#Trippy Giggles

[narsh-poptarts]

here's another comic i never finished and probs never will

concept for it was the fellas find a scarecrow that turns out to be one of tp's skullkid puppets (ya know the ones) and then bam wow it's skullkid !! or at least A skullkid that does some trickery magic and makes all the gang into kids or maybe makes them exactly as they were before their adventures/just starting out their adventures

i remember not deciding

#LU #my art #my comic #me not really deciding is probably why i didn't finish #cuz like the page after this was supposed to be wind dodging followed by everyone assembling to attack/defend #before hello! skullkid reveal #time goes to talk with them / skullkid giggles and blows some dust/magic in his face #there's a fun swirly and trippy sequence that passes through all of them #and then when time opens his eyes he's a kid again #and he looks back to find that... everyone else is as well #and that was pretty much where the comic would have ended kasjdhf #you might say 'how' or 'why' and i go 'teehee interesting situation for funnies....' #like smashing barbie dolls together to make deep emotional toil angst and drama #for fun!!

[trippygalaxy]

YOUR WARRIORS HEADCANON

HHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEH >:3

I would say sorry but IM NOT AT ALL HAHAH/LH

#trippy answers #giggling and kicking my feet with an evil grin

[northwestofinsanity]

Squeeze “Hourglass” gifset part 1: a whole new meaning on instrumental “bends”

#Squeeze #hourglass song #Chris Difford #Keith Wilkinson #Gilson Lavis #perhaps the least trippy of the trippy aspects of the video #Chris looses it and starts giggling in the fourth gif #can't imagine where his mind went (read: into the gutter) #Babylon and On #squeeze band #my gifs

[magpie-sherlock]

Down by the bay <3

A

ty <33333

forehead kisses would be greatly appreciated

#i keep saying “nermdermvergent” and giggling this is an issue #a question for 'lock #ask game #hi trippy!

[doqt33th]

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

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Chubby F! Housewife Reader X M!Yandere Streamer OC Jasper

Part 2!

Part 1 Here!

MINORS DNI!

CW: F!reader, reader referred to as she/her, reader has a vagina, reader in a dress and bra(so has breast, dw not described! :3) noncon implications, violence against reader (not by ML), STILL NO SMUT!? WHO AM I ?? XD luv y’all have fun!

*Smack!* *Thwack!* *Smack!*

“Don’t slip up now!” You giggle slightly out of breath already.

“Hah! Speak for yourself, be careful not to trip!” Jasper retorts.

*THWACK!* You hit another tennis ball this time with all the oomf you can muster.

His indoor tennis court is in its own area of the house, the floor and walls are a black and white spiral that add to the trippy illusion of his entire home.

You’re both opposing a machine that is spitting out balls at you at the speed of fucking light. You haven’t done anything like this since highschool maybe, but for the most part you’ve kept up perfectly!

He’s impressed. Not to mention he keeps almost missing hits because of your dress barely covering you, and your jumping and moving around exposing more and more of yourself. He can’t help but get a little distracted.

*Smack!”

He gets a little closer to the middle at the same time that you dove for the ball and miss, and you start falling. You see the strange floor coming closer and hold your arms out to try and catch yourself, until it stops suddenly and you’re hanging there in the air.

He caught you in his arm, and threw away his racket to support you with his other.

He presses a button on his keyring, stopping the onslaught of balls, as you stare up at him, a growing warmth spreads across your face.

You’re both out of breath and bust out laughing now.

“Thanks! That was fun, really got my mind off… Stuff hah!” you say and look away while getting your bar rings back.

“you’re always welcome here. can i see your phone?” He asks while fixing his shirt. You hand it over, you had it in your bra, you pull it out without much thought, and when you turn back his pale face is red. “Ahem, uh just text when you wanna come over and give me a minute, i’ll most likely be ‘round”

“Thanks so much Jasper! I really appreciate this!” excitedly, you thank him again.

~

“Where the fuck were you!?” Edward sprays spit as he fumes and interrogates you.

“I went for a walk…” You answer, and before you can say more he continues to barrage you.

“At this time of night!? are you fucking stupid?”

“No! I was just chilly on the deck, so i-”

“Why not just come back inside? Gods why did i marry a brainless fucking imbecile,”

“Sorry…” You try to end the argument, maybe if you just apologized you can get out of it.

“Prove it.”

Your brows knit, “Wh-what?”

“Prove. It. Are you that fucking stupid? on your knees.”

you swallow and get down, turning your head away from him, even though you know in your sickly feeling bones what’s coming.

“Look at me.”

Fuck… Don’t. regardless of you’re marriage, you hate that you’re turned on in this circumstance.

“Look. At. Me, Darling~” he fumes.

Begrudgingly, you look up, and give him your best smile, feeling like the sludge building up in your veins will spill out any second.

You love Edward… Yes.

~

He punched you that night, you don’t even remember why. Now you have to try and hide your black eye before the employees see. or anyone else for that matter. You didn’t sleep after that either… You were just dissociating and going in and out of waking night terrors that felt so real, as if all night he was tormenting you, while really, he simply slept next to you.

“Jasper, can I come ove—” you erase the text message almost as soon as you typed it. You probably shouldn’t even go outside in the sunlight with this shiner.

“Hey Y/N! hope you’re alright, what’s been up?” Jasper sends you a text that you don’t reply to… You don’t feel like it. Who even is he? just your neighbor that kinda flirts with you even though you’re married.

“Homewrecker!” You surprise yourself, and cover your mouth. Ops… You haven’t really spoken to anyone in at least a day.

You wait a few more days when at least the swelling is all down and the colour is almost a skin tone again, at least it isn’t purple anymore.

“Howdy Jasper! sorry i went on a mini vacation! what have you been up to?” You lie. You haven’t even left the sunroom except for the bathroom. Hopfully he just didn’t notice that you didn’t actually leave to go anywhere…

He did. He knows you’re lying too. You think he couldn’t see you through all those windows? Just because you have sheer curtains and we’re surrounded by big plants. He watched you.

He edged himself to you. Never letting himself actually cum.

He didn’t see your eye, but he knows something had to have happened, he just doesn’t know what.

Before he can reply you send another, “Actually can I just come over?” You decide to risk it. The makeup you ordered, and that came in yesterday, should cover the rest of it at this point at least.

Maybe you were a bit dramatic… All he did— No. We’re not going down any of those roads.

“Yes, I just cleaned up actually :)”

“Scared of me seeing your place a little messy?”

“Would you blame me?” You weren’t expecting that answer. You don’t know what you expected, but that answer just wasn’t on the list.

You hop over to hedges between your yards and don’t even look back as you pass through the gate. It latches behind you.

He answers the door as soon as you ring the bell, he must’ve been waiting right there! The thought makes your heart flutter.

“Hey Jasper!” You try to keep your eye out of direct sunlight until he lets you inside, and you feel like you can breathe again.

“Howdy neighbor! What’ll ya have to drink t’day?” He asks going to his retro looking fridge.

“I want what you’re having!” You pout a little, and he chuckles in response.

“You’re so cute,” he reaches into a drawer and pulls out two silver and pale blue cans.

While he’s reaching you notice something that looks like a splotch of blood on his side. You gasp, “Jasper! are you okay??”

“What? Why? ‘m fine?”

You rush over to him and point to the blood, you almost grabbed at his shirt to look for any injury, but managed to stop yourself, he’s still a stranger… kinda.

“Oh shit! jus’ a Second” he runs off presumably to change, so you sit at the bar, and admire his interesting design style.

i when he finally returns he’s in a black, even more ripped up shirt, that’s covered in safety pins, and has some metal looking band logo.

“Sorry, I don’t know where that came from” he laughs nervously.

You laugh, a brow raised in unspoken question, but move on, “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

“I have a pool—”

“No! Thank you, ahah, um sorry no thanks,” You apologize profusely for your outburst.

