly, he pulled your pussy away from his face and cradled you in both servos, one noticeably damper than the other, in front of him.
His chin was shiny with you, his grin wide and completely self satisfied, and his optics dimmed with pleasure. If you were being honest, he’d never looked better, but in your frazzled state you weren’t sure if you had the capacity to string together enough words to form a compliment.
“I gotta say, compliments to the chef,” he hummed, and you stared at him, words not processing.
“Did you seriously— you just gave me head and that’s what you’re gonna say?”
“Uhh, yeah, babe. And I meant it.”
A genuine laugh shook you. “Oh my god. Ohhh my god. Okay. Well, put me back down there, you corny fuck,” you said with a gesture back at his hips.
“Oooh, keep sayin’ that. I’ll start thinkin’ you mean it.” Your body, errant trembles still running through it, was set carefully down back near its original position. This time, you sat in something closer to a straddle, back straight instead of leaning.
The garage air had gone from temperate and warm to fucking scorching. Outside, the rain droned on, occasional rumbles of thunder sounding so far away that they may as well have not been real. Your entire world had been compressed down to one point — a gravitational singularity in this garage, crushing space and time down until only bricks and concrete stood between you and the oblivion outside. All you knew was living metal and Mirage’s voice, trembling with excitement and fuzzy with static, and that was all you wanted to know. His chassis was making so much noise that you probably, under any other circumstance, would have been concerned; if he blew a gasket fucking you, though, you would wear that with pride.
Pure adoration reflected right back at you from his optics as his servos settled on your hips, his thumbs stroking your slick skin. Any concerns he had about Prime’s reaction to you, or to this — well, maybe not to this specifically, but to the both of you being together — were completely null and void in your presence; the reality of your soft weight in his lap was enough to short out his circuits.
Your hands slid down from the cooling fan in his abdomen spinning at maximum speed towards his soaked interface panel; glancing up at him demurely through your lashes, you spoke.
“You gonna let me return the favor?”
“Huh?” He broke out of his reverie. “Oh, right, um— yeah. Yeah, please.”
A smile crawled over your face at the reminder that despite all the poetic words you could come up with in your head, Mirage was still, and always would be, Mirage. Dazed already, he ran the subroutines to open his interface panel. Machinery shifted with a few clicks, and there was a hiss and an outpour of steam as his spike swung up before you, clearly aching for some kind of touch.
You heard more plates shifting lower, too, and out of curiosity peeked downward; something slick glowed lower down, but the nervous shifting of Mirage’s hips and his closed thighs obscured it from view.
Probably better to just focus on what’s in front of you. Your eyes roamed the length of his array first, your mouth going dry just at the size of it. It was bigger than any toy you owned, anyone you’d slept with, and bigger than his digits, too. Still, though… what were humans if not persevering?
And flexible?
You wrapped a hand around it right below the tip, and a full shudder lanced up Mirage’s frame; it was so thick that there was still space between your fingers and thumb left over. Transfluid, milky in consistency but pearlescent pink in color, spilled from the flared head. Curiosity overtook you, and you swiped a thumb up to catch an errant bead of it as it trailed down the side. The fluid was semi-oily, and smelled… fairly innocuous. Metallic, sure, but that came with the territory.
The array itself was as impressive as it was pretty. Like everything else about Mirage, it was fancy, mostly chrome with blue striping up the sides that led to a fully blue head. The biomesh it was made of — similar to his glossa — gently throbbed with alien pulses as you stared at it. Oh, that was hot. Why was that so hot?
Exploration in full was rewarded with soft noises spilling unbidden from Mirage’s lips, his hips twitching uncontrollably as you carefully slid your hand down from the tip to the base in one fluid motion, feeling the transfluid slick under your fingers. “Mmph, I— ah,” he choked out through gritted denta as you observed him.
Oh. Oh. The realization of the power you held over the big mech made a special kind of arousal thrum through you. Another slow pump had his hips jerk up once and a servo clamp over his mouth.
“This was not included in your anatomy lesson,” you said pointedly, a cheshire grin on your face as you hovered dangerously close to his spike. It throbbed in your grip, working another bead of transfluid out of the tip.
“Oh shit, babe,” he groaned, rolling his helm back against the wall. “Uh— hands— hands-on learning?” he offered weakly, unable to focus on anything other than the soft, damp skin of your palm around his spike.
He made the mistake of looking down as you let spit drool out of your bruised lips and spill over his spike for additional lube, and he snapped his optics shut to avoid from a spontaneous overload right there. The noises he made as you slid your tongue over the head were pitiful.
“Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed, spinal struts clicking as they arched. Primus, was he seriously about to overload in your mouth? Your lips closed around the head and sucked lightly, and he yelped. A servo shot out and carefully grabbed your shoulder, though the tremors running through his digits told you of the restraint he was barely employing. A string of spit and transfluid connected your mouth to his spike as you lifted your head, and he had to force himself to look away for a second with that same servo clutched over his mouth to keep steady. “‘m not gonna last like that, you— can we just—“
“Fuck?”
“Primus, yes.”
“Yeah, we can. I guess.” Despite the leap of excitement in your stomach, you rolled your eyes.
“Don’t even start with that, c’mon,” he said fondly, one servo supporting you as you lifted yourself above his spike and stared down at it with no small amount of trepidation.
It looked a little more manageable from above, but working with something the size of your forearm would cool anyone’s heels, even if there was slick drooling down your inner thighs. Mirage’s servos settled heavy on your hips and you braced yourself on first his knees behind you, then his wrists as you tilted your pelvis to align your entrance as best you could. You sank. The head pressed insistently against your hole. Relax. Relax. Relax.
A deep breath filled your lungs, then whooshed out, deflating your shoulders. Unable to help himself, Mirage inched one of his servos over and ran his thumb through your folds, rolling over your clit and jolting your hips enough to slip the head inside. A long sigh of “Fuuuuck.” was all that managed to come out of your mouth, your toes curling at the stretch and then the pop of the flared head sliding past your entrance.
Mirage’s entire frame trembled. His vents became shallow and sharp, and the tips of his digits clamped onto the soft meat of your hips desperately as the sensors on his spike reckoned with the realization of just how wet and warm humans really were. “Babe, babe, babe, shit,” he stammered out. “That’s— um, fuck, that’s good!” A weak laugh escaped him as his chin sank down to his chassis, cooling fans hiccuping from stress.
“Hold on, just hold on, I can… shit.” Sweat-dampened palms slid off his wrists for a second before you resituated yourself and leaned back a little, letting your upper back rest against his tucked up thighs. Whatever you were doing worked, because you sank further, and you thanked whatever god was listening that you’d already finished once, making your body quite boneless and that much easier to maneuver.
Mirage, on the other hand, was as taut as a fucking bowstring, made helpless to his own pleasure and completely powerless to you. His optics first scrunched shut, unable to look at you for fear of overloading at the sight of you finally on his spike; then they flew open at the realization that he wanted this burned into his visual processors forever.
Your skin shone with sweat and lubricant; rivulets trailed down your body like a visual pointer to your slick sex, nestled within wiry hair and stretching so beautifully around his spike that it tore an honest-to-Primus whimper out of his vocal synthesizer.
“Mirage, I need you to— mmnh, fuck, I need you to just touch— please,” you gasped, his spike punching the air right out of your lungs. Although your words were broken, he seemed to get the memo, and despite his minute tremors, brought his thumb back to your clit and pressed down. Just the surface area alone made you sigh and roll your head back in pleasure, and it loosened you enough to take him right up until the head nestled against your cervix and your ass brushed his hip plating. There was maybe an inch or two left, but you felt immense pride at managing to work most of his spike in — and immense pleasure, too. If he moved his thumb at all, you were done; you were so fucking full you could barely breathe, and you felt the slow, rhythmic pulses of his biomesh throb through you.
Mirage had never been one for restraint. He did things all-in, one-hundred-and-ten percent, all with a flourish to top it off; the feeling of the hot silk of your walls flexing around his spike just sitting there was enough to quite literally kill his cooling fans via a micro-short in an attempt to divert more power towards keeping his hips still. Senseless praises streamed from his lips, voice whining and roughened by static fuzz. “Yes, yes, yes, sugar, Primus, that’s good— feels so good, please, can I move, please,” he fumbled, jaw slack and optics flickering with the power surges cascading throughout his frame.
“Just— let me start,” was your response, tears pricking at your eyes, and although Mirage groaned pitifully underneath you, he listened.
You had a fair amount of experience with riding toys, and you knew what felt good; the lightbulb above your head became apparent. A shift in your position pushed further weight to the back so that the ridges and nodes of his spike pressed insistently toward the front — though, to be fair, it pressed everywhere — and oh, fuck, right there. Now shoved against that sweet spot inside you, the pleasure teetered on the edge of pain, and you dragged yourself up with a vicious grip on the seams of his thighs behind you. Mirage whined and shifted his hips just slightly; it was enough to pull a moan from your lips as you slid upward. Thick, sluggish droplets of slick swirled with transfluid oozed down his spike. He watched — it was all he could do — with an open mouth and rapidly cycling optics.
The flared head caught against your entrance; a spike (ha!) of pleasure lanced through you. “Okay, now, you can— help me, please,” you stammered out, dizzy with pleasure already and feeling a loopy kind of open-mouthed grin situate itself on your face.
