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doqt33th · 10 months

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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 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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aclowntiny · 5 months

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The Other Members Catch You Two Together- Seventeen

Returning this post fixed & breakdown free 🤙🏻 Warnings: 🤏🏻 suggestive at times, lil language, very minor injury mention

S.Coups

♡ "You have to be more careful, ok?" "I wasn't exactly trying to fall and skin my knee," you giggled at your boyfriend's mother-hen chastising.

♡ Usually you were just as caring, having fawned over other Seventeen members enough times that some of them shot jokingly suggestive glances to Seungcheol about you, not knowing he was already your boyfriend and they had the step-parent they all seemed to desire.

♡ Shaking his head, Seungcheol peeled the little protective tabs off the bandage and stuck it gently to your knee, giving it a cute little pat to stay down.

♡ “Thank you, doctor,” you teased from the counter he’d set you on, looking down at him from your boosted height with fluttering lashes. “Anytime, love. Just be careful, ok?” He asked, hands sliding to your sides. “Ok,” you agreed, a pleasant shiver running up your body, “but I must admit I like my doctor a lot.” “Your doctor likes you,” your boyfriend smiled, pulling you closer by your waist into a lean and pressing his lips to yours.

♡ “Hey, Coups, where’s the- whoa! Seungcheol! (y/n)!” The voice of mock-scandal echoing through the open air of the restroom belonged to Jeonghan, who remained in the doorway smirking at you two. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” “Oh, great, that’s kind of-” “I won’t tell if…” “One moment,” your boyfriend squeezed your hand before pulling his bandmate aside, gaze intense.

Jeonghan

♡ "Come on, lazy bones! Get up!" Usually, you were the only one who had much convincing power over Jeonghan. Some of the other members had their suspicions on that, most of them shrugged and accepted Jeonghan for the enigma he was.

♡ Today, though, that power seemed to be waning, as your boyfriend just shook his head, shimmying deeper into the couch cushions if that was possible. All you wanted was to take him on a little outing, but you knew how he got. Shaking your head, you just gave him an exasperated smile and eyeroll. "Alright, if that's how it's going to be..."

♡ You plopped gently on top of him, rolling your eyes again at his smile of victory as his arms wrapped around you. "...then I'm going to squish you!" "Squish away," Jeonghan replied simply, rubbing his cheek lightly against yours. Like it or not, that man was your favorite pillow, your weakness as much as everybody else's, and you caved against his touch instantly, body relaxing atop his warmth.

♡ Sliding his cheeks over a bit, he pressed his lips to yours, pecking you multiple times until you took hold of the back of his head, keeping him still for a real kiss. Because you knew if you were going to up the ante, so was he, and this time was no exception: your slow, sweet kiss quickly turned into parted lips, Jeonghan's tongue darting lightly between them as his hands slid up and down your back. Both of you were smiling into the newfound makeout session, your legs melting down to start wrapping around him...

♡ "Oh my God! Alright, leaving the room, LEAVING!" Jolting upright, you peeked over the back of the couch to see Seungkwan scurrying like a chased mouse back out of the living room, hand clapped over his eyes to avoid even one more look at his roommate. You couldn't help laughing, but you still asked Jeonghan if he should go talk to him. "Hmmm," he pretended to think, tapping his head before slinking his hands about your waist again, "maybe later."

Joshua

♡ You leaned against the side of the bed like a lovestruck cartoon teen as Joshua strummed his guitar, shooting those same heart eyes back to you. All of Seventeen knew you as his good friend, and you guys had yet to break the news that your connection went beyond that. The time to yourselves, though, was absolute bliss.

♡ "Alright, enough practice, I have a song just for you," Joshua spoke softly, strumming momentarily paused as he further captured your attention. Soon, sweet notes started up again, this time accompanied by Joshua's heavenly voice.

♡ It had been a while since you two got time together like that, and maybe Joshua was feeling it too, as he sang you Ed Sheeran's Photograph. Corny, sure, but you didn't care for one moment as he sang about love captured in pictures, keeping him forever close to you in the pocket of your jeans or in a locket by your heart.

♡ "I love you," you whispered as he finished the song, your head spinning and heart swelling with all the sweet words from his lips and stares from his beautiful brown eyes. "I love you, too," he replies, voice still soft as he sets his guitar on the bed, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead.

♡ "That's so sweet!" Both of you shifted back, jumping to face the doorway where Jun stood, fake sobbing. "I think I might cry." Relief flooded Joshua's expression as he shook his head, but Jun immediately swore secrecy. "You're the best." "Anything for my cute lovebirds!" "He's going to call us that forever, isn't he?"

Jun

♡ You bring out Jun's silly side for sure, but nobody questions your playful behavior as much more than friendship. At least most of the time...

♡ Enamored is the only word you could think of to describe how much you love your new outfit. It fits like a glove, embodies your style, you name it, it has it. You love it so much, in fact, Jun decides it's photoshoot time.

♡ So there he is, bent over at a ridiculous angle because he insists that's how the photographers do it and laughing because you can't take him seriously, striking hilarious over-the-top poses in response. "There we go! Work it, (y/n)!" Jun jokes back, beaming as he takes the opportunity to capture plenty of silly photos of the one he loves most.

♡ It is in the midst of the sweet moment of joy for Jun that Seokmin walks up, giggling at the praise and calls of 'work it' coming from his hyung. "You like (y/n), don't you? That's so cute!" Jun tries not to freeze too hard, fails, glances at you as you exchange a nod.

♡ "It's not just that he likes me," you answer Seokmin with a grin and another pose, this one with a heart, "he's dating me!" The way the singer's jaw dropped was hilarious enough you wish Jun had turned the camera on him to capture it before it melted into a smile, Jun and you getting scooped up in a celebratory hug.

Hoshi

♡ You’re the one more concerned about keeping it from the guys, worried how they would react to you being more than friends with one of the large friend group.

♡ Soonyoung however? Respects you but doesn’t personally give a shit, so pushing the boundaries is fun for him. He just wants to climb a mountain and scream to the world how he feels about you!

♡ Instead of a mountain, though, his climb is into bed with you after a night spent with the guys. Kicking his shoes off, Soonyoung gleefully slides under the sheets of the bed you recline in, laying on his side to face you as close as humanly possible. "Soonyoung, what if someone sees?" You ask between giggles as he pulls you into him. "Is that really so bad? I'm used to the teasing and I can give it right back. Besides, Chan'll do something that has them back to teasing him in no time." Leaning the mere centimeters it takes to close the gap, Soonyoung captures your lips in a short but deep kiss that has your tired heart doing gymnastics. Your eyes soften and he kisses you again and again until all your spinning head can do is agree. "Alright, maybe we should tell them."

♡ The problem here? In the morning, Wonwoo, having passed by that very room after you'd left it, spotted Soonyoung's kicked-off shoes and socks piled suspiciously near your own outerwear, clearly has the wrong impression. It all starts to dawn on you as he avoids your eyes, laughs to himself. You kick Soonyoung under the table, nod Wonwoo's way.

♡ "Uh, Wonwoo? Can I talk to you for a second?" Soonyoung looks to you for approval, and though mentally you're smacking your forehead you just nod him off from your adjacent seat. You can still hear faint traces of the conversation around the corner, yours and Soonyoung's chairs having been nearest the doorway, chuckling as you catch your boyfriend calling his bandmate a pervert before shuffling around the corner with him again, Wonwoo shaking his head as Soonyoung gives you a thumbs-up.

Wonwoo

♡ Private in general, Wonwoo doesn’t struggle to hide his relationship with you and just keep it between you and him. He isn’t crazy for PDA or anything, so you two easily pass as very close friends.

♡ However, you guys got a little too comfortable once and that was your downfall. It all started when you bust out a silly little war simulator game from your childhood, challenging your boyfriend to a round or two which he gladly accepted.

♡ It played on a handheld console, so you two could just sit together and pass the switch at the end of your turn. You started the match at each other’s side, sneaking glances at Wonwoo’s activity as he teasingly held the screen up from you.

♡ Subconsciously, though, you drew closer, knees brushing, thighs overlapping and arms flush, until without even realizing you’d done it you’d made your way into Wonwoo’s lap, your boyfriend opening his posture a bit to hold you more comfortably like the puzzle pieces your bodies were. You played like that with no thoughts save for strategizing about how to advance your units and hints of distraction at the sensation of your back against Wonwoo’s chest.

♡ Thank the stars above, it was Minghao who found you like that, stopping after a small double-take to lean against the doorframe, arms crossed in teasing satisfaction as he nodded your way. "So, when did this happen, hm?"

Woozi

♡ Neither of you were exactly all over each other, so in your minds this was a secret you could practically keep forever if you wanted to. The special treatment you gave Jihoon was so subtle the guys didn’t really pick up on it, which was part of what made it so fun!

♡ Having an intelligent, practical boyfriend, after all, it wasn’t out of the question that his ideas simply were just frequently good enough for you to agree with. And it if was a music question? They already trusted his decision without you liking his version better. The fact that you wore his favorite color a lot and always seemed to bring by his favorite snacks just went over their heads when they were asking you a thousand other questions about arrangements or even whose joke was better.

♡ Your downfall happened the day you were torn on your decision. Two of Seventeen’s leaders had come to you with varying song opinions, and as you listened to both Jihoon and Seungcheol’s versions, you really liked them both. One definitely had a more subtle approach, but did that suit the song’s nature? After a bit of convincing, you still went with Jihoon’s version, much to Seungcheol’s teasing as he left the studio to get a drink.

