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tropes-and-tales · 5 months

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Dyin' for a Taste

Day 11: Face Sitting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Idiots in love; pining; smut (oral, f!receiving); 18+ only.

Word Count: 4096

AN: This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: When I say this is not edited, please know it is NOT EDITED. Full of typos and sloppy typing. Tropes is a fat-fingered old crone.

It starts with a joke.

The 141 is on a covert ops in the mountains. It’s cold—the sort of cold that burns, that makes the bones ache. You’re posted up in a perch, your sniper’s rifle at the ready if shit goes south. The rest of the team is in the square below, waiting for the drop.

“My bollacks are gonna freeze off,” Soap complains over the comms, and you snort at the whining tone in his soft Scottish brogue.

“Shoulda dressed for the weather,” you reply. “Ghost probably has a spare balaclava.”

“And cover this handsome face?”

“Won’t be so handsome when your nose turns black from frostbite.”

You hear the tsch noise he makes over the comms, the very Soap, very Scottish noise of dismissal.

“You’ll have to sit on my face then, hen, and warm me back up,” he says.

You’re rarely stunned into silence—you and the guys are always making off-color jokes—but when you open your mouth to reply, you only gape wordlessly. The silence over the comms grows, expands, until Gaz—fucking Gaz—chimes in.

“I think she’s into the idea, bruv.”

And you can’t respond to that fast enough either, which leaves another long beat of silence over the comms, which likely seems like enough of an answer.

-----

The mission goes smoothly. The team splits up as planned to avoid drawing attention. You don’t see Soap again until a few days later when you regroup at HQ.

You think, perhaps, that he’s forgotten. Maybe that’d be better. You and Soap get along well, and sometimes he flirts with you, but he flirts with everyone. It means nothing.

And yet…

And yet, it’s Soap. You might be able to lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself: you’ve spent many a lonely night with your thoughts drifting to him. Turning him over and over in your mind.

Soap MacTavish. Handsome, almost unbearably so. He could be a cocky asshole, be the sort of man who knows he’s hot and be insufferable about it, but he’s gregarious. Friendly. He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of man—or as much as someone in the One-Four-One can be.

-----

“Been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement, not a question. Soap corners you in the mess hall, his blue eyes peering at you without guile. He looks almost concerned.

“I haven’t,” you reply. You try to shift past him, but he puts a hand out against the doorway, bars you with his arm.

“You have.”�� He peers at you closer, his blue eyes somber. “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

You thought, perhaps, that he’d forgotten…but those somber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then smooth out as he schools his expression.

“Maybe you think my offer was wrong,” he says.

“I never said that.” You duck under his arm, but he lays his hand on your shoulder and stills you again.

“You’ve never said anything about it.” You don’t look at him, but you hear his gentle snort of laughter. “Your silence is deafening.”

You feel your face start to heat up because he’s not wrong. Too much time has passed now to address that moment in the mountains. You should have said something then, spat out some rejoinder to signal that it meant nothing to you, that it was just another dumb joke between you and Soap. But something about that dumb joke conjures up the mental image of you and Soap, and your face burns in embarrassment.

So you duck from his light grip on your shoulder and it makes him laugh again, then call out to your retreating form, “the offer still stands, hen.”

-----

A month passes, then another. You get leave for a few weeks and go someplace warm, a beach with golden sand and soft breezes where you can relax and forget the horrors of what you see every day.

Then you’re back on base, then another mission. Over and over, the same routine.

Through it all: Soap MacTavish, the team’s Golden Retriever. Always with an easy grin on his handsome face, a laugh, a joke. He teases Ghost, he does a passable impression of Captain Price. He gives Gaz a hard time about their rival rugby teams, but it’s always good-natured.

He jokes with you, but that joke—the one about sitting on his face—becomes just a joke between the two of you. You don’t know if the other men have forgotten it, but Soap only brings it up when you’re alone now.

At the barracks, in the rec room, he’s sprawled out on the couch and half-dozing, half-watching a rugby match. When you walk past, he notices, sits up. Beckons you over, tells you to have a seat…then thoughtfully strokes his face with that damned smirk and comically waggling eyebrows.

“You’re a jackass,” you call out as you leave the room, but by now, it makes you laugh…and it lightly stokes that ever-burning flame low in your belly.

-----

Another time, he sidles up to you at the range as you study your targets with their tight formation of bullet holes. He points out one shot, high in the corner of the paper, off of the concentric circles of the bullseye.

“Missed one,” he says.

You scoff. “One out of….many.”

He matches your scoff with one of his own. “Might be losing your edge.”

“I’m not.” You know he’s winding you up, but that missed shot galls you.

“Maybe you’re stressed out.”

You set the target down on the wooden railing. “Maybe you’re stressing me out, MacTavish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His blue eyes light up in glee, and he only gets out the first part of his retort—You know what’s good for de-stressing—before you drop to one knee and start disassembling your sniper rifle, ducking your head and hiding your burning cheeks from him.

“…nothing wrong with it,” he finishes as you shut the rifle’s case, and you realize you’ve missed part of what he’s said.

“There isn’t,” you agree. You stand up and lean a bit on the courage that sees you through each mission. You look him square in the eye and add, “but you’re just flirting.”

He gazes back at you, a soft smile on his face, only a little teasing. “Not just flirting.”

“Sure.” You roll your eyes.

He makes his Soap-branded tsch sound, then he loops his arm around your shoulders to pull you in close. He smells like…well, he smells like soap, clean with a hint of something herbal. It’s nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times—in safe houses after a mission, walking out of a bar on a night out with the team—that companionable way he pulls you against him.

“It makes me sad when you don’t believe me, hen,” he chuckles, and it’s low, right by your ear, his warm breath fanning over you.

You’re not sure what spurs your next move. You’re a natural-born sniper; you take the measure of everything around you—the curve of the earth, the speed and direction of the wind—before you squeeze your trigger. You’re the same with people, cautious and feeling out every angle of their intentions before you make a move. But you know Soap, and the question around his joke is the only uncertainty.

Something makes you act without much thought. Your rifle case in your hand, your other hand tucked in your pocket, and Soap’s arm slung around your shoulders…the moment is crystalized, will be an easy memory to recall in the years to come because this is when everything between the two of you changes.

“You know what?” you ask, and you don’t allow him to hazard a guess. Instead, you gaze at him levelly, straight into those bright blue eyes of his and add, “alright, let’s do this.”

It’s comical, how the smile drops from his face, how his mouth makes a little “oh” of surprise. His eyes scan your face, quick, like he’s trying to find the joke, trying to find proof you’re just having a laugh at his expense.

“Bonnie,” he starts to say, and his voice has a rough edge to it. His voice is missing its usual teasing edge, and he pauses to study you. You don’t know if he realizes it, but the tip of his tongue darts out, licks against his lower lip, like he’s really thinking of it now that it could be a reality.

“Bonnie, are you just…are ye fer real?” His voice is lower and his accent gets thicker, and it sets a frisson of heat shimmering through your lower belly.

You refuse to blink. Refuse to look away. “I’m for real if you are.”

“I was never joking about that.”

“Then I’m not joking either.” You swing your rifle case towards the barracks, playing at bravery but willing the fluttery feeling in your stomach to calm. “So let’s go.”

Soap—gregarious, convivial Soap—says nothing else on the walk back. He keeps his arm around your shoulders, though, and his hand settles against your bicep, rubs you briskly before gently holding you there, like he’s proving to himself that you’re real, that the moment is really happening.

-----

Your nerve wobbles a little when you get back to quarters. Soap’s nerves must have a similar wobble, because he turns to you and his usual boyish grin is gone, replaced by a grave expression.

“You dinnae have to do this,” he says, “if you don’t want to.”

Part of you wants to back out, chuck him in the arm and say it was just a joke. You could still back out. Soap is flirty and gregarious, but hooking up would irrevocably change your easy relationship with him. It could change the tenor of the team. And yet…

…don’t you both face death every day? Don’t you see the absolute worst of humanity? Don’t your bodies bear the scars of your hard, unrelenting lives—countless scars, visible and invisible both? Don’t you all operate in your own bubbles of loneliness, sleeping alone night after night but crowded out by the ghosts you all haul around?

Is it too much to ask for even a moment of connection, of not feeling alone?

You gaze back at him. Sweet Johnny MacTavish. Handsome but not vain, smart but not aloof, funny without being cruel about his teasing. Is there anyone you’d rather be with?

“I want to do this,” you tell him, and there’s no hesitation in your tone. “If you do. If you really were just joking around, then no harm, Johnny.”

His somber gaze softens at your use of his real name. “Wasn’t joking at all.” Then he opens the door to his quarters and turns to you, invites you in with a sweep of his hand, and when you walk past him, he lays his palm on your lower back to guide you.

-----

In truth, you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face. It’s one of those funny sex acts that you joke around about but have never gotten around to, like sixty-nine (always seemed more complicated than necessary) or food-play (always seemed too messy).

Soap, it turns out, has never actually had his face sat on.

And it’s adorable, how he sheepishly runs his hand through the longer stripe of his short-shorn hair and admits as much.

“Figured it cannae be that complicated though,” he says. He huffs out a breath, and you realize how nervous he must be, and it gives you courage to take charge.

“Kiss me first. Then we can figure it out from there.”

The tame command makes his face light up and he murmurs, “yes, ma’am” in his brogue, and then he does as you say.

If Soap MacTavish is generally the team’s Golden Retriever, bouncing around with a wagging tail, he kisses with far more finesse. He cups your face gently, reverently and leans forward, brushes the lightest of kisses against your lips like he’s testing the waters. Like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you again.

It’s awkward at first, but only because you’re both so tentative. It’s uncharted territory. He must be aware that you’re crossing a line in doing this, you think, and he must not care either. But the awkwardness melts away quickly because Soap is a damned good kisser, skilled in how he moves his mouth against yours, his tongue against yours. One of his hands stays on your face, cupping you gently and steering you, but the other hand touches your waist, your hip, slides around to squeeze your ass gently before returning to the dip of your waist.

He tastes like something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or nutmeg. Everything about him is warm, really: the way he cups your face but runs his thumb over your cheekbone, the way his other hand holds you steady as he kisses you. And the way he looks at you when he breaks the kiss, the almost-shy way he tugs at the hem of your shirt and asks if he can take it off.

He’s warm too—his body, his skin as you bare it with each article of clothing shed. You strip each other in tandem, and the sight of him leaves you breathless. He’s like something carved by a Renaissance sculptor, but when you smooth your palms over the dips and swells of his muscles, you find that he’s warm to the touch, wonderfully so, and a wave of lust almost takes you out at the knees by how much you want to feel his body against yours, under you or on top of you, every inch of you pressed against him.

Soap must feel the same way about you—he touches you just as gently as before, almost reverent, but his goddamned eyes practically shine when he looks at you, then groans out, “fuck, but you’re stunning, hen.”

He maneuvers you both towards the bed, and then he stretches out across it, and this is precisely why your sexual repertoire has always been lacking: when a brutally handsome man is stretched out in front of you like a damned buffet, your mind singularly focuses on one thing, and you rarely remember that there’s other, more adventuresome things you could do.

You’re already turned on. Ever since the two of you walked back from the range, you’ve been on a low simmer of lust, and the desire has ratcheted up with each kiss, with each little grumbling groan of Soap’s, with each sweep of his big warm hands along your body.

So you’re already turned on, so why sit on his face when his beautiful cock—perfectly sized for you, the ruddy tip already leaking precum—is also an option?

And Soap is no dummy. He must guess at your internal battle because he says your name softly, pulls your gaze back to his face where he smiles that brilliant Soap-smile at you.

“Alright then?” he asks. He pats his upper chest. “You can sit right here, to start.”

It hits you all at once how intimate this is. Fucking, hooking up—that’s one thing. But sitting on your teammate’s face feels like you’re taking a further step into the unknown. Oral sex, to you, is already more intimate than regular ol’ intercourse, but sitting on his face feels…even more intimate. There’s a lot of trust on both ends: he has to trust you not to hurt him, not to put too much weight or force on his face or neck. And you have to trust him too, since you’re basically smothering him you with your pussy, and many men are precious little babies about eating pussy.

“I could just…” You trail off and gesture vaguely at where his erection strains and bobs against his belly, and Soap snorts before he replies, “we could do both, hen.”

When you don’t say anything, when you don’t move, he adds, “c’mon, sweet girl. I’m dyin’ for a taste of ye.”

The accent is unfair, you decide. The accent is not fighting fair. Soap’s Scottish brogue is charming in the best of times, but his bedroom version is thicker, at a slightly lower register, and it’s entirely unfair. It easily dismantles the rest of your meager defenses, so you nod and then kneel on the bed. But when you start to awkwardly clamor on top of him, he stills you for a beat and taps his mouth, says, “give me a kiss first.”

And the kiss is unfair too because it reminds you that it’s just Soap, one of your dearest teammates, a man who often holds your life in his hands and whose life you hold in your own. His now-familiar taste of spicy warmth on your tongue, and his lips curving in a smile against yours when he whispers, “climb on up, hen Don’t keep me waitin’ anymore.”

There’s no sexy way to climb on top of him. Do you just kneel by his chest and throw a leg over him? Do you straddle him lower and scoot up? You split the difference, try to straddle him on his lower chest and scoot up, but then his one arm gets pinned. Any other man? It might be a deal-breaker being so clumsy, but Soap laughs underneath you—a genuine belly-laugh full of warmth that makes you giggle too. He wrangles his arm free, then lays both hands on your hips and guides you the rest of the way.

This is unbearable intimate too, being so exposed to his bright blue-eyed gaze. You probably have tons of issues around previous men who didn’t eat pussy, who were grossed out by it, but Soap’s eyes practically glitter black with how blown his pupils are. His face rarely hides its emotions very well (he’s a shitty poker player), and there’s no disgust in his expression at all. There’s only desire, naked and apparent.