“You don’t gotta apologize, no pool, gotit,” he holds up a thumb and smirks with his head tilted, his black hair falls at an angle covering even more of his face. His teeth poke out like fangs over his pulled up lip.

Your face feels hot, “Okay, sorry,”

He lightly laughs, “I have a few gaming setups, and a PlayStation”

“Okay! I don’t really know any games you’ll have to teach me! is that okay?”

His grin widens, almost too excitedly, but you’re excited too, so you think nothing of it.

He picks a shooter first, you can’t even keep your head in a forward position, you keep aiming either up in the air or down at your feet. Before you start to actually get frustrated, Jasper scoots closer on the couch, and puts his hand over yours on the controller.

His thumb gently guides yours up and foreword, his body brushes up next to you.

You feel hotter in this proximity, and his hand is warmer than the other night, but still chilled. His long, slim fingers are pale with black nails and a few silver rings.

You feel his breath in your hair and turn your head, accidentally putting your lips right in front of his, you both look speedily at each others, and then up into each other’s eyes.

Pale, icy cold blue orbs stare deeply into you. He licks his lip.

You stand up too quickly and get slight vertigo, “S-sorry! I forgot I had some-things to do today! Um, Groceries! yes. ahem. bye!”

“Y/N.” Something in the sound of his voice freezes you to your bones, you don’t quite turn to look, but you turn to show you’re listening. “What happened to your eye?” He asks.

#my oc #yandere #oc x reader #oc x you #yandere x reader #yandere x you #my fic #tw yandere #dead dove do not eat #yan #yan smut #yandere oc #yandere male #male yandere #yandere streamer x you #yandere streamer #streamer yandere #streamer yandere x reader #reader x streamer #reader x streamer yandere #streamer yan #yandere streamer oc #streamer oc #x oc #x reader #f!reader #fem reader #x you #chubby reader #chubby reader x streamer

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Sweet Like Candy | kth

Pairing: Taehyung x fem reader

Genre: smut, established relationship, non-idol au

Rated: 18+

Summary: Taehyung is so excited to try miracle berries after he orders them because they supposedly make everything taste sweet, so he decides to test that theory on you as well.

Warnings: explicit language, descriptive sex, dom Tae/sub reader, food playish, oral fixation, oral sex (m&f receiving) , unprotected sex (DONT), praise, hella dirty talk, edging, cum eating

Word Count: ~3K

The door to your apartment swings open and Taehyung comes running inside.

“They came! They came!” He squeals and you look over at him. He’s holding a small package in his hand and is smiling from ear to ear. You don’t know what this could be, but he looks so cute all excited like this.

“What came?” You ask and start walking toward him where he’s grabbing the kitchen scissors to cut the package open.

“I ordered miracle berries from Amazon, and we have to try them right now!” His fluffy black hair falls into his eyes while he’s struggling to open the box from his franticness. Ugh he’s so adorable.

“Whoa, slow down! What are miracle berries?” The name sounds kinda cliché to you, but he seems to be really excited about them. He manages to get the box open, and he pulls out a small jar with about 15 dried berries inside.

“They’re these berries that supposedly when you eat them, everything for the next 30ish minutes taste sweet, no matter what it is! Could be lemons, sour candy, pickles even- and there’s no sourness!”

How does that even work? It can’t be true, right?

“It’s not drugs... is it?” You ask. Taehyung laughs at you and shakes his head.

“Perfectly legal.” He says with a smile on his face.

“I even ordered a bunch of food I wanted to try with it! This is gonna be so cool!” You giggle at his excitement. Seriously, this grown adult man is acting like a little kid in a candy store and you could not stop your heart from swelling at his cuteness.

He starts pulling stuff out of the refrigerator including lemons, cream cheese...? and apple cider vinegar.

“Vinegar?” You exclaim in disgust.

“It’ll taste like juice or something, I promise.” He hurriedly rushes into the pantry to grab some sour patch kids and sour skittles.

“Ok! I got everything we need, but we gotta try these.” You giggle again at his franticness for these berries. There’s no way it’s gonna work but you just want to entertain his excitement, so you agree.

He instructs you to eat the berry, but to make sure you coat your whole mouth with the fruit. It kinda tastes like a dried cranberry, a little bitter but he insists that ‘it’s so good’ which makes you laugh.

“Do we need to wait to let it kick in or something?” You question. He just chuckles and looks you in the eyes,

“I said it wasn’t drugs, Y/n. Let’s try the lemon first.” He cuts the lemon in half and gives one half to you. Holding the lemon close to your face, you can smell the sourness of it and your mouth waters at the thought of eating it.

“Okay on the count of three, One, two, three!” He says and you both suck at the lemon. Your face cringes in anticipation, but all you taste when the juice hits your tongue is sugary sweet lemon juice. You look at Taehyung and both of your eyes widen.

“No wayyy! It’s so sweet!” He shouts and you gawk at him.

“It tastes like lemonade, oh my god!” You are even more shocked than him but both of you continue to suck on the juice of the lemon, the taste is addicting.

“Ok we gotta do the cream cheese next.” He says, and you give him a questioning look.

“What is it gonna do to cream cheese?” You ask and he prepares spoonful’s for the both of you.

“Just try.” He says and you bring the spoon to your mouth. Oh my god. It tastes just like cheesecake.

“This is so trippy!” You exclaim and he hits the countertop with his hand in laughter.

“I told you! Here, try a sour patch.” He grabs a blue one, your favorite flavor, and feeds it to you. It tastes just like a gummy coated in sugar now, no sourness at all. You can’t control a little moan that comes out of your mouth, and he smirks down at you.

“Taste good?” He asks and you nod at him, while he puts a yellow one in his mouth.

He bites his lip, and he looks at you up and down with just his eyes, “Hm I wonder if it really makes everything taste sweet.” Knowing exactly what he means, your heart skips a beat, and a breath gets caught in your throat from his hungry stare.

He starts to walk toward you and grabs another sour patch kid, placing it in his mouth halfway. You’re caged in between him and the kitchen island and he leans down toward your lips. Following his lead, you get on your tiptoes to meet his lips and slowly bite the other half of the candy from his mouth.

Once the candy is in your mouth, Taehyung connects your lips in an open mouth kiss. The taste of your mouths and the sweetness of the candy in between your lips is overwhelming. His kisses take your breath away and when he pulls away you are gasping. He grazes a hand down your torso and slips it underneath your shirt to touch the skin of your side. Both of you swallow the piece of candy in your mouth and goosebumps appear on your skin from his touch and stare.

“If your mouth tastes that good, I can’t imagine what your pussy is gonna taste like.” He mutters and you whimper. He presses you harder into the counter and you can feel the outline of his cock against your stomach, not fully hard yet but it makes your heart skip.

Your hands instinctively grab at his shirt collar when he kisses you and he is frantic with his kisses. Swallowing up your little pants and moans that escape your mouth. His mouth is sweet despite the candy being eaten. Is this what miracle berries make his mouth taste like? It’s heaven.

Taehyung is usually softer with his kisses but right now he’s kissing you with so much passion and love. His tongue explores your mouth, and you suckle on the tip of his sweet tongue. His grip around your torso moves down to your ass, which he squeezes before lifting you onto the kitchen island counter.

“Lean back for me, baby.” He says and you giggle as you lay back onto the counter, elbows holding you up to see him fumbling with your jean zipper. He looks a little too eager.

Once he manages to take your jeans off, he starts kissing your stomach, pushing your shirt up to palm your breasts. His fluffy hair tickling the top of your stomach as he trails his kisses downwards under your belly button. The feeling of his kisses and hands on you, combined with his eagerness and pretty face is enough to make your stomach flutter; feeling yourself getting turned on.

“Lemme see my beautiful girl.” He purrs and you open your legs up for him after he takes your panties off. You used to be embarrassed. Not really of your body but having a man this close to your open legs is a little scary. But Taehyung makes you feel no shame because you can see him staring hungrily at your wet folds. His eyes turn a shade darker when he uses his index and middle finger to collect your wetness on his fingers, brushing your clit in the process.