♡ “You almost betrayed me!” Jihoon teased you as you jokingly sidled to his chair. “His version was good,” you protested, “I had to be honest! Besides, can’t make it too obvious how much I favor you, right?” “Fair enough,” Jihoon replied with a small smile, reaching up from his seat to cup your cheek, pulling your lips into his.

♡ A few crackling thuds snapped you out of your warm reverie, the feeling of his soft touch. Jumping back, you saw Seungcheol standing in the doorway, open hand having clearly dropped his water bottle. Still sealed, luckily. Slowly, a devilish knowing smile spread across his face. “Oh my God. That makes so much sense, actually.”

♡ Seventeen is confused as all getout watching you two interact because they’re just besties right??? Wait they totally like each other???

♡ You and Seokmin are very close, obviously. He’s always shooting you hearts and you’re always bringing him along on snack runs and laughing uncontrollably over some stupid joke you two made. It definitely comes across as potentially flirty…

♡…probably because you guys have been dating for two whole months without having any direct conversations about it, all the other members too confused by the dynamic to directly ask if the shift they’ve perceived has actually occurred. You guys are shy enough not to kiss in front of the members and show off all the affection Seokmin loves showering you with when it’s just you two.

♡ So by the time you’ve just assumed everyone knew, it’s when that PDA comfort has had a natural unspoken increase and what’s it to you guys or anyone around you if Seokmin puts his arm around you as you sit on the couch, looking at you with the adoring eyes that were nothing new.

♡ “Look guys, look! See, I told you! I knew it!” Gaze swiveling to the other side of the room, you and Seokmin catch Mingyu’s frantic exclamations as he points your way, drawing the equally energetic Soonyoung to laugh and shout too. “You didn’t know?” Seokmin just asks, smiling widely as his protective grip proudly tightens a bit, bringing a wider smile to your own lips at the warmth. “How could we? You two are so confusing!” Soonyoung shoots back. “I dunno,” you shrug, eyes falling back to meet your boyfriend’s with your own glint of pride, “makes sense to me.”

Mingyu

♡ “Here, let me help you.” “Mingyu, I’m washing my hands!” You giggle. “Oh, all right.” The bug had gotten into your head about baking and Mingyu finally caved when you’d been shopping together and found the cutest sprinkles to go with your sugar cookie recipe.

♡ Sticky dough coats your hands and connects your fingers before you put them under the warm running water, feeling the chunks break up and float away from your skin. The cookies are all in the oven now. “Now what should we do while we wait?”

♡ “I can think of a few things,” Mingyu replies mischievously and without hesitation, stepping behind you to snake his arms around your waist. “Honey,” you use the nickname that always makes his beautifully matching skin blush, “aren’t the rest of the guys coming back here?” You are in your boyfriend’s dorms, after all.

♡ “Not for a bit unless anyone’s planning on being early. Knowing Seventeen, not likely,” he says, “so what do you say?” Before you can respond he’s scooping you up in his arms and any protest rising to your lips falls off in favor of a happy squeak as you’re set gingerly upon a clean section of the counter. Your gaze is just about even with Mingyu’s as your hands find his shoulders, his firmly holding your hips as he leans in for a kiss. Giving in as you so often did, you deepened it almost immediately, moving faster before you feel his tongue slide its way between your lips-

♡ “Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ll come back later.” The warmth of Mingyu’s hands leaves your hips as he steps back, chastising mutters immediately leaving his lips. Your eyes fly back open to see poor (and very flustered-looking) Joshua getting chased out of the kitchen by your boyfriend, him whining about the gentleman’s punctuality all the while. Hopping off the counter, you can’t help but chuckle and check the cookies with a fond shake of your head. You knew what you were getting into all along.

The8

♡ oh you KNOW y’all are pros at hiding it you go MONTHS without a hint of suspicion 😌

♡ It literally takes a moment of fate to orchestrate the downfall of your secrecy, all the stars aligning perfectly and imperfectly for one outing.

♡ The two if you had gone to peruse a pop-up gallery while it was in your neck of the woods, taking a stroll through the small room of sculptures brought in for the event. The theme was the sea, many of the pieces perfectly capturing crashing waves, breaching whales, the beautiful glistening arcs and fascinations of earth’s mysterious water.

♡ Never would you have expected to run into any of the guys there until you heard the voices behind you. “This one’s cool, I love how the- hey, wait, isn’t that Minghao and (y/n)?” Minghao wanted to keep moving, but the second voice agreed and at that point you turned around, recognizing them easily as Soonyoung and Jihoon.

♡ “I didn’t know you guys hung out just the two of you!” “Soonyoung,” Jihoon hissed as he elbowed him, “he probably asked (y/n) on a date.” “Why would you assume this is a date?” Minghao shot back. “The way (y/n) was holding your arm,” Soonyoung shrugged before leaning in, challenge glinting in his eyes, “but if it’s not, you’ll be fine if we come with.” Glancing surreptitiously between him and you, Minghao finally sighs. “All right, fine, it’s a date. We’ve been together for almost six months.” “SIX MONTHS? I didn’t even know you liked each other!” Minghao and you can’t help exchanging smirks at that, and you feel his hip bump yours playfully.

Seungkwan

♡ “There’s a little private corner just for us!” You and Seventeen were on a trip, so naturally with such a number of people you guys were staying in a huge-ass house. Unpacking was going to take a while, but hey, who’d miss two out of fourteen people, right? Having scoped out the house, you ran off with Seungkwan down the hall to the furthest spare room.

♡ It was maybe intended as a child or teenager’s room, one corner occupied largely by a massive pile of cushions nearly the size of beanbags. Well, you could work with that. “What’s this?” “It looks comfortable,” you shot back, pulling Seungkwan closer, “doesn’t it?”

♡ The moment he relented you tumbled into the pile and he joined you, giggling and taking hold of each other for stability. That didn’t last long, though, Seungkwan rolling ever-so-slightly on top of you…

♡ Heat radiated from the press of his body to yours, the warm feeling drawing you in like a lifeline until you tugged him forward by his button-up collar, your lips on his. He responded almost immediately, adding to the electricity sparked between you as his arms fell about your waist. Your plush haven, the feeling of Seungkwan’s lips sliding gently over yours, all of it was heaven…

♡…Heaven broken by a scream that had you heaving up into a seated position, Seungkwan himself scrambling off of you to face the doorway, where Chan stood going off like a siren. “Oh God, my eyes! What the hell, you guys! Ugh!” Like a call to action Chan’s shouts drew member after member toward the room to see what was wrong, the maknae spilling the beans anew. Well, so much for who’d catch two out of fourteen.

Vernon

♡ You guys are just grabbing ice cream nbd

♡ Not even super datelike of an activity for someone to catch you guys in honestly because y'all aren't that sappy of a couple. Vernon and you just wanted ice cream, so of course he was gonna treat you!

♡ As if y’all are living in a drama your ice cream developed a mind of its own, completely missing its trajectory as you raised the cone to your lips, a cold vanilla-base droplet spotting your cheek. “Do you have a napkin?” You ask Vernon, letting go of his hoodie edge and extending the newly emptied hand, but his eyes are fixed on the little drip. “Nah,” he chuckled teasingly, pressing his lips to your cheek and bringing a flush to them as you feel his tongue swipe the ice cream off gently beneath the kiss.

♡ “Uhhh, that’s not usually how you get ice cream off of your friends,” jokes a clearly awkward voice at your backs. Turning, you’re faced with Jun and Jeonghan, cones in hand and wince on face in Jun’s case.

♡ “Come on Jun, I told you Hansol was into (y/n) ever since he magically got into Animal Crossing,” Jeonghan shot back, arms crossed, “I’ve never seen him throw himself into anything faster.” He turned his proud gaze back to you guys. “So, what’ll you do to keep this a secret, huh?” For that, Jun elbowed him.

Dino

♡ Chan is DEAD SET on keeping things between you two for at least a little while and you’re not offended because you know the sole reason has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the relentless teasing of his hyungs.

♡ So when you guys get together for a private dance lesson, Chan just plays it off as needing the space to film a danceology.

♡ Instead he’s teaching you how to count steps, the most comfortable way to hold onto him- which you certainly didn’t feign a lack of understanding in to get to touch him that much more. Any wishes in that department, however, are soon granted once music fills the little studio.

♡ Chan is at your back, doing your steps with you as if he had the follow’s feet, gripping first your arms to steady you and then shamelessly sliding down to your waist. Turning your head sideways, you feel the warmth of his breath, take it in yourself as your lips hit his, receiving a forceful response the moment they connect. Before you’ve even begun dancing Chan is spinning you in his arms, this time so you could face him as he tilts your chin up, leans in hungrily for another kiss that you gladly give him, your hips flush against his…

♡ “Oh, I see why you wanted the room.” You step back, using the hands you’d placed on his chest to practically shove Chan off of you, though his hand instinctively took yours, keeping you only the bare minimum below your flush proximity. Vernon is standing there with smug amusement all over his face, corner of his mouth rising further as he glances between you two. “Whoa, it’s not like that!” You protest, heat blooming beneath your own features. “Really? I kind of thought it was.” “Chan! You are not helping our case right now.”

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arthenaa · 1 year

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insatiable — ominis x fem! reader x sebastian

summary: After your little escapade with the boys, you had begun to see them romantically. overcome with the need to keep you to himself, Sebastian forgets the dangers of a pissed-off Ominis.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit sexual content, m/f/m, you get fucked by ominis, sebastian gets fucked by ominis, choking, degrading, cockwarming, oversensitivity, oral sex, foreplay, ominis being a fucking daddy god, dominis, switch seb, switch reader, masturbation, you watch sebastian get railed hihi, all the nasty shit.

note: here it is, part 2 of carnal (which you can read first btw but this can be read as a stand-alone) anys enjoy <3 i finished at like 5 am.