Your words were all he needed. Although he desperately, desperately wanted to snap his hips up and chase the vice-grip of your slick walls, he’d rather take on Megatron alone with his servos tied behind his back than risk hurting you. Especially while interfacing. He did not want to have to explain that to anyone.
Thumb slowly working your clit, his servos gripped your hips just a little too tight and assisted; you could feel the tremors lancing up and down his arms as he helped you establish a rhythm. At a word, the dam would break, but for now, you maintained tenuous control over the mech and over yourself as you rode him with his help.
Well. Rode was a strong word for it; he all but dragged you up and down the length of his spike, earning each of you luxurious groans from the other, but your quivering thigh muscles assisted as best they could. Heat surged through your body at the drag of his nodes against your walls, and you realized with a hot flash that Mirage was going to fucking ruin you for anybody else, and you liked that. Which was good, because he could have stayed buried in your cunt for the rest of his life and offlined happily just like that.
It was good. It was really good. But even the overwhelming stretch wasn’t enough. Just like earlier — it seemed like light years away now — when you’d still had pants on and hadn’t been completely lost to metal-on-skin debauchery, the grind of your clit on the seam of your jeans had been good, but not enough. Your fingers clawed at his wrists. The burn of your thighs from exertion seared through you, mixing with the jolts of pleasure from your clit to create some new, terrible monster that had you twitching with shameless ecstasy.
“Mirage, Mirage,” you croaked, as he slid you down his spike again and pushed it into your lungs, “I’m— fuck, please, faster, please, please.” In any other scenario, your begging would have immensely embarrassed you; now, though, it seemed like the only viable option to get him to fuck you like you needed him to.
“Shit, baby,” he hissed, and you gasped as he kept moving you, legs jerking uselessly. “You— fuck, you sure?”
“Yes, please, just— oh, fuck!” The cry — and the air in your lungs — was knocked right out of you by a single desperate snap of his hips upward, his spike driven straight home. Your entire upper body crumpled forward, kept upright only by a tenuous grip on his wrists, and then he really started fucking you, and you were gone.
His cooling fans surged back to life as he slammed into you, power no longer diverted towards holding the actuators of his hips back. No, now he was fucking jackhammering into you, and you were barely moving as his spike pistoned in and out of you, slick drooling from your cunt. Like he remembered himself, his thumb began to work furiously against your clit, and you rewarded him with a gasp and more than a few uncontrollable moans of his name, which only served to fuel him more.
Not like he was being quiet, either. You were glad that the building was solid brick and the rain continued to pour outside, because the amount of noise coming from his chassis and spilling from his lips was worrying. Praises and broken mentions of your name streamed from him; he tossed his helm back against the wall with his optics squeezed shut to keep from overloading prematurely. It was too much— it was way too fucking much. Your poor overworked cunt was nearly bruised with sensitivity, barely able to keep up with the stretch of his spike as the nodes pulsing along it raked that sweet spot inside of you mercilessly. Neither of you were going to last long; not your fragile human body nor his torqued-up frame could handle much more of this.
Every sharp thrust paired with the frantic, messy circles he pressed into your clit brought you viciously closer and spilled tears from your eyes. All you could really do was hold on as Mirage wrung pleasure from both your body and his. Impossibly, his thumb worked faster, his pace got even more brutal, and you were almost seizing from pleasure as your nerve endings were frayed raw. That peak was building in your gut, that familiar tight coil of heat, for the second time that night, and you knew it was going to completely destroy you, and you wanted it to.
Without warning, Mirage spread his knees apart, slammed his pedes flat on the floor, and thrusted up. His spinal struts arched again to get his spike that much further inside of your yielding body, his overload imminent and warning signs flashing in his optics’ periphery. “Fuck, yes— yes, baby, yes, yes, ah, shit!” His frenzied whine rang in your ears as steam from his vents heated the air around you; the only thing that rang in your ears besides your thunderous heartbeat was the heady slap of skin against metal, everything slick with your combined fluids.
You responded in kind at the new angle with a cry of his name and some noises that resembled words, but the way he sheathed his spike inside you — fuck, was it all the way in? — and ground his thumb against your clit was too much— too much— you couldn’t—
You shattered. Doubling over from pleasure, you sobbed incoherently as your climax slammed into you. Pleasure crackled through your veins like lightning; a fog of pleasure dulled your senses until the only thing you could focus on was his spike pulsing in your cunt and his thumb still grinding against your clit. Tears pricked at your eyes, joining the ones already wetting your cheeks, as jolts of pleasure lanced up your spine. Maybe you moaned his name, maybe you didn’t. You couldn’t tell.
Mirage went soon after you, because the feeling of your walls clamping around his spike as if trying to suck him in impossibly further did him in instantly. His optics snapped open wide before slamming shut and he cried your name as the best overload of his life wracked his frame; the actuators of his hips trembled violently, along with his servos, as transfluid gushed into you and was immediately forced out by the pure lack of room inside your cunt. Engine snarling, cooling fans nearly spinning off their axles, he held your hips as flush to his as possible while the both of you rode out your respective climaxes, twitching around each other violently. Minute jerks of his hips attempted to work more transfluid inside of you. Brain still wiped blank with pleasure, all you could do was make soft noises and let the aftershocks spasm through you.
Consciousness eventually came back to you in gritty waves. Mirage had set your body down, leaned back against his thighs, his spike still seated within you but depressurizing slowly. Transfluid seeped out of your puffy folds, and you lifted a shaking hand to collect some of it and taste it. Metallic. Like you’d expected.
Enormous vents whooshed through his frame as he attempted to cool his chassis; coolant dripped from him, some of it turned to steam by the pure heat of his internal mechanisms. Body shaking and feeling very small and human, you stroked a thumb over his wrist where you held it, feeling both its ambient warmth and a surge of affection. And satisfaction.
You were absolutely going to feel this in the morning, holy shit. Thank God you didn’t have work tomorrow.
Mirage eventually came back down to earth, his optics cracking open and cycling a few times before they flared to their usual brightness. Lids heavy and a dopey grin on his face, he carefully lifted you off his spike — it slid out of you with a slick noise that made you flush — and brought you up to face-level. With one servo, he held you tight against his torso; he planted the other flat on the floor and resituated his hips so he could slump down further against the wall, his entire frame lax.
Self-satisfaction beamed at you from his faceplates. “Oh, that was good, huh?”
You scoffed, too tired to get riled up at his teasing; you knew he was feeling the same as you. “Yeah, pretty good. I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk tomorrow, to be totally honest.” An exhausted laugh left you.
“Gonna count that as a win.”
“You… do whatever you want.” You waved a limp hand at him dismissively, letting the rise and fall of his chassis with his vents rock you.
“Well, then, I wanna do this,” he purred, and brought you in for a kiss that communicated all his smug affection without any of his stupid jokes. You returned it gratefully, a smile on each of your mouths as you basked in that pleasant post-sex glow.
The rain still droned outside. A boom of thunder rolled through the building; the lights flickered. Both you and Mirage glanced upward. His optics slid back down to you first.
“You thinkin’ about going anywhere in this weather?” he asked, raising a brow ridge.
“I dunno, do I have a ride?”
“Nah,” he replied playfully, kissing you again, and you found that it could storm for the rest of your life, and you wouldn’t really care. So long as you had your favorite — yes, your favorite, not that you could ever admit around him — to keep you company.
#mirage rotb#mirage x reader#transformers rotb#transformers x reader#mirage x you#valveplug#tf mirage#maccadam#nsfw////#transformers#rise of the beasts#i wrote this entire thing on my phone in like 4 days so excuse any spelling mistakes LMFAO#doq.fic
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
hi hi!!! i hope you're doing well :D !!! i really really love how you write the octatrio (ESPECIALLY AZUL BC BIAS YK) and i was wondering if i could request some headcanons for the octatrio with a s/o that has an acts of service love language? no pressure ofc, you're never obligated to write anything <3 thank you for all the lovely writing you're shared so far!!! i am in loves w the way you portray azul btw have i gushed abt your characterization enough yet WHAHWHAHWA <333
at your service
Characters: Octavinelle (Azul, Jade, Floyd)
Synopsis: how he is with an acts of service lover
Tags: fluff, fish shenanigans, bot proofread
Word count: 885
Notes: @azulashengrottospiano auburnn! here's your very belated wedding gift! congrats on becoming mrs. ashengrotto <3 i hope you like it!