You let out a little squeak and he licks his lips before enveloping his fingers into his mouth. For some reason this seems more erotic than just going down on you and this visual makes your stomach flip. Taehyung’s eyes widen and he looks up at you.

“Y/n you always taste good, but this is insane. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.” You giggle at him, but you are immediately shut up when he places his face where you want him the most. His skilled tongue parts your folds and collects the wetness around your entrance before circling around your clit.

You exhale in a high-pitched moan and your legs try to close around his head, but he is using his strong hands to push them apart. Taehyung is always eager to taste you, but you can definitely tell this berry is enhancing it.

The scene is so dirty; you with your legs open for him on the kitchen countertop, and his face desperately eating out your cunt, the slurping noises getting a little too loud and all you can do is run your hands through his messy hair to keep him where you need him.

“Oh, just like that!” You plead with him when he starts sucking on your small bud, the warm feeling growing in your stomach. He chuckles into your heat, and you whine when his mouth detaches from your core.

“You taste like candy, Y/n. Think you can get a little wetter for me baby?” You nod frantically with your lower lip in between your teeth.

He fully stands up since he was leaning down over you and takes his shirt off. You lean up to touch his toned chest. His skin is tanned to perfection and warm underneath your cold hands. He grabs the hem of the bottom of your shirt to pull it over your head and you let him. He quickly unclasps your bra, and your breasts spill out.

Taehyung attaches his lips to your neck and his hands to your breasts, palming them and rolling your nipples in between his fingers. You let your head drop back and another moan escapes your mouth. You haven’t even done anything to help him out yet but he’s taking his time to worship your body. His lips trail up your neck and nibble on your earlobe.

“You’re so fucking sexy Y/n.. letting me do whatever I want with you.” You hum in agreement and feel up his back muscles while he’s over you.

“I trust you, Tae.” He groans at your words and moves downward to suck at your nipple. The teasing is too much. He’s brought you to the brink of orgasm and now he’s flicking his tongue around your left nipple, and you almost feel like you could cum just from this.

“Tae, please I wanna cum.” You beg and he comes face to face with you.

“Are you wetter for me, huh?” Growing impatient, you just take his hand in yours and put it between your legs for him to feel.

He smugly chuckles again, “Good fucking girl.” And he’s down back in between your legs again to taste your sweetness. This time he dips his tongue into your entrance to collect more of your essence into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you again.

“Wanna make this pussy cum.” He says into your heat and wraps his puffy lips around your clit again.

You can’t stop your body from grinding into his face and you muster out a “Fuck, I’m cumming.” and he continues to flick his tongue around your bundle of nerves, your legs spasming around his head.

You’re dizzy from your orgasm and you’re back to reality once you hear the clinking of his belt buckle becoming undone.

“I need to fuck you Y/n, need to feel this sweet pussy cum around me.” You are a bit dazed from your orgasm, but you will never turn down Taehyung’s cock inside you. You want to make him feel good too.

Once his cock is out, it slaps against his stomach and your mouth naturally waters at the sight.

“You want this right?” Taehyung asks you and your heart melts at his words, always making sure to get your consent with anything he does with you, despite your body being splayed across the counter for him to use as he pleases.

“Yes, please I need you Tae. Please fuck me.” He smiles warmly at you and gives his cock a few pumps with his hand before rubbing it over your folds to coat it with your wetness. A gasp leaves your mouth at the feeling of how hard he is and the need to have him fuck you is overpowering, and you whine.

You attempt to move your hips up to direct his length into you, but he obliges to your needs and sinks into you slowly.

Both of you moan simultaneously at the feeling and you hold onto his arms, feeling them flex under your fingers. He grinds into you, brushing against your walls deliciously. Taehyung was always mindful when he fucked you. He wasn’t the type of guy to chase his pleasure, he always made sure you were feeling good too, seeking validation.

“Tell me how I make you feel.” He demands softly and you moan.

“So so good. Your cock stretches me out so perfect. I love it.” His face grimaces in pleasure and he starts to pick up his pace. He uses his hands to hold your hips in place on the counter while you’re laid back on it. In this position, you can’t do too much to fuck him back, but he is taking everything into his hands, putting in the work to make you feel good.

“Fuck!” He pulls out abruptly and slaps his cock on your clit a couple times and you yelp.

“I can’t cum until you do one more time, ok?” You whimper from his words. You want him to cum so bad but he’s insistent and you can’t argue with him.

“Think you can give me one more, gorgeous?” And with that he’s back inside you, hitting your spot perfectly. Your legs start to ache a little from the position and you unknowingly clench around him. Taehyung lets out a choked moan and wraps his hand around the side of your neck.

“You gonna cum soon?” He asks and you give him a little “mm-hm” and he makes sure to keep the pace exactly how you like it. It becomes too much and you’re almost there, closing your eyes in pleasure.

Taehyung grabs your face by the jaw and says, “I want you to look at me when I make you cum, Y/n.” His dark stare along with his complete dominance over you is what drives you over the edge, fireworks exploding in your stomach and spreading all the way down to your toes and fingertips.

“That’s it, baby. Let go for me.” Taehyung coaxes you through your orgasm. You’re slowly floating back down from your high when you notice Taehyung pull out of you. His cock still erect but covered in your slick now.

“You still have it in you to finish me off?” He cheekily asks and you smile at him, getting off the counter with wobbly legs.

The sight of you kneeling down in front of him, flushed from being fucked out and wide eyes makes his cock twitch.

“Taste yourself.” He softly demands and you grab his length and take his tip into your mouth. Holy shit. Of course you’ve tasted yourself with Tae before, but this is completely different. Now you understand why Tae was so eager to eat you out. His cock is covered in your sweet syrup and you wanna lick him clean like a lollipop. Taehyung sees your surprised reaction to the taste and smirks at you knowingly.

“Tastes fucking amazing, doesn’t it?” You moan in agreement, and he gathers your hair in a makeshift pony, egging you on- “Have some more baby.”

You lick stripes up his shaft, the sweet taste filling your mouth. You know this is a little gross, but you couldn’t care less as you see his chest rising and falling due to your actions. You make sure to lick him fully clean of you before taking as much of his cock down your throat as you can.

“Fuck Y/n, your mouth is so perfect. Doing such a good job.” His praise sends tingles down your spine and only advances you to do a better job for him. You start moving your head up and down while you suck and use your hand to play with his balls. His sexy moans are getting louder, and you want him to cum so bad. You take your mouth off him but continue to jerk him off with your hand. Looking up at him with your innocent eyes, you tell him what you want.

“I want to taste all of you, Tae. I want your cum so bad.” He groans so loud from your words and starts to try to thrust into your mouth and you let him. You put your mouth back around him and he holds your head in place while he lightly fucks your throat. It’s not long until his cum goes down your throat in hot spurts. You swallow it all, the sweetness covering your tongue and you moan at the taste of him, making sure to suck his tip for the rest.

Tae is shivering under your touch and his chest is pink and lightly covered in a sheen of sweat. How am I so lucky? He helps you up onto your feet and you are face to face with him.

“You’re the devil Y/n, but why do you look like my little angel at the same time?” He pulls you into him and presses his lips into yours, intermingling his tongue with yours, definitely tasting both of you on your tongue. His dominance is so sexy, and you can’t believe you did something so dirty with him but for some reason you feel no shame at all.

Out of breath, you pull away and rest your forehead against his.

“We gotta take those berries to the bedroom next time, fuck.” He says and you giggle before giving him one more peck on the mouth.

A/N: Pls support by liking, reblogging, and commenting! I love to see feedback! I've had this in progress for a while but finally finished it and I hope you guys like it! I could have chosen any of the members but I felt like Taehyung would most likely be goofy enough to be so excited over these berries lol.