Being with the boys was wonderful.

It had been a few months after that little escapade at the ministry that prompted that speeding bloom of your relationship with Ominis and Sebastian. Over the course of the last few months, not only had you agreed to a threeway romantic relationship with your best friends but also had spent more time with them for the times that you weren’t able to do so because of your job. A promise to yourself as you tried to be more open to them with your feelings and such.

Because we all know what happened when you didn’t. Years of potential lost because of misguided feelings.

Time with them was splendid. You had gone on dates. Caught up with each others’ latest updates in life. Just the overall getting to know each other on a romantic level. You had begun to see them in different lights as a result. Ominis is a gentle lover. He was a true gentleman at heart and found joy in putting your needs and wants above all else. He opens the door for you, arm ready for you to grab on, brings you breakfast, and all that shebang. You often told him that he doesn’t have to give too much effort and that he was already enough but he told you that he wanted to do this for you. He loved loving you this way and if you’ll allow him, he’ll do it for the rest of his life. You could only purse your lips as an attempt to stop the tears but nevertheless, you allowed the man to do what he wanted.

Sebastian, on the other hand, is a loud lover. He loved showing you off to the world. Judy always joked about how Sebastian always has to have a part of his body sticking close to you or on you. You had tried to push away improper thoughts at the way she said it but you suppose it does hold some truth to it. The man was insatiable for your attention. Loved to be pampered by you to the point that Ominis thinks it's annoying. You think it's quite adorable though. Besides the physical affection, Sebastian always managed to string you along to his mischievous plans. An effect of your previous escapades during your Hogwarts’ days, it had always been your bonding time with Sebastian.

Leave it to Ominis to bust the two of you out of whatever bad situation you got put up in. Sebastian always gets the brunt end of his chastising. The Sallow boy claims that Ominis has too much of a soft spot for you.

Aside from seeing them in this light, you have also gotten to know them….. Sexually.

Sebastian and Ominis were somewhat alike but different from what you expected them to be. Ominis liked being in control; an immediate realization you had after your first sexual encounter with him. Just like his normal self, he prioritizes your pleasure before his. He loved pulling those lovely noises out of you with his skilled fingers and mouth– A talent of his that always seemed to leave you writhing and whimpering in the sheets. While he prioritizes your pleasure, he also loves toying with it. Pulling and pushing back your climax puts a look of pure enjoyment on his face. The sounds of you begging and the grip you have on his arm gives a pleasant flush on his neck. The man enjoys putting you in a torturable experience of a good time.

You can’t complain though. It certainly leaves you with a pleasant ache between your legs and a good night’s sleep.

Sebastian, on the other hand, lives to devour you whole. He won’t stop until he’s satisfied. A downfall on your end. The man has a strong stamina and could go for hours on end. You will not walk for days, that I assure you. Sebastian also has a knack for keeping you to himself and it leaves Ominis angry and in fumes. It certainly has the Sallow boy in punishment with Ominis’s hand on his neck and fucked right in the mattress.

That night gave you a high as you admired Sebastian’s drooling face against Ominis’s shoulder while the blonde straight up railed him in front of you. You think it’s because Sebastian liked riling up the Gaunt. He loved pissing him off and loved to be at the brunt end of his anger. Ominis preferred to do the sexual things together or at least let the other party know. He wanted everyone to be on the same page and Sebastian disobeying that rule always left a bad taste on Ominis’s tongue.

You certainly have come to that conclusion now because you can imagine how pissed Ominis will be when he comes home.

“S-Seb… Wait.” You pant as you try to push the brunette between your legs. Tongue deep within your folds and arms holding you close to his face, Sebastian ignores your pleas as he continues to devour your wet and quivering pussy.

You had been at it for hours. Ominis had work at the ministry while Sebastian and you had the day off. They had been frequenting in your apartment for the last few days, opting to hang in yours due to the wonderful creatures in your basement and the overall homey feel of your flat. Judy didn’t need to come to work today as you had the creatures all handled during your day off. What started as simple cuddling had turned out sexual with Sebastian’s wandering hands.

You lost count of how much the boy had made you come. Your fingers grip tighter on his curls, pushing him away and yet closer as you feel another knot unraveling once more. The man loved the taste of you on his tongue, sucking the juices leaking out of you then licking your clit with vigor. Your thighs shake on his shoulders as your face writhes in pleasure. “I can’t.. Fuck, I can’t— Ngh, please, Sebastian.”

Sebastian looks up at you with eyes darkened from lust as he continues his never-ending ministrations on your swollen pussy. He pulls back, allowing a moment of reprieve. “Yes you can, baby.”

You lift your head, eyes brimming with tears as you lock eyes with him. You shake your head in disagreement but the man only tilts his head with a mocking look of sympathy. “You can and you will.”

You let out a whine as Sebastian pulls you close, putting his mouth on you once more and bringing you close to your orgasm. Your breaths shorten with high pitched whines as you lift yourself up with your elbow while the other grips his curls closer to your heat. “Fuck, fuck Seb. Please please please!”

The brunette smirks against your folds before inserting two fingers at once and curling them up, hitting your spot dead on. Your back arches as your mouth opens into a silent moan. Your thighs close around his face, a pressure he doesn’t seem to mind as your orgasm explodes. The man slurps your release with enthusiasm as you fall back on the sheets, quivering in sensitivity.

You had to harshly pull the man away from your swollen heat as you certainly can’t handle the sensitivity of your nth orgasm. You pant as you cup his face within your hands. He has a dazed look on his face as he licks his lips, humming at the taste. “Mhm, can't get enough of you.”

You smile at his comment before pulling him into a kiss, pulling him to lay on top of you. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he pulls you close by the waist.

After a few moments of making out, you softly pull away, giggling as he chases your lips. You admire the man above you as he looks down at you with lust still evident in his eyes. Whilst admiring, you couldn't help but voice the concern tugging in your mind for the past couple of hours. “Ominis is gonna kill you, love.”

The man laughs. He moves his head down to place soft kisses on your neck, sucking marks on your delicate skin. “Let him.”

“Can’t believe you’re that poetic.” You giggle into his hair as you feel his hands roam your curves with enthusiasm. The man continues to make his way down your neck and then finds his attention on your breasts. You sigh in pleasure as he cups one breast while putting your nipple into his mouth. Your fingers run through his curls gently, pulling him closer against your chest.

“If it gets me fucked through the mattress and limping in the morning then call me Shakespeare.” He mutters, distracted as he licks and sucks your nipple until it's swollen and sensitive. You furrow your eyebrows at the sensation, flinching as he bites it softly. He moves his attention to the other.

"Haha, funny."

Sebastian smiles at your sarcastic tone.

“It’s the third time you’ve done this, I think Ominis is actually going to kill you this time.” You sigh in pleasure as you feel Sebastian’s hard length nudge your entrance. The man hums into your breast causing you to whimper at the feeling. The man pulls away and admires his work, squeezing your breasts for one last feel before moving back up to your face.

He allows himself a moment of tenderness as he brushes stray hair away from your face. You look up at him in awe. You couldn’t believe this man was yours. You admire the beauty of his freckles that were perfectly placed across the soft plane of his cheeks. Your hands reach up to cup his face within your hands, thumb brushing his swollen pink lips.

He places a soft kiss on your lips. “If buried in your perfect fucking pussy is the way I’ll go, then fuck, I’ll welcome whatever muggle heaven awaits me.”

You giggle into his lips as he presses another kiss against yours. Basking into the soft and warm moment, you fail to realize just how long you’ve both been at it. In the corner of your eye, you see a dash of black lean against the doorway. Distracted by the sudden addition of color, your eyes lock with the subject of the conversation.

Arms crossed leaning against the doorway and face riddled with a cold look was Ominis. His face angled towards the bed with his wand gripped within his hand, he raises his free hand to put his index finger towards his lips. He smiles softly at you as he continues to listen from his spot by the door.

You would smile back but Sebastian’s sudden intrusion at your entrance leaves you to moan out loud, grasping his arm as he bottoms out with a groan. He stays still for a moment then begins to slowly move in and out.

Sebastian dives his head on your neck as he continues his slow movements. You whimper as you find comfort in gripping his hair and arm. “Fuck muggle heaven. This is the shit, right here.”

His pace begins to speed up, your moans are suddenly pulled out of you as his hips slap against your ass. Your eyes watch Ominis as he continues to stand from the doorway. You could almost feel yourself whine for his presence but you couldn’t ruin his plan of punishing Sebastian. Sebastian grabs your hip with a bruising grip in one hand as he speeds up his thrusts, leaving you writhing and clawing his arm in pleasure.

“Right there. Right the– Fuck, Sebastian!” You whine as he begins to hit that immaculate spot within you. Sebastian smirks as he angles his hips to pound that spot head on. Your moans turn into shrieks which sets Ominis off.

You watch as the blonde locks eyes with you. You’re scared (and turned on) for a moment that maybe he could see you. It certainly does pull a flush out of your body as you allow yourself to be fucked into the sheets by the distracted brunette.

Deciding that enough is enough, Ominis marches quietly like a snake slithering to its prey. You could feel your orgasm rising and you knew it was going to be interrupted with the way Ominis was approaching. Sebastian was too immersed with the feel of your pussy to notice a looming danger behind him.