“Tell me,” he says, and his voice is a low growl that sends that frisson of heat straight to your core. “Tell me what is working for you, yeah? Don’t go quiet on me.”

You nod, and you wish you could think of something cool or funny to say, but Soap lifts his head a little and presses a plush, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, where both are splayed in front of him, and before you can even beat yourself up for failing to think of something cool or funny, his mouth is on you in earnest.

Soap, a damned good kisser. It translates to this, his skilled tongue and lips licking at you, suckling at you, swirling against you before he breaks up the pattern with an outright kiss, then resumes his routine. He traces the tip of his tongue around the firm bud of your clit, the perfect amount of pressure before he snakes it lower, lapping at the arousal leaking from your entrance. He’s unabashed about it, groans against your feverish skin, and you love him in this moment—love that he wasn’t joking after all, love that he had led you here, where you sit perched on him while he feasts on your cunt and seems to genuinely enjoy it as he does.

Any other position, you’d lean down and kiss him, or pull him to you and kiss him. Now, as he groans against you again, you reach down and run your fingers through the longer stripe in his hair. He must like that, because he groans a third time, and his grip on your hips spasms tighter.

You remember what he asked of you, so when he purses his lips and suckles against your clit, you gasp out a startled “oh!” but then add, “fuck, Johnny. Just like t-that.”

“Good?” It comes out muffled against you, and he pauses his mouth long enough to gaze up at you with a smile.

“So good.” You shift your hand, cup his stubbled chin slick with your arousal—a gentle movement that makes his smile soften too.

“Like when you call me Johnny, hen.” Now he sounds a little shy, like he’s edging close to something beyond a random hookup with face-sitting.

“Keep using your mouth like that and I’ll call you Johnny all the time,” you tease.

“Deal.” And then he’s on you again, laving your sensitive folds with his tongue, his bit of stubble raising a warm burn against your inner thighs. His hands on your hips pull you closer, and he encourages the slow, careful rhythm when you start to actually ride his face—a languid back-and-forth, mindful of his need for oxygen, while he eats your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

Your orgasm approaches faster than you thought; you thought you might have to fake it, since you rarely come from oral alone. But there’s something about this position. You feel powerful in a benign way, in charge, but mindful of the man underneath you. You run your fingers through his hair and Soap preens at the touch, just as he preens when you pant out praise for him, tell him how good you feel. How good he is making you feel.

He must sense it because his grip tightens on your hips, but his tongue moves faster and focuses solely on your clit—teasing with the tip of his tongue, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“F-fuck,” you choke out. “Johnny…fuck…I’m gonna…” but you don’t finish the sentence, you keen out a garble of nonsense as you come.

The heat in your belly pools over, spills over in a brilliant wash that courses through your veins, into your trembling legs and up through your body, makes your vision shimmer and crackle with sparks. Your heartbeat, your panting breath are loud in your own ears, and you hear Soap groan but he sounds faraway. He teases your orgasm, prolongs it by licking against you until you grip his hair tighter and hold his head still while you clumsily dismount, then flop gracelessly onto the bed beside him.

You feel boneless. You feel heavy, sleepy, like you could sink into the mattress and sleep for days. You close your eyes and feel the bed shift, and Soap disappears for a moment. You hear running water—he must be cleaning his face, you think—but then the mattress dips again and he’s curling his warm body around yours, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you to him, then settles the blanket over both of you.

“Good, yeah?”

You laugh. “Yeah, that was good. Especially for someone who’s never done it before.” A beat. “Give me a moment to catch my breath and then I can help you out.”

Soap chuckles above you, and you feel him press his lips to your forehead before settling again. “No need.”

“But I—”

“Already came.”

The gears in your head turn slow when you’re sated from sex. Coming makes you stupid. “Huh? When?”

Another chuckle, another kiss to your head. “When I was eating you, hen.”

You turn your head and try to peer up at him. He looks comfortable and sleepy too, content and sated. “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Told ye I was dyin’ for a taste.” He shifts a little, pulls you closer to him. He tugs the blanket more securely around your shoulders. “If ye want a second round, I’ll need a few minutes.”

You appraise the situation: the warm scent of Soap, the feel of his naked body pressed to yours, the warm little cocoon he’s created here in his bed. Of course you want a second round, but you’re sleepy too, and the thought of sleeping with Soap doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it might have seemed before he had his mouth on your pussy.

“Or we could sleep,” you offer.

“Sleep,” he agrees. “Round two tomorrow.”

The doubts from earlier start to surface in your mind, but they seem tiny and inconsequential when you’re wrapped up in Soap’s arms. You feel sleep tugging at you—he’s already asleep, you think, breathing deep and even against you—so you chance to brush your lips against the bit of him you can reach and whisper good night to him.

But he’s not quite completely asleep yet because he kisses you back, another press of his lips against your head, and he whispers back, “g’night, hen.”

#john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap imagine #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish imagine #soap x reader #call of duty modern warfare #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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doqt33th · 10 months

Text

SINGULARITY

MIRAGE/READER

SUMMARY: You and Mirage have been pining for each other for a while now. A nasty summer storm drives you straight into his arms. Shenanigans ensue.

WORD COUNT: 18k. Sorry I’m insane

WARNINGS: 18+ and I CANNOT STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! Explicit PWP, fingering + oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, mild spit kink. Reader is fem and uses she/her pronouns but is written fairly androgynous. No descriptors of appearance beyond the basics and no (y/n) used.

Familiar streets flashed by at increasing speeds, traffic and pedestrians flickering by and blurring together into a smorgasbord of color, all gilded by the setting sun. Unconsciously, you dug your fingers into the seams of the leather seat beneath you, worrying the stitches. Out of the corner of your eye, the radio blazed to life with color and that oh-so-familiar symbol.

“Hey, hey, easy on the merchandise, hot stuff,” Mirage crackled out of the speakers lightheartedly, and you immediately yanked your hands into yourself like they’d been burned. In your worrying, you’d seemingly forgotten about what — or rather, who — exactly was your ride.

“Oh— my bad, I wasn’t thinking,” you said, sinking your weight back and down, instead picking at your nails to give your hands something to do. God, you were so nervous, and for what? Mirage knew all these people— these bots, and knew them well. They were all friends! Or amiable towards each other, at the very least. And they were the good guys. Saved the world and all that.

So why were you so anxious?

“You’re good, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He slowed to a stop at a red light. Your leg started to bounce. “Sooo… you wanna tell me what’s on your mind? Save me a trip to Noah’s repair shop? I’d hate for you to start taking your emotions out on me, y’know.”

You scoffed, eyes sliding to the radio. The grin that pulled at the corners of your mouth was one you were helpless to stop. He just had that effect on you, where around him you became a slave to your laughter and, additionally, also became one half of a terrible joke machine that Mirage happily completed.

Leather creaked as you nudged the inside of the door with your boot to chastise him. “You love when I take my emotions out on you, dick. Don’t lie.”

“Only the good ones,” he shot back, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “You nervous about meeting the others?”

His probe was successful; you fought the urge to shrink at your feelings being read so accurately and so immediately. “I— yeah. I am, and I don’t even know why. I’m sure they’re all great, I’m just working myself up over nothing.”

Red faded to green. Carried on the tide of forward-moving traffic, Mirage rolled ahead, eventually slipping over to make a turn. You watched him twist his mirrors to check his blind spot.

“Ah, c’mon. Nobody could blame you, you’re meeting a bunch of aliens for the first time. Pretty trippy for anyone. ‘specially if those aliens are, like, double your size. And robots.” A short chuckle topped off his words.

“Right. I just don’t wanna fuck it up or embarrass myself, you know how it is. I don’t wanna embarrass you, either.”

“Oh, Primus, trust me. You’re not gonna embarrass me. I don’t even think that’s possible. Prime’s seen me in a lot worse shape than bringing you in to meet him.” The world continued to roll by. Brick buildings blotted out the sunshine in intermittent flashes. “You got good marks from your favorite bot, you’ll be fine.” The dismissive tone of his voice was working, in a weird way, to assuage your fears.

“Excuse me,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest pointedly. “My favorite bot?”

“What, am I not?” A downright theatrical gasp hissed out of the speaker. “Have you been cheating on me?”

Cheeks hot with a flush at even the joking insinuation of being together, you glanced away from the impassive Autobot symbol on the radio and out the window. Still, the laugh barked out of you was sudden and sharp, and quickly dissolved into giggles. “Yes. Mirage. I’m sorry. There’s another ten foot tall alien robot in Brooklyn that’s been vying for my attention. We’re done.”

“I should throw you out on the street right now,” Mirage fussed playfully, his evident pout tinging his voice. “For breakin’ my spark. Also I’m taller than that.”

“You wouldn’t dare. I’m fragile.”

“I dunno. Noah gets his ass kicked around pretty good and he’s still kickin’ it.”

“I am not Noah,” came your tongue-in-cheek rebuttal. “And Noah just refuses to give up even when it’s good for him.”

“Thought qualities like determination were supposed to be big things with you guys.”

“In moderation.”

Mirage barked a laugh. “Ha! Should tell that to Prime. He’ll blow a gasket.” You opened your mouth to reply, only to be cut off. “No, seriously, tell it to Prime, we’re here.”

The easy confidence that your playful back-and-forth had teased out instantly chilled into a dense mass in your stomach; Mirage was rolling slowly up to a nondescript warehouse buried deep within the old industrial part of Brooklyn, and the way the worn brick loomed over you even in the car made your heart rate pick up.

Now or never.

Familiar alien whirs and clicks of shifting and setting metal filled your ears as Mirage rose into his bipedal mode, the driver’s seat gently ejecting you onto your own two legs on the pavement. Following the motion, you took a few steps forward, but still balked a little at the half open door. Inside, you heard voices of varying timbre, and you fought the urge to turn tail.

Now. Or. Never. Gritted teeth accompanied the repetition of your thought.

The displacement of air behind you — and the soft, constant mechanical noises emanating from his body — signaled Mirage’s presence before his voice.

He said your name with surprising care, using a tone that only came out when he was really being sincere. You couldn’t help the way your face warmed at it as you turned, craning your neck up to meet his gaze. “Hey, you, uh, you want me to go in ahead of ya? Normally I’d be like ‘ladies first’ and all that, but you said you weren’t feeling too jazzed about going in—“

“Yeah, actually, if you could, that would be… great. That would be great.”

“Gotcha. Let you psych yourself up a little more before you go in, I see how it is. Let me do the talking,” he affirmed with an easy grin and a nod, bouncing on the balls of his pedes a few times before striding forward. His long legs folded easily under him as he ducked under the lowered garage door, and you traipsed after, smoothing your thumb over your knuckles repeatedly.

The warehouse yawned beyond you, orange shafts of light cutting gashes into otherwise brownish darkness. Old graffiti sprayed across the walls told you that Ramona had been there once, then Nick, then Darnell, and a million others. And you were there now, feeling impossibly small, yes, but a little more resilient with the fading sunlight at your back and Mirage, like always, at your side.

He’d become a permanent fixture in your life from the day you’d met him — when you’d strong-armed Noah into giving up his secret about his Porsche, and the mysterious car had ended up being a twelve-foot-tall robot with a literal motormouth that made a playful pass at you within the first hour of your first conversation. You’d been flustered out of your mind, but had just kept coming back out of unfettered curiosity and outright fascination. Aliens were real, and Noah was friends with one, and it— he could turn into a Porsche.

Mind-shattering observations on the surface, yes. Mirage tended to deflate the grandeur, though, because he never acted like aliens did in the movies or in books. There was no ‘We come in peace!’ bullshit. He was so easy. Everything with him was so easy. He was loudmouthed and extroverted and genuinely hilarious; you spent hours in Noah’s garage trading terrible jokes — mostly bad sexual innuendos — or buckled to Mirage’s driver’s seat as he flew down Central Avenue on the wrong side of the limit and blasted Haddaway so loud it nearly busted your eardrums.

Weird to say an alien robot was your friend, but he was. He gave you rides to work, to your lectures, to your labs, wherever; in fact, he got petulant when you dared to take the bus one day to give him a break, and made it a point to pry your routine out of you so that he could take you wherever you wanted, no fares needed.

So infuriating. You loved it.

You loved… maybe more than just the back-and-forth. Maybe more than the bad jokes. Maybe more than the late-night drives. You were starting to think— starting to realize you loved big blue optics, and the rumble of a 260 horsepower engine when you made just the right innuendo, and broad, incredibly intricate servos that dwarfed yours in size but were so, so careful…

Man. You tried not to think about it too much. It as a concept made you laugh with its own absurdity. Poor human chick fell in love with the giant alien robot that made her laugh. It wasn’t… debilitating. You still functioned like a normal adult. Mostly. Except for that one night like two weeks ago where you’d been arguing with him about some stupid shit and he’d scooped you up, right off the ground, in both servos and held you there, digits interlaced against your back and thumbs on your front.

It wasn’t the first time he’d ever held you like that — he’d done it a few times — but something was different that night… even if he’d only done it to gain an upper hand in your bickering. The air crackled with latent electricity, made your skin buzz in all the right places, especially when Mirage had gone quiet for once in his life as he stared at you in his grasp. When you’d prompted him with his name, he’d only responded by gently stroking a thumb over the swell of your chest, which had made you gasp air in so sharply that it burned in your throat. The metal left a tingling path on your skin under your shirt in its wake and immediately sent your heart rate skyrocketing past whatever the fuck was a normal BPM.