#bts #fanfic #bts fic #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung fic #drabble #smut drabble #kpop #kpop fic #kpop smut #ff #fanfiction #angst #bts maknae line #jhope #jin #namjoon #suga #jimin #jungkook #fluff #yoongi #bts smut

[teenidlegirl]

꣑୧ ݁.﹒𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 ┆ 𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ miguel o’hara 𝓍 fem!civilian!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

. ˚◞ ♡ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚⠀˖ ࣪ ༘ you return to HQ and all of your spidey friends are happy to see you again. after a fun day with your friends, you return home but something feels off.

. ˚◞ ♡ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕⠀˖ ࣪ ༘ fluff, goofiness, swearing, pet names, sprinkle of jealous!miguel, angsty ending

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

traveling through portals is trippy but also low-key a mindfuck. one minute you’re standing in your living room then you’re in the main lobby of the spider society. it’s gonna take some time for you to get used to that. miguel is aware of your arrival. he set up your watch so it would notify him directly whenever you arrive at HQ. he’s currently in a mission but he notified you that he’ll join you afterwards. for the meantime, you search for your spidey friends. hopefully they aren’t occupied with missions but you don’t mind waiting. the society is filled with fascinating people and things so you’ll be occupied. perhaps you’ll make more friends here.

wandering around HQ, a cartoonish spider-man, or should say spider-ham, approached you with a wave. “[y/n]! welcome back! it’s been a long time since we’ve seen you!” spider-ham said happily.

“hey porker! i missed my favorite pig!” you two share a high five. “i’m happy to be back!”

“nice to finally see that pretty face again.” a familiar british accent approached you.

“hobie!” you rush up to him and give him a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck.

the brit chuckles at your reaction, hugging you back with his arms around your waist. “i was worried i wouldn’t see ya pretty face again, love.”

you break the embrace to look up at him. “i missed that accent of yours and your jokes.”

“ah you flatter me, love.” he wraps an arm around your shoulders as you start walking down the hallway, passing by all types of spider-people.

you wave at spider-ham as he walks away to join a mission that he is required for.

gwen calls out your name as she walks up to you with a bright smile before pulling you into a hug.

you hug her back. “hey gwen!”

“you’re back! we missed you! everything okay? it’s been a while since we last saw you.” the blonde pulled back from the embrace.

“oh yeah. work has just been a pain but i finally got time to visit you guys! i missed my spidey peeps.” you smile at your friends, they reciprocated. you noticed a certain someone isn’t next to her which makes you a bit curious. “and miles?”

“he’s dealing with some things back at home. school and stuff like that.” the blonde elaborated. a beep comes from her watch, making her glance at it then back to you. “gotta go. see ya later, [y/n]!” gwen waves and smiles as she walks away.

you wave back then felt an arm sneaking around your shoulders. “why don’t we walk around, love?” hobie flashes a smile at you, making you blush a little.

“sure.” you nod with a smile as the two of you continue walking down the hallway.

     ━━━━━━━━ ִ  ۫   ꒰ ♡ ꒱  ۫   ݂ ━━━━━━━━

“so fuck the government, huh?” you giggle in the middle of your sentence while munching on a delicious croissant sandwich.

“those wankers are unless and don’t really give a shit about anyone.” hobie snacks on some lays, leaning back on the chair with his feet on the table. “well if it ain’t my favorite spider.” he looks past you, making you turn around to whoever he’s referring to.

a man dressed in a pink fuzzy robe approached you both. what captures your attention is the adorable redhead baby in the baby carrier. you’ve never seen anything so adorable, besides daisy and dogs in general. who is this little bundle of joy?

“oh you must be [y/n]! the lady miguel’s been talking about.” the man greets you with a smile and extends out his hand for a shake. “i’m peter, his best friend. and this—“ he gestures at the baby with his free hand. “is my daughter mayday.” the baby girl smiles and babbles at you. her tiny hands reach out to you as if she wants you to hold her.

you shake his hand, returning the smile. “nice to meet you, peter. and nice to meet you.” you shift your gaze to mayday, smiling at her. “hola, preciosa.” you say in a sweet tone, making the little girl smile and giggle as she reaches her arms out to you. oh your heart melts at the adorable baby; such a cutie.

“may i?” you glance up at peter, waiting for permission.

“of course!” he said happily with a smile. he carefully pulls mayday out from the baby carrier and hands her over to you which you gladly accept.

you held the baby securely in your grasp as you sat her down on your lap. “you are the cutest thing i’ve ever seen here.” mayday giggles in response as she starts playing with your curls, which you don’t mind.

“so how did you and miguel become friends?” peter takes a seat at the table, sitting across from you.

“well first, he saved my butt twice.” normally you would say ‘ass’ but since you have a baby in front of you, no swearing. “then he popped by my place and hung out a few times like besties.”

both men look at you with surprise looks. peter has his eyebrows raised in pure astonishment while hobie has that iconic smirk on his charming face.

“a few times? the man’s obsessed.” hobie jokes.

your snort, nodding your head. “oh i know. he’s a stalker but my stalker.” a hint of pride in your tone.

“well, it’s nice to know that miguel has a new friend. after being stuck with us, he definitely needs more and i’m glad he found you. you seem like a very nice person.” peter offers a smile.

you huff out a soft chuckle. “oh i don’t think i’m the nicest person but thank you. i try to be.”

“oh but you are! miguel says it all the time. well… not exactly but he definitely talks about you a lot in secret whenever he’s not talking about multiverse shenanigans. i just know it.” peter chuckles.

you look at the male with a shocking expression. miguel talks about you? a lot? you can’t help but you feel your heart skipping a beat at the confession. the man just keeps surprising you more and more.

“seriously?” you sound truly surprised.

peter nods happily with a dorky smile. “yep! he may not admit it of course because he’s so stubborn but he definitely does.”

your snort. “oh that we agreed on. he’s the most stubborn man i’ve ever met. i feel bad for you guys having to deal with that especially since he’s the boss. i could never work for a boss like him.”

both men laugh at your comment, mayday simply giggles and claps her tiny hands. you smile at her, can’t get enough of how adorable she is.

“he isn’t that bad, just anger management issues and stubbornness.” peter said, resisting to laugh.

“too stubborn up his techy arse.” hobie jokes.

you quickly cover mayday’s ears so she doesn’t listen to the curse word from hobie. the little girl just giggles and babbles at you, clapping her hands in excitement. the cuteness consumes you entirely. you uncover her ears as she keeps playing with your curls. mayday continues on babbling and you just tag along, agreeing on whatever she’s trying to say.

“oh miguel! nice of you to finally join us.” peter’s voice snap you out of trance only to find miguel staring directly at you and mayday.

“the vampire came out of his cave.” hobie jokes, earning a death glare from the tall brunette but obviously doesn’t bother him.

“you have a mission to complete. move it.” miguel points a finger at hobie, those crimson eyes glaring at the younger male.

the punky-looking spider raised his hands in air as he gets up from the chair. “whatever ya say, mate.” he turns to look at you, winking. “see ya later, pretty.” and with that, hobie walks away.

you and mayday wave at him then look back at miguel. “you’re so bossy to him. lay off him.”

the tall brunette rolls his eyes, disliking the idea of you defending hobie. “that delinquent isn’t intelligent enough to obey orders. if he was, i wouldn’t have to.” he folds his arms over his chest.

you shoot him an unimpressed look, eyebrows and lips flat. “he does obey orders, he’s just chill unlike you who’s angry all the time.”

miguel lightly glares at you but could never last forever. he just seems to never stay mad at you, even if he wanted to. before he could say something, the cute sounds of mayday’s giggles interrupts him. you, him and peter watch the baby laugh, making you and peter smile at her in awe. miguel had to resist smiling so he doesn’t screw up his intimidating demeanor.