Ominis moves with precision. His hand swiftly grabs Sebastian’s throat and pulls his body off of you with a harsh tug. Sebastian lets out a squeak of surprise as the blonde harshly pulls him up against his chest.

You limp against the sheets, eyes trained on the delicious scene in front of you. Sebastian is quivering in Ominis’s hold, his fingers gripping tightly on his throat as Ominis angles his head towards the brunette on his shoulder.

“You just love pissing me off, don't you?” Ominis hums softly in a low voice. Sebastian whimpers in his hold as he reaches up to pull the hold on his neck but the blonde only tightens it.

For a second, you would think that Sebastian was afraid but judging from the way his face flushed and the leaking pre-cum from his cock, you knew he was turned on as fuck.

“O-Ominis,” Sebastian croaked. “I-I didn’t mean to–”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Ominis snaps with gritted teeth as he pulls Sebastian closer by the neck. The brunette arches his back, clearly enjoying the manhandling. “Stop playing a fool, Sebastian. It clearly doesn’t suit you.”

“If- if it gets you this worked up,” Sebastian smirks, face dazed with pleasure. “I’d play it so fucking well that you'd have no choice but to believe me, baby.”

The taunt leaves Ominis speechless. You watch as the blonde heaves out a grumble in his chest before harshly pushing Sebastian down on the sheets with his face down and ass up.

Sebastian tilts his head to look up at the domineering figure of his lover. Ominis smirks down at the direction from where he pushed Sebastian. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"

Sebastian looks up at you with his bottom lip between his teeth and you could only smirk as he allowed himself to be manhandled to Ominis's taste.

Wanting to greet the man, you stand up from the bed, slightly wavering in your stance from the amount of orgasms you endured. You walk up towards Ominis and gently cupped his cheeks. The man softens at your touch.

"Hey, darling." Ominis greets gently as his hands feel your waist and pull you close to him. You place your arms around his neck, glancing at Sebastian quivering pathetically on the bed. You smile as you place a kiss on Ominis's lips, moaning as he deepens it.

"How was your day?" He asks as if Sebastian isn't butt naked, ass up, back arched and whimpering on the sheets. You giggle at his nonchalance.

"It was okay. I missed you, though." You respond as he pulls you into a tender hug. His hands wander up to your ribs and then back down, squeezing your ass deliciously, it leaves you moaning at his touch. You hear Sebastian whimpering from his spot on the bed, clearly jealous of your sounds of affection.

"I'll deal with him first then I'll be right with you, little dove." He whispers into your ear, patting your ass two times before placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. You decide to let him have his fun and wait for his orders as you sit down by the headboard of the bed.

Sebastian pants in excitement as Ominis begins to undress himself, leaving only his dress shirt, tie and slacks. The blonde then pulls his tie from his neck, feeling the soft material between his fingertips.

"I've reminded you twice already, Sebastian." Ominis calmly reprimands as he gathers Sebastian's hands behind his back. The brunette's breathing quickens as the tie encases his wrists in a tight knot, not allowing him any movement. "I don't like repeating myself."

"I'm sorry." Sebastian tries to appease the blonde's anger, moaning as Ominis's hips press against his bare ass. The blonde's hands caress the soft skin of his butt, fondling the brunette's bottom. Sebastian whimpers as the hardening bulge of Ominis's cock press against his opening. "You know, I can't take my hands off her. I can't—"

"Precisely why you're a fucking pain in the ass," Ominis growls as he grinds his cock against Sebastian's ass. The brunette pathetically sobs against the sheets. "Can't keep your hands to yourself. How pathetic."

Fuck. This is so fucking hot.

You're entranced at their intimate display. Ominis with his domineering power and Sebastian willingly submitting at Ominis's hard and cruel touch. You could feel your pussy leak with excitement and want.

"I've already taught you once." Ominis moves to the side to grab a vial of liquid on the bedside table before moving back to his position behind Sebastian. The blonde then pours the liquid on Sebastian's hole. The brunette jolts at the feeling of the cold liquid dripping down his ass. Ominis laughs softly as Sebastian flinches in sensitivity as his fingers gently rub his hole. "I can do it again."

Not given the chance to respond, Sebastian loudly moans at the intrusion of two fingers. Ominis hums deeply as he revels in the feel of Sebastian's inner walls.

Aroused by the sight, you decide to add to Sebastian's suffering. Opening your legs, your hand moves down to rub your clit, moaning at the sight in front of you. Sebastian looks up with a groan.

"Bloody hell. I'm going crazy." Sebastian whines, his eyes watching your pretty pink pussy dribble out juices as you rub your cunt.

Ominis smiles at the added sound of your moans. Motivated by your voice, he adds another finger in Sebastian. The brunette yells into the sheets as Ominis hits the spot within him.

"Fuck. Ominis. Please! Just fuck me!" Sebastian yells in frustration as he grips the material wrapped around his wrists, veins bulging at how tight he's gripping it. The blonde chuckles at his frustration as he continues his ministrations. "Do it right now or I'll—"

A hand grabs Sebastian's hair out of nowhere, causing him to be cut off from his rambling. The brunette whimpers, reminded of his place as Ominis covers Sebastian's back with his body. The blonde leans close to his ear. "Or you'll what? C'mon, say it. You've been so fucking noisy the past few minutes and now you decide to shut up? Fucking pussy."

The blonde shoves him face down against the sheets and pulls out his fingers. Sebastian whines at the loss of stimulation. He then hears the drop of a belt. His heart drops at Ominis's next words. "Want me to fuck you, hm?"

"Yes, yes, yes— please. Give it to me, please. I'll take it. I'll take it so good please—" Sebastian begs, tears dripping from his eyes.

Your fingers continue to stimulate you as you insert them inside. You smile in satisfaction as Sebastian cowers like a submissive pup under Ominis's body.

"Shut the fuck up." Ominis mutters with nonchalance as he grabs the shaft of his dick and slaps it against Sebastian's opening.

Without warning, the blonde thrusts inside causing the brunette to yell at the intrusion. You were sure the neighbors will be knocking at your door tomorrow morning.

"T-Thank you." Sebastian whimpers as Ominis heads straight into it, moving his hips fast and unforgiving. The brunette takes it like a champ, sobbing into the sheets as Ominis's cock hits his spot again and again.

Sebastian looks up in a daze, eyes locked with yours as you smile down at him. Ominis seems to have noticed his distraction by you and leans down to pull him up against his chest.

The brunette rests his head against his shoulder as Ominis wraps a hand around his throat. "She can't help you. Focus up."

Right now, you have the hottest fucking view there is. Sebastian's cock bounces against his stomach at Ominis's harsh thrust. His back is arched perfectly so that his body is positioned so deliciously to look at. Ominis looks even more ravishing with his jaw clenched as he burrows his head on Sebastian's neck, hand gripping his throat as he continues to rail the brunette. Your fingers try to match the timing of his thrusts.

Sebastian lets out loud whines to the point that the blonde had to shift his hold from his neck to his mouth. The blonde's thrusts speed up faster and harder. "O-Ominis—Right there, fuck."

"Here?" Ominis snarls as he gives him a hard thrust against the spot. Sebastian sobs at the intense pleasure. "Yeah, feels good huh?"

"Oh, fuck. God, I—"

Sebastian's climax is unexpected. The brunette's eyes roll back and his body limps in Ominis's arms as strips of thick white liquid stream out of his cock. You whine as you feel your orgasm coming but stop as your wrist cramps. Ominis thrusts for a few more seconds before slowly stopping, hugging Sebastian's figure close as he lets him calm himself down from his climax.

Pressing chaste kisses on his neck he gently places Sebastian down on the bed, beside you. The brunette only whimpers, still basking in his post-orgasm haze. The blonde unties the restraints, allowing Sebastian reposition comfortably.

You turn to Ominis who pauses for a few seconds, still caressing Sebastian's back. You whine, feeling pent up from the lack of orgasm. "Ominis…"

The blonde hears your pleas as he leaves one last kiss on Sebastian's temple before walking over to your side of the bed. He leans down to press his lips onto you, diving into your arms.

"I missed you." You whine pitifully as you caress his face. He leans into your touch, pressing soft kisses on your wrist.

"I'm sorry it took so long. I'm here now," He mumbles quietly, hands moving to your hips as he grinds against your soft pussy. You moan at the stimulation. "I'll take care of you."

He places a chaste kiss on your cheek before he pushes in. Your breaths quicken as you begin to regain the pleasure of what Sebastian once gave you moments ago. The blonde moves as your pussy takes him without hesitation. You revel in low groans and pants. "If there's one thing Sebastian did right, it's preparing you for me. Fuck baby, you feel so good."

"I feel good?" You question dumbly as your eyes fixate on Ominis's handsome face. He licks his lips before smiling.

"Yeah you do baby. This pussy keeps me up all night when you're not with me." He mumbles as he lifts your leg up to rest against his shoulder. His thrusts quicken. "Can't stop thinking about you."

You whine at his confession. You could feel the incoming edge of your orgasm return. Your hands grab his arms positioned on both sides of your head. You know he's almost close as well from the way he's becoming a bit inconsistent with his rhythm.

"You close baby?" He asks as he feels your thighs shake within his grasp. You hum in agreement as your nails dig into his arm, creating red dents into his flawless skin.

"Inside please, fuck— Inside me." You sob as you try to pull the blonde closer. His tip begins hammering against your sweet spot causing you to tip over the edge and come within his touch. Ominis comes shortly after, groaning as he spurts his release in you. You moan in satisfaction at the warm feeling of his come.