He’d snapped back to reality at the sudden expansion of your lungs and had attempted to play it all off as a joke. You remembered how you’d still stumbled when your shoes touched the ground, an absolutely insane feeling of genuine heat rocking you as your brain seized the feeling of his touch while it still sparked against your nerve endings and helpfully replayed it over and over and over again. Sure, the rhythm of banter came back after a stuttering beat, but you never really cooled the warmth on your face for the rest of that night — and when Mirage had dropped you off at your apartment, your door was shut and locked for about five minutes before your shaking hand was frantically worked beneath the waistband of your pants.

…Whew. Definitely something a little more than friendly there. Maybe even more than pure love, something a little slicker and deeper that buzzed against your bones and coiled low in your stomach. It made you feel a little weird — just objectively, because of what Mirage was — but damn if it didn’t feel good to indulge.

God, fuck, why were you thinking about that now, of all times? Escapist fantasies be damned, you were going to meet Mirage’s comrades-friends-coworkers and leave a good impression. Not drool over the worn-out memory replaying in your head for the thousandth time this week.

Out of the darkness and around corners, they emerged. The stealth wasn’t on purpose; you didn’t even think they could be stealthy. Oh, one was coming right for you now — tall was the only word your brain could muster. Tall and red and square were added to the list of adjectives as the stately bot approached, servos collected into fists at his sides and shoulders thrown back.

“Priiiime,” Mirage greeted warmly, throwing his arms out at his sides in his favorite pose. “Look, hey, I know what you said about bringing more people around, but I swear— Hey!”

Completely ignoring your friend’s (status pending) greeting, the bot— Prime, holy shit, this is THE Prime, was kneeling down, leaning forward, and he was right in your face. You fought the very biological urge to flinch. Blue optics considered you for a moment before narrowing and flicking to your right from his lowered position.

“Mirage,” Optimus started with a gravelly tone from behind his faceguard that communicated exasperation above all else. “I explicitly stated that for our safety — and yours — that we were to come in contact with no more humans.”

“Sir, I gotta be honest with you. Kinda hard on a planet that’s got, what, five billion of ‘em? Six?” Mirage glanced at you for backup. You stared back flatly, refusing to say anything that might put you on the business end of a laser cannon.

“You were told to remain incognito so you could recover.” Optimus continued, his gaze returning to you. With a shunk of shifting metal, his faceplate slid away. His faceplates were weathered; the chipped metal around his optics gave the illusion of wrinkles and eyebags. Tired. He seemed tired. “This is not incognito. What is your name?”

You gave it after taking a beat to steady yourself. He repeated it back to you. “How did you come in contact with Mirage?”

“I, uh— Noah, Noah Diaz, he’s my friend. I basically pried it out of him,” you said with a nervous laugh. “So it’s not Mirage’s fault. I’m just nosy.”

At the mention of Noah, Optimus seemed to visibly relax; he moved back slightly, though he remained kneeling, and the narrowed, suspicious squint of his optics rounded out into something much softer.

“…I see. Then I assume you understand the… precarious nature of our existence on your planet.” he said, his tone grave and his optics searching your face.

You nodded, pressing the flesh of the inside of your cheek between your teeth for a moment as you came up with a suitably diplomatic response that still conveyed your friendliness. “I do, yeah. Noah told me most of it. What he could, anyway. I just wanted to make it clear that I’m not— I’m not a threat here. Like I don’t work with the, uh, the government or anything. Whatever you guys need help with, I’m available, even if that just means keeping my mouth shut.”

Christ, you were glad this wasn’t your day job. You’d be such a shit ambassador. I’m available. What the hell did that even mean? Fuck yes, you were available, your brain guffawed, thinking of broad metal thumbs brushing over your chest.

You blinked hard, squeezing your eyelids together until the world came back in a photo negative, to scold yourself.

Although you’d stumbled through your reply, Optimus seemed to approve. He rose with a great creak of metal off of his knee and backed up to give you space, though he still regarded you with those sharp blue optics that felt as though they pinned you to the concrete below. “I see Noah chooses his company well. I should have assumed his sentiments would extend to his companions.” He shut his optics for a moment and dipped his head, as if considering deeply what to say next. “I am not sure how much Mirage — or Noah — divulged to you.”

“A fair amount— well. Any amount that won’t get them in trouble,” you called up, taking in deeper breaths to project your voice up the two stories of height to his head. To your side, Mirage snorted. “I know your name— Optimus, I know that, and I know about the Autobots. A little bit about the— fuck, what were they called—“

“Terrorcons?” Mirage supplied, and you were impressed at how quiet he’d been otherwise.

“Terrorcons, thank you. Other than that, not much. How much should I know?”

“Your knowledge is sufficient. All we fear — and all we risk—“ Optimus added with a pointed look at Mirage, who looked incredibly sheepish. “—at the moment is discovery. So long as you maintain secrecy, no harm shall come to us… or you, for that matter.”

It almost sounded like a threat, but Prime worded it very much like a warning. You decided it was best to heed his word — not that you really had another option.

“Right. Okay. Well— I mean, it was nice to meet you. People — humanity, I guess — aren’t bad. Most of us aren’t, anyway. Just, uh, let me know if there’s something Noah and I can get or do for you.”

Prime’s gaze shifted away from you. In fact, it seemed to shift away from the warehouse in general, looking somewhere far beyond the now-shut garage door. “Your generosity is admirable, but it is not humans primarily that we are concerned with.”

Brows furrowed at his vague answer, you thought it over for a second — and then decided not to push it. He probably knew best when it came to whatever foreboding nebulous space threat loomed over your collective heads; you would leave it up to the experts.

“Oh, well, golden rule and all that,” you still offered in terms of a response. That got his attention. His massive head tilted downwards to look at you once more with curiosity. “If I crash landed on someone else’s planet, I’d want them to be hospitable, y’know? Just trying to make the best of a shitty situation.”

Like he couldn’t handle the terrible punishment of silence anymore, Mirage butted in. “See, Prime? I told you she was cool.”

A short jolt shook the broad, boxy line of his shoulders, and at first you had thought he’d coughed, and then you realized he laughed. It was barely anything, a huff of a chuckle, but you glowed with the indirect affirmation. Just made Optimus Prime laugh. Maybe you weren’t such a terrible diplomat.

He wasn’t looking at you, though, rather at Mirage, and you swore from your low vantage point you could see a barely-there smile on Prime’s faceplates communicating…was that smug amusement? As the tall bot carefully made his way past you, he stopped in front of your companion, and let a heavy servo land on the headlight adorning his shoulder.

“No matter what you may feel, you chose well, Mirage.” Optimus rumbled out, before removing his servo and traipsing off into a darker section of the sprawling warehouse, ducking through a much-too-small cutout and speaking to Arcee about something indistinguishable. However, you couldn’t care less about whatever her and Prime were discussing — what the hell did he mean by Mirage choosing well?

You turned your head towards said bot, mouth open for inquiry and one brow raised. Mirage looked mortified, in every sense of the word; he stood shell-shocked, lips slightly parted and servos up and open as if to defend himself. His head was whipped around to follow Prime’s departure from the room. A whir started, bouncing off the walls — Mirage’s fans came on and off intermittently to keep his ambient internal temperature at safe levels, but the steady hum of this fan let you infer that he was flushing something fierce.

“Mirage? What—“

Interrupting you by breaking, nearly jumping, out of his trance, he clapped his servos together and started talking at a million miles a minute. “Well, damn, look at that, haha, it’s late, ain’t it? You got work in the morning, right? C’mon, hop in, I’ll drive you home—“

“No, Mirage, hold on, what was he talking about—“

“Seriously, c’mon, he was just messing around—“

“You’re telling me Optimus Prime was joking? Is he even capable of that?”

He said your name with a finality that nearly made you flinch. “Look, I can’t really— Just drop it, please?” It wasn’t angry, nor was it even commanding; in fact, his eyes were wide and pleading with you out of embarrassment. You knew the feeling all too well, and in the interest of sparing his feelings, decided to let it go, despite your intense curiosity.

You put your hands up in surrender. “Okay. Dropped.” A few beats of silence passed while Mirage was still tamping down his fluster. “You wanna take me home now or are we waiting for Prime to come embarrass you more?”

“Please, let’s get outta here,” he affirmed, dropping into his alt-mode and popping the driver door for you. As you slid in, you couldn’t help the little mischievous smile that grew on your face as your brain cooked up some other joke to take the edge off.

The garage door opened on its own. Mirage rolled into the noticeably darker alleyway. The burnt umber glow of the sunset-stained sky was only visible overhead; otherwise you were boxed in on the sides by blacked-out buildings.

Stifling silence was broken by a joke. Your joke, actually. “…Can’t believe your dad made fun of you in front of me.”

The noise Mirage made was only comparable to a squawk. But obviously much more masculine, clearly. Still, his tires jerked on the road, betraying his surprise. “Hey— Prime is not my sire— or dad, or whatever you wanna call ‘em. He wishes.”

“I dunno,” you mused, arms crossed over your chest and back sunk deep into the seat. Brooklyn in transition blurred by in messy constellations of lit windows. “He got you pretty good there. Pretty standard dad behavior.”

“Hey, I don’t know what suddenly inspired him to go for comedy, but I do not appreciate it. That’s my thing. He’s stealin’ my thunder!”

“Maybe you’re just rubbing off on him.”

Silence.

The radio crackled. “Ew.”

Accompanied by the loudest eyeroll you could muster, you whacked the dashboard with an open palm, though you couldn’t stop your bubbling laughter. “Oh my god, you are so gross, Mirage! I hate you!”

“Ahh, don’t say that, c’mon! You love it here!”

“You wish.”

The rest of the ride home was spent that way, bickering like normal, and although you couldn’t let go of what Prime had said, nor his knowing look while he said it, you appreciated the return to baseline. When you got home, Mirage parked directly in front of your apartment building, and you lingered on the sidewalk for several minutes after you got out of the car. With the passenger door opened so it looked like you were talking to the ‘driver’ and not completely insane, you leaned on the doorframe and traded jabs with your ride until the humidity of the night air got a little too persistent to ignore. Damn you, Brooklyn.

“See you tomorrow?” Mirage never said goodnight. He only ever asked when he could see you again, corny bastard.

“Tomorrow. My roommate’ll take me to work, don’t worry about it. I’ll just stick my head in the garage when I get home.”

“I thought we had a thing goin’, man!” His faux petulance returned. “You movin’ on already? You just met my folks!”

Your jaw dropped for a second at the fact he’d turned the damn bit around on you. “I met one folk, and you literally said he wasn’t your dad.”

“Maybe I was warmin’ up to the idea!”

Another lethal eyeroll. Your smile still remained locked on your face. “Whatever. Get the hell out of here, asshole,” you said, playfully shutting the door just a little harder than you needed to and slapping the roof like a horse you were trying to send off into the desert.

Even as you turned to walk into your building, you could hear the way his window shot down, far faster than a normal roll. “Ay! Merchandise!”

You stuck a middle finger over your shoulder, thumb out and all, to give him an idea of what he could do with his merchandise. Tires peeled against pavement as he screeched out of his spot and down the otherwise quiet street, letting you know in return how he felt about that.

Smiling like an idiot as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, you felt… airy. You were always smiling after hanging around Mirage, you couldn’t help it — especially as of late. But still, you were dying to know what Prime was talking about when he was messing with Mirage earlier. You chose well. Chose what? Your brain briefly entertained the thought of Mirage returning what you felt, and it made blood rush to your face.

It couldn’t really… work. You had made peace with your physical differences weeks ago. The both of you got along just fine despite the size difference, and it never impeded your normal interactions. But you doubted Mirage felt the same; no matter how familiar, how friendly you were with him, you could never shake the feeling of being just a little too alien. Your greatest similarities were in personality. The closest resemblance you held physically was the fact you were both humanoid in shape.

That didn’t stop you. No, not at all. It didn’t stop you from dropping into bed after a quick shower with a heavy sigh, your hand inevitably sinking beneath the covers as you thought of digits — Mirage’s digits, so well articulated for their size and so careful — playing with the hem of your underwear instead of your own fingers, pushing the fabric aside just a little roughly to explore your alien anatomy. It took very little time for you to grind yourself to climax; in fact, it was embarrassingly quick, and it left your face hot with some special kind of shame as you slunk out of bed to wash your hands. The entire time, you avoided your reflection in the mirror.

Even with the ancient AC cranked on and chugging away, it took you a long while to fall asleep.

Off in the industrial district of Brooklyn, meanwhile, Mirage was burning rubber as he took ninety-degree turns at sixty miles per hour. His processor was thrumming at max capacity, and his engine felt like it was about to either stall or explode.

Primus, it was all too much. Your teasing always got him some kind of hot and bothered, tight under his interface paneling, but the acidic rush of embarrassment still prickled at his cabling. Prime, come on, man. Mirage was still floored at the fact that Prime of all bots had embarrassed him like that, in front of you, no less!

He had it bad for you, and he knew it, but apparently every other bot in that warehouse knew it too. Ever since he’d met you, you’d stuck in his processor, the way the light glinted off your eyes and your all-teeth smile and the way he could get you to laugh. Sure, his flirts were only playful at first — and he only did them to mess with Noah, who’d harbored an on-and-off crush on you for a while — but the more he did them and the more you returned them, the more he started really… considering it.

It was so shameful. Primus, it was shameful. He’d barely ever interfaced in his life — there was just no time, especially not on Cybertron — and never with organics. After that one night where he’d hefted you up with ease in both servos and completely blanked when confronted with your soft, warm weight in his hold, he’d been on a spiral. It wasn’t just enough to be friendly with you; he was plenty friendly with Noah (though with the amount of stupid passes Mirage made at him, Noah would probably say too friendly) and he wanted something more with you.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d rolled into some long-abandoned warehouse or pitch-black deserted alley and scrabbled at his interface panel to pressurize his spike before he feverishly, frantically humped his fisted servo for relief, mental processors supplying increasingly filthy fantasies of your soft skin against his chassis and your mouth, Primus, your mouth on his own, on his spike, wherever, he didn’t care. Every single time, though, after coming down from his high with steam pouring off his lax frame, he felt just a little more discouraged than the last — because he knew that his fantasies would have to stay that way. Fantasies. Your friendship was enough, had to be, no matter how bad he wanted you, because he’d be damned to the Pit before he scared you off by being stupid and admitting his feelings.