“mr grumpy bug is a bit extra grumpy today, huh?” you whisper to mayday but still loud enough for miguel to hear, which he did of course. the little girl laughs as she turns to him, extending out her tiny hands as a sign for him to pick her up.

with a sigh, miguel carefully picks up the baby and carries her in his hands with a secure grip. the redhead baby smiles and babbles at him. he was so close to actually smile but immediately caught himself in the act. the last thing he wants is bombing his ego at work, especially in front of others.

“say cheese!” peter held up his phone and snaps a picture of the two without warning.

mayday is of course smiling and miguel is frowning like always. the amount of pictures peter has of them two is the same, a smile and a frown.

you cover your mouth to conceal your giggle, how adorable they both look. miguel heard it, making him feel embarrassed. there are definite hints of pink staining his cheeks. such a shy schoolboy.

     ━━━━━━━━ ִ  ۫   ꒰ ♡ ꒱  ۫   ݂ ━━━━━━━━

“how come you never told me there’s a burger of your face on it?” you try resisting the temptation to giggle in the middle of your question but failed to.

miguel groans out of annoyance, knowing you’d bring this up one day. “it wasn’t my idea. they developed it without my knowledge.” he doesn’t look back you, solely focused on the orange screens.

“i tried it, bomb as fuck. i understand why everyone loves it so much. i’ve never eaten a blue burger before so that was an experience.” you chuckle. “it’s kinda cute how they make your mask, the little red eyes on the blue bun. whoever came up with it is a genius.” you snack on a bag of doritos.

“they’re not a genius, it’s a ridiculous idea and should get rid of it.” frustration and annoyance laced in his tone, his hands curled up into fists on the desk.

“stop being a big grumpy bug and let people have their fun. like i said, it’s a good burger.” you said.

he side-eyed you with a offended look, cheeks slightly flushed. “i’m not a grumpy bug.”

a smirk graces your lips. “yes, you are.” you get up from the chair and slowly approach him. “you are a bug and always grumpy so… you’re a grumpy bug.”

miguel grunts in response, looking back at the monitors as an attempt to ignore your presence. god you get him so easily riled up. he hates it. or does he?

you tilt your head, staring up at him but more precisely his crimson eyes. two pretty rubies that are just so mesmerizing. to have color changing eyes seems so cool, you’re low-key jealous. red eyes seem badass, just so intimidating and pretty in unison. if you were to pick a color, definitely red like miguel’s.

miguel gets nervous from your staring. palms slowly turning clammy, very tiny droplets of sweat on his forehead, his pounding heart. god he’s never felt so nervous about being under someone’s gaze.

what are you doing to him?

“what?” his intimidating voice rings in your ears but doesn’t snap you out of trance.

“you have pretty eyes.” you confess so casually, still mesmerized by those rubies he has for eyes.

that makes his eyes tear away from the monitor and look at you with a confused look. miguel’s taken aback realizing how close you are to him, practically a few inches away. he grew more flustered.

“what?” he sounds genuinely confused.

you find his eyes pretty? are you serious? how can you find those infuriating red dots fascinating? miguel loathes them, wishes he never had that ability but it’s part of his spider dna. he isn’t a regular spider-man, not bitten like the others. only injected against his will which gained him these odd abilities.

but you find it fascinating?

that does something to him. it’s unclear whether it’s a good bad thing. either way, it shocks him.

unsure on how to respond to such a statement, miguel averts your gaze with a head shake and looks back at the orange monitors to forget the topic. those flushed cheeks still intact.

a smile graces your lips at his reaction. how cute, you thought. “i know you don’t like them but i do. i think they’re badass, gives me terminator vibes.” you swore the corners of his lips twitched upward but they don’t. “welp, imma head out. daisy misses me and i miss her.” using the watch he gave you, you opened up a portal, the vibrant colors appearing.

slowly walking towards it, you look back at miguel, who’s gaze is still on the screens. “later, grumpy bug.” with that, he glances at you but you already walked through the portal before he could say bye.

he watches the portal disappears after you, leaving himself alone in his office like before. the warmth of the room vanished the minute you left, now cold like it usually is. he misses that warmth; the warmth that you provided. miguel glances down at the floor where you were standing a few minutes ago, your compliment repeating in his mind.

you are something so… alluring.

your compliment repeats in his mind for the rest of the day, making his heart warm. for the first time, miguel smiles. luckily no one is there to witness it. maybe you will one day, you’ll be the only person.

‘your eyes are pretty too’ he wanted to say.

     ━━━━━━━━ ִ  ۫   ꒰ ♡ ꒱  ۫   ݂ ━━━━━━━━

it’s nighttime by the time you arrived home. daisy barks in excitement for your return as she rushes over to you. you swiftly scoop her up in your arms, petting her with a loving touch as she attacks your face with licks. oh she definitely missed you and you missed her as well. after a sweet moment, you set her down on the floor and walk over to your room. taking off the watch and placing it on your dresser, you head straight to the bathroom. afterwards, you walk to the kitchen to grab leftovers for dinner.

after eating and washing the dishes, you return to your room for the night. grabbing a nightgown from the drawer, you hear daisy growling. swiftly turning around, you look at her confusingly.

“what’s wrong, mamas?” you ask.

she never growls unless there’s something wrong.

oh you don’t like that.

anxiety slowly began creeping through your veins. grabbing the nearest object, which was your water bottle that has some weight in it, you cautiously walk towards the door. you grip onto the water bottle tightly, preparing to take a swing.

a million thoughts ran through your mind. it can’t be miguel, you just saw and he’s still at HQ. he wouldn’t just show up unexpectedly. he would land on your balcony and wait for your approval like tradition.

suddenly, you hear a small whine which sounds like pain. it’s daisy. turning around, a sudden force slams you against the wall. a scream erupts from your throat as your back hits aggressively against the wall before a hand covers your mouth, another hand pinning your hand against the wall. the water bottle drops onto the floor. some dark figure stands in front of you, unable to see who it is due the dark atmosphere and your slight blurry vision. you squirm under their grip, trying to break free but ultimately fail. muffled squeals vibrant against their palm as you continue squirming. you let out a yelp when you feel a sharp jab in your neck. the motherfucker must’ve injected something in you because you start to feel woozy. eyes fluttering and body weakening.

“nice to see you again, my dear.” a familiar voice said followed by a very familiar manic laugh just before darkness consumes your vision.

ᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁. 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓  ˖ ࣪ ༘  @loser-alert @keepitreal001 @iamperson12280 @nostalgicdaira @flordelalunas @oharasfilipinawife @cho-coquette @lavenderslemonade @palesatan @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @lilscast @beanieboy23 @dorck26 @kakabskbskdnd @4crew @deputy-videogamer @36namey @sin4tra @holographicang3l @migueloharasoulmate @darlingz99 @opalesquegirl @freehentai @rinverse @colorfulbluebirdpainter @razertail18 @shadowzena43

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

#꒰ ˖ ࣪ . 𐙚 ⊹ ꒱ — 𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #fanfic series

[beefboyandbabygirl]

if you’re requests are open i saw a tweet abt this couple on a date and when they kissed, his apple watch started beeping bc of an abnormal heart rate and i just couldnt help but think of vernon getting all awkward and red and shy,,,,, like he wants to play it cool in front of you but in reality he’s been pining for nearly a year and is nearly shitting his pants bc he finally got you JWDDKLZDOEKDIDK

this is so cute and hilarious i cant

Heart-b-b-beat

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

pairing: vernon x reader

genre: fluff, suggestive, established ish relationship (like its a relatively new relationship okay u get it)

warnings: kissing, implications and thoughts of sex so MDNI!!! (even tho its very subtle idk im just being safe), uhh very detailed descriptions of being in love? plz lmk if theres more this feels strangely short lol

quotes from beefboy: "hes such a LITTLE CUTIEPIE", "maybe i can write vernon i just have to copy ur style" (that one made me proud)

wordcount: 708

I have no fucking idea what to do.