The blonde sighs as he drops his head on your shoulder. There's a lapse of silence before Ominis shifts the two of you with him under you this time. You moan softly as he jostles his length inside you due to the movement. You turn towards him, kissing his lips softly.

"Can I just… ?" He trails off as his hands caress your thigh, silently motioning towards his dick still nestled within you. You giggle before kissing his cheek.

"Yeah, feel's nice." You hum as you gently grind against Ominis's length. The blonde quietly groans at your ministrations but lets you be as it provides enough stimulation but not enough to start another round, yet.

Your eyes glance toward the brunette beside you, eyes swollen with tears as he sleeps quietly. You smile at the thought of Sebastian coming so hard that he passed out.

"Is he asleep?" Ominis asks as he places a hand on your hip, gently encouraging your grinding. You hum as you pepper kisses on the blonde's face.

"Like a baby. You made him pass out. Good job." You quipped, earning a chuckle from the blonde.

"He always got a bit too excited when it comes to riling me up. Serves him right." Ominis sighs in pleasure as he feels your cunt squeeze his length. You could feel a second round coming around the corner.

Ominis pulls you in a tender kiss before thrusting up against you, causing you to moan in pleasure.

"You're both going to kill me." You whisper against his lips as you begin to increase your movements against his cock. Ominis smirks at your words.

His hands grip your hips as he begins the second round, fucking up against your pussy. You moan at his sudden movements.

"We just can't get enough of you, baby."

A/N: ITS FUCKING DONE i finished this at 5 am ,, absolute fucking filth yall

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy x reader #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt smut #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian x reader x ominis #silver trio smut

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tabernacleheart · 2 years

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[When great suffering afflicts a righteous man, especially one] who had comforted so many people in trouble, and who was so pious, [he] should [take care not to blindly] fall into such despair, forgetting the great truth that the righteous never perish under affliction— calamity only destroys the wicked. [Likewise, he should meekly refrain from] complaining against God because only the ungodly resent the dealings of God and by their impatience bring down His wrath upon them. [Instead, amidst all suffering, the believer is] to seek after God, for God only smites to heal or to correct, to draw people to Himself and away from evil.

NET Bible

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rose-stems · 3 months

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pretty- like a doll

sanji x reader that wears frilly cute dresses but is a badass

“So pretty,” Sanji thought*, “like a little doll.”*

Those were the first thought’s Sanji ever had about you.

The first thing he noticed was your pretty pink dress, matching shades of white and pink fabric. Fit to match a ribbon in your hair, holding it in a hairstyle half up.

The next thing he noticed, was the way you walked. Feet pointed and graceful but with the excitement of a baby dear skipping around. You bounced up and down, hair and dress flowing perfectly with your movements.

He was so stunned from gazing at you that he stood completely still, hands full of the bread he was planning to drop off at that crews table.

The table you were walking to.

Oh.

“Thank God.” Sanji thought helplessly,

There was a surging need to speak with you, one that Sanji had like no other. No one ever commanded his attention like you did and you hadn’t even spoken to him. He felt a bit pathetic, to be so deeply interested in you in only a matter of seconds.

His attention was quickly grabbed again when you politely turned to the green-haired man sitting on the far left. You opened your mouth—*those pretty, pretty lips—*to speak and his ears zeroed in on your voice, picking apart its soft undertones, distinguishing it from every other sound in the restaurant.

“Zoro,”—the green-haired man, Sanji assumes—”you didn’t wake me up.” You chastise him and Sanji feels himself be ripped apart at the seams.

The man replies but Sanji can’t make out his words. His ears are tuned to you and your sound only. The next sound you make is light and airy, a tiny giggle bubbles up and you tilt your head cutely. He wants to fall to his knees.

“C’mon, Zozo, don’t be like that.” You say and then wait, staring down at the man (because in this moment, you are taller.) and rocking slowly on the balls of your feet.

The man seems to pick up on the unsaid message and moves to stand up, grabbing his swords to help the process. You give him some space as he moves out and to the side and then cutely grab your dress, fabric lifting and exposing pearly white ruffles. You’re stunning, a picturesque form blessed by Aphrodite herself.

You sit down and take a few seconds to make yourself comfortable, letting the man wait until you’re ready—as he should. You adjust the fabric so when the man sits back down he doesn’t sit on it.

You face the green-haired man and your face lights up. It shines and your cheeks are full and pink as you smile brighter than the moon and her stars. Your gorgeous, beautiful, adorable, cute, you are so many things all at once and it hits Sanji harder than anything he’s ever seen.

“Thank you.” You say.

And his knees buckle, the feeling of weightlessness snaps Sanji to his senses. He’s been doing nothing but standing in the middle of the Baratie, staring at you like a creep.

He rushes to an isolated place, dropping the plate of bread on the counter of the bathroom. He steadies himself against the counter and tries to will his lungs to work.

Thoughts long forbidden rise up in his mind.

Thoughts no gentleman should ever have about a woman as cute as yourself.

About how he’d love to see your pretty face morph into something dirty and pleasure filled. How he would love to hear the different sounds you’d make. Would you squirm? Oh, god he hopes so-

He thinks about how fucking hot you looked as you confidently gazed at the green-haired man. Demanding and silent, waiting patiently to be treated like how you deserve. Commanding in a way so opposite of how you dressed, commanding in a subtle way, a petite way. But confident, oh so confident and strong and hot.

Fuck.

A stumbled out groan reaches up his throat before he forces it down, covering his mouth in shame.

“Get. It. Together.” He thinks, “You still need to go actually serve them.”

He still needs to serve you. Serve…you.

Yeah, he can do that.

He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. This is a staff bathroom, one which could be locked from the inside and he takes comfort in that. At least no one can come in and see how utterly pathetic he is over just seeing you. He hadn’t even spoken to you, but oh, he wanted to.

He turns the tap on and splashes some water on his face, the coolness helps him bring feeling back into his cheeks.

Feeling better—more focused and less likely to fall apart—Sanji picks up the bread and leaves the bathroom.

The first thing he does is head into the kitchens, dumping the bread onto a platter to reheat and quickly fixing up another appetizer. He doesn’t think about how he was banned from the kitchen and only hopes Zeff doesn’t walk in. Not that he’d truly regret it, you deserve a better appetizer for waiting so long. When he’d done he has two nice hot plates, the main appetizer and the reheated bread.

Before heading out of the kitchen he stops to gather himself. He feels a creeping sense of shame for how… how he froze. Yes, how he froze up. To serve yo… your table, he needs to at least have a sense of dignity.

How could he be a good server if he kept getting distracted by your beauty?

How could he sweep you off your feet if every time he looked at you the breath knocked out of him?

With a push of the door he went out into the floor. Eyes sweeping the room once before falling onto you, you were chatting animatedly with the green-haired man and a beautiful woman next to you. He almost felt bad about interrupting you. Almost.

“Hi, welcome to Baratie. My name is Sanji, what can I get for you?” He spoke slowly, casting a passing glance at those who sat at your table.

There was the green-haired man with three swords, Zoro, you called him, and a beautiful red-haired woman next to you. On the other side of the table, a little man with a straw hat in overalls and a young man wearing an open shirt.

The straw hat man was currently stuffing his face with bread.

#black leg sanji #sanji x reader #sanji one piece #vinsmoke sanji #one piece #one piece x reader #op sanji #one piece sanji #i!! am nervous to post this!#I do have a lil bit of a continuation after this #i also have a smut between these two #maybe ill post that #if yall want it <3 #gomez.writing

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vacayisland · 5 months

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@!; I love you. Floyd / Reader

"Summary"! "I love you" I always had and I always do. "Tags"! Floyd's POV. angst/hurt. This was more experimental in my writing so please enjoy and I accept any feedback you might have <3

@storydays @chamille-trash @valvalentine69

Floyd stood in the crowd, surrounded by a hundred faces that he did not know. He stood under the starlight sky, silent and deserted as others' cheers flooded his ears and made him deaf. The lights from the stars, which could not shine as brightly as you, drowned his vision and made him blind. His voice was all but silent. His spirit all but drained as he stood there, not one with a crowd yet a husk in a body that he no longer knew was his. With a mind that tried to barricade the disappearance that tried to flood out in a crowd of faces he did not know. Floyd stood upon the crowd of faces that blurred, his eyes fixated not on them nor on you; For you shined too brightly for him to bear, too brightly for him to hold, too brightly for him to keep. Floyd stood upon the crowd of faces that didn’t care as the stars smiled down upon him with a taunting grin, a sickening grin that made his stomach heave and quelch. Floyd stood upon the crowd of blank faces, all screaming and shouting the name of a lover that couldn’t be, trying to remember how he ended up in this crowd. In this place, in this time, in this situation. His brain tried to search for an answer, any sort of sign from the sinister stars that did not help yet laughed upon his misfortune why? Why! He wanted to scream and cry out, shout until he could no longer do so, until he was hoarse and dead. Why did it have to be you, the one who was born with the kiss of the sun, who would rival the stars above you and make them envious, who could be everything and nothing at once. Who was he compared to you?