Masterlist
let's be real, he is too dense to know you're showing affection
he's like playing 4D chess in his head thinking about why you keep helping him with tasks???
do you want something from him?? he will pay you handsomely?
wait you don't want pay??? seriously he's tries so hard to think about how you might benefit from helping him, but this octopus never considers you're doing it out of affection
he keeps finding ways to repay you or see if there's a contract you're working under
it's only until one of the tweels point out that you seem to be in love with him, that the realisation hits him like a cauldron to the head
after that, he starts returning your affections by helping you with anything you might need, tutoring, miscellaneous duties Crowley threw your way, etc., or just throwing gifts at your direction
he'll walk into his office ready for another day of work only to find that you've already sorted out most of the paperwork for him
there's a lovestruck smile on his face as he plans what he could do in return or get you as a gift
he finds it so odd that he'd do anything for you, and not expect you to do anything in return
oh how far the businesses man has fallen
Azul's voice, soft and sincere, carries a touch of gratitude as he addresses you. "Angelfish, I am truly grateful for your help with the mountain of paperwork," he says. A smile, warm and affectionate, dances upon his lips as he continues, his voice infused with a hint of excitement. "As a token of my gratitude, would you like to join me for dinner tonight? It's on me," he offers.
jade's a bit confused when you start offering your help to him, but it doesn't take long for him to understand you're doing it out of affection
he might feel a bit obliged to return the favour, so sometimes he'll refuse your help
but he can't deny how endearing it is when you offer to take care of his mushrooms when he's too busy at work
or when you join him on hikes to help him find whatever mushroom is in season
he's very much used to taking care of people around him, with him basically acting as a secretary to Azul, and always having to act as the more reasonable twin in comparison to Floyd
you make him feel seen in a way and he finds himself smiling unconsciously when he sees you trying to help him in whatever way you can
he finds himself wanting to rely on you more, while also reaching out to you in concern when he sees you're struggling with something
he's so glad to be offering his services to you
sometimes you take up shifts in the Mostro Lounge when Jade's also working to alleviate some of the work on his shoulders
it's not obvious to others, but he works more efficiently and there's a slight smile on his face
he loves the simple connection the two of you have, having a great dynamic that plays off great when working together
"We make quite a nice pair, don't we?" Jade's voice comes from behind. You turn to see him, a gentle smile on his face that feels more genuine thank the usual he shows. "It's always a joy when I'm working alongside you. Thank you so much for offering your assistance," he says, before reaching for your hand and placing a kiss on it, his eyes piercing and never looking away from yours.
this eel loves that you're offering to do work for him!
most of the time he's doing his duties purely out of obligation and complaining the whole while
so if you offer to do it for him, he'll be elated and run off to do whatever he's in the mood for
definitely takes your willingness to help him for granted and starts asking you to do his work for him
jade will tell him not to be too spoiled with his demands though
and if he sees you're overworked or upset while working he'll whisk you away from whatever is hurting you
wraps his arms around you and squeezes you, apologising that he's been too irresponsible
his affection for you grows so unexpectedly, but with you were always there for him, willing to lend him a hand, he found himself always in a good mood when you were around
he'll return your affection with lots of squeezes, random gifts that reminded him of you, and he's always willing to help you if you need a hand
this eel can be very efficient when he's determined and motivated, so you'll see the best of him when he's actually doing tasks for you
"Shrimpy!" Floyd exclaims as he catches sight of you. He envelopes you in his arms, squeezing gently while mushing his cheek into the top of you head. "I'm sorry I gave you so much work," he murmurs softly, his voice laced with sincerity and regret. In a swift motion, he lifts you effortlessly off the ground, cradling you in his arms as if you were the most precious treasure in the world. "Let's ditch work and go on a date!"
Masterlist
if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!
#twstnexus#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst imagines#octavinelle#twisted wonderland jade#jade leech#jade leech x reader#twisted wonderland azul#azul ashengrotto#azul ashengrotto x reader#twisted wonderland floyd#floyd leech#floyd leech x reader
449 notes
·
View notes
Note
Another thought just popped in how about old Predacon buddy meeting Gen 1 autobot's it would be quite amusing seeing them interact with the others and maybe ratchet finding out how much old Predacon buddies energon reserves are possibly?
Buddy is too old for these shenanigans. Especially the ones in G1, but on the plus side, more grandkids!
Hope you enjoy!
Bot Buddy the Old Predacon meeting the Autobots
SFW, Platonic, Cybertronain reader
G1/TFP
Buddy was going log this trip in their data pad when they got back home.
Definitely one of the more memorable trips hey had gone.
The portal dropped Buddy in a desert like area.
It seemed deserted from the looks of it.
Maybe they were in an alternative Nevada.
Buddy feels a tap on their pede and looks down.
A blonde human looks up at them.
“I was starting to wonder when the humans would show up.”--Buddy
“Huh?”--Carly
“Never mind. Hello there little one.”--Buddy
“Hi? Are you an Autobot?”--Carly
“Yes, do you know them?”
“Yeah! They’re my friends! Almost everyone knows about them.”--Carly
Buddy tilts their helm.
“What do you mean by almost everyone?”--Buddy
“Anyone who doesn’t see the news.”--Carly
“… Anyways, do you mind showing me to their base? I need a place to stay until I can get back to my dimension.”--Buddy
“Dimension?”--Carly
“You see my dear… what’s your name?”--Buddy
“Carly.”--Carly
“Carly? All right, well my name is Buddy—”--Buddy
“Buddy?”--Carly
Buddy vents a bit.
“I know it’s a strange name and all—”--Buddy
“Its not strange. It just took me by surprise and all, please continue.”--Carly
“Well, I got dropped in this universe thanks to a portal that usually comes back and sends me home in a couple of days.”--Buddy
“So, you need a place to stay in the meantime?”--Carly
“Exactly.”--Buddy
“Well then lets go!”--Carly
Carly begins walking but Buddy leans their helm down next to her.
“Please, allow me.”--Buddy
Carly’s eyes widen in excitement and climbs on.
Buddy slowly lifts their helm up.
“Just point the direction and I’ll follow.”--Buddy
Carly gives them a thumbs up.
“You got it! I can’t wait to tell Chip, Spike and Raoul what happened today!”--Carly
“…Spike?”--Buddy
“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.”--Carly
“… So, to the right or left?”--Buddy
Carly had to calm everyone down when they saw the giant mechanical dragon that nearly dwarfed everyone in the base.
Buddy is just thankful that these bots were a bit bigger than in the other universe.
They were still small, but a good small.
“Hello there! My name is Optimus Prime. Who might you be?”--Optimus
“…I’m Buddy sir.”--Buddy
“Oh please, just Optimus or Optimus Prime.”--Optimus
Buddy stares at the Prime and wraps a wing around him.
“I will protect you and your group with my spark.”--Buddy
“Oh, that’s not necessary my friend.”--Optimus
“Nope I’m protecting you.”--Buddy
“Hey Prime, where—WOAH!”--Bumblebee
Buddy tuns to see a tiny Bumblebee and other human.
“WOW! Carly wasn’t kidding when she said that the dragon was huge!”--Bumblebee
Bumblebee sticks out his servo.
“I’m Bumblebee! This is Spike.”--Bumblebee
Buddy looks at the human take a step and fall after stepping on his untied shoe lace.
“Primus help Carly…”--Buddy
“What?”--Spike
“My name is Buddy.”--Buddy
Buddy is a bit appalled seeing how energon was created.
If they had anything like this in their universe it would change the war at home.
For better or worse Buddy still hasn’t figured that out.
Buddy is internally crying when they meet more bots.
This team had so many more numbers and Buddy only had enough room in their arms to carry a few.
It was a rather pleasant surprise to find the Dinobots.
Sure, there was a little skirmish between Buddy and Grimlock.
But they soon got past that.
Buddy is an honorary Dinobot now.
Buddy has Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Mirage, Hound, Sideswipe, Red Alert, Smokescreen, Wheeljack, Ratchet, and Perceptor in their arms or back. Swoop was perched on their helm.
They are looking around.
“What’s up Buddy? You looking for something?”--Raoul
“Oh Raoul! I don’t have enough space to keep holding everyone!”--Buddy
“What?”—Raoul
Buddy nearly has a spark attack seeing Superion, Defensor and Omega Supreme.
They were so used to being the biggest bot in the room, they did not like being the smaller bot for a change.
The bots were nice and all, but Buddy opted to stay with the others.
Buddy often stayed by the smaller Prime’s side during their stay.
Optimus didn’t mind it at all.
Buddy did share some stories about the Prime in their universe.
Many of the bots like to hear Buddy’s dimension stories, even if they are a bit vague.
Soon it comes time for Buddy to leave.
Buddy tries their best to give out as many group hugs as they can.
“Thank you, my friends! Wish you all the best!”--Buddy
“You too Buddy! Farewell my friend.”--Optimus
Buddy steps into the portal.
In TFP…
Buddy walks into the base, suddenly feeling a bit empty.
Buddy shakes it off and continues their way to the main room.
The war would be over soon, they just knew it.
#transformers x reader#maccadam#bot buddy#tfp#tfp x reader#tfp x platonic reader#transformers g1#g1 transformers x platonic reader#old predacon buddy
114 notes
·
View notes
Note
I wanted to ask, in the kids turned sparkling au, Starscream was teaching Miko how to be the next winglord. Assuming he lived after Predacons Rising, or died and came back like Optimus, would she still treat him like a secondary parent, and eventually become winglord?
Ah yes Starscream.
Previous part here.
━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━
The matter of Starscream was one Tari did not like to consider. She had memories of Starscream trying to kill her when she was still Miko, but she also had recollections of a time when things were better. She remembered Starscream carrying her through the skies, letting her small wings flutter with the currents before she had learned to fly. She could still recall when he'd held her in his arms, telling her tales of Vos and the glory of the city he proclaimed would one day be hers. She had listened with such intent that even as a fully framed adult, she couldn't help but sometimes wonder if he was still out there, and if he still cared.
She was happy being a Wrecker, and she was happy being away from her family, even if she missed them at times. But as she aged, she felt a void within her, one that was for once, not caused by the loss of her Sire. She remembered stories of the great city that even after Cybertron's restoration, was not again floating in the sky. Starscream had always said that it was the duty of all fliers to watch over their city, to protect it, and to ensure that all who followed after them would have a place to call home.