That was what Vernon thought to himself. Every. Single. Day. Every single day since you started dating. 

He was happy, of course. That was the problem. He was so indescribably, extraordinarily, pathetically happy and in love with you that the nerve endings going from his brain to his body had begun to malfunction on a daily basis. The feeling was bittersweet. On one hand he had never felt better in his life, and on the other he was fully panicking because he wanted so bad to show you and tell you how incredible it felt to be yours. 

“Vernon? Vernon.”

He blinked a couple of times before his eyes landed on you. 

God. You. 

His hands were doing something weird, and he was all of the sudden too aware of his posture and did his hair look okay? Did you think he was annoying? Maybe you thought he was thinking perverted thoughts, and it wasn’t like that would be the first time, but you couldn't know that! 

“Yes, sorry. Hi. I'm here."

That was so fucking lame. 

You giggled. “It’s okay. What were you spacing out about?” 

Your grabbed the straw in your drink to take a sip. If you gave him that look while having your lips wrapped around that stupid paper tube for one more second, he was going to pass out. 

“Oh, uh- Uh, nothing.” 

For a moment too long he forgot about looking back at your eyes after having ogled at your lips (beautiful, plump, lipglossed  lips-), so he tried to be casual about it and flick his gaze towards the table behind you, or the waiter passing by. 

Smooth as hell. 

“My eyes are up here, you know.” 

Nevermind.

“Sorry, I was just- Sorry, I swear I'm paying attention now.”

And he was. Oh, how he was paying attention. He was paying attention to your melodious laugh, and the cute way your nose scrunched up, and your hand raising to rest under your chin. Then you made eye contact with him. Deep eye contact. He could’ve sworn nobody had ever looked this deep into his eyes. He felt very naked under your gaze. 

Not that he minded that. 

“You can kiss me, you know?”

The restaurant suddenly felt all swirly and trippy, like the funhouse at an amusement park. He mentally replayed your words in slow motion to be sure he wasn’t just hearing what he wanted to hear. This was what he had needed. A push. A sign. And you had given it to him, so casually like you were asking if he could pass you the salt, and he finally felt like he could function properly. 

“Do you want me to?” 

Yes. That was so confident and hot. 

Your answer was a simple nod, followed by a stern yes, and admittedly your demanding tone was doing things to his body as his lips met yours. If he was happy before, he had no idea what this feeling was. He couldn’t even imagine a word for it existing. It was a buzz flowing all the way from the tips of his toes, to the crown of his head. It was a bright glowing warmth radiating from his heart to the surface of his skin, and your skin was equally bright and beaming and it felt like he was melting into you. The table was spinning, all sounds of clinking glasses and strangers chatting were muted, and it was just you and him. Just you and him, in a little empty, undisclosed pocket in time and space. 

“What was that?”

Apparently his body was still in shut-down mode because he hadn’t felt his Apple Watch vibrating and going off on his wrist in the middle of the best kiss ever. 

‘High Heart Rate

Your heart rate rose to above 120 bpm, while you seemed to be-’

A teasing smile crept up on your face, only centimeters away, as Vernons eyes left the text on the screen. 

“You wanna leave?” 

“What? No I’m fine, my watch was just alerting me-”

“I'm not talking about your watch, babe. I'm asking. Do you wanna leave?” 

Oh.

Oh…

Vernon had never left a chair that fast in his life.

#vernon x reader #vernon fluff #vernon oneshot #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen oneshot #svt fluff #svt oneshot #svt x reader

[wanderingnork]

Late Night With the Devil: absolutely superb. The beginning was an infodump and the styling on the trippy finale was very 2020s surreal horror, but the entire rest of the movie just evokes Ghostwatch. Loved it, SO glad I sprung for a theater ticket instead of waiting for it online. Definitely a big screen kind of thing. The trailer actually didn’t spoil anything about the key plot, so…I’m gonna keep that quiet.

Regarding the framing device…it was present. Neither bad nor good from where I’m standing. It did its job. But the core of the movie, the “live” television broadcast? THAT was great. Pacing just like the reruns of shows my grandparents used to watch. A set design that came right out of a 70s show. The lead did a phenomenal job as a 1970s talk show host. The way he talked, his body language, his facial expressions—he was brilliant.

It had just the right amount of fourth-wall-breaking for a story with this premise. Looking at the camera and talking to the viewers is standard for talk shows, obviously. But watch the possessed kid. She consistently looks at the camera that holds the perspective for THE PEOPLE WATCHING THE MOVIE. Not the in-universe viewers or studio audience looking at a monitor. Us, in the movie theater in 2024. Never addresses us, never speaks to us—but there’s a distinct sense that she knows we’re watching.

You can tell it was good because during the tensest scenes, the obnoxious whisperers and the people eating popcorn all went DEAD SILENT.

All in all, this is one I’d say is worth seeing in theaters. It felt like sitting in a room crowded around a TV on Halloween night, 1977, complete with shocked silences and nervous giggles at the commercial breaks. Or like…being part of a studio audience during the broadcast. Alone on a small screen it would have been good. On a big screen with an audience? It was better.

#nork rants #the horror tag #late night with the devil

[thatdeadaquarius]

I have so many ideas but none of them can be put into words, all I can do is just wheeze as they come along🤣

Also remember how wordy and flowery Teyvat speech/dialogue is? ADD THAT TO THE FACT THAT TEYVAT HAS ITS OWN LANGUAGE---

Reader can understand the basic speech which is why they are so blunt (I love this idea so much 🤣) and can piece together an idea what the person is talking about.

*insert random person talking about a commission with a long ass backstory*

Traveller & Co.: *understands completely and making plans to retrieve said commission*

C!Reader: (They said they had a cart.... a bunch of hilichurls appeared... dancing?.... they want us to dance fight the hilichurls???? Dance off???)

Actual story->The person's cart got ambushed by a group of hilichurls and taunted them by dancing around it.

....... it doesnt always translate well

Also imagine Reader heaeing random names and overthinks it as a word instead of a name.

Example: Pantalone means pants in Philippine English (sorry not sorry Pantalone)

Tsaritsa??? Oh do they speak russian there??? - reader

Capitano -> captain in some countries

(I once mistake Sandrone as Sandalone and I just went "... ehh??? Standalone? Sandalone as in Sand Alone???? Sandal (Flip flops)????

Oh wait its Sandrone" ".... as in Sand and Drone??--)

-Vine Boom

VINE BOOM ANON MY BELOVED 💖❤🧡💛💚💙💜✨️✨️

Gif is me writing u anything ever:

AHFLALA FERRRALLL I STG I ALSO THOUGHT ABT THIS!! WHY U COULD ALSO BE BLUNT BC U ONLY GOT THE BASICS 💀 RIP

Man theyre written language looks so scary to learn, kinda like when I looked into trying to learn Mandarin/Japanese (and even Korean), the letters r just inherently so different i was so intimidated

And u dont even read it like left -> right like English

Omg i tried to reply to a arabic comment on my art post once, and i felt so acommplished when i finally was able to type "اشكرك (thanks)" but like, i had to put it on the OTHER SIDE OF THE TEXT BOX, LIKE ALIGN IT TO THE RIGHT INSTEAD OF HOW U KNOW ENGLISH IS INHERENTLY ALIGNED LEFT, IT WAS SO TRIPPY-

Going thru genshin life only understanding minimal words of anything anyone says is honestly how i feel like ive been playing Genshin LMAO

Those analysis videos/lore are saving a bitch's life out here

PANTALONE IS ALSO RLLY CLOSE TO SPANISH FOR PANTS I KNOW WHAT U MEANNN LOL

UR ENDLESS CONFUSION FOR SANDRONE PLEASE ANON U DIDNT EVEN GET IT RIGHT THE FIRST CORRECTION IT JUST KEPT GETTING WORSEEE 😂😭 SAME THO

That would literally be you in genshin tho, like i could easily see it being like, back to back misunderstandings 😭😭

Like u think u got it right (Oh so his name is Rex Lapis, wait what? Morax? Ok his name is Morax...?? What??? Zhongli??? WHO IS THIS MAN-)

.