“Floyd this is madness!” Branch had cried to him once as he followed him, trying to convince him to change his mind, go back on the words he had just spoken, anything other than this. Other than this cruel fate. This cruel, cruel fate that someone should not bare let alone Floyd who has done so much for you! Yet Floyd would not listen, his heart set on the path he had chosen knowing it was the best for you; The best for a star that should not follow another that did not burn as brightly as you, who’s light had been dimmed far beyond repair. You deserved to dance with those who were like you, who burned as bright as you and who could dance alongside you without this gut stabbing remorse for even being near. No, no…. You shouldn’t be stuck with someone who is so burnt out that they will weigh you down, drown you until you're extinguished like a light that had never shone in the first place when you were the brightest of all. No, no… Floyd could possibly not do that to you. Never to you. For you were the light that lit his flame, burned his heart, and awakened his days. For you were the one dancing around his head, countlessly, as you sang songs above a love that Floyd desired for you and only you. A love he could not push you through. A love he could not burden you with, so what else could he have done other than to say… goodbye? “I wish we were to other people,” You used to dreamily say to Floyd upon summer nights, out on the cold green grass as fireflies danced around your heads like stars who had descended to grace you and only you. Never him, he didn’t deserve such beauty. “I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye, I wished I could stay by your side.” You had told Floyd with the dreamist of sighs, a smile upon your face that made him forget about the dancing stars and the moonlight sky. God you looked so beautiful tonight that it hurt Floyd, it hurt him so much. Countless men tried chasing you down, tried asking for your hand, tried to be yours and yet Floyd had always taken your attention.

Selfish; Is what chastised him in his mind as he watched your love-struck eyes mingle with his that did not deserve to gaze upon your beauty. Beauty that Floyd could not describe; could not justify into words as it left his mouth dry. You wished that you both were different people, in a different time, at a different place, but why? Floyd could never understand the reason why your heart burned like his for a man who could not live next to you. For a man who had fallen from grace and from heaven while you still danced above, singing with all that heaven has given you to bless the ears of this selfish, selfish man in front of you. “I do not wish the same,” Floyd had told you, his words coxed in honey to make you believe that his heart did not yearn as well for this time, that his heart did not beg for you to be with him constantly. Selfish, crude, monster-ish. The words rang in his head, banging against the walls and stabbing him through the heart over and over until he felt it bleed. Selfish. He had made you cry that night, tears running down your flushed cheeks like impure stains that should not have been near you. He shouldn’t have made you cry, you didn’t deserve to cry, yet he did so anyway. What a crude man, what a monstrous man to make a star cry.

To make you cry hurt Floyd more than denying his heart, which was broken and torn into pieces as he watched you leave with such disdain and despair that he was sure someone else could repair. Not him, never him; a selfish greedy man that stood upon the summer grass, who stood upon a crowd full of people he didn’t know, who once stood next to you and your heavenly throne. Selfish. Is a word Floyd never used lightly and he would be damned if he gave himself leeway this time, any time. Never has Floyd ever been so disgusted with himself like he had when he was around you, but it was never your fault; It could never be your fault, it was his own. A burden he carried that weighed him down until he could no longer stand it, thrashing about for a way to escape. For a way to stop the pain. Away. Away from you and away from what you two had become. Never again does he want to taint you with who he has become; diminished, a star with no light. How could you have ever stand being close to someone who could never burn as bright. And then he watched as he took your flame but all for a short time. You cried and screamed, shouting with frightening might one night, “You never loved me… You knew that I loved you and you used that!” Your brightness was now a flame, anger burned instead of beauty and Floyd was scared that he had soiled who you once were. “No,” He had barely croaked out, trying to watch his tone. Yet it was useless as your words were like a scorching stone. They bruised his hair, burned him with bruises too much to bare, and he sunk to the floor in despair. For he loved you so, yet knew you should never know. And now he stood, in a pit in his own despair, within a crowd with faces that could never compare. And you, you stood upon the stage with light so fair. And oh he loved you so, he would repeat the phrase a dozen or so times in his head for the only answer to ring back dead. For you had given him your heart, and he yours. “Be careful,” He had told you oh so long ago, “As you walk home.” For since that night, you had his heart captured and chained and you always gave it a start. For since that night, he knew who he loved and no one, yes no one, could ever replace that feeling he held all so dear. And you had been careful, just as he said. You had held onto his heart with the utmost care, with the utmost importance, and with the utmost love. You were tender and soft, you fed him love. Love that was simple and love that was fair, love that was sweet and could not compare. Love that was soft, and that will forever be there. Forever be there in the corners of his mind. Forever be there, as the stars turn him blind. He would never hope for this fate for you, as it’s too cruel to bear. He would hope you would forget about him and let time head its course, and like the stars patch the wound he had embedded upon your heart. He hoped you didn’t search for his face among the crowd or call out his name in the darkest of night. For you would see only a shadow and gain no response back and it would sully your heart, and he was sure it would make you sad.

Selfish.

The word came back to him, one last time, as he slowly existed the crowd of nameless faces, upon a dark summer night. He slowly backed away from his final chance to mend the heart you had gave to him, now broken and bruised and torn and cut. His final chance to make things right to tell you how much you’re loved.

“I love you, …” Would be the words that died on his lips that night, along with his heart and diminished light.

“I love you” Were the words he wanted to say as he wrapped you in a hug, as he hid you from the pain.

“I love you”, Never again would he burden you with the possibility of those words. For he was not the one to tell you them, he could not claim your heart.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I really do. For my heart was always yours, and your heart was always mine. We were stars, you see, at the start of the world. We were atoms next to each other, always compelled by force. I love you, I love you, oh I love you so. Please stay with me, let us make our hearts whole. I love you, I love you, I love you more… but the words died from his lips before he could even give them a start, a chance, a second of thought.

Maybe, if things were different.

Maybe in another life, if we were different people. Maybe you would be me and maybe I would be you. Maybe we would be lovers, maybe even friends. In every universe I’m sure I will find you and cure your ills.

Maybe I’ll finally get the courage to mend my weeping heart. Maybe I’ll finally get the courage to face the brightest star.

Making a wish is something I had told you to do before, “Maybe a wish my love,” I had said with a tease. Yet the shooting star had shot out too quickly, leaving you with a wishing dream. And now maybe it’s my time to look upon a shooting star and wish to tell you the words that were stuck in my heart:

“I love you,” Without a frightful start. Full and truly, with my whole chest and heart;

“I love you.” I always had and I always do. I was just too scared to tell you.

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billthedrake · 1 month

Text

SUGAR DADDY (PART TWO)

The next day I was a little bit of a wreck. Still coming down from the high of my fantasy time with Mike Keenan. Sucking his cock. Kissing him. Enjoying the privacy and the deep conversation. I thought of texting him but decided that wouldn't be welcome. It hadn't been a date, it had ust been something that had happened. A combination of Mike taking pity on me and wanting to get his rocks off. We both got something out of it, but it was surely a one-time thing.

I had class that next morning and baseball practice that afternoon, then weightlifting. It was early evening when I got done and saw I had a text from Mike.

"Hi Luke, sorry no contact, I had a long day here. Enjoyed last night. Any chance for a repeat some time?"

My heart pounded. Maybe I was the one overthinking things. Mr. Keenan just wanted his cock sucked again.

"I'd love that," I wrote.

"Nice," came the reply. "You around to talk?"

I said good night to my buddies and told them I had to get back to study for a test. Then I texted a "yes" to Mike. A second later my phone rang.

"Hey," I said. God, I was majorly crushed out on the guy.

"Hey Luke," he said. His voice was sexy as fuck. "What are you up to?"

"Just getting out of practice. Bout to grab some dinner."

"I haven't eaten either. Want to come over? We can get dinner in the hotel bar."

"I probably need to change," I said. I was still in my workout clothes.

"I bet you look sexy as fuck," he growled. It was a trip to hear him lust for another man. "But take your time."

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't go to some fancy bar in my gym clothes."

"They don't give a fuck," he said. "But do what you feel comfortable with."

"All right," I said. "I'll text you when I'm on my way."

"Take an Uber," he said. "I'll pay."

"OK." Then I hung up. I was going to object, but I was eager to see the man. And truth be told I was hungry, real hungry. Maybe that's what made me decided to head right over, underdressed as I was.

"OK, I'm getting in my Uber," I typed to him five minutes later.

He sent a smiley face reply.

The man was in his suit, without tie, on one of the bar stools and his eyes lit up as I walked in. He had a smirk as I set down my backpack and pulled out the adjacent stool to sit. "I was right," he said softly. "Sexy as fuck."

I blushed. "I didn't think you went for guys that way," I whispered.

His blue eyes twinkled some as he patted my back. "No labels, remember?"

I was getting hard in my shorts. Unfortunately the thin fabric wasn't going to hide my boner, but fortunately, it was hidden by the bar. And my hunger was going to win out.

"The steak here is great," the man said as he handed me a menu.

"I dunno," I said as I looked over the option. "A burger is fine." Of course I was concerned about the price.

Mr. K could read me, though. "Get the steak," he grunted.

I felt a little chastised and said something I instantly regretted. "Is that how the Sugar Daddy treatment works?"

Mike gave me a quick glance then replied without missing a beat. "Buddy, you don't eye me up like a cash machine like those girls do. You don't know how nice a change that is."

I blushed and I felt his hand pat my bare thigh.

"I like that I can be honest with you, Luke, for real." His bossy tone was gone, replaced with the old Mr. Keenan charm.

I gulped. "I like being honest with you, too," I said. Until Mr. Keenan re-entered my life six months prior, I hadn't realized how rare it was I could be honest about things. I gave him a smile and saw him smile in return.

"Since I'm being honest," I started, but just then the bartender came over to take our order.

"Two steaks," Mr. Keenan said, ordering for me. "And another scotch and..." he turned to me.

"An IPA?" I asked. The bartender nodded and named off some brewery. Sounded good. We watched as he poured our drinks in front of us and placed them on the bar before going off to ring up our order.