Ugh. Ugh. He took another corner too hard and felt his tires shriek, let the burn travel upward and reverberate in his frame. The chaos in his mental processors quieted as he neared HQ. All he knew was that it was late, and he couldn’t be too loud or Prime would get on his ass for interrupting his stasis.

Can’t believe your dad made fun of you in front of me. Your voice played, unbidden, from some file that popped open in his memory bank. He willed it away with a vengeance as he rolled into the warehouse-turned-headquarters as quietly as he could, transforming as soon as the door was shut and stretching out his back. Clicking echoed off the walls as his spinal struts reset, and the residual burn in his scraped tires tingled.

Mirage turned, and—

Yelped. Bumblebee was standing right there, shoulder against the wall and fiddling with some holographic projection from his forearm. Mirage coughed into his clenched servo to preserve what was left of his dignity.

“‘Sup,” he greeted through gritted denta. “I, uh, didn’t see you there, man. How’s it hangin’?”

Bee gave him a flatly unamused look that communicated ‘No shit, you didn’t see me.’ very well. The projection phased out of existence and left the two of them in the dimmed space in some kind of standoff.

“Well, y’know, beauty stasis and everything, I’m just gonna—“

“I wanna know, what you’re feeling! Tell me what’s your mind!” burbled Bee’s radio in place of his voice. Mirage jerked back for a second, not expecting Information Society at whatever unholy hour of the morning it was.

“Look, man, I don’t really wanna talk about—“

“There are some things you can’t hide!” insisted the same song. Bee gestured for Mirage to talk. Clearly he wanted to know.

This was as good a time as ever to spill, he guessed.

Mirage groaned and clasped both of his servos over his face after explaining the bones of it, his head tilted upwards, optics fruitlessly searching the water-stained warehouse ceiling for a solution to his problem. His… very human, very embarrassing problem.

Not that he thought you were embarrassing— not at all, never. But Prime would have his head over falling for a human. Okay, well, maybe not his head; it was more like Mirage would be in for a lengthy disapproving speech about responsibilities and goals and distractions, and Primus, just thinking about it made the former option of decapitation the preferable one. Even though he seemed to approve of his choice, considering what he’d said earlier, the ‘Bots were still at war, and there wasn’t time for human distractions. Literal human distractions.

It wasn’t like he could help it. You were funny, okay? And smart. And you teased him in just the right way that made his cooling fans sputter, and you were so curious about… everything about him, he thought, remembering your impromptu Cybertronian anatomy lesson with a hot flash in his processor. He couldn’t help but be flattered by your attention.

“Ugh, Bee, I don’t know what to do, man,” he said despairingly after a moment, pacing in circles in front of said squat yellow bot leaned against the nearby concrete wall. “I mean, look at this, she’d be missin’ out if she said no,” he added, arrogance staining his words in an attempt to console himself. It didn’t work; insecurity eviscerated his bravado moments after he said it. “Or… I guess we’d both be, huh.” A short, self-deprecating laugh left him.

Mirage wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come to Bee of all bots for advice, but he was sure as shit not going to Optimus after today, and Arcee would have just told him anyway. Plus, considering that Wheeljack wasn’t even in the country at the moment, his options were slim. Besides, Bee had… experience with this sort of thing. Dealing with humans and all. Just… not in this way. But it was close enough, and Mirage was totally lost; if he thought about it by himself for any longer, his processors were going to fry.

Speaking of, Bee tittered through his gutted voice synthesizer to get Mirage’s attention. Expression drawn into a very human grimace, Mirage turned to face his friend, servos planted firmly on his hips.

“Well, you gotta tell her— wanna know what love is— want you to show me,” Bee’s radio clipped, first from a talk show, then from a nearby station, and Mirage felt energon surge to his face in a hot rush at a very personal song being blared back at him.

He had the words memorized at this point. The shape of them was practically burned into his memory files, considering how much he played it for you. It was reserved for days on both ends of the spectrum, bad and good; Mirage would pick you up in his alt-mode and take you for joyrides across the city, flying over the Brooklyn Bridge at daredevil speeds, all the while blaring music loud enough to make your head pound.

The two of you had discovered a few favorites, but the Foreigner song was at the top of the list, right next to Careless Whisper, of course. The sound of your voice belting at the top of your lungs, softened with that specific human accent, thrumming and reverberating through your chest— you sounded so alive, but so different from what he was accustomed to.

“Dude—” Mirage nearly barked, voice up a full octave before clearing his synthesizer into his fist and repeating himself. “Dude. I can’t just do that. Aliens— we’re aliens. Well. She’s an alien, too, I guess, but we,” he paused to gesture frantically between himself and Bee, “are the aliens here. I don’t really think humans are into the whole giant robot thing.”

“Noah?” Bee played a clip of Mirage’s own voice back at him questioningly.

“Yeah, well, Noah’s a different story.”

With a whir of his actuators, Bee shook his head and looked away for a moment, big blue optics considering the floor. With a soft clunk, he crossed his arms over his chassis.

“Come on, man, you gotta give me something,” Mirage urged, tilting his head to follow the other bot’s motions. “Should I just leave it? I mean, I don’t want it to be weird, I just—“

Bee straightened up off the wall, clearly done thinking. His arms opened out in a shrug and his optics squinted, communicating I don’t know what you want me to say, dude, far better than his vocal synthesizer ever could have.

His radio clipped again, this time a few seconds of a Beatles song and then Noah’s voice. “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah— right?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem,” Mirage groaned, rolling his head back with a pained expression and letting his body follow the motion as he paced another tight circle. His faceplates felt hot at the insinuation. “And if I ask, it’s gonna be weird. And if I make it weird, I’m never gonna—“

He stopped rambling when a four-digit servo thumped on the headlight atop his shoulder, rooting him to the spot. Bee’s optics stared him down, wide and bright blue, and it made Mirage press his lips together firmly as he awaited whatever sage advice he was about to impart.

ABBA filtered through the radio first. “Should walk right up to her and say—“ What came next made Mirage’s brow ridges shoot up so high he thought they were going to fly off his helmet. “—when I get that feeling, I want sexual healin’!”

Mirage’s jaw dropped. Immensely flustered and ten times more frustrated at his friend’s useless advice, he shoved the other bot off. “Are you serious, dude? Primus, I never shoulda asked you. Thanks, I’ll go walk right up to her and ask to interface on the warehouse floor, that’ll go super well.”

Bee nodded quickly and gave him a double thumbs up with a series of approving beeps and chirps, the bottoms of his optics flattening into an amused look. Mirage dragged his servo down his faceplates in mortification, although his cooling fans kicked on a click higher than normal.

Sometimes he wished he’d been left on Cybertron with Soundwave and all his other goons. This was one of those times. As he dropped back into his alt-mode with an embarrassed mumble about ‘going on patrol,’ Bee whooped behind him, and the last thing Mirage heard before peeling out of the warehouse was “There’s nothin’ wrong with me lovin’ you, baby, no, no!”

Whoever gave Bee access to Marvin Gaye needed to be whacked upside the helm.

Knowing Mirage’s luck, it was probably you.

He stayed out for the rest of the night in his alt-mode, wandering the streets and staying away from your apartment, no matter how bad he wanted to go. The pool of people with any useful advice to offer for his predicament was steadily shrinking; after the disaster with Bee, Mirage just needed to stay away from that warehouse and let his processors cool.

Sometime in the morning he returned, though not to the warehouse. He almost immediately crashed into stasis as soon as he rolled into Noah’s garage, his simultaneously pent-up and exhausted processors eager for a chance to refresh themselves and defrag.

Ha, he thought blearily as he sank into stasis. Defrag.

You were waking as he was crashing, though you weren’t happy about it. The eight hour shift that loomed ahead of you on top of the bullshit from last night was a pretty potent combination for a headache of a day, especially when you couldn’t have your morning jam sesh with Mirage on your way to work. Thankfully, though, your roommate was a kind soul, and there was an extra cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter when you stumbled out of your bedroom.

As you sipped it, you wondered just how long you could keep the front up. By some small grace of God, your roommate’s schedule didn’t align very well with yours; you barely saw them in your daily life even before you met Mirage. It wasn’t on purpose, of course. It just happened that way. But on a few occasions, they’d been home when Mirage had dropped you off, and you’d been just calling him a ‘friend with places to be’ to excuse the fact that he never walked you to your door. Being somewhat prescient, they’d nudged you a couple times about this ‘friend’ turning into a boyfriend, but had never pushed it.

You just hoped it stayed that way.

Breakfast was a quick and quiet affair, though you traded a few jokes back and forth that had the both of you giggling into your food. The ride to your job was similar, and your roommate wished you a good shift before driving off leisurely — such a stark difference compared to Mirage’s affinity for peeling off into the street at Mach-fucking-10. Thinking of him made your face burn and your mind race. You tried not to.

Time was an especially cruel mistress today, though. You swore that people were actively winding the clocks back every time you looked up at them, and your shift felt like a thick slog, knee-deep, that you had no choice but to wade through. The worst part about slow shifts was that your mind wandered with nothing else to do, and like a moth to a flame— or rather, like metal to a magnet, your brain circled around to Mirage again and again and again.

Damn that bot. Damn it all. Every time you thought of him, it was some stupid joke he’d cracked or silly offhand comment he’d made or ridiculous flirt he’d lobbed your way — always accompanied by memories of his body, surprisingly lithe considering what he was made of, all legs and a dramatic waist topped with wide shoulders that made your own engine purr.

“Mirage, did you go upstate or something? You’re disgusting,” you’d laughed as you raked your gaze over his pecs, pretending to eye the dirt smeared there and not something else.

“Disgusting?! You gotta be kidding me, I’m not half as bad as the rest of ‘em. You should see Bee, dude!” He’d gestured out the door of the warehouse, where you assumed the other bot was lurking in dirt-covered shame.

“What the hell were you two even doing?”

“Pfft. Practicin’.”

“Practicing body-slamming each other?”

“Yeah, want me to show you?”

“Mirage,” you’d groaned, laughing despite yourself.

“C’mon, I know a few good ways to pin a bot down,” he grinned, winking at you. You fixed him with the most dead stare you could muster before breaking into a half-smile of your own.

“I’ll pass on the whole getting crushed thing, but I could be persuaded to spray you down by hand,” you flirted back, just for fun.

No, not for fun. Real flirt. It was real, all of it was, and you couldn’t shake the memory of his optics widening, brightening, with eagerness and the way he’d pleaded. Playfully. Playfully?

“Please,” he begged dramatically, clasping his servos together, optics enormous. “I’ll be good! Maybe even stay still!”

You pinched your nose bridge between your fingers and tried to think about something else, because you were starting to press your thighs together a little and you were still at work, damn it. Professionalism was something you were aiming to maintain.

Hot. It was hot. That’s what you were thinking about. You’d glanced at the weather report earlier in the morning, and seeing a row of little sun icons clued you in on an insufferable heatwave that didn’t have any intention of breaking any time soon. Even now you felt sweat collect under your shirt and dot your hairline; all you could do was wipe your face with the back of your hand and keep working.

And working.

And. Working.

And 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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hd-junglebook · 12 days

Text

Never Ending Summer

Part 1 - Meet me halfway'/ Word Count - 3753

A.N : This might not be good, I wrote it pretty sleep deprived but this is the beginning of the series. and yes, before you say anything I know I am delusional, thank you and goodnight.

Masterlist

Summary - Y/n and Trevor make it to the beach house and all eyes are on her.

The sun beat down on the open road as Trevor and Y/N cruised along the highway in his vintage Jeep, the wind whipping through their hair from the open sunroof.

The sky stretched out above them in an endless expanse of brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds that seemed to dance across the horizon.

Trevor sat behind the wheel, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping along to the beat of the music blasting from the speakers.

He wore a pair of aviator sunglasses that glinted in the sunlight, and a bucket hat that cast a shadow over his sun-kissed face. Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at him, admiring the way the summer suited him so well.

As they sped past fields of golden wheat and emerald green grass, Y/N leaned back in the passenger seat, letting the warm breeze caress her skin.

The air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers and the salty tang of the ocean. In the distance, a rocky beach came into view, its jagged cliffs rising up from the almost teal water that lapped at the shore.

The Jeep hit a small bump in the road, jostling them both and eliciting a laugh from Y/N. Trevor grinned, his teeth a flash of white against his tanned skin. He reached over and squeezed her hand, his touch as warm as the summer sun.

"Almost there," he said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the wind. "Just a few more hours and we'll be dipping our toes in the Pacific."

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with anticipation. She could already imagine the feel of the sand between her toes and the salty spray of the ocean on her skin. The thought of spending the summer with Trevor and his friends in California filled her with so much joy.

They continued down the road, the sun began to dip lower in the sky, painting the world in shades of orange and pink. The colors seemed to dance across the landscape, casting a warm glow over everything they touched.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the moment wash over her, knowing that this summer would be one she would never forget.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the world in shades of orange and pink, Y/N's thoughts drifted to the impending meeting with Trevor's friends.

She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she couldn't seem to shake. Trevor, ever attuned to her moods, glanced over at her, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"What's on your mind, sunshine?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the hum of the truck's engine.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sundress. "Are they actually nice?" she finally asked, her voice small and unsure.

Trevor's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "When have you ever known me to lie?" he questioned, craning his neck to look at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief behind his aviator sunglasses.

The hum of his truck filled the silence that followed, and Y/N couldn't help but roll her eyes at his antics. She huffed out a breath, blowing a stray strand of hair away from her face.