Tari remembered, and so she decided to act.
Before Optimus's return, she set out on a journey across the stars. Her goal was simple: Find Starscream and get him to help her restore Vos. Sure, he might have been a Decepticon, but her memory painted him as a far more reasonable mech than some of the Autobots she dealt with on a regular basis. And without her Sire? Well... maybe digging up a few old memories would do something good for her aching spark.
It was far easier than she expected to find Starscream, although it hurt to track him down. He was hidden on Earth, her world of origin (a fact she will only begrudgingly admit). When she found him, he was wrapped up in his plans to get back at everyone and everything. She took him by total surprise, and their first meeting was by no means the one she had been hoping for. Starscream didn't recognize her, all he saw was her Wrecker badge.
Tari: Starscream! Hold your fire! I come in peace!
Starscream: An Autobot comes in peace? HA! As if I would believe that!
Tari: My designation is Sagittarius, Tari for short. Don't you remember me?
Starscream: A flier named after this mudball's constellations? How the mighty have fallen.
Tari and Starscream shot at each other for a while, and in the end, Tari had to hunt him down several times over the course of a few months. It was due to this hunt that she ended up with Bumblebee and his team on Earth for a time. She needed the extra guns to get into the Decepticon base on Earth where Starscream was supposedly hiding out. Her adventures with Bumblebee and his team were a whole other series of shenanigans. But in the end, she got her prize.
"Well Autobot? You've caught me. Are you going to kill me now?"
"No, I want you to talk to me. Please, just take a moment and remember me Starscream. I've already lost Optimus, I don't want to lose the only other bot that came even close to being my Sire."
"..."
"..."
"Mistress of the Terran skies. That was your full designation... wasn't it?"
Silence reigned over the duo for a time as Tari led Starscream out in cuffs. He would still need to answer for his crimes... but she would do all she could to lessen the sentence. For once, he went along without argument and allowed Tari to take him back to Cybertron to face justice. Seeing her reminded him of what he had been hoping for all those years ago when the war still raged. He had all but forgotten the precious sparkling he'd been so keen to raise once Megatron died. Predacons, Vehions, Terrorcons... it had all kept him distracted, especially as he sought out his old frame once more.
He would need to make things better.
Tari returned him to Cybertron and worked with anyone willing to side with Starscream during his court case. With a lot of effort, she was able to convince the Council that keeping Starscream alive was not only beneficial, but in the best interest of all of Cybertron. How did she do this? Why, she simply made it clear that Starscream had named her the heir of Vos... on live television. What was the Council to do? If they claimed Tari was lying, they would be disregarding the words of the Prime's sparkling. If they claimed her station was irrelevant, then they would earn the collective ire of every flier on Cybertron. There was almost no choice but to let Starscream out on parole and give Tari the funds needed to begin preparing to rebuild Vos.
Tari and Starscream were still rather tense, but working together on a common goal eased a lot of the pain that had developed over the years. Starscream guided Tari in her efforts and covered for her when she returned to the Wreckers. He laid low when she wasn't around and taught her as much of the old culture of fliers as possible. Over time, the wounds healed, and Starscream was able to proudly call himself Tari's mentor. Optimus was not made aware of Starscream's station in Tari's life until Vos rose into the skies once more and Starscream was there to announce Tari is official heir. It was a shock to say the least, but Tari relished in the companionship of her old secondary caretaker.
"Thank you for coming back with me."
"Thank you for giving me a second chance. To see Vos rise once more is a far greater accomplishment than anything I ever did during the war."
"You aren't so bad Starscream."
"HA! Lord Megatron would have a thing or two to say about that!"
#transformers#maccadam#transformers prime#tfp kids as sparklings au#miko nakadai#starscream#alternate universe
58 notes
·
View notes
Text
Starbuzz lore !!
Bc I don't want y'all thinking they're normal . Also warning for sexual and violent themes I fucking guess
So !! How did they even meet anyway ?
In the 1820-30' Starry worked in a circus with Stripy still , going around the world . Coincidentally , this is also the time Rosetta was the most active with her travels and just so happened to be carrying Buzzer somewhere when she encountered them and forced Buzzer to go with her bc she's awesome like that
She had fun and all that , but she had to use Buzzer as a translator when she wanted to congratulate the performers , so now our guys are at least aware of each other
They don't think about each other for a while now , that being their only interaction , but the next time they see each other is at a festival where Buzzer is trying to find an excuse to leave and Starry is having some kind of cartoon-shenanigans complicated plot , so he annoys him to hell and back until it eventually gives in and helps
After that their random encounters seem to be more and more frequent , always being at the worst time possible for Buzzer , making it slowly build anger until he finally snaps at him and it gets . Weird . Lots of violence there
So um . yeah they do hatefuck , making their encounters now a frequent occurrence but always sexual in nature and kind of a "get all the anger out" thing , they get to know each other by feeling how the other acts in bed (extremely violent or weirdly soft) this sounds so bad 😭 we did base all this in a sex joke have me patience
Their current thing is that they hate each other's guts (affectionate) but every accidentally tender moment has them questioning everything so outside of that they can barely look at each other's eyes 🫶
They do eventually try to work things out but they're The miscommunication bots so it takes them a lot and I also want to do things with that so you don't get to hear about it yet 💥💥
So um. Yeah . Never joke with things that imply relationships and also sorry for being into violence . You can hang me now . *Drops the mic*
21 notes
·
View notes
Note
Shenanigans with a human who has size altering powers (make things or people as small or big as they want). Can I have some small bots please? Optimus Rachet and Starscream
Thanks
I actually have these HCs on some cons getting shrunk down, so you can find some stuff there too. These ended up being romantic and sort of fluffy I guess
~Starscream~
•Starscream loves being so big compared to you, it makes him feel powerful
•He finds your powers to be a bit odd, but occasionally useful
•If he gets mad at you, you often make him shrink to your size, because it’s easier to argue with him when you’re on eye level with him
•Or alternatively, you can make yourself bigger, but you don’t like doing that, so shrinking Starscream is the easier choice
•Also cuddles are nice when you’re the same size too, or at least somewhat the same size
•You sometimes just make yourself big to kiss Starscream on the forehead and then quickly shrink back down
•Also sometimes you shrink him down to so small that he can sit on your shoulder and chill
•Also it’s hilarious seeing him in his alt mode when he’s that small, like a little toy jet flying around
•It’s incredibly cute too, but he doesn’t take such compliments, you can call him handsome though, but not cute
~Optimus Prime~
•Optimus quite enjoys being human sized, it makes him feel closer to you for some reason
•Sure he loves carrying you around, but he also really enjoys being able to hug and smooch you properly
•And hold hands and just simple stuff like that
•He just really enjoys when he can wrap his arms around you and bury his face into your chest or tummy, he really loves how soft you are
•Optimus also enjoys sitting on your shoulder and being even smaller than you
•It’s a pretty drastic difference though, so it always takes some getting used to when you change his size
•Also, just imagine a tiny Optimus, driving around the base in his alt mode
•He’s kinda in awe the first time he gets shrunken down, because he sees things from your perspective and he realizes how damn big the other bots look to you
~Ratchet~
•It’s an easy way to get Ratchet to rest when he can’t reach the keyboard of the computer
•He just gives you a glare, sighs, grabs your hand and lets you lead him to his habsuite
•Ratchet of course enjoys resting with you, so he just cuddles close to you and you’re kind of stuck there until he comes out of recharge mode
•You just might be able to convince Ratchet to have a race with Raf’s remote control car, while he’s in his alt mode
•A little wee woo wagon going around the base when he wants to annoy you enough to turn him back to his normal size
•You find it mostly cute, but you do give in and turn him back to his normal size so he can get back to work
•Alternatively to turning him small to make him rest, you could just turn yourself big enough and carry him to berth
•He’s always a bit embarrassed about it when you do that, but he does find it kinda nice
#transformers#tfp#transformers prime#decepticons#starscream#autobots#optimus prime#ratchet#tfp headcanons#transformers fluff#reader insert#transformers x reader#tfp x reader
838 notes
·
View notes
Note
Wondering how Tarn and the Nurse's story would go if they shared a world with Fusian Cannon Wedding Megatron.
The idea of fusion Cannon Wedding Megatron!AU is that the senate reserved the right to take any sparkling from unconjuxed parents ostensibly to be put in a worthy home while simultaneously making it cost prohibitive for all but the elite. Even for the upper middle caste it was incredibly burdensome. But if you could get an audience with a priest of the 13 they could interview a couple deem them worthy and chose to wave the fee.
Megatron, the agnostic, due to Gladiatorial WWE-esque Theme Shenanigans actualy ends a priest of Megatronus because he refused to be a fake priest in such a way that the last Priest of Megatronus decided "welp this is my best bet as a secuessor." Megatron ever the political activist used this to perform legally binding weddings for any sparked couples he came across.
Cue the Revolution and the risk of Deceticon newsparks being stolen increases. But there are treaties to return kiddos to their parents or next of kin. So if con, bot, neutral, or implausiblely compatible alien sparks up or is sparked up by one of his Decepticons, they are kidnapped and brought to the alrer at gunpoint for now High Priest Megatron to Marry them off "for the children's sake." The DJD has brought runaway 'juxes to the alter.