"So..." Mike picked up. "Since you're being honest..."

I lowered my voice. "It's like I said before. You don't need to pay for anything, Mike. Or be a sugar daddy or anything."

He grinned. "There's always trade offs," he said. "And maybe I enjoy the control."

"Control?" I asked dumbly.

"If you're paying, you get your say in a lot of things," he said. He paused and watched me blush. "You think less of me."

"Honesty, right? You don't know how crushed out I am on you."

He smiled. "I have an idea. It's flattering." He took a sip of his scotch and looked over at me like a wolf eyeing up his prey. "I'm hoping you stay over tonight."

I was in over my head. Emotionally, but also with a man like Keenan. Decisive. "If you want, I will," I said.

"Good," he said, satisfied.

***

Mike Keenan surprised me that evening. After we ate and he paid the check, we went up to our room. We showered together, making out, feeling each other up. I was surprised how much this straight man was into my very male body and my cock. Well, he was probably bi and in any case had his no-labels motto. I was gonna embrace it.

Particularly as we made out on the bed, me beneath his middle aged, fit hairy body. I'd eventually find a real boyfriend, I knew, but I also knew it was going to be hard for any man to live up to hot how Mr. K was. His cock felt hard and even bigger as we humped our bodies together and kissed.

"So, Luke... you up for me being inside you?"

I nodded, hungrily. "God yeah, Mr. Keenan."

He grinned. "You have much experience?" That concern coming in.

"A couple of guys, yeah," I said. Then with deep candor, I added, "I wish you'd taken my cherry, Mike."

His voice got husky. "I've done anal a couple of times. With an ex-girlfriend."

His words made me actually break out into goosebumps. For some reason the idea of Mr. K doing some woman in the backdoor seemed kinky as fuck. But also the way he unmistakeably was communicating that he knew how to fuck me. "You liked it, I bet," I said with a lusty smile.

He nodded and winked just as he leaned up and knelt on the bed. His hardon looked magnificent, the thickness perfectly framed by his hairy, DILF-y body. I decided then and there I'd have a hard time sleeping with a man under 40. "Oh, yeah, buddy," he said. Then my body shivered again as I watched the confidence with which he picked up the lube he'd set out next to the bed. As he returned his focus, I pulled back my legs and spread them some, letting his slick hand in to lube up my hole. "It's probably my favorite thing. Hard to talk a woman into it, though."

"I can imagine," I hissed, enjoying the cool contact of the lubed finger on my ring. "I bet that costs extra huh?" Maybe that sounded accusatory, but from my tone it was clear that it was a joke, and Mr. Keenan picked up on that.

He laughed. "I don't hire hookers, but don't think I haven't thought about it." His cock jerked, and I was relieved that being with a dude seemed to work for him as much as fucking a chick.

He pressed in and worked me open some. "That feel OK, buddy?"

I looked at him excitedly and nodded. I kept expecting resistance as the man fingered me but there was none. At all. "Feels amazing Mr. K." My longtime nickname for him just slipped off my tongue, but the man seemed excited to hear it. His cock actually jerked.

He now slipped in a third finger, twisting me open and working in and out. "You're ready," he said, though I knew there was a questioning behind his assured tone.

"Yes, sir," I hissed.

Mike was horny, too, I realized as he scooted in to place and nudged his meaty cock right into place. I don't know the approach he took with women, but he angled his finger to let his prick push in just as he withdrew his hand. Kind of a shoehorn move that slid his meaty cock right into me. Three solid inches inside me in one go.

"There ya go," he said with satisfaction. Then he moved forward, his hips driving more meat into me, as he leaned his upper body forward. I was getting well and truly penetrated.

The thing was, my insides were starting their natural resistance, my guts clenching down on the invader and trying to repel it. Mr. Keenan mistook my discomfort for a natural stimulation of an ass on his cock. "That's goddamn nice, buddy," he hissed and like that he was kissing me, hard and possessively.

I met his tongue as well as I could, but there was something that clicked in me. I was a dude, a masculine dude. I didn't like to think of myself as feminine, and I got offended by the way people would associate gay sex with being feminized. And yet, I was pinned down beneath Mike Keenan and all I could think was to compare myself to those college chicks Mike banged. My hole relaxed around him and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Not slutty or anything, but damn I needed and wanted a Mike Keenan fuck.

He must have sensed the change but in any case pulled back from the kiss. "I guess I didn't even ask about protection," he hissed, his hips slowly pumping me.

"This is perfect, Mr. K," I growled. His dick was rubbing right over my prostate, not punching the button, but playing it like a violin string. It was a surprisingly new sensation for me.

The man liked my answer. He pulled back, further back, and pushed all the way. Then again. Not rushing it, but definitely claiming me with this cock. All the while his blue eyes bore down on mine. "How do you normally like it, Luke?" he asked.

I racked my brain. It was actually hard to think with the man's cock pressing in and out. And I'd only had a few experiences bottoming. "Slow, I guess," I replied. But then as I felt up the man's naked torso and strong arms, I wanted more. "But this is weird to ask... but I'd like you to show me how I like it."

THAT turned Mike on like crazy. "Yeah?" His nostrils flared. "I can do that buddy."

He pulled back and I felt his prick punch into me. In retrospect it probably wasn't rough, but I'd never been fucked with that much force. Then another. Slow, steady, and hard.

The fact that it was Rich's dad doing this drove me wild. I looked up into his handsome face and imagined him rough fucking some sugar baby who'd have to work for her apartment money.

"Shit!" I gasped. My prick was dripping already, a telltale sign that I was about to cum. I gripped it, just in time to let the pleasure boil to a full orgasm, all while Mr. Keenan pounded it out of me.

His own face was scrunching into a clear sign of pleasure. The man was ejaculating into my guts, and good.

"Well, fuck me," he sighed as he lay his forehead against mine. We lay like that, my hands on him and my legs wrapped around him. His more mature, fit body resting on top of me as he caught his breath. "Please tell me you liked that buddy," he hissed.

I felt weirdly emotional. I don't know, it wasn't just the crush I had on Mr. K. It was the hormonal rush on top of the mind fuck of having had such hot sex. "A little too much," I admitted.

That made him smile.

He finally leaned up and slid out of me, and off me. His dick was thick and plump but softening, and very wet. He looked down on me with a mix of surprise, paternal-like affection, and pride in conquest. I loved it all, and it was then that I realized I was hooked on the Mike Keenan experience.

"I thought I was pushing my luck asking you to meet me again," he said as he stepped off the bed and down some water from a water bottle. His middle-aged muscle was covered in a sheen of sweat. The man was sexy as fuck. His eyes barely left my nakedness. "But I guess not," he continued.

I felt all sorts of weird, and more than a little cheap now that the endorphins were wearing off. I sat up in bed, my hole feeling used and wet now. "You really do like being on control, don't you, Mike?"

My words caught him by surprise. "I guess I come on strong, huh?"

"A little," I admitted. "I should probably go," I said as I searched for my briefs.

"Will it make you feel better to stay over?" he asked.

It was my turn to be surprised. "You think I'm like a chick?" I asked. I wasn't sure I was upset he was stereotyping me as a gay guy. Or upset because maybe he was right.

"It's just a question, Luke," he replied. "I'll give you Uber money."

I swallowed my pride. "I'd love to stay. Sorry I was giving you grief."

He smiled. "It's fine buddy. I'm used to game playing. But you're a straight shooter. I like that." Then matter of factly, he added, "I get up early."

"That's cool," I said.

****

I gave Mr. K a blowjob early the next morning. And he stroked me off. I guess I was leaning toward being a bottom before Mike Keenan, but I'd never embraced the label. What the fuck, the man was making me realize the shoe fit.

I was happy and content all day. I kind of wanted a text from Mr. K, but I didn't need one. Even being young and naive, I knew I had to take this for what it was, or not at all.

Around 5:30 I got a text. "Dinner?"

I had a late game and plans with my buddies. "I'm tied up, Mike," I wrote. "Sorry."

"What time you done?" came that reply.

"I don't know. 10?"

"Come over then. You know the room number."

Maybe it should have rubbed me the wrong way, but it didn't. I was horny for this man. So bad.

Only after I replied with an OK, I got a Venmo alert. Mr. K had sent me money. Not an exhorbitant amount. But a lot.

Oh shit.

***

I was nervous as Mike ushered me in. The worst part was how fucking handsome he looked, even in his readers and plush hotel bathrobe. He didn't look exactly sleepy, but he seemed in a relaxed, tired state as he looked me up and down.

"Thanks for coming, Luke," he said. That easygoing charm I remember from going over to his place when I was visiting my buddy Rich.

"Sure," I said. Looking around, I wondered what it was like to live in a hotel like this a few nights a week, always being on the road. I smelled Mr. Keenan's cologne before I felt his hand on my shoulder and his warm body press against my back. Already he was kissing softly at my neck.

"Listen, Mr. K... can we talk about the money thing?"

His voice had a throaty growl. Maybe he'd been thinking all evening, all day about sex, because he seemed to be in a horny mode. "Sure. Was it not enough?"

"No, Jesus," I hissed, feeling his fingers already running beneath the hem of my T-shirt tracking my abs. "I don't need anything. For real."

OK, now his fingers stopped their seductive movement. I guess the man was getting it. "You offended?" he asked.

I blushed. "I dunno," I replied. "It didn't make me feel great."

I felt his breath against my neck. "You deserve the money more than Kimberly," he said. "Or the others. It's just a little something, Luke. Use it to have fun. Or save it for a rainy day."