"I guess never," she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But I've never met any of them. How are you just gonna know they'll like me? What if they think I'm weird or just using you to meet them?"

Trevor threw his head back and laughed, the sound as warm and infectious as the summer sun. "Oh, come on, Y/N! They're gonna love you. How could they not? You're like a breath of fresh air, all shy and cute one minute, then cracking jokes and making silly faces the next."

Y/N felt a blush creep up her neck at his words, and she ducked her head to hide her smile. "You're just saying that because you have to," she mumbled, but there was no real conviction behind her words.

Trevor reached over and poked her playfully in the ribs, eliciting a squeal of laughter from Y/N. " Not to brag, but my friends have great taste in women. Just be yourself, and they'll fall in love with you just like I did."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, and she found herself getting lost in his eyes, the teal of the ocean reflected in their depths. “Yeah okay, lover boy.”

…

Trevor's Jeep comes to a stop next to the other cars parked in front of the sprawling beach house, Y/N's eyes widen in awe.

The house is a magnificent sight, its white exterior gleaming in the brilliant sunlight. The wrap-around porch seems to beckon invitingly, offering a perfect spot to relax and take in the breathtaking view of the beach.

The sand stretches out before them, a vast expanse of pristine white, contrasting beautifully with the mesmerizing teal water that gently laps at the shore. The ocean seems to sparkle and dance, reflecting the vibrant colors of the summer sky above.

Trevor glances over at Y/N, a wide grin spreading across his face. "You ready pretty girl?" he announces, his voice filled with excitement.

Y/N looks out the window, taking in the scene before her. People mill about the house, their arms laden with colorful beach chairs, oversized towels, and coolers filled with refreshing drinks and snacks. The laughter and chatter of Trevor's friends float through the air, mingling with the distant crash of waves against the shore.

The door to the beach house stands wide open, inviting them to join the lively gathering. Y/N can't help but feel a flutter of nerves in her stomach, but the welcoming atmosphere and the sound of joyful conversation help to ease her worries.

As Y/N steps out of the Jeep, the heat of the summer sun bears down on her, making her hoodie and jeans feel uncomfortable against her skin.

She walks towards the trunk, her shoes sinking into the warm sand with each step. Reaching into the trunk, she pulls out her duffle bag of clothes, eager to change into something more suitable for the beach.

Just as she's about to close the trunk, Y/N hears voices coming from the direction of the house. She feels a slight twinge of nervousness, suddenly unsure about meeting Trevor's friends.

Trevor, ever attentive, walks over to her and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine, Trev. It's okay, go say hi to your friends," Y/N mumbles, trying to mask her apprehension with a halfhearted smile.

Trevor looks at her for a brief moment, his brow furrowed in concern. He debates whether or not he should just go inside and greet his friends, but something in him doesn't want to leave Y/N all alone, standing out here in the sun.

"No. You're coming in with me. I'm not leaving you out here all by yourself," he says firmly, his voice betraying how much he means it. His eyes lock with Y/N's. She nods, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He closes the trunk, he starts walking towards the gathered group, motioning for Y/N to follow him. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the introductions, and falls into step beside him.

Y/N can feel the weight of their gazes upon her, and a blush rises to her cheeks as she notices the appreciative glances from Trevor's friends.

They make brief eye contact with her, their expressions revealing their thoughts on just how pretty she is. Trevor senses the tension in Y/N's body as she becomes increasingly conscious of everyone's stares.

The conversation among the group grows louder and more animated as they welcome Trevor and Y/N into their midst. Trevor's grip on Y/N's hand tightens slightly, a reassuring squeeze that communicates his support and presence.

He positions himself behind her, his body pressing gently against hers, creating a comforting barrier between Y/N and the rest of the group.

As Y/N scans the faces of Trevor's friends, her gaze is drawn to one person in particular. A boy with dark, tousled curls and a pretty smile steps forward, his eyes sparkling with warmth and friendliness.

"Hi, I'm Marino, John Marino" he introduces himself, his voice smooth and inviting.

Y/N feels her heart flutter at the sound of his name, and she can't help but return his smile. She glances back at Trevor, who gives her an encouraging nod, his own smile full of pride and affection.

Y/N steps away from Trevor's side, she walks up to Marino, her hand extended in greeting. "I'm Y/N," she introduces herself, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest.

Marino takes her hand in his, his touch warm and gentle. As their fingers meet, he gazes into Y/N's eyes, a flicker of something sparking in his own. He brushes his thumb softly over her fingers, a subtle gesture that sends a shiver down Y/N's spine.

Unbeknownst to Y/N and Marino, Trevor watches every minute detail of their interaction. As he observes Marino brush Y/N's finger with his thumb, Trevor's eyes narrow, a flash of fury igniting within him. Jealousy coils in his gut, and he clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to step between them.

Marino, oblivious to Trevor's reaction, offers to take Y/N's duffel bag upstairs for her. "Here, let me help you with that," he says, his voice smooth and charming.

Y/N, grateful for the kind gesture, nods and smiles. "Thank you, John. That's really sweet of you."

As Marino takes the duffel bag from her, his fingers brush against hers once more, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Y/N feels a blush creep up her neck, and she ducks her head, suddenly shy under his intense gaze.

The closer they get, the more details Y/N takes in. The porch is adorned with cozy wicker furniture, plush cushions in shades of blue and white.

Wind chimes dance in the breeze, their gentle tinkling adding to the enchanting ambiance. The delicious aroma of barbecue wafts through the air, making Y/N's mouth water in anticipation.

Trevor led the group up the steps and through the open door.

…

The group makes their way inside the beach house, Y/N's eyes widen in admiration at the beautifully decorated interior. The space is filled with coastal charm, from the whitewashed wooden floors to the nautical-themed artwork adorning the walls.

She notices the boys scattered throughout the house, their laughter and conversations creating a lively atmosphere.

Y/N follows closely behind Marino, her curiosity piqued by the stunning surroundings. Suddenly, Jack rushes up to them, a mischievous grin on his face. Without warning, he snatches the duffel bag from Marino's grasp, stealing it away with a sly smile.

"I'll be taking that," Jack declares, his eyes twinkling with playfulness. He nods his head towards the stairs, indicating for Y/N to follow him. "Come on, I'll show you to your room."

Y/N can't help but laugh at Jack's bold move, amused by his confident demeanor. She places a gentle hand on Marino's arm, offering him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Marino. I guess I'd better follow Jack. But thank you for offering to help."

Marino, slightly taken aback by Jack's intervention, nods in understanding. "No worries, Y/N. I'll catch up with you later."

With that, Y/N follows Jack up the stairs, her excitement growing with each step. As they reach the second floor, Jack leads her down a sun-drenched hallway, the sound of the ocean drifting in through the open windows.

Jack stops in front of a door and pushes it open, revealing a cozy bedroom bathed in natural light. He sets Y/N's duffel bag down on the bed and turns to face her, a flirtatious smile playing on his lips.

"So, Y/N, I was thinking," he begins, his voice smooth and enticing. "We're planning on playing some volleyball later, and I'd love for you to join us. In fact, I want you on my team. With you by my side, I'm sure we'll be unstoppable."

Y/N feels a blush creep up her cheeks at Jack's forward invitation. She's flattered by his attention and can't help but be drawn in by his charismatic presence.

"That sounds like a lot of fun, Jack," Y/N replies, her smile mirroring his own. "I'd love to join your team. Just give me a few minutes to get settled in, and I'll meet you guys downstairs."

Jack's grin widens, and he nods in approval. "Perfect. I'll let the others know you're in.”

With one final glance, Jack leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Y/N takes a moment to catch her breath, her heart racing with anticipation.

…

Y/N descends the stairs, the conversation in the living room gradually fades away, replaced by a hushed silence.

She takes the last step and looks up, only to find everyone's eyes fixated on her. The attention is overwhelming, and Y/N suddenly feels self-conscious under their intense gazes.

y/n had changed into a matching set, a black baby tee that hugs her curves and a pair of tight-fitting shorts that allow for easy movement.

Her jewelry and makeup are on point, enhancing her natural beauty. Y/N had taken her time to get ready, wanting to make a good impression on Trevor's friends, but she hadn't anticipated this level of scrutiny.

The boys stare at her.

They had caught a glimpse of her earlier, but with her hood up and glasses on, they hadn't fully registered just how stunning she truly is. Now, seeing her in this new light, they can't help but be captivated by her presence.

Trevor, who had been engaged in a conversation with one of his friends, turns to see what has captured everyone's attention. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Y/N, his heart skipping a beat.

Y/N shifts uncomfortably under the weight of their stares, unsure of how to react. She glances around the room, her eyes seeking out Trevor for reassurance. Jack, ever the charmer, is the first to break the silence. He lets out a low whistle of appreciation and grins at Y/N.

"Damn, Y/N, you clean up nice. I knew you were pretty, but wow, you're a total knockout."

Y/N feels a blush creep up her neck at Jack's bold compliment. She's not used to being the center of attention, especially among a group of attractive guys. She mumbles a shy "thank you," her eyes darting away from Jack's intense gaze.

The other boys chime in with their own compliments, their voices overlapping in a chorus of admiration. Trevor, sensing Y/N's discomfort, steps forward and places a gentle hand on the small of her back. "All right, guys, let's not overwhelm her," he says, his voice calm but firm.

With that, the group nods in agreement, their excitement for the game temporarily overshadowing their fascination with Y/N.

They grab their gear and start making their way towards the back door, chattering animatedly about teams and strategies.

She made her way out the door towards the beach, Jack casually mentions that the girls will be meeting them there. Y/N's steps falter, and she turns to look at Jack, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Girls?" she questions.

She watches Jack's expression closely, trying to gauge his response. Jack grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, we have some friends out here. We didn't want you to be the only girl, so we invited them along. Thought it would make things more fun, you know?"

Y/N nods slowly, processing this new information. She's not sure how she feels about the prospect of meeting a group of unfamiliar girls, especially given the already overwhelming attention she's received from the boys.

they continue walking, Y/N finds herself falling to the back of the group, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty. She's so lost in her own mind that she doesn't notice the boy who has fallen into step beside her until he speaks.

"I'm Nico," he says, his voice smooth and accented, immediately catching Y/N's attention.

Y/N turns to face him, taking in his striking features and warm smile. She can't quite place his accent, but it adds an air of intrigue to his already captivating presence.

"It's nice to meet you, Nico," Y/N replies, extending her hand in greeting. "I'm Y/N." Nico takes her hand in his larger one, his grip firm but gentle. His smile widens, and Y/N can't help but notice the way his eyes crinkle at the corners

"The pleasure is all mine, Y/N," Nico says, his accent wrapping around her name in a way that sends a shiver down her spine. "I've been looking forward to meeting Trevor's special guest. He's spoken very highly of you."

Y/N feels a blush creep up her cheeks at Nico's words. She's flattered by Trevor's praise and can't help but wonder what he's said about her to his friends. As they walk side by side, Nico engages Y/N in easy conversation, asking her about her interests and sharing his own stories.

Before long, they reach the beach, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the salty sea breeze enveloping them. Y/N takes a moment to appreciate the breathtaking view, the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out before her.

As they approach the designated spot for their volleyball game, Y/N notices a group of girls already gathered there, their laughter and chatter carrying across the sand. She feels a flutter of nerves in her stomach.

But as they draw closer, Trevor catches Y/N's eye, offering her a reassuring smile. He makes his way over to her, his hand finding the small of her back in a comforting gesture.

"Ready to meet the girls?" he asks, his voice low and encouraging.

…

After all their walking, the sun has finally set, painting the sky in a beautiful array of oranges and pinks, the group finally reaches their destination: a secluded stretch of beach adorned with a solitary volleyball net standing sentinel against the backdrop of crashing waves.

With the sand beneath their feet and the salty breeze tousling their hair, the group congregates around the net, their laughter and chatter mingling with the rhythmic symphony of the ocean.

Trevor takes charge, announcing that he'll be dividing everyone into teams. With a mischievous grin, he begins jumbling people together, seemingly at random. "Alright, listen up!" he calls out, his voice carrying over the sound of the crashing waves.

"We're gonna mix things up a bit. I want to see some friendly competition out there!"

He starts pointing at people, assigning them to teams with dramatic flair. "Jack, you're with Nico. Y/N, you're on my team, of course. And let's see... Marino, you're with the lovely ladies over there." Marino raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips.

Marino's reaction is impossible to miss. "Oh, so you're putting me with the winning team, huh? I see how it is, Trevor,” he quips, his tone laced with mock arrogance.

Trevor's laughter rings out, throwing his head back. "Don't get too cocky, Marino. We haven't even started yet."

Ever the quick-witted companion, Jack interjects with a well-timed quip of his own. "Yeah, Marino, save the trash talk for when you actually score a point."

Luke not missing a beat, adds, "Which, let's be real, might take a while with that form of yours."

Marino feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Ouch, guys. Way to hit a man where it hurts. But just wait until I unleash my secret weapon."

Jack raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Secret weapon? What, did you finally learn how to serve without hitting yourself in the face?" The group erupts in laughter, and even Marino can't help but crack a smile.

As Trevor continues to divide the group, the banter and laughter increase. The girls, who have been watching the exchange with amusement, start chiming in with their own playful jabs.

"Hey, Trevor!" one of them calls out, her voice filled with mock indignation. "Are you saying we can't hold our own against you boys?"

Trevor holds up his hands in surrender, a grin spreading across his face. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! I would never underestimate the power of a determined woman. I'm just trying to even the playing field, that's all."

Y/n laughs feeling lighter than before, "Yeah, Trevor, you better watch out. These ladies look like they could spike a ball straight through your ego." The girls exchange knowing looks, their eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N finds herself standing next to Trevor, her heart racing with excitement and a hint of nerves. She's not the most experienced volleyball player, but she's determined to give it her all.