Now the DJD still has the Doner Cause because it's a way of protecting the bitties. Megatron initaly gets wind of the situation of with the Nurse and is relatively chill. Right up untill he realizes that the nurse was never married to the sire. Nevermind their Caimen with very diffrent rules and cultural norms. (Also their the mentee of a very scary Healer). Kaon doesn't even have to pull a witnessed act shenanigans to help his ship set sail. He just has to include a question in his routine report that Tarn is continuing providing doner support as outlined in the Doner clause. "As the cowardly tratitor abandoned his lover the moment he found out she sparked we did not find out he had sparked her after he was dead. Is it possible to posthumously conjux them for the security of the sparklings?" Kaon knows damn well posthumous conjuxing isn't a thing.
Shenanigans are about to ensue.
This is great because Megatron's manifesto would have revisions about religion, so instead of an atheist society, he more likely written about freedom of religion for anyone to practice. Just as a final Fuck You to the Senate with their harsh stance.
And because of the wild shenanigans, I think the Decepticons would have strong civil and family court proceedings.
Deadzone and Nurse were (ex) fiances, so Megatron could be chill with that.
But not with Tarn also sparking up the Camien. Now that's a whole-ass security risk!
Megatron wouldn't need to demand Tarn to return. The Peaceful Tyranny bulleted itself to the main flagship, ignoring everything else to get it situated after the consequences of too much excitement at the "fake" resort wedding.
A poor, sleep-deprived and absolutely exhausted Nurse would have been scooped up and thrown into the shower and polished to high-hell. You were vaguely aware of quick, sure servos working your back and sensory panels, and Helex was hogging the dryer.
This was no dignified walk. The entire Justice Division burned rubber and left scorch marks on their stampede to the Altar. Every other 'con jumped out of the way and booked it elsewhere because no one wanted to be in the vicinity that had the D.J.D. that hyperfocused.
Shockwaves rippled across the base that it wasn't a gruesome execution but a wedding.
Out of all the mechs, Tarn's.
The gossip mill was set aflame. Information between truth and rumors clashing, especially when the newlywedded mech was spotted with strange, blue Energon painted bright on his chassis.
The reality of it was far less fantastical.
You were a sack of photon-potatoes over Tarn's shoulder as he carried the cradle-pod of newsparks under his opposite arm.
At the daunting reveal that Megatron the bomb of Megatronus Prime's ordained lineage with the markings and proven insignia, you took a short break in the private sideroom (with proper permission from the High Priest) to freak out over your own lack of preparations and courtesies for said High Priest.
You did invoke part of an old bonding custom from Caminus' initial vorns when the Titan carried the survivors of the Tribal wars composed of different peoples.
You and Tarn get married with each other’s Energon painted upon the chassis.
Not only Megatron officiated the ceremony, but allowed a generous honeymoon package of timeoff and a few gifts.
#ask#bookandyarndragon#transformers#transformers idw#idw#mtmte#the donor clause au#fusion canon wedding!Megatron#tarn#reader insert#cybertronian!reader#cultural misunderstandings#culture clash#pregnancy#sparklings#bitlets#megatron#kaon#helex#religious imagery#maccadam#my writing#megatron knows few fears but the intensity between Tarn's and Nurse's gazes would make a lesser mech sweat#kaon was not afraid to shock anyone that interrupted his OTP's wedding again#no one knew what to expect when nurse needed a moment and called for tarn#but they all lost because no one betted on them painting each other in their respective Energon#tesarus is mildly ticked because no one was complaining about the blood if he has a smidgen-#*kaon shocks away Tess' grumbling*#nurse has been given a husband by her own god's Conjunx's head priest and by Solus you will do your best to make it work!#nurse will make a name for camiens so cons will break out in cold sweat when around other camiens
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Wrecker and the Ogre
Yes, this is the title for Ogerpon!Miko in TFP cause why not? The Pokemon in general is based on the tale of Momotaro if it was a role swap. What you'll find here will be a mix of shenanigans than just plot relevance. It's Miko. You should expect this.
For those wondering what she looks like here, Miko's horns have hot pink highlights on the sides and tips similar to her canon counterpart. The leaf bang on her head is also hot pink in color. Upon being taken into the Autobot's care, Miko is given a green ribbon from Bulkhead with the team emblem in bright red. It's tied to her right horn in a little bow.
Before the Autobots became into their lives, Miko lived at the school. Constantly stealing art supplies or food whenever possible and slept practically everywhere. Teacher's desk? You can see her footprints there. Principal's chair? Bloke still wonders how ivy got inside the school. This is part of her night routine.
Daytime is watching the classrooms from inside the vents and copies what they do. Miko taught herself how to read but also write partly because of these observations. She tends to hold quite a grudge against bullies. Miko often toss rocks, jumpscare, vandalize the desks or make their turned in assignments disappear before the teacher can see. It depends on the bully in question as someone like Vince gets all that.
Befriending Raf and Jack further expanded her interactions outside of the school. Either boy tends to sneak Miko into their respective home just to hang out or for an impromptu sleepover. Jack saved up some extra money to get the Ogerpon a satchel so she can carry her stuff better. Raf offered up items that his siblings didn't want which includes her guitar and a sleeping bag.
Miko trusts them enough to look after her three other masks if she can't find a safe place to hide these precious items for the day. This is partly because the staff does a frequent search on the school grounds due to the constant thefts and vandalisms by her. Believe me when I say the two boys would've housed Miko at their place if they could.
Considering she isn't human, how the little mischief maker meet the Autobot? Raf took a leap of faith and asked Bumblebee to bring Miko along. The scout was obviously confused until the boy subtly call over to the Grass Type hiding in the bush. (Miko sees them off every time after school.)
You can bet the Autobots were so clueless while Jack was panicking cause when she had skip over to Bulkhead without a care. Fun fact! Miko almost ended up in RATCHET'S custody. Optimus obviously asked if the two knew what she was as he's pretty sure this isn't a native Earth species.
The severe lack of information made Ratchet the most capable in looking after Miko. However she threw that plan away and chose Bulkhead instead. Miko made it clear by ignoring Ratchet just to follow the Wrecker around. Thus Bulkhead takes her to Ratty for mandatory check ups with little issue.
Any documentation about Miko is handled not just by our dear medic but also Optimus as well. The Ogerpon is an unknown species and the Autobot Leader was an archivist. Curiosity nor hobby like interest isn't something even a divine pacemaker can remove. He's also in charge of her lessons too.
Jack and Raf did give them all the information they know from hanging out with Miko. A little sheet that help make some of her antics less concerning as she stays at base. Miko tends to change which mask she wears around partly around her mood.
Cheerful? Then the Cornerstone Mask will be greeting everyone for awhile. Bored or sad results in the Wellspring Mask. Hearthflame easily matches when she is angry and upset. Otherwise, Miko wears the standard Teal Mask. It's a very useful mood reader as Bulkhead learns how to handle each emotion.
She didn't let any of the bots touch these masks for quite awhile though. These items are priceless possessions and Miko doesn't let just anyone handle them. A fair warning given by the other two members of the Jasper Trio. Once Miko does trust a bot, she shows it through 'accidentally' leaving her mask in their room for them to return.
Speaking of rooms, the Ogerpon becomes Bulkhead's roommate. Miko does have her own room but its more like storage since she likes sneaking into the Wrecker's room the most. Optimus and sometimes Bumblebee are the only ones not really bothered by the sudden invasion.
Here's the order of who she completely trusts btw: Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Optimus, Arcee, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Ultra Magnus and Smokescreen.
Miko doesn't exactly sit still at base either. If she isn't drawing, being taught how to speak, sleeping or eating then she's doing one of two things. Running around and playing about with full on zoomies. (Poor Ratchet as his stuff tends to get broken during that time.)
Or she's training somewhere on site unless Bulkhead takes her out an excursion. Miko is still a Pokemon, a Legendary btw, so the idea of battling tends to crop up over time. Not all the school stuff she vandalized is from mischief nor a grudge.
Here's her starting moveset as it will change the further we go in the show. Only move that remains is Ivy Cudgel. List of possible moves alongside stats for those curious.
Ivy Cudgel- The user strikes with an ivy wrapped cudgel. The move's type changes depending on the mask worn and it has a heightened chance for critical hits(does 3x damage.)
Horn Leech- The user drain the target's energy with its horns. Half the damage done is reverted into HP.
Vine Whip- Strikes the target with slender whiplike vines
Rock Tomb- User hurls boulders at their target with the chance of lowering the opponent's speed.
Some moves Miko learns occur during a very serious situation. Whether it is to protect others or through righteous fury, these particular techniques tend to be quite powerful. A little example is the move Spiky Shield. This attack protects the user but also deals damage to the attacker if its a physical strike. I wonder which opponent tends to get physical the most. 😏
Anytime Miko shows off a new move then it's an immediate visit to Ratchet. Bulkhead already flipped when she had shown up during a training session and shattered a boulder half his size with a single strike. It basically gone to the point where the Wrecker had to record such discoveries as it got in the way of the medic's schedule.
Since we are on the combat section, it's time to go into Terastallization. Miko can terastallize her masks to bring out her true powers. Whenever she does, those who have energy sensors will pick up a MASSIVE power surge. This landed Miko in multiple crossfires from the Decepticons to even MECH.
First time she terastallized is in Rock Bottom using the Teal Mask. Miko had enough at that point and to have Starscream near her partner was the last straw. Screamer sure as hell screamed in terror when a giant menacing crystal mask descended on him.