I don't know how Mike Keenan was so persuasive a man, but he was. Maybe because those fingers are once again tracing up my abs and pulling my shirt with them. "Come on, buddy, let me see that hot baseball jock body," he urged.

I went with it. I knew I was good looking, and even if I had some bulking goals for the off season, I knew I had a solid body. But the fact Mr. Keenan was into it had me so turned on. I turned around to see a smile on his five-o-clock-shadowed face.

"Nice," he said, eyes sweeping up and down my build. "Lose the shorts, Luke," he said.

Mr. K had talked about enjoying being in control. I was now wrestling with the fact that I enjoyed being bossed around, at least by this man. I stepped back and undid my shorts, stripping down completely for him. I was rock hard.

My heart pounded as I watched Mike get a more serious look on his face, as his hands reached down to undo the tie on the robe. The white terry cloth flapped open to show off his furry fit torso and, beneath that, his thick boner. "Come on buddy," he said in a deep whisper, nodding down at his crotch in an unmistakable signal.

I gulped. I assumed my normal catcher's squat, a position which made my hard dick stick up at an angle.

"Fuck yeah," Mike said. He scooted up to offer me his prick. It was fat and veiny, and while not porn-long that dick was pretty damn big.

I leaned forward just an inch to start licking him. Top to bottom. Along his furry nuts. Tasting every inch of Mike Keenan. Maybe his relaxed vibe gave me the implicit permission to take my time.

Only by the time I actually began sucking him, working my mouth up and down on him and doing my best to coordinate suction and tongue along his shaft, the man was starting to get worked up.

"Easy there, buddy," he hissed, gently pushing me off his dick, which throbbed and jerked a little, wet with my saliva. "I almost blew there."

I grinned. I felt so fucking proud. I didn't have a ton of sexual experience and it was good to know I was doing something right to get Mike so close so soon. "Why don't you?" I asked, sitting back on my haunches and looking up at him. I was getting more confident in having sex with this older man.

He let out a heavy sigh, like he was fighting off the urge to do just that. A smile crossed his lips, though. "Guess I'm like a kid with a new toy," he explained.

It took me a second to get it. "You wanna fuck me again." Half statement, half question.

Mike nodded. "Been thinking about it all fucking day, man. Your ass is so fucking tight."

I knew this was a possibility, and I wondered if I should be giving my hole some rest. But I also knew it was going to be hard to turn down a Mr. Keenan fuck. I stood up, my dick riding that crest between pure excited hardness and nervous flagging.

"Ok if we kiss a little, Mike?" I asked feeling almost embarrassed to ask. "You know, make out a little?"

My buddy's dad nodded and grinned as he stepped up to me, placing his hands on my waist. "I guess I can come on strong, huh?" he asked.

God, feeling his dick press against mine and the heat and the soft-hard combo of fur and muscle against me was going to drive me wild. "Some, yeah," I admitted with a laugh. Then blushing, I added, "Part of me really likes it, but fuck it's intimidating too, you know?"

Mike didn't reply but just gave a sympathetic nod and leaned in for a soft kiss. We made out some, and it was incredible to feel the contrast between the gentle approach kissing and the mauling of his hands on my jock body, particularly my butt. Mr. K wasn't kidding about having a new toy. He seemed to really love my ass.

He walked me back to the bed and I went back down on the mattress with a motion of his that was between guiding and pushing. He quickly lost his bathrobe and joined me, covering my body with his older, more experienced one, feeling me up and kissing along my neck, my ear, my upper chest. Mike was in full-on horny mode and bring me there right with him.

Finally he lifted off and rolled to the side. His erection was dripping and rock hard and looked amazing against all that body hair. "All right buddy, get on all fours."

I was primed for Mike Keenan in full on control mode. I scrambled to do as the man asked, facing the headboard and feeling the man settle in behind me. Already his hands were cupping my glutes and feeling the smooth muscle.

"You got a hot fucking ass, Luke," he growled. He pawed at me another few seconds then reached for some lube. The first wet finger felt great, and went in pretty easy.

"You're looser today, buddy," Mike hissed. A second finger popped in.

"Yeah, probably," I responded. "After yesterday."

"I wanna keep you this way," came his deep voice. "Ready for me."

"Oh fuck, Mr. K," I whined. There was an edge to his tone that drove me wild. And as his prick pushed in, I felt a welcome pleasure, even with my residual tightness.

"Fuck yeah," Mike grunted as he felt my insides and pushed to bottom out. "Right back in the saddle."

His grip clenched roughly on my waist. Just as quickly as that thick cock pulled out, it barreled back in. And again. One hard thrust right after the other as Mr. K grunted deeply. "Ung. Ungh. Ung."

The man was fucking for his pleasure, not mine. Still I felt an excited thrill. I wouldn't say I enjoyed this nearly as much as the missionary mating the night before but it felt new to me. Animalistic and raw. I was hard even with the discomfort of the shafting.

Wham. Wham. Wham. That thick piece of hard dad meat was drilling steadily. Then the cadence went off. Mr. Keenan's rhythm was getting more spasmodic and jerky as he pounded me. Then I felt those fingers dig into my hips.

"FUCK!"

From his cry and the sudden stop of his thrusts, I knew the man was seeding me.

I loved every part of the experience, but I now regretted that I hadn't gotten off. The fuck had been too hard and too quick.

Thankfully I felt the man shift behind me and, prick still buried inside me, he leaned forward to press against, my back.

I loved the feeling of his kiss on my neck, but even more I loved the slickness of his palm as he wrapped his hand around my hardon. Mike didn't even need to do much. Just give slow soft pumps in and out of my guts while his fingers ran along my dick. I fired off, heavy and hard. I felt lightheaded when I came.

We were quiet as we uncoupled. The shame was coming back to me as I showered off. Shame that I enjoyed what others might see as a dominant, selfish fuck. Shame that there were funds in my Venmo account. Shame that I was falling for Mr. Keenan so hard. I knew I couldn't stay over in this hotel room, not tonight. I needed some space to think.

Mike had his robe back on. To this day a white terry bathrobe is a fetish for me. His tone was more serious. "You mad at me Luke?" he asked as he sat in the hotel chair and watched me get dressed.

I grimaced but shook my head no. "I didn't think I'd like sex that rough," I said softly.

I could see a sly grin from on his lips. But he continued. "I wasn't talking about the fuck."

God, the man could be intense, behind the suave businessman outgoingness and the friendly paternal vibe. It was like I was seeing the real Mr. Keenan. Intimidating, sure, but I also wondered if he had a hard time with real relationships. His marriage hadn't worked out, he was clearly estranged from his son, and he basically hired dates instead of having real girlfriends.

I paused, just holding the T shirt I was going to put back on. "Can I be blunt, Mr. K? You say you don't want a hooker, and yet have a way of treating me like one."

He was prepared for that. "You're not that, Luke. But I'm not ready for anything serious. I figure I can help you out, and you can help me out." He looked at me and could tell I still didn't get it. "Listen, it's not just sex. I love spending time with you buddy. You're a hell of a lot more fun than those sugar babies, I'll tell ya." He cracked a smile, and I had to as well.

"I guess," I said. Remembering Kimberly, I could imagine she'd be more work than fun.

My conciliatory tone made him happy, and I was glad to see the friendly Mr. Keenan return. "Well, it's just I don't always have the time or interest for all the other boyfriend bullshit. Checking in, looking after emotional needs, dealing with jealousy."

I gulped. I was starting to get a better picture of Mike. The side Rich hated. The side I should hate more.

He watched my reaction but continued. "I know that wouldn't be fun for you to deal with, so I want to make it worth your while."

"Make what worth my while?" I asked. Again, as persuasive as he was, I felt he kept talking around the sex part.

He laughed, almost amused at how astute I was. "Luke, I'm not going to pay you per sex act. Or per night. But..." his voice got conspiratorial. I wondered if he knew what that supportive dad-figure tone did for me, and just weaponized it to get his way. Honestly I think it just came naturally to him. "Well, bud, I'd love an arrangement when you're able to keep me company when I'm in DC." His blue eyes got an impish cast to them, and I knew he was in seal-the-deal mode. "I'm pretty sure we could have a lot of fun together."

"You wanna be my sugar daddy?" I asked, point blank. It's not that I was dumb, but I actually didn't think Mr. Keenan was outright going there.

He nodded. But his face had a caution to it. "Would it better if we ditched the labels?" he asked, a smirk on his face reminding me of his own no-labels policy.

"It would," I answered. Then. "OK if I think on it, Mike?"

"Of course," he said.

He stood up as I finished putting on my shoes. Seeing how handsome he was I almost asked if I could stay over again. But the vibe wasn't right for that.

As I made my way to the room door, Mr. K patted my shoulder. "You're a fine young man, Luke," he said. His fingers gave my muscle a little squeeze before letting go. "I mean that."

"Thanks, Mr. Keenan," I said.

***

The Uber ride was quick at that time of night. I'd have to come up with an excuse to my roommate while I was out again. I'd probably have to come up with a lot more excuses if I hung out more with Mr. K. Or, if he got me my own apartment, things would be easier. Meeting up with him. Having sex with him.

I pulled out my phone. I thought I'd hesitate before sending but I knew I knew my answer.

"You'll have to let me know how it works Mr. K," I texted. "But I'm in."

No labels. But if Mike Keenan was going to call himself my sugar daddy that was probably OK too.

I got a quick reply. "That makes me happy Luke. Talk tomorrow sexy."

I felt warm inside. Mike Keenan was going to make this worth my while. But I was determined to make it worth his, too.

#drakestories

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