Trevor leans in close, his breath tickling her ear. "Don't worry, Y/N. Just stick with me, and we'll crush them."

Y/N can't help but laugh at his confidence. "I'll do my best, but I make no promises. I'm not exactly a pro at this." Trevor winks at her, his eyes filled with warmth and encouragement. "You've got this. And if all else fails, just aim for Marino's head. All's fair in love and volleyball, my friend.”

Y/N shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're terrible, Trevor. But I like the way you think."

As the game begins, the beach comes alive with shouts, laughter, and the sound of the volleyball smacking against the sand. The teams are evenly matched, with each side giving it their all.

The girls prove to be formidable opponents, diving for the ball and spiking it with impressive force.

Nico surprises everyone with his agility, leaping high into the air to send the ball soaring over the net. Jack, not to be outdone, showcases his own athletic prowess, diving for seemingly impossible saves.

15 minutes pass, the scores remain close, with each team refusing to give an inch. The sun has long since set, but the energy on the beach is electric, fueled by the thrill of friendly competition and the joy of being surrounded by good company.

In the end, it's Trevor's team that emerges victorious, but only by the narrowest of margins. As they gather around, high-fiving and congratulating each other,

"Well played, my friend. But next time, I'm claiming Y/N for my team." Jack says, he smiles throwing his arm over y/ns shoulders. Y/N, feeling a warmth spread through her chest, can't help but smile.

…

110 notes · View notes

madlittlecriminal · 6 months

Note

Hi! Ok I was wondering if it would be ok to request Bale!Bruce wayne x fem!reader headcanons and her flashing him her... chest, during an argument please and thank you 🤭

I really hope this doesn't go against any of your rules or is triggering at all! If it is I am so so so so so so so sorry

Arguments › Bruce Wayne × Female!Reader [headcanons]

no worries! this is actually kinda funny not gonna lie

Warnings: tiny bit of angst, silent treatment, mentions of missing sleep, flashing, slight smut because of titty sucking, no description of boob size or color because we're inclusive here

Of course, you were upset that he decided to stay up late...again.

It was the umpteenth time in the span of two months.

"Bruce, I know you want to do right by the people of Gotham, but you need to rest!"

"Crime doesn't-"

"Bruce, I swear if you tell me that 'crime doesn't sleep' speech, I'm going to lose it!"

"Well, what do you want me to say?"

It'd go on for a while to the point where he'd actually give you the silent treatment.

You didn't get why, but you simply rolled your eyes and kept going.

That was until you tried talking to him a week later and he was still ignoring you.

"Bruce?" Nothing.

"Love?" Nope.

"Baby?" Silence.

"Can you talk to me?" He looked up at you.

At least it was something...until it wasn't.

"About what, exactly?"

"Do you really not want to talk?"

"No."

You nod and undo your bra from underneath your shirt.

Bruce raised a brow.

"What are you doing?"

You tossed your bra towards him.

He caught it and placed it down on the couch next to him

You raised your shirt up, flashing him your boobs.

His face went red as if he was a teenager all over again

You put your shirt down and crossed your arms.

"Better?"

He shook his head.

"I might have to see them again, angel."

You tilt your head to the side.

"Oh! Now, I'm 'angel' when before you didn't want to know anything about me."

"That's not true."

"Says the guy who's been giving me the silent treatment for a week."

"You're right, I'm sorry."

You gave him a small smile before kissing his cheek.

"You're forgiven."

"Can I see them again now?"

You giggle before taking off your shirt, making him groan.

"How did I manage to survive for a week without seeing these..." He mumbled

Before you knew it, his mouth was on your boobs.

Your fingers tangled into his hair as you moaned softly.

"I don't know how, but don't do it again..."

"I promise I won't."

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #dc universe #batman #batman begins #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x y/n #asks #ask #anonymous #anon asks #anonymous asks #smut #x reader #reader insert

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kyber-kisses · 1 year

Text

Hear My Voice

Captain Rex x Jedi!Reader

Summary: being trapped in an underground bunker with a deadly virus wasn’t how the reader wanted to spend her last moments. . . But here they were.

A/N: have another terrible piece of writing by me! I’m just up in my Rex feels and I’m gonna make it everyone’s problem.

Warnings: none.

“I’m disappointed.”

“General?”

Letting yourself fall back against the wall behind you, you slid to the floor, your legs kicked out in front of you.

“I always thought I would go out guns blazing atop a pile of battle droids not by some virus.” Looking up at the captain across fromyou you gave him a weak smile, though Rex only shook his head in return.

“You’re not going to die. No one else is dying.”

Letting out a sigh you cast your eyes around you. Several of the remaining clones mingled in little groups, taking in hushed voices as they sat on the ground. A foot or so away from you Padme was leaned against the same wall, Ahsokas head in her lap as they both slept, their bodies no doubt fighting the virus like yours was.

“I hope your right.”

“General Skywalker is getting that antidote for us as we speak.”

“And he’s half a galaxy away.” Letting out a breath you folded your hands in front of you. “You should sit down Rex, right now all we can do is wait.”

The captain was silent for a moment before taking off his helmet and sinking to the floor, leaning against the wall across from you. Hanging out in a hallway wasn’t the comfiest of places but it was the best you had to work with.

“How are you feeling?” Rex looked over at you, a slight tilt to his head as he spoke.

“I am the perfect image of health and vitality.” You joked weakly, knowing full well you looked anything but. You had caught your reflection in a shard of glass earlier. You had blue veins crawling up your neck and spreading out from underneath your eyes. Not to mention you were insanely weak.

“Don’t lie General.”

“Don’t worry about me Rex. How are you feeling?”

Fiddling with the helmet in his hand, Rex sucked in a breath. “I can feel the symptoms starting.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Looking up Rex found your eyes, the two of you holding your gazes until you felt an awkwardness settle over you and you let out a cough.

The truth was; if you were going to be stuck in an underground bunker waiting for death you glad you were with Rex. From the moment the captain had entered your life you knew you wanted him in it for a long time. Rex was like no one you had ever met.

He wasn’t the galaxy but you were sure that he was everything that made the galaxy good.

“So. . . What do we do now?”

“Sit and wait for General Skywalker and Kenobi.”

Slumping lower against the wall you let out a sigh. “Sounds boring. We should play a game.”

At that Rex raised an eyebrow. “A game? Like what?”

Sitting in silence for a moment you sucked in a breath. “I know. Interrogate me.”

“Interrogate you?”

“Yeah. Ask me any question you want and I have to answer in complete honesty. Only I also get to ask you question in return.”

Letting out a weak chuckle Rex relaxed further into his spot. One leg stretched out in front of him while the other was bent, his wrist balanced on his knee, bucket dangling limply from his fingers. “Alright, but why?”

“Because we practically see each-other every day and yet we still know so little about each-other.”

Rex was silent for a moment before he spoke. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Seriously you could ask any question and that’s what you chose?”

“You said any question.”

Folding your arms across your chest you gave the captain a look before answering. “For the longest time it was green. Growing up on Corucant I never saw the color much but when I did I was extatic.” You paused. “But then the war started and I supposed it changed.”

“To what?”

“Blue.” In truth you didn’t realize your love for the color until you saw it painted on the armor of the 501st troopers. Your favorite color wasn’t blue until Rex came along.

But it wasn’t like you were going to say that aloud.

“Alright captain, it’s only fair that I know your favorite color now.”

Rex studied you carefully for a moment. “I thought you didn’t like the question?”

“Yeah well you started it so out with it blondie.”

Yet again the captain was silent for a moment, deep in thought.

“Orange.”

That caught you off guard. So much in fact you tilted your head as he spoke. You never took Rex for much of an orange guy.

But the truth was in Rexs mind it was the only right answer. It was the color of your lightsaber. It was the color of warmth and fire and energy. If you were a color that’s what you would be.

“Good choice, now hit me with another one but this time make it more interesting. . . No offense.”

Shooting you an amused look, Rex shifted in his spot. “Alright uhm. . . Do you like being a Jedi?”

A pause.

“That’s a bit more of a bold question.”

“Forgive me General, I overstepped.”

Shaking your head quickly you sat up properly, pulling your knees into your chest as you did. “You didn’t. I like the question, makes me think.” You were silent for another moment as you folded your arms over your knees. “I do like being a Jedi. I get to help people, I get to help make the galaxy better. . . But there are things about it I question.”

“Like what?”

“There’s so many rules. So many codes to stick by and sometimes it’s overwhelming and I can’t get myself to follow some of them no matter how hard I try.”

In truth you were thinking about a certain rule in particular. One you had never been good at following: No emotional connections.

How could you follow such a rule when having connections is a part of living. Without them everything would fall apart.

The deepest connection you had ever felt in your life had been with Rex. He felt like your other half and yet because of the Order and it’s rules they made you feel as if something was wrong with you for having such feelings.

“General? Are you alright?”

Looking up at your captain you hadn’t realized you had fallen silent. “Sorry, got lost in thought for a moment.”

“No need for apologies. . . Now if I’m correct it your turn to ask the question?”

“Right, right. . . Uhm, is your hair naturally blonde or do you bleach it?”

A laugh nearly escaped your lips as you watched Rex’s face go through a range of emotions, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process the question. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’m extremely curious. I need to know!” You mused, resting your chin atop your folded arms as you did.

“It’s natural! Why would you ever think otherwise?!”

“Aha! I kriffing knew it! Anakin owes me twenty credits!”

“You bet on this?!”

“Do you not know me and Anakin? C’mon Rex.” You smirked, only for it to falter a moment later as a sudden fit of coughing racked your body.

Force, you’d nearly forgotten you were sick and dying at the present moment.

“Are you alright?”

Waving him off you nodded your head as you inhaled air into your lungs. “I’m fine. You?”

“A bit lightheaded and nauseous but it’s nothing I can’t handle General.”

“You can call me Y/N, Rex. We’re friends and I think we can cease the formalities for now.” You spoke, casting your eyes around the hallway of the bunker. The little group of clones down the hallway were sitting on the floor, clearly now to weak to stand as they played a game of sabbac, showing that one of them had had a pack of cars on them during the mission. “Now ask me another question.”

Another band of silence.

“Tell me a secret.”

“ a secret?”

“Yes. . . I mean if you’re comfortable doing so of course.” Rex quickly added, his social awkwardness coming through as he sounded slightly panicked.

“We’ll let me think of a good one first.” You hummed, returning your chin to your folded arms atop your knees.

You weren’t sure what triggered it, what made your eyes suddenly sting with oncoming tears but all you knew was one second you were fine and the next you could feel the burn in the back of your nose signaling you were on the verge of crying.

Maybe it was the image of a slowly weakening Padme and Ahsoka besides you, maybe it was the ones you had already lost within the last two hours. . . Maybe it was the way you were sitting across from someone you loved deeply.

Either way you couldn’t pin point it.

“I don’t want to die, Rex.”

“. . . That’s not really a question but you’re not going to die Y/N.”

Sniffling slightly you turned your eyes back to Rex, peeking over at him from where your head rested in your arms. “You wanna know my deepest secret? There’s someone who I’m deeply in love with and I have no idea what to do.”

At that Rex fell silent, pulling his eyes from yours as he looked down at his gloved hands. He wasn’t good at giving this type of advice. He was a clone. He knew nothing about love.

Well maybe he didn’t but he still wasn’t entirely sure. It was like stepping onto a foreign planet for him.

“Well whoever they are I think they would be lucky to have you. You’re one of the most brilliant people I know.”

At that you smiled. Though your vision was beginning to grow fuzzy you could still make out Rex across from you. “Thank you. But I don’t think they could ever look at me in the way I look at them.”

Rex wasn’t sure what he was feeling in the moment all he knew was that it was something he hadn’t felt before. Was that. . . Jealousy?

“Well whoever they are you should tell them. If we get out of here of course.” He mused, letting his eyes glance around the bunker hallway as he did. “And we will.”

“I don’t think us getting out of here would help me at all.” As you spoke you could hear the way your voice wavered.

You were nervous now. Really, really nervous. But if you were going to die in here you might as well get it off your chest before you go.

“Why would you think that?”

Feeling the tears gather on your folded arms, you looked up at met Rex’s gaze once more. “Because he’s sitting across from me.”

You watched Rex through teary eyes as he tried to compute what you had said, his eyes widening as he quickly realized. When he said nothing for a good long while you squeezed your eyes shut before burying your head in your arms, too scared to look up anymore.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just wanted you to know. . . Since we’re, you know. . . Dying.”

Kriff you had faced both Sith and battle droid alike yet you had never felt scared like this before. You would almost rather face down an entire separatist army alone rather than sit here a face the fact that you had probably just ruined your entire friendship with Rex.

“You don’t need to hide.”

At the sound of Rex’s voice you looked up, startled by the fact that you hadn’t heard him get up and move to sit down besides you, his back resting against the wall as he let out a heavy and tired sigh.

“I’ve ruined everything between us, haven’t I?”

At that Rex shifted his head to look over at you, a confused look on his face. “Why would you think that? If anything I’m surprised Fives never cornered you and told you about how I feel.”

“How you feel?”

“No offense General but for a Jedi you are quite oblivious.”

“Hey!”

“You never wondered why so many times I acted so awkward around you?” The captain spoke, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he did, eyes averted to his lap.

“Rex, I thought you were that way with everyone—“

“Ah. . . Uh no actually. Just, just with you.” He spoke bashfully, his cheeks turning a dusty pink.

Oh.

Reaching out slowly you grabbed onto the hand nearest to you, lacing your fingers through his. A second later he returned the grip, The small action enough to make your breath hitch in your throat.

Rex felt the same.

He felt the same.

“We are not dying in here.”

“No. No we are not.”