Everyone, even Bulkhead, thought it was a one time transformation. They were sorely mistaken when Miko terastallizes again in T.M.I with the Wellspring Mask(the whole situation severely upset her) against Knockout. It was after this that Optimus set out a rule.
Miko can't terastallize outside of base unless it's for important emergencies. Ratchet began to study the unknown energy although any major breakthroughs took longer as the four masks held important clues. And Miko didn't fully trust him yet for him to even look at one.
The last part for this involves the Wreckers. Discussions about what would happen post war is pretty common with the bots. It's usually saved when the kids are gone and Miko's fast asleep.
Bulkhead does want to see the universe but now he has another goal added to it. Take Miko with him and maybe find out where she came from. Its probably obvious that the little one been very lonely before she met the boys.
Bulkhead is scared as hell about being so in the dark about Miko. A worry that stems when she gotten a simple fever one day. Jack and Raf did their boost to show him how to handle it. Despite Miko recovering, it still frightened Bulkhead for quite awhile. Even moreso from how attached he's gotten to her. The same goes for the Wreckers as Miko absolutely wormed her way into their sparks.
You can bet your ass that the team convince Bulkhead to adopt her. Even Optimus as everyone knew those two need each other more than they know. Thus Bulkhead adopts Miko as his little sparkling.
You can compare him to the fun yet cautious kind of parent. He indulges Miko's antics as long as it doesn't get her in seriously trouble. Whether that be enjoying rock music, go dune bashing, or wrecking stuff. Bulkhead will go apeshit if someone dared harm a leaf on Miko's head.
If Bulkhead is her dad then Wheeljack is the chaotic uncle. Those two get into so much trouble that something not exploding in the next five minutes is considered an omen. Jackie is an absolute enabler about Miko going on missions and spoils her rotten.
Ultra Magnus can be compared to an awkward yet caring authority figure(hasn't found his familial spot). He sees a lot of potential in Miko but has a difficult time connecting with her. The mech definitely smiled upon seeing a mask in his room as it's a major milestone to him. Once the war is over, Ultra Magnus picks up various info that could help in Bulkhead's search for her origins.
Before I forget, Miko still does get the Apex Armor. What you guys don't know is that it is compatible to her Terastallization. Yup, a giant conduit to channel this immense power. She terastallizes the armor and it wears the giant crystal version of the current mask Miko has on.
If Wheeljack recorded the absolute smackdown laid on Predaking to share later, no one would fault him for it. Miko is going places as a Wrecker so why not mark her milestones? He won't mention anything about Bulkhead shedding a tear like the proud sire he is.
#sonicasura#back on my bullshit#maccadam#transformers#transformers series#transformers prime#tf#tf series#tfp#miko nakadai#transformers miko#tfp miko#ogerpon!miko#pokemon#pokemon series#pokemon pocket monsters#pokemon scarlet and violet#pokemon sv#pokemon dlc#pokemon teal mask#ogerpon#pokemon ogerpon#the wrecker and the ogre
35 notes
·
View notes
Note
WEE WOO WEE WOO AMBULANCE ARRIVED !!! if you have any awesome oc thoughts can i pleaseeee hear about them?? whether big or small or concise or rambly or anything, a song that fits them, anything!!! I WANNA KNOW!!!!!
OFMG AHHH HELO HI.... im mostly thinking abt minic and rüttelberg right now ..... my little freak(?)s...... uhhmmm idk how many posts you saw about them but i made two tf2 ocs, theyre a red medic (minic) and a red engie bot (rüttelberg) and i accidentally created them as a result of gmod shenanigans :) im thinking vry hard about them currently and like. how they interact with the mercs.... because minic is essentially just a very small red medic. like. hes around 1/5 the size of rüttelberg. i imagine red medic just being weirdly afraid of him. hes so small yet he carries a crossbow that oneshots, gasoline and matches in his pocket that shouldnt even fit in there, and he smokes and drinks yet hes never drunk or otherwise mentally clouded, infact hes extremely intellegent??? minic is a strange little thing. hes never held a medigun, hes probably never even seen one. he knows what a crusaders crossbow is and he thinks his crossbow is the equivalent to one (the crossbow is a half life/gmod crossbow) so imagine seeing this thing point its crossbow at you fully thinking its about to heal you
soo many other thoughts and such and i cant really form . sentences... rüttelberg i love you. rüttelberg is just a name that minic gave him because he rattles around so much (minic only knows german). rüttelberg is like his beest friend and cowoker. essentially there to carry him places and protect him and whatnot. i dont know how they met but i like to believe they just found eachother one day
sillyass gif that i think describes their characters about well enough
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
Headcanons where reader gets their wisdom teeth removed because mine are and I’m VERY nervous about it
Human!GN!reader, can be read as platonic or romantic
Warnings: mention of surgery
Swerve:
- he’s already very scared of doctors, so you going to get your teeth removed? Yikes. Luckily, this guy has seen enough sit-coms to know what you’ll be like once you’re out of it.
- soft foods, painkillers, blankets and lots of water. As much as Swerve usually likes pulling of shenanigans with you, this time he’s gonna be the responsible bot and make you stay put. Swerve will keep you entertained though, don’t worry!
- if you need to hold his servo going in he’s absolutely fine with that. Honestly he’s holding yours more because he’s afraid of the doctors office.
- solid words of encouragement. “You’ll be fine. You’re in safe hands. I’ll be right outside so you can find me afterwards.”
- honest to Primus he asks Ratchet how you’re doing like 58 times. He cares so much about you.
- Swerve refuses to let you walk, you either get carried by him or ride in his alt mode. Cares for you for the next three days. Takes time off work actually, but all of the Lost Light care about you, so Trailcutter can deal with not having a drink for a few days.
Tailgate (ft. Cyclonus):
- oh no, oh baby. He’s just as nervous as you are. But he tries to remember to put on a brave face for you. Please excuse him if it slips, he’s just so caring about you.
- definitely tries to cheer you up beforehand! And downloads a bunch of silly movies you guys can watch after. He’ll even make Cyclonus watch with you if that’s what you want.
- he gives you a big hug before you go in. “This is your protection hug! It will make sure nothing bad happens to you while you’re in there!”
- afterwards, if you’re feeling down, he’ll do his best to just hold you. Luckily Cyclonus had the foresight to predict this, so had blankets, water, and soft foods ready for you.
- you’re definitely having a sleepover in his habsuite. No questions, Tailgate’s anxiety would not let him sleep if you were in your own hab. So for a few days, you get to hang out with Tailgate and Cyclonus!
Fort Max:
- he knows you’ll be ok, but he understands why you’re afraid. Being on an operating table reminds him of Garrus-9. Even though he knows that’s not the case, he can’t help the inkling of doubt.
- to combat this, he employs a few strategies. One, he creates a little timeline for your recovery. He doesn’t know much about oral surgery, so he has First Aid help him out when creating a recovery plan. Once it’s all mapped out and gone over with you, this big giant lays it on thick.
- hugs galore, he wants you to feel safe. Kind reassuring words. “It’s alright, it’s just a small procedure and you’ll be right back in my arms before you know it.”
- he would walk in with you if you needed it, but he leaves you with a comfort object so you never feel alone. When you come out, he’s all ready for you. Massive hands would cradle you as he gives you an ice pack for the swelling. And he even got you some soft human foods.
- encourages you not to speak much. He know it must be uncomfortable, even with painkillers. So instead he offers you a book or a tv show he can watch or read with you, happy that you’re with him and resting.
#cygate?#ish#transformers#mtmte#maccadam#tf#idw#lost light#fortress maximus#swerve#cyclonus#tailgate#cygate#x reader#platonic#my writing#ghost writes
138 notes
·
View notes
Text
i apologise to all my followers for the bot harassing frenzy tonight. i’m like a tiger in a zoo and this traffic cone has just been thrown in my enclosure
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
tfa soundbee headcanons
1- soundy fell when he was still in his toy form.
2- it was love at first sight, he froze up and stalled for like a solid minute before suddenly playing a love song and starting to show off.
3- sari and bee spend the rest of the day playing with soundwave much to his utter delight and bulkheads jealousy.
4- the next day soundwave gives bee a sparkly bracelet a he stole from sari which bee finds cute.
5- bee treats it like when a little kid has a crush on someone older which frustrates soundwave.
6- he ops to stay in toy mode for longer than in the show in order to get close to bee and gets up to regular haunted doll shenanigans which everyone chalks up to some kind of glitching.
7- the others get annoyed with him real fast say for bee who takes to carry him around so the others don't complain about him as much.
8- bee takes to talking to soundwave usually casual chatter but sometimes he kinda just unloads on soundy.
9- after awhile soundwave gets frustrated and realizes that as long as bee sees him as just a fancy toy he'll never love him back.
10- with this revelation soundwave steals sari's key while she's sleeping and uses it to upgrade himself and starts his rampage.
11- he splits up the team and incapacitates them each one by one until getting to bee who he bares his spark to.
12- he confesses his feeling and takes a knee like he's proposing offering sari's key in place of a ring.
13- bee takes the key then bolts, he manages to get just outside the base before getting tackled and held down by the bots under soundwaves control.
14- soundwave asks bee to join him again reiterating how much he loves him but bee refuses and soundwave puts him to sleep.