JFC first they gotta have a whole different language (like u saw in game)

And ON TOP OF THAT THEY CAN TALK FOR 10 MIN STRAIGHT ABT THE WEATHER OR SOME SHIT??

No... just, no.

U quickly decide u like what little bits of language u could pick up so far, which just results in,

U guessed it, simple speech and short fragmented sentences (or broken Teyvatian)

U cant even bring urself to care when u give half the characters a heart attack and send the rest into laughing fits

No fucks given, they wanna make this extra hard on u by being wordy on top of a new language,

Yeah u dont care what comes out of ur mouth anymore

Also, since everybody is raised in Teyvat very few ppl dont know the language, which once again brings us back to ancient/older deities/creatures who have a more simplistic version/outdated version of modern language

.

Omg getting stuff mistranslated bc u cant understand it all/only keywords sounds like hell but also rlly funny

Traveler/Paimon: "Alright, yes, all is well. We will accept this comission, and depart soon."

You: "...they want us to?? Dance fight?? Hilichurls...???"

Traveler just stares at u half in pity, half trying to hide their amused smile, Paimon is giggling

The commissioner is shook bc a supposed ancient creature?? Just accepted?? Their simple commission?? And u think they want u to dance battle???

.

PLEASE U MISTRANSLATE THE HARBINGERS NAMES RIGHT TO THEIR FACES

Signora: "You shall rue the day you crossed the Fatui mortals!"

You: "Lady we don't care, just fight us."

(Signora just means 'Lady')

Signora: *offended gasp*

Traveler/Paimon trying to stifle laughter

Raiden Shogun jaw dropped a little

.

Pantalone: "What a pleasure to finally meet you traveler, and thine wonderful companions!" *little bastard smile*

You: "And it was awful to meet you, Pants."

Pantalone: 😶😧😡 "Pants?! HOW DARE YOU NOT EVEN GIVE ME THE MOST BASE RESPECT, AFTER I GREETED THEE SO KINDLY-"

.

Oh its so funny, everytime you talk about Childe you always phrase it like he's an actual child bc u thought everyone was just calling him a little kid for some reason (u dont know how Teyvat ages work, he could be for all you know!)

Not very long, but Vine Boom anon your brain >>>>

Ur ideas r so on point, i love them sm

That makes perfect sense why u could be talking blunt too, like an in world explanation really

For you, all the desserts🥰 🤲🍪🍨🍰🍮🧋🍦🍡

Cheers,

🌒🌊🌧Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

#vine boom anon ilysm #yall r so funny i cant keep up help #big brain anons #genshin impact #ask box open #genshin sagau #my asks #sagau #genshin sagau ideas #gender neutral reader #genshin imagines #please send asks #:) #<3 #genshin isekai #genshin god reader

[impishjesters]

Pomni x Reader who doesn't wanna leave

warning(s): implied panic/anxiety attacks, implied Reader's life prior to the Circus might've not been so great A/N: I'm not really good at words of comfort, so hopefully this isn't too bad... request: I have a request for actually pomni instead of jax- a reader x pomni sfw thing where the reader doesnt actually wanna leave the place but understands why pomni wants to leave so they just try to help her with anything and is very comforting to her. (basically a extremely sweet and calm reader with a nervous wreck pomni)

It’s easy to see why one would freak out about being permanently trapped in a digital hellscape in a body that doesn’t require sleep or food.

You feel for Pomni, you really do, but unlike her, you enjoy living here. There’s little to worry about compared to the struggles of living in the real world, the life you had before this was nothing but stress and exhaustion.

Though it’s easy to see why that might be the issue for some people, sure you lose out on all the things the real world can give you, but for every pro, there’s a con. Something you can accept, but not Pomni.

She’s such a sweet girl when she’s not on the verge of a panic attack, even if you don’t want to leave you continue to reassure her that there has to be an exit. “Can’t have an entrance without an exit.”

The best you can do is reassure her verbally and try to bring some sense of normalcy to the place. Just last week the two of you went for a walk outside the tent and did some nature gazing, it’s a little trippy how realistic the ambiance was. Though it seemed to do just the trick to help Pomni, the fake birds flew around and chirped, accompanied by the screams of obnoxious bugs.

Then there was just a few days ago when the two of you sat and listened to music while having a fake little tea date. The tea set was real—or as real as anything in this place could be—similar to a child’s play set it was just decoration as the two of you chatted over empty cups of tea.

It always seemed like talking and acting like everything was normal was a big help to her, you know if you get past the fact that the person across from you doesn’t look remotely normal.

Today, however, Pomni had been a wreck all day—the nature walk and tea time offers weren’t enough to distract her. Instead, you settled down nearby careful not to touch her, and simply took it one step at a time. Pomni disliked physical touch so you made do with talking her through it, through what was currently on her mind all while making sure to steer the mindset from sketchy abstraction territory.

“How are you so okay with this?” She looked over her knees in your general direction, not really looking at you or anything in particular.

“I mean to say I’m okay is an understatement. But it’s an improvement in some departments compared to my life before… I understand not everyone can see it that way though. But for me, I’m pretty okay with the whole situation.”

Nobody had really opened up about their lives prior, whether they could remember or not it just never came up. It felt almost taboo for some reason.

“Like I told you before, every entrance has an exit. And if I find one, you’ll be the first person I tell.”

It’s not an entire lie, you would tell her if you actually found one, but not every entrance had an exit. In some cases, the only “exit” so to speak would be death, but saying that would only make the situation worse.

“H-how do you know that though? Nobody’s seen one except for…well Kaufmo and me..” Pomni bit her lip, squeezing her legs tighter. “And i-it wasn’t even a real exist… Caine said—”

“Sweetie Caine’s about as smart as Jax is nice.” That gets a hesitant little giggle out of her, it’s rude but true. “There’s an exit I know it, that said there’s a chance Caine doesn’t know where it is or how to access it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“I…I guess you are right…”

Pomni relaxes the death grip on her legs, letting them dangle off the couch. She’s still stuck in her head but it’s progress, and you are patient to work with her.

“Wanna go down to the kitchen and make something?”

Her head snaps in your direction so fast you swear she’d get whiplash if she could. “What?”

“You heard me.” You give her a weak shrug and lean on the armrest of your chair. “We can’t eat but that doesn’t mean we can’t cook—it’s not the same but we can still do it, sorta.”

Her expression is pure confusion, did she not know you could still cook or that there was a kitchen? Have those idiots shown her nothing??

“Mhm, maybe we could bake something for everyone. Again, can’t eat it but it’s the thought that counts yeah? I’m sure the others would enjoy that, we can all sit down with a slice and maybe have a nice chat.”

That sounded nice, domestic, and more importantly, normal. She can’t remember the last time she cooked or baked something, and while it would suck to not be able to eat it, enjoying the company of the others would be nice. Well, mostly nice.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The two of you stood and you gave her a warm smile before gesturing her to follow. Before you made it to the door she called your name, giving a weak smile as she approached. “Thank you.”

“Any time Pompom.”

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader #pomni x reader #tadc pomni #pomni

[luimagines]

Random but i still giggle when i go to find ur blog in my following list because i keep being reminded that I followed you first before the actual LU blog— which i find very funny

Trippy!!!! Hi!! :D

Oh goodness, really? How??? XD

#pinky replies #thank you for sending this in! #<3 #I know we talked about this before but i saw your blog over the fandom *way* before I made the blog #so this new knowledge is funny to me!!!! XD

[welcome-to-green-hills]

Now that “Knuckles” is out and assuming you’ve seen the whole series, I humbly request headcanons post-series please, especially with Wade and Knuckles.