And that was a promise. You had just truly gotten each other, and you would be damned if you let some stupid virus take you out before you got a chance to kiss him true and proper.

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex imagine #the bad batch #the clone wars #star wars x reader

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usernameforaboredcat · 6 months

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Pay Back, Pretty Boy (Law X F!Reader) SMUT

Law has always put his girlfriend through hell when it comes to their sex life, he is evil. The edging, overstimulation, the orgasm denial, cock warming. It was pay back time, and using a Devil Fruit against him was the perfect way how.

Warning ⚠️: improper use of devil fruit powers (F!Law & M!Reader), SPOILERS for later arcs, bisexual reader, talk about pregnancy (mpreg?), mention of belly bulge.

I would ask myself “how the fuck did I get myself into this mess” but I know exactly how. Motherfucking Blackbeard was the cause of it, turning myself, crew mates and captain into women. Oh wait, I am a woman! That’s right! I was turned into a fucking man! To be fair it wasn’t all that bad, finally being taller than everyone and…not gonna lie…I look really good for a dude. And…man Law was fucking FINE as a woman like damn! I could tell that Law hated himself like this, but personally I love it. His usual scary angry face was now a cute pout, his irritated glare was a flustered blush. Man was he fucking perfect.

I yawn as I walk into my shared room with the Captain, seeing him looking at himself in my vanity mirror. “Hey gorgeous, what’re you looking at?”. I ask him as I walk over and swinging an arm over his shoulder, still not used to my deep voice. “Don’t call me that”. He tells me, but in a cute womanly voice. “Aw but you are! You where always so handsome, now you’re stunning”. I tell him, nuzzling my nose again his cheek as I look at us in the mirror. “The most beautiful woman in the sea, Boa Hancock could never”. I hum, kissing his cheek.

His face turns a light pink color, trying to hide behind his hat. “God you’re fuckin cute~”. I coo into his ear, biting his earlobe and gripping his now thin waist. A tiny moan escapes his lips, I smirk at this. “You know~ “. “No”. He shuts down immediately. “Oh come on baby, I’d love to show you how you treat me”. I chuckle. “Absolutely not”. He shuts down again. “What’s wrong? Coward? Can’t handle it? Afraid to feel exactly what it feels like?”. I question.

His face reddens, turning his head away. I chuckle as I move to kiss up and down his neck, small whimpers escaping him. “A-alright”. He stutters out. Immediately, I pick him up from my chair and take him to the bed, laying him down on it with my hovering over him. “How does it feel with me on top?”. I ask him, taking off my shirt. “I prefer it with you riding my dick”. He snaps back. “Now that’s something we’ll have to try”. I snicker, causing his face to blush. The thought of Law riding my dick sent blood straight to my dick, the growing erection being a new weird feeling.

I lean down, pressing my lips against his as I use my dominant hand to grope his breast through his shirt. He moans into the kiss, his nipples hardening the shirt. I pull away, kissing and sucking on his neck as I pull my hand away and sneak it under his shirt to continue playing with his nipple. Instead of his deep gruffly and husky groans and pants, it’s high pitch moans and whimpers. “Music to my ears~”. I pur into his ear, nippling at his neck.

I snake down more pulling his shirt up to expose tits, taking one into my mouth and sucking on the hard bud. Law lets out a soft whimper. I use my free arm that isn’t holding me up to unbutton and shove my hand down his pants, running my fingers through his folds. “My my, for someone so hesitant you sure are wet as hell”. I comment, getting an annoyed whiny groan. His moan gets louder as I rub along his clit, his back arching. “Sh-shit~”. He moans out, causing me to rub faster. He moans louder, like a sweet melody.

I pop his tit out my mouth with a ‘pop’, leaning up more to kiss his ear. “Better not be too loud, don’t want the others to hear you”. I whisper into his ear as I rub harder. “Ah! F-fuck! Yoooooou~”. He moans out. I chuckle at his little threat. “Not yet baby boy, I’m not done with you like this juuuuust yet”. I tell him, causing him to whimper. While I continue to work on his clit, I move to a sitting position at his feet, my free hand on his knee as his legs start to shake. “That’s it, cum for me, captain”. I tell him. His moans get louder as his legs shake more aggressively, being seconds away from cumming. “Fuck! Fuck (Y/n)-Ya!”. He cries out, his back arching. Before he can cum, I pull my finger away.

Law pants as he sits up slightly to look at me, brows frowning as he looks at me with half lidded eyes. I chuckle as I lean forward, getting right to his ear. “See how it feels, smart ass”. I chuckle, kissing his cheek and leaning away. He sits up more, looking me up and down. “What? Want me to do something for you now?”. He asks in a snarky tone, still not pleased at what I just did. “Nah I couldn’t, I wouldn’t ask you to suck my dick when you’re not into it”. I respond. “Then…why do you enjoy this?”. He asks. Haha, ah fuck. “Is now a good time to tell you I’m bi?”. I ask with a sheepish grin. He just chuckles. “Yeah…could kinda tell”. He mutters.

“Enough about that”. I state, grabbing onto the hem of his pants and pulling them down along with his panties. “I’m not done with you~”. I chuckle, leaning down into his legs. Still sitting up, I look him in the eyes as I softly grab his thick thighs and and kiss along it. “Ya know, you’re pretty attractive for a guy”. He mutters softly. I crack a smile at his works. “Thank you, good to hear that my love still finds me attractive”. I chuckle. I use my thumbs to spears his folds, getting a small whimper. I lean towards him, taking a long lick up his dripping folds.

His back arches as he moans, throwing his head back as I start to suck on his clit. I move my hand to go down more, pressing my fingertip lightly against his entrance. He moans when I insert the tip of my finger inside, slowly thrusting it in and out of him. “Oh my God you’re a fucking tease!”. He cries out loudly, panting. I chuckle as I pull away, still fingering him with the tip of my finger. “I’ve heard that before”. I chuckle, then leaning back down. I suck and nipple on his clit, Laws moans filling up the room and bouncing off the walls.

He looks so beautiful, moaning and panting while I show him a piece of his own medicine. I pull my finger out, changing to my pinky and teasing his entrance with it, shoving my pinky inside him fully. He lets out a whiny moan, slowly thrusting my pinky in and out. I know he wants more, to feel more, to be filled more, I am a woman after all. He cries as his legs start to shake again, a sign he’s about to cum. I would definitely finally let him get the relief of cumming if he begged, but he’s too stubborn to beg. “Fuck, ah~ please let me cum”. He cries out in desperation. No I wouldn’t. Let him suffer. “Aw, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”. I ask, using my thumb to rub his clit.

“Yes, please!”. He cries, his legs shaking more. “You’re so cute when you beg like that, you know that?”. I point out. I feel him clenching around my pinky, moments away from cumming again. With that, I pull my hand away. “Nooo”. He cries, panting and trying to catch his breath. I sit up and sit on my legs, pulling down my pants and boxers. He looks up at me with a scowl, his pretty face filled with irritation. “I’ll…get you…for this”. He pants out. I chuckle darkly as I stroke my cock, god it feels weird. “Nothing you haven’t put me through already baby, I might have to tease you like this if we ever go back to normal”. I tell him with a smirk. “Not like I wouldn’t mind us staying like this, I’d loooove to get my handsome boyfriend pregnant”. I joke. His face drops, the thought of him getting pregnant sending a chill through his body.

I lean forward to hover above him, using one hand to grab his ankles and the other to line myself up to his entrance. “What’s the matter? Don’t like the pregnancy talk? How do you think I’ve felt during all those nights, you’d be pumping me full of cum and saying how cute I’d look carrying your babies. I mean I would look cute, you’d love it”. I lean in, my mouth next to his ear to let my hot breath brush against his neck. “But I think you’d look cuter with a swollen pregnant belly, carrying my babies”. I whisper, feeling him shiver at my words. I push his legs against his chest, rubbing my tip up and down his folds. Granted, my dick isn’t as big as Laws, but it is big enough to please a woman.

I slide my tip in, then slamming my whole length into his pussy. Law lets out a loud moan, his back arching at the stuffed feeling. “Shit”. I pant, feeling his gummy walls clenching around my cock. He’s so warm, sucking me in. His face is dazed, eyes looking back at the feeling. Oh am I excited to see his fucked out face, cock drunk off his girlfriends cock. I start thrusting my hips back and forth at a speedy pace, fucking into him with swift movements. His loud moans are so beautiful, his mind probably going crazy from the feeling of having his sensitive walls getting fucked. God, Laws pussy feels fantastic. But I do get how men act so differently during sex, and I know he knows now too. Maybe he’ll go easy on me for once, like back when we first started having sex. Maybe not. Only time will tell.

I lean back to sit on my legs again, holding his legs in place as I continue thrusting. I look down at where I connect to him, watching my cock thrusting in and out of his pussy. Man this is weird, but I at least now know why Law likes to have mirror sex or look at our reflection while having sex, it is really hot. But to be fair…he bulges more in my stomach than I do his. I reach my hand around to press down on his stomach, pressing down out his stomach. His cries get louder, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Fuck, he looks so good falling apart because of my cock. I start to feel a weird sensation start to build up in my balls. Shit, I was so focused on feeling his orgasms I never considered what it would feel like to cum as a dude. Weird how that works, women feel more but men cum more. Rude.

My breathing becomes more rapid, speeding up the pace and thrusting into him harder. Fuck. Next thing I know, a warm feeling shoots through my cock and empties into Law. I stop my thrusts, Law shuttering at the feeling of my warm cum and the sudden stop. “More”. I pant out. Without thinking, I pull out of Law and flip him onto his stomach, pulling his legs up into doggy style. I rise to my knees, thrusting back in. He lets out a yelp as I start thrusting again, hammering my cock into him. I grip his hips aggressively, slamming into him. He cries into the pillow, clawing at the blankets below us for dear life.

I lean forward, gripping his hair and wrapping my hand around his neck. I chuckle as his moans grow high pitched, squeezing me at the feeling of the new position. I nipple on his ear lobe, squeezing his neck and pulling at his hair. Now I really get how Law feels, the amount of power and dominance in my hands while all he is is a squishy pile of fuckable pudding. “What’s wrong? Big strong warlord can’t take his girlfriends cock? The feared and powerful Surgeon of Death getting drunk off my cock”. I whisper into his ear, his pussy clenching at my words. I pull away, pushing his face into the pillow as I thrust faster.

That feeling in my balls arises again, and it’s growing quickly. My speed increasing and feeling inhuman as I chase my high. “P-please…slow…dooooown~”. Law begs in a cry, finally getting a word out. I laugh at his cries. “I don’t think so, pretty boy. Not when I’m so close to cumming again”. I tell him. With a few more thrusts, I cum inside him again. I stop my thrusting, keeping my cock inside Law as I watch his legs shake. He’s so close, tears in his eyes from the constant denial of finally cumming. With ease, I pick up Law and sit us on the edge of the bed, facing my vanity to see his beautiful fucked out face in the mirror. I grab his cheek, forcing him to turn and look up at me with my free hand rubbing slow circles against his clit. “If you wanna cum, Captain, you’re gonna have to ride my cock. I wanna watch you use my cock to cum, watching yourself ride me as you finally chase your high”. I demand.

And he does that, lifting himself up and down on my dick. I remove my hand and lean back to rest on my elbows, watching him fuck himself on me with a smirk. “That’s it, handsome”. I encourage, placing a hand on his hip and rubbing his waist. He’s trying so desperately to try and chase his high. I don’t blame him for not knowing how to ride well, he’s never had to ride a dick before. Also can’t blame him, I’ve been riding his dick for a good 3 years. His bounces get more harsh, slamming himself down on me. His efforts are cute, in a way. He changes from bouncing to rocking, crying out moans to try so desperately to cum.

He looks over his shoulder, tears running down his cheeks as he looks at me oh so desperately. “Please…help me”. He begs in such a sweet voice. Fuck, I felt that go straight to my dick. “Alright alright, you got it, captain”. I sit up, standing us up still connected and pushing him against my vanity. “I still want you to see yourself cum all over your girlfriends cock”. I tell him, grabbing his hips and slamming into him again. The room is filled with the sounds of Laws moaning cries and the vanity slamming against the metal wall. I hope he gets so bullied for this. His head drops as he claws at the wooded vanity, his body swaying with each harsh thrust, his legs shaking and struggling to keep himself standing up. “No no no”. I lean forward and grab his chin, forcing him to look at himself in the mirror. “Eyes up, handsome”. I lick up his neck, biting down hard on his neck. He lets out a loud cry, his walls clenching and squeezing me. That aching feeling in my balls in back, getting close to cumming inside him again. I kiss his neck, then his ear. “Come undone for me”. I whisper into his ear.

As if on queue, Law lets out a loud scream as he finally cums, legs shaking and quivering as he finally experiences a female orgasm. I continue thrusting into him, over stimulate and ride him through his orgasm. With a last few pumps from me, I finally cum and fill him up for the last time. Laws body goes limp, I quickly scoop him up in my arms and hold him up. I carry him over to the bed, laying him down gently on the bed. I leave him to come down from his high, walking into the bathroom to grab a towel and a class of water. I walk out, placing the glass on the nightstand and cleaning up the cum leaking out of him. “Drink, your throat will thank you”. I tell him. Not like he hasn’t done the same for me, but it’s still good to remind him. In his still shaking state, he sits up and drinks the water.

After cleaning him up, I climb into bed with him and spoon him from behind. As much as I prefer being the little spoon, he’s small right now and all I want to do is hold him close. “You’re evil”. I hear him mutter out. I shrug at his words. “You love me”. I tease. I lean in and kiss the back of his neck, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him close. “And I love you”. I add. He reaches down and laces his fingers through mine. “I do love you, a lot”. He admits. “Thank you, for loving me so much”. He adds. I chuckle at his sweet words. “How can I not?”.