15- after soundwave is defeated he goes into hiding but becomes a reoccurring threat. He keeps trying to tale over the city but he avoids physical confrontation especially with bee.
16- he regularly sneaks into the base to leave gifts for bee in his room and eventually a note with an address.
17- this starts off a series of secret meetings between them where they chat and bond, steadily growing closer.
18- they dance and sing together alot and soundwave even writes his own songs about bee which makes him blush.
19- soundwave becomes bee's main confidante and the meeting increase until they're meeting every other night.
20- eventually they officially become a couple and soundwave starts helping the team against enemies semi regularly.
21- the team find out they're dating after prowl follows bee to see why he was sneaking out so much.
22- they think soundwave has been brainwashing bee and try to keep them apart which prompts soundwave to have a complete freakout.
23- he takes control of multiple robots and has them trash the city to draw the team out while breaks into the base in search of bee.
24- it only came to end when sounders found bee and he made him knock it off.
25- after that soundwave straight up moved into bee's room so they couldn't be separated again.
26- The team doesn't like it but it's clear that soundwave isn't influencing bee and they can atleast keep an eye on him this way.
27- soundwave is insanely doting and will do anything to make bee happy, seriously anything, he straight up offered to kill sentinel then later waspinator for bee.
28- he's also hella protective. Boy will shamelessly blast anything he views as a threat.
29- bee is just as loving and makes a point of kissing soundwave at every opportunity.
30- these two are constantly touching and holding eachother, they spend as much time as possible cuddling. Bee likes being held and soundwave loves feeling his lover in his arms.
53 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fatal Error Of Cybertronian Proportions Shenanigans
Thank @agentsquirrelsgotrobots for one idea involving Megatron from the previous post's comments. Anyway this post is basically shenanigans Fatal Error!Reader gets into with both factions. The two will be separated so here you go.
How the search for Fatal Error!Reader became vital
On a particular accident, known as the Deus Ex Machina event, a clash between Autobot Arcee, Decepticon Soundwave and the living virus resulted in another burst of data mayhem. Instead of just crashing both fighters' systems, two life signals came back online.
An investigation would lead to a monumental discovery. Skyquake and Cliffjumper had come back online fully restored. The only evidence that is Fatal Error!Reader's doing were their optics reflected the virus' eyes alongside crack like streaks of crimson energy across their frames.
Both were quarantined for any signs of harmful code or contaminants but tests came out that Cliffjumper and Skyquake were completely uncompromised. These results were enough to render Fatal Error!Reader's capture high protocol.
A chance to revive Cybertron has emerged.
Nemesis
Despite being tethered to Optimus Prime/Oribot, Reader actually got caught by the Decepticons' first before said incident. An accidental emergence from the computer in the medical ward and the discovery that frequencies at a particular wavelength could disorient them led to their temporary capture. They escape once Shockwave/Beefcake.exe arrived on scene, unaware of Wheeljack/Dyna-mite following him.
Current crew: Megatron/Buckethead, Starscream/DramaQueen, Soundwave/SlenderousBootleg, Lazerbeak/Twitter, Skyquake/AirDoge, Knockout/Dr.Twink, and Breakdown/NurseTwunk.
Fatal Error!Reader is kept in an 5m x 5m enclosure cut off by any internet and the Nemesis' systems/modules all together. It's advised to follow the rules for any visitation.
Shenanigans
Living virus carries stuff via pocket space in their void like stomach. This includes four cans of pepper spray. Such properties came aware when Megatron got pepper sprayed in the optics(first 3) and the mouth(last one) on four separate visits. All cans were confiscated.
Check-ups = Maximum sass. These are the only procedures Reader tolerates as any violent experimentation is met with systems being crashed and unconscious bots need vigorous debugging than just reactivation. Banter? Completely expected.
Fatal Error!Reader: Hello Dr. Twink. Can you ask Buckethead why he's so interested in collecting Creepypasta? Man already got a Cyber Slenderman and a rogue Spider Queen.
Knockout: I don't know what the frag you're talking about but why does all of it feel accurate.
Fatal Error!Reader: :3 Tell Nurse Twunk I said hi.
Knockout:... I'll tell Breakdown.
Starscream's attempt at intimidation leads to impromptu therapy. Reader easily sees through him and addresses the issue. They got standards. Any scratches left on him are to keep a facade that both despise each other when it's actually a protective claim.
Reader plans to tear this war apart from the inside. Why not break the chain of command and instill distrust amongst the Decepticons involving their leader. Buckethead is clearly on jealousy fueled vengeance than just space crack. That and the fucker keeps interrupting their naps. Hedgehog viruses are nocturnal too! >:(
Reader understands and but also speaks in 'monitor' much to Soundwave's enjoyment. (Their eyes act similar to a screen so they can display stuff from simple emojis to video clips.) Both gossip like old ladies at the hair salon with images much to everyone's confusion.
Fatal Error!Reader: 👋🫵👀👽📽️❔
Soundwave: 🙂👍. 👽📽️👏
Skyquake: What's going on???
Skyquake is the only Decepticon not allowed near Fatal Error!Reader without supervision. Other than potential side effects, there's a risk of dwindling loyalty. Lord Megatron didn't resurrect him. This sentient virus did and so many questions rattle his processor.
Shockwave only had five minutes to talk with Reader, enough to establish his nickname but not as a potential friend. (Current list: Knockout, Breakdown, Soundwave, Starscream, Skyquake and Lazerbeak.) Wheeljack went buck wild which allowed Reader to flee by possessing Shockwave.
They left the scientist's body once a console could be reached. Shockwave creates the Predacons much earlier and install a special virus blocker to prevent any possession attempt. The effects of shadowplay post 'Fatal Takeover' feels loose now.
Autobot Base
The failed attempt at crashing Optimus Prime's render Fatal Error!Reader unconscious by the backlash. He took them back to base and shot down any chance at scrutiny from his comrades. Even when the bind on the bot's Spark became known.
Optimus: During the attempt at crashing my system, I somehow felt their emotions. They were scared, stressed and confused. Wouldn't you feel the same if hunted down like an animal?
Fatal Error!Reader stays in Optimus' habsuite thanks to the 'Spark Bind' as 20 ft is the maximum range they can be apart. Their bed is a nest of blankets and pillows. More open to conversation but will hide in Optimus' data pad for a quick nap.
Wheeljack becomes a more permanent member after bringing Ultra Magnus/Thor into the mix. Smokescreen/Smokey joins a bit later. June/Junebug joins to help take Fatal Error!Reader's vitals while Agent Fowler/SuperSpy limits any exposure of the living virus.
Shenanigans
Bickering matches between Ratchet/DrTsundere and Reader are constant. They understand how serious being a medic is but he takes care of himself less than Optimus. Although Ratchet doesn't get dragged to 'recharge' as much unlike the Autobot Leader.
Cliffjumper/BigHorn keeps the peace between Arcee/Scully and Reader when Jack/Mulder isn't around. The femme is quite skeptical about the trusting living virus at the start. Even if they did bring back Cliffjumper more properly.
Optimus Prime? Nah. Optimus Perch. The amount of times and ways Fatal Error!Reader clings on him is vast. Atop his head like a demented gargoyle? Check. Koala carry? Ratchet compared them to a Sparkling and got a middle finger in return. On his shoulder parrot style? Yup but don't offer them a cracker as they bite.
Jam sessions with Miko/Rockstar and Raf/Einstein. Reader sorta jinxed themselves into joining with a wager. If the two could make a song that can effectively use their 'terrible' voice then they'll willingly join jam sessions for a year. Don't underestimate determined youth.
Fatal Error!Reader: *sees video* What the fuck????
Optimus: Language and great job. This sounds similar to a genre back on Cybertron.
Miko: Apparently Raf has some mad skills in audio adjusting. Plus we figured you would want to do the electric and rock combo later.
Raf: We can't forget Bumblebee/Honeybee! He gave us the 'opposition' to make it work! *Bumblebee puffs his chest in pride*
Reader the Fatal Fixer Upper. They tend to fix a lot of damage around the base. Whether it be Bulkhead/BigMan normal clumsiness, Wheeljack's inventions exploding, basic infrastructure issues and lack of decor. Lively details bring morale!
Sharing sharing sharing. The sentient virus teaches Optimus various stuff once it became apparent he was once an archivist. History, videogames + lore, various novel genres, mythology, music and many others. Optimus happily shares his culture in return.
Defecting Megatron's army bit by bit. Reader doesn't want to offline any of their potential friends. They at least get them to become neutral to both factions. Entire war is pointless if the species is dead or a new tyrant reigns over everyone. Hopefully they see that.
And that's it! I'll be doing the other two options on their own separate posts. Until next folks, Transform and Roll Out!
#sonicasura#tales of sonicasura#maccadam#transformers series#transformers#transformers prime#tfp#transformers x reader#transformers x you#i guess#self insert#reader#reader insert#autobots#decepticons#fatal error!reader#fatal error#fatal error exe#fatal error.exe#sonic exe#long post
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Human Buddy the shapeshifter showing the ability to Nightbeat
SFW, platonic, Human reader
MTMTE
Buddy had shown their unique abilities before. They had shown it to most of the original crew. That was an eventful day.