Hi Hon!❤️✨

I can whip up a few headcanons for you, yeah! I’ve had some help from @movie-robotnik-positivity to make these:

Knuckles frequently sees Pachacamac around the Wachowski home after his little quest in Reno. Pachacamac rummages through the fridge to eat snacks and messes with the electronics in the kitchen. Knuckles often has to intervene and redirect the ghostly apparition from screwing up technology.

Pachacamac still hasn’t come to terms with the concept of him being a ghost. He still thinks that he’s flesh and blood. It takes a few reminders from Knuckles and Ozzie’s continuous barking that only they can see him.

Sometimes Pachacamac likes to mess with Wade’s head for shits and giggles. These consist of trippy dreams of Wade wearing a Knuckles suit and traveling across a floating island and taking care of creatures in a garden. Wade has been told not to throw the spotted eggs.

Knuckles hasn’t talked about his encounter with the spirit of Pachacamac with anyone at the Wachowski home. That’s an experience that he keeps to himself to feel only.

Since his transition into a spiritual realm—only appearing every so often from the Great Battleground in the Sky—Pachacamac has found inner peace and tranquility. He no longer desires ultimate power. He’s a bit calmer and more relaxed. However, he’s still set in his ways of telling history from his perspective.

Pachacamac is a die-hard baseball fan and pesters Knuckles and Wade to take him to see games.

In order to help preserve some of the echidna history, Knuckles scribes down every oral lesson he can think of. One night, Sonic, Tails, and Maddie found him on the roof meditating on a fable’s moral lesson. Seeing that Knuckles struggled to interpret the words onto paper, the three of them offered to help him write it down as he talked. With their help, they’ve recorded hundred of stories, songs, folklore, and epics to share with others.

As soon as Knuckles arrived home from Reno, Maddie was the first person to confront him. Neither of them fought with one another. All that they did was exchange a glance before embracing into a long hug.

In exchange of learning the Ways of the Warrior, Wade teaches Knuckles how to bowl so he can have an earth activity. Knuckles gets upset that he can’t power bump the pins in order to get spares.

Knuckles has a love for coffee. He drinks an entire pot a day. No sugar, no cream. He gets up extra early to drink an entire pot before he does his daily training exercises.

There’s still a hole in the living room’s wall by the time that Knuckles comes backs from Reno. Wade offered to fix it himself, but ended up in the ER due to not knowing how to control the power tools.

To commemorate the end of the adventure, Knuckles gave Wade a hug.

#knuckles the echidna #knuckles series #knuckles show #knuckles series spoilers #wade whipple #mystery anon #off topic

[turntechgaykid]

Strawhats Vs Upper Moons

- Luffy would fight Muzan obviously.

- Zoro would fight Kokushibo, since they’re both swordsman and the 2nd strongest members of their groups it works perfectly. Even more so since they both have purple combat themes and have multi-blade transformations.

- Sanji would fucking hate Douma because Douma eats beautiful women for shits and giggles, and even prefers to eat pregnant women for extra energy. Not to mention the obvious Fire vs Ice dynamic.

- Jimbei would fight Akaza. They’re both Martial Artists. Not much more than that. After that it’s mostly surface level connections.

- Brook would fight Kaigaku. They’re both weaker swordsman than Zoro and Kokushibo respectively, Brook’s humming slash would be kinda similar to Zenitsu’s first form, so it would probably be pretty similar to Kaigaku’s actual fight. Plus Brook would dislike Kaigaku’s mentality about how he treats the people in his life.

- Robin would fight Nakime. Trippy fight, but Robin is kind of a hard counter to Nakime.

- Franky would fight Hatengu. A Technology vs Nature dynamic. Franky would be aggravated by Hatengu’s “never my fault” mentality. They’re also opposites in terms of personality.

- Gyokko would fight Chopper. Chopper would hate Gyokko turning people into monstrosities and meat statues for the sake of his art. Especially since Chopper is a doctor. Also an Animal vs Sea-Animal theme there.

- Nami vs Daki. Daki’s 13 year old kid mentality would probably trigger something in Nami due to her love of children, so that could be an interesting dynamic. (Arguably the weakest of their groups)

- Ussop vs Gyutaro. Mr Negative vs Mr Negative. Ussop probably has the hardest fight on his hands. He has an advantage at long range but gets shredded at short range. The impact dial could probably be used against Gyutaro as a physical manifestation of his “pay back the pain I’ve felt” mentality. Any thoughts? I’m probably kinda stretching for some of these.

(Saw this originally on Reddit but don't know who wrote it an It was too big to screenshot so I copied it)

#one piece #straw hat pirates #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #cat burglar nami #kny #demon slayer #upper moons #one piece crossover #demon slayer crossover

[beargrisly]

GRIMMULQUI FIC RECS

Reawakened by TYBW, a long-time GrimmUlqui shipper stumbles out of its crypt in search of sustenance. The morsels it uncovers are too delicious not to share…

(The descriptions below are my own silly thoughts and don’t represent the authors in any way. In addition to the ratings, please also mind the authors' notes, tags and warnings!)

Apples by goldensprite (T)

Jaded, no-fucks-left-to-give Grimmjow finds born again Ulquiorra in the Soul Society. He’s lost his memories… but has gained the power of uwu. I was sooo thrilled to have stumbled upon this lovely fic.

Attrition by tragakes (lejf) (E)

GrimmUlqui fan or not, this fic deserves much love for the gorgeous writing and the brilliant take on Ulquiorra's psyche.

Conquest / Bequest by showmaster64x (E)

THE GRIMMULQUI SERIES OF ALL TIME.

Dead in Love by CrunchySalad (E)

This fic serves one trippy scene after another til it all comes together in a glorious oh shit moment. I LOVE the worldbuilding and the ingenuity of this piece.

Eye Can See You by chibi_zoe (E)

Ulquiorra finds creative uses for the gifts his momma Lord Aizen gave him. *Grimmjow voice* Damn Ulqui! Who’s a nasty thotty lil hollow?

Human Souls by caraminez (E)

An absolutely beautiful fic about love and loss. It hurted me bad but was so worth the ugly crying. If only I could re-live the magic of reading this for the first time...

After The Aftermath by Methoxyethane (T)

Aizenomics goes to shit and the Espada need new jobs. Grimmjow takes on the world's oldest profession while Ulquiorra attempts to Housewife. I was cackling and snorting at every other sentence.

love is just a bloodsport by elektra (M)

This fic is just AMAZING. Ulquiorra survives the battle with Ichigo without turning into pixie dust, but has lost all purpose. The setting is deliciously bleak and Grimmjow's voice is fantastic. 

Love Potion by MissMonie (T)

Behold the GrimmUlqui treasure trove that is MissMonie’s profile, where you'll find everything from demon summons to coffee shops. This one's an adorable Valentine's Day fic in which Grimmjow and Ulquiorra are no match for a meddling love god.

Scream for Me by TextBookDreams (M)

Innocent lives are endangered when two Espadas try to suppress their feelings for each other. It’s funny, it's sexy, and it's GrimmUlqui. Mwah!

Take a Slice by hollowhiyori (T)

Two vampires kickin’ it in 90s Santa Monica. The vibes are on another level, and I thought Grimmjow and Ulquiorra had such a special and magnetic chemistry in this one.

The Beautiful Game by SunAndMoonFanfictions (M)

One for the footie fans (and any GrimmUlqui fan really). This is a very well-researched and immersive fic with many heartfelt moments. One particular scene of Grimmjow and Ulquiorra out shopping in a later chapter makes me giggle so hard. 

This Time Around by Goldberry (NC-17)

Grimmjow and Ulquiorra learn first hand what it means to be human. This fic is… so precious to me. It will rip you up with the feels then tenderly make you whole again. *cradles to chest*

***

If anyone has fics to share, or just wants to scream about GrimmUlqui, PLEASE DO 🥰

#grimmulqui #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #ulquiorra cifer #fic rec #bleach anime #bleach #bleach fanfiction #beargrisly