My leg hurts, my ankle is burning. The pain is unbearable. I shiver as I look down at my bruised leg, my ankle swollen. All I wanted was to play in the snow, I didn’t intend to fall down a steep hill and ruin my leg. I don’t know where I am. Am I lost? And I gonna die out here? The pain and the fear build up inside me, giving into my emotions and burst out crying. My face freezing from my tears, my wails echoing through the cold air. “Hey”. I sniffle, opening my eyes so see a group of young teens around my age. Three boys and a polar bear, their leader clearly being the kid wearing a white hat with black spots.

His eyes shift to my leg, then back to my eyes. “Your leg, can you walk?”. He asks me. I try moving my leg, getting a whimper of pain. I shake my head. “Please, help me”. I beg, starting to cry again. He walks over, picking me up into his arms. “Stop crying, I’ll help you”. He tells me. I look up at him with wide eyes, then smiling brightly and wrapping my arms around his neck, hugging him. “Thank you!”. I thank. “Don’t thank me”. He tells me. He starts walking, his friends following close behind. I smile softly to myself as I nuzzle up close against him into his neck. “What’s your name?”. I ask him in a soft voice. “It’s Law”. He answers. “Law…”. I whisper under my breath. I cling to him tighter, not wanting to let go. ‘Thank you, Law’.

[bonus]

Time has passed since the whole gender bent even, the guys seemingly not wanting to talk about their time as women. I sit in the kitchen with Penguin and Sachi, enjoying our morning coffee. The door creeks open, our captain walking in. “Looks like captain is joining us in the land of the living”. Sachi jokes as we watch him walk over and get his own coffee. “Shut it, it’s too early for this”. He sighs, filling up his mug.

Penguin snickers. “We weren’t telling you that when (Y/n) had you screaming a few weeks back”. He jokes. Law chokes on his coffee, Sachi laughing at his friends joke. Before Law can say anything, I cut in. “Oh quiet you two, maybe next time you two get turned into girls I’ll get you two scream”. I threaten, then taking a sip of my coffee. The room falls silent as I look at Penguin and Sachi with a wide smirk.

We turn when we hear Law chuckle, who then takes a sip of his coffee. “At least they’d get laid”. He comments, then casually walking out the kitchen. The two fall silent as I burst out laughing, putting my mug on the table so I can hold my hurting stomach. “Quit laughing!”. They snap at me, but all I can do is continue laughing at them.

#one piece #one piece law x reader #one piece trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader

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lamogene · 1 year

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Stitches

So precious loving the thrill

Ethan fucking you dressed as ghostface

And being extremely aggressive.

Warnings: non con/not really non con?

Smut /pnv/oral/Dom Ethan/ aggressive sex.

It was a Friday night and the whole campus was shaken up by the murder that had happened on campus and the attack that took place at the bodega. You and Ethan’s friends were all at Sam’s apartment but you guys had plans of your own. You guys were planning for 2 weeks. It was definitely insensitive of you guys and you debated on telling him you were uncomfortable but Ethan said it would turn him on so much more considering the circumstances right now but you decided to let him have his fun as long as he didn’t tell anyone which you knew he wouldn’t. You knew the routine , put on an outfit that you’d be okay with being cut off. You put on a black dress since his favorite color on you was black.

You also left your door unlocked since he also liked surprising you.

You were sitting at your desk doing homework for class when you suddenly heard your door lock but you acted like you didn't hear it. All the sudden you felt a hand with a glove on your right breast.

“Who’s there……..” you said in a shaky tone.

"Oh you know who i am y/n or you're about to find out” he said turning your chair around.

" Oh that’s a sexy little dress you got on there "y/n…..are you gonna take it off for me and be a good little slut or am i gonna have to do it myself”.

“I can’t I have a boyfriend. I can’t let another man see me like that.” you said while blushing.

“I guess I’m gonna have to cut off that little slutty dress off of you.”

He started tracing his fingers to your neck and then cut the straps off of your dress revealing your naked body causing you to let out a soft gasp from how the knife felt on your skin.

“No panties or bra? God you’re more of a slut than i thought you were” he said opening the shades in your room.

“Why did you open the shades?!?!” you said in a loud and confused tone.

“Because if your boyfriend passes by I want him to see me fucking you so hard and rough that you start screaming and so he sees you choking on my fat cock he needs to know his girlfriend is a dirty little slut.”

“Now…. be a good girl it's time for you to get on your knees.”

you got on your knees lowkey anticipating how rough he’s gonna be with you , it always turned you on how rough he’d fuck you and how you wondered what he'd say to you. He became more aggressive each time he did this so you definitely were anticipating how he'd act. He took his robe off revealing his girthy long cock. "I don't know how I'm gonna take all of that." you said in a concerned voice.

"Well you better prepare yourself because your going to." He said while his cock started twitching.

You could see how excited he was just by watching his cock continuing to twitch.

You then gave in and started sucking on his tip. He immediately started to thrust himself deeper into your mouth making you gag a bit. But you couldn't lie it was making you so wet how he was acting. He then started to pick up the pace and start going faster to the point of face fucking while he was griping your hair

"You like your pretty little face fucked huh?" He said while lightly smacking your cheek.

He knew you liked being slapped but he didn't like it because he felt bad looking at you get slapped in the face but he did it because of how much you liked it and because of how disconnected from himself he was.

"Slap me harder I want you to leave a bruise please" you moaned out. he paused for a second and then pushed your head down onto him and then slapped your face to the point that you started gagging loudly. He started to push your head up and down by your hair so rough to the point that you thought he was gonna pull your hair out. You could barely breathe and it didn't help that his cock was twitching in your mouth making you feel like he was getting bigger. You started to twirl your tongue around his twitching cock making him groan out loud.

"Are you ready for me to cum in that pretty throat of yours?" He said breathing heavily feeling sweat drip down all over his body.

"Yes please cum down my throat I want you to cum in all of my holes please." with that confirmation he pushed your head all the way down causing him to cum down your throat making you taste every drop while he continued to twitch in your mouth letting out moans that you tend to hear a lot when it comes to guys having sex but the mask just makes it so much sexier. He then pulled out and took a deep breath.

He aggressively pushed you onto the bed causing you to hit your head on the headboard.

"My boyfriend won't let you get away with this!" You screamed at him.

"What's he gonna do? Beat me up with his textbook?" He chuckled out.

Pinning you down while his cock was still out. You felt your walls starting to clench while you felt your self start to drip , you were nervous because Ethan didn't use lube when he was dressed up as ghostface, he loved hearing you moan out in pain while you took his long and girthy cock , it made him feel powerful that he was able to stretch you out like that,feeling your walls so tight and gripped onto him. You enjoyed feeling how big he was and the pain of it so you didn't mind and knowing how much he was enjoying himself made it worth it.

You were caught off guard when he smacked your pussy , causing you to let out a moan.

"Mmm fuck , please don't hurt me I'm really tight" you whined out.

"Oh I'm gonna split you into two , when I'm done with you , you won't be able to walk tomorrow. Your little boyfriend won't be able to look at you same way when I'm done with you. Now, open your legs or I'll do it for you." He said in an aggressive tone.

You opened your legs feeling the wetness in-between your thighs spread out. "God you're so wet for me , how would your boyfriend feel seeing you wet like this for me" he said while gripping your hips."

"He wouldn't be happy , when he finds out about this y/n."

he's gonna beat your fucking ass you freak!" You screamed at him while shaking.

He then gripped your neck causing you to gasp.

"If you keep talking to me like that I'm gonna just have to fuck you harder" he said while stroking his twitching cock that was leaking little trails of precum.

"But what if I want you to." You said with a slight smirk.

"God your such a fucking slut , what would your boyfriend do if he heard you say that?" He mumbled out while trailing his hands down your body.

"I think he'd fuck the shit out of me and show me who's pussy this belongs to." You said as you reached down to his twitching cock and started to rub your finger on his precum covered tip.

He pinned your hands above your head. "Well tonight it belongs to me."

He said positioning himself and started to push his girthy cock in your tight hole causing you to moan out while your eyes started watering. Giving you no time to adjust he slammed himself into you causing you to let out a loud scream. "Mmm oh my God fuck you're so big." You whined out while rubbing your clit to help with the pain of his above average size.

"And Yo-You're s-so tight" he said mumbling his words. You started to feel his cock twitch already that caused you to let out a chuckle.

"What's so fucking funny?" He shouted at you while gripping onto your neck.

"Nothing." you giggled. "It's just you've been in me for less than a minute and you're already twitching , what are you ? A two pump chump." You continued to giggle.

He slapped you across the face and then spat in your face.

"You stupid whore , I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you." He shouted at you.

He went up to the window and then opened it causing your nipples to get harder as you felt the fall wind sending shivers down your spine.

"What was that for?" You asked him in a genuine confused tone.

"I want everyone to hear you scream , it's your punishment for being a stupid fucking whore."

He shouted at you while pulling his cock out and then slamming it into you.

"FUCK YOU ASSHOLE" You moaned out at him.

All you could think to yourself was that you were definitely gonna have a bruised cervix after this but it turned you on knowing he was genuinely getting mad at you so you decided to continue spewing insults.

"God you fuck like a teenage boy , is that all you got?" You cackled.

"My boyfriend lost his virginity like 2 months ago and he fucks better than you," you said in a condescending tone.

Ethan started gripping your hip tightly causing you to scrunch up your face from how tight the grip was. He then slammed into you again and started picking up the pass letting out deep breaths and groans with every stroke. Moans started to escape your mouth

"mmm fuck god your cock feels so good in my tight little pussy." You whined out.

"Fuck you're such a little dirty slut I'm gonna take a picture of my cock in you so I can show your boyfriend how you look getting fucked by someone else" He said grabbing his phone to take a picture.

"Mmmm your boyfriend is gonna love this, seeing his precious girlfriend with another guys cock in her pussy." He had a smirk underneath his mask when saying that.

"Be a good little slut and get on all fours for me." He said putting his hands through your hair causing you to clench on him.

"Yes sir." You said as he pulled out of you.

You slowly got on all fours legs shaking from being pounded so roughly.

Ethan pulled his mask up for a second so he could leave a kiss on your clit. Causing you to blush. He usually didn't do sweet things like that while he had the mask on so you couldn't stop smiling.

"Are you ready slut?" He asked while stroking his cock.

"Yes sir I ask a request though" you asked in a shy tone.

"Mmm what do you want slut?" He asked while slapping your ass.

You yelped but continued to talk. "Can you cum in my pussy , please I wanna feel your warm cum in my pussy , please I'm begging you." You whined and beg.

"Mmm well…you have been a good little slut…..I guess I'll give you the honor of me emptying my seed deep inside you.." he said while smirking under his mask.

He pushed his tip into you while gripping your hips. You both let out moans , both of you were sensitive clenching and twitched messes. The whole situation was just so exciting.

You tried not to clench on him but it was hard not to since he felt so good especially since he started to pound you at a fast pace , you could hear the sounds of your flesh clapping against each other. You just wanted him to cum in you but he kept edging himself which was a form of him tormenting you.

"Mmm when are you gonna cum in me." You whined out.

"I will soon , I'm just having my fun." He mumbled while pulling out and slapping your ass with his dick.

"Please put it back in ba-" you screamed feeling teeth digging into your ass and then a hard slap on that same butt cheek.

"Mmm now you won't forget this night for awhile" he chuckled out.

He then slammed himself back into you continuing to pound into you while you let out pornographic noises , screaming and moaning so loud that there's no way no one in the dorm hall couldn't hear you guys.

His thrust started to get sloppy so you decided to clench on him so he could finish already.

"Fuck don't do-dont do that y/n" you could hear his voice peak more through the voice changing device in his mask.

You started clenching and unclenching on him "mmmmm fuck it feels so good" you moaned out feeling him start to twitch more.

He then started to pound into you more letting out loud moans and groans you felt yourself start to clench more and could feel yourself getting ready to orgasm , you let out a loud moan as you finished.

He continued thrusting and said "You want me to cum in you? Huh?"

You moaned out "Yes please cum in me , I'm begging you".

With that confirmation he let out a loud moan while gripping your hips and pushing himself deep inside of you.

You collapsed onto the bed with him still inside you trying to catch his breath.

He then pulled out and took his mask off ,wiping the sweat off his forehead.

"God that was amazing…" He said while slowly pulling out of you.

"You were such a good slut for me tonight.." he said while he trailed his fingertips on your hips.

"Thanks honey pie , you were amazing tonight. Possibly the best sex I ever had." You said with a smile and planted a small kiss on his sweaty cheek.

"Wait am I not the best sex you've had in general, is there anything I can do better?" He said freaked out and trembling.

"No doofus , you're the only man who's made me cum." You said with a giggle .

He let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God you scared me , I thought I fucked like a virgin for a second."

"No you fuck like a man" you said leaving a kiss on his lips.

"And you fucked like….uh….uh…like a porn star!" He said awkwardly.

"Aww thanks babe" you smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

#ethan landry #smut #jack champion #scream 6 #y/n #scream #ethan landry x reader #reader x ethan landry #ghostface #Spotify

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

Text

Jungkook: By chance(short 1)

In which Jungkook gets to know his soulmate and can't help but fall deeper and deeper in love.

Tags/Warnings: Soulmate AU, Idol!Jungkook, slight angst, major fluff, no one asked but I still deliver, Jungkook having impure thoughts oops

Length: short/mid

Belongs to: By Chance

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"Did you order this much?" He laughs to himself as he brings in all the takeout boxes. You jump up to help, nodding eagerly, your phone now discarded on his couch. You've visited him after he'd asked if you wanted to spend some time with him- get to know him, seeing as you're soulmates.

"I haven't eaten all day - and honestly, I paid for it, so who cares! Those cinnamon bites will still taste good tomorrow morning for breakfast. And