“Can you shapeshift into anything you want?”--Brainstorm
“I have my limits, but I can do a whole variety of things. Most times they must be living though.”--Buddy
“Hey Squishy, bet you can’t shapeshift into Megatron—”--Whirl
“Done.”--Buddy
“… Do me next!”--Whirl
“No, me!”—Brainstorm
It isn’t until later when the new members are adjusting that Buddy realizes that the new crew doesn’t know about their little gift. But one bot in particular is on Buddy having a secret and is keen on figuring it out. The self-proclaimed detective, Nightbeat.
The other bots he had interviewed about Buddy having a secret were either thinking of another secret Buddy might have or playing dumb wanting to see what happened.
After an interview with Nightbeat…
Ultra Magnus is now thinking that Buddy might have another ability and in scheduling a meeting with them. He needs to be ready for any shenanigans that could come with the new ability, the sooner the better.
Whirl wants to see how far Nightbeat is going to go down this rabbit hole and he’s going to enjoy his engex while watching. He wants the shenanigans to continue.
Now it had taken the original crew some time to settle down after Buddy’s bombshell. For the most part they just accepted it as something Buddy could do.
“Ultra Magnus. I’ve brought in the reports—”--Megatron
“Shhh.”--Buddy
“Magnus?”--Megatron
“No, it’s Buddy. I made a bet with Mags seeing how long it would take Rodimus to notice it’s me. He might be on to me, but that’s why I have these datapads ready to give to him.”--Buddy
“And why would you do that? How did you even get Magnus to do this?”--Megatron
“It’s part of human culture.”--Buddy
“And pray tell is that?”--Megatron
“Pranking and revenge for what he did during Karaoke night.”--Buddy
“…Carry on then Ultra Magnus.”—Megatron
Whirl was bribed heavily by some of the bots on board to keep Nightbeat’s personal mission on going and not spoil it. Buddy personally found it a bit amusing and let the gag run for a bit longer. Soon enough the fun part was over, and Buddy decided to finally tell Nightbeat.
“C’mon Buddy, why not let him suffer a little longer? I’m getting paid big time!”--Whirl
“Because 1. It’s gone on for long enough. 2. I don’t want him snooping through my room again. It took forever to get the wardrobe organized again.”--Buddy
One-night Nightbeat gets an invite to Buddy’s habsuite to talk. Nightbeat had a list of questions prepared to ask Buddy. But when he enters the suite, he only sees himself standing in front of him.
He automatically thinks it’s a mirror until he realizes that Buddy doesn’t own a mirror that big.
He does some movements.
The other Nightbeat copied the same.
He continues to do more gestures and the other follows.
At this point he is having fun with whatever this is.
Until he realizes that Buddy isn’t there and abruptly stops. The other Nightbeat in return waved before starting to shrink. Nightbeat was too interested in what was going on to be scared.
Then poof! Buddy is there.
“Surprise!”--Buddy
“So, this was the secret you’ve been hiding! The mystery has been solved!”--Nightbeat
“Well technically I never hid it. Most of the crew knows about this.”--Buddy
“What!?”--Nightbeat
“Yeah, I forgot to let the newcomers, such as yourself, in on it.”--Buddy
“Either way this is amazing!”—Nightbeat
Nightbeat was spewing out questions and comments left and right. Buddy was stuck in the room answering questions for about an hour, but they were happily answering the questions to the best of their abilities. Nightbeat loves Buddy’s shapeshifting abilities and never gets tired of seeing them shift.
“Do you get the memories of the things you turn into?”--Nightbeat
“Not really, maybe an instinct or two, but nothing special.”--Buddy
“Have you ever turned into members of the crew before?”--Nightbeat
“All the time. But most of the time it’s for jokes.”—Buddy
#transformers#transformers x reader#idw mtmte#more than meets the eye#nightbeat#mtmte whirl#mtmte brainstorm#mtmte megatron#mtmte minimus#human buddy#maccadam
93 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rodimus wasn't ready to be a creator P4
Masterlist
Part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4: Another chance | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10
Night cycles in the Lost light are, to say the least, frequently quiet if bots don't get too rowdy in Swerve's or if there is not a universal crisis and everyone is running for their collective survival.
The very first time that Blacksun was exposed to this kind of incident he only had a few years and his name was still Sunset Eve, he can still remember the sound of the emergency alert, the Lost Light trembling, his carrier running for dear life with him in arms, pressing his helm to her chest to prevent him from seeing what was really happening, round optics tearing coolant while his carrier, his mother, tried to get him to safety.
And safety meant his sire or any other bot around.
True is that he couldn't have survived that time or many of the others that came after if it wasn't for the bots around, more than once he was saved by these bots and while he was a sparkling he kind of idolized his sire whole crew, frag, he was even a fan of the literal ship.
But now he just wanted to have a a good night cycle of recharge, but he can so clearly feel his berth rumble to the high volume music that is coming so obviously from Swerve's, even his derma is vibrating with the song, he recognizes that it's organic, human, of course it is, and it's a good one, but he really is too tired for this, especially when he hears the sound a fight ensuing.
So under the whisper of a "Primus, ¿por qué?" and a pair of very tired optics he opened the door to the bar.
And immediately try to turn around and escape because it was a disaster.
When he was a sparkling his carrier always told him to be a gentlebot, always say please and thank you, refer to your elders with care and respect, always clean your mess.
But then his carrier, his mom, was shouting profanities when the situation was too fucked up or when you had enough of his sire and crew shenanigans.
So he kind of does both.
"Hey, hey! Don't you fragging dare to offline now, uncle Drift!"
Uncle and aunt, big brother and sister, sir and madame, miks (mx), miss and mister, a human thing that he can't still brush off his processor.
Blacksun tried to be as respectful as possible because he knows that every bot in this ship has, to some point and degree, taken care of him and his creators, so he must be grateful.
So he gets force from Primus-knows-where to move his cables and pistons to carry many to their respective habsuits, getting help from other bots that get out of their habsuits hearing his tired ex-vents or because the bot he is dragging is their energex-knocked up conjunx, everyone thanks him for it but there is always the one or two that try to fight with him, and there's always the ones that start sobbing desperately while calling someone's name, like that individual will come and get them, bring them happiness.
Anger and second hand embarrassment are normal, of course, but he knows that they are wasted in engex and the party, a memorial party in honor of who they lost, and he remembers how this very same bots helped his sire in battle or journeys and his carrier when her body presented it's limitations in such a big ship.
He is a bit smaller than some but he manages, finally sighing in relief when he notices Ultra Magnus and Megatron looking at him with pity while he is dragging along two bots to the same place.
His return to the bar, especially to this area, makes him stop when he finds what used to be the habsuits of the human personnel, it has been abandoned since a very long time ago and many aren't ready to invite new humans aboard.
The blue flowers that are carefully put in the entrance show that many bots are still grieving.
He tries to think of better things, with the help of more sober bots he can finally find the last bot that he was searching, his sire...
"I believe in a thing called love~"
His fucked up sire that is holding a photo of his carrier and the golden bracelet, that damn bracelet, between his digits and singing a way too old love song.
His sad and lonely dad, that he has to drag around to his berth even if he isn't sure if it is the best, because there are many other photos of his carrier there.
"Baby Sunny, so strong already" his dad is smiling a lot, way too gone and reeking of energex, it's a miracle he is still online.
That he is holding the photo and bracelet so strongly.
With brute force he finally gets his sire on berth, initiating the protocol to get him some rest.
"Hey, dad"
"Hum?"
"Haven't you ever, at least once, you know..." He tries to be calm about it, "...think about seen other mechs? Other people?"
There is silence, and the merry go lucky smile on his sire's face plate is totally gone, it's one of those pretty rare instances when he looks death serious without a stupid idea in mind, they have already talked about it, several times, especially around this time of year.
Almost a few hundred of years have gone by since that, but Blacksun knows that almost every mech in the ship can remember the strong movement brought by the collision, the sound of decompression in every corner and silence before hundreds of little screams could be heard, Blacksun knows that part well, because Rewind recorded all of it even if he didn't want to, he was literally there when the Lost Light external protection was exploded and their human friends were devoured by outer space itself, the ones that weren't close, well, the invaders found them and no one was showed mercy, little organics exposed to aggressive bots that played with their bodies.
Rodimus never told Blacksun what was the destiny, and end, of his mother.
Blacksun can't remember as clear as he would want, (he really doesn't want to, he only wants closure), Ratchet said that it was because of trauma and he should go see a therapist, but there are not many out there, he has heard time and time again how many said that his sire was utterly devastated when his carrier's spark, heart, gave out, he heard his own sire saying how he believed that they had more time, that there was still time.
What- just, what was his father thinking when he made the conjunx ritual with an organic? A being that was to live way more little compared to him?
Blacksun would never understand, he really tries and gets nothing more out of the fact that his father loved his mother, as simple as that, but it still hurts when he sees his father like this, smiling for his sake and by his memories while trying to sound like everything is going to be alright.
"When you get a conjunx, you will understand your old man"
"Uhum, just recharge, dad"
Rodimus, deep down, wished that his son would never get to experience something like that.
#reader insert#x reader#angst#tf rodimus#tf lost light#tf mtmte#rodimus prime#rodimus x human reader#rodimus#rodimus x reader#transformers x reader#transformers
23 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
elexiorarts-blog
Untitled
srgulbay-blog
İnsan Mühendisi
itsjenangel-blog
Sans titre
foxspruce80
The Journaling of Futtrup 642
navi-muse
Na'vi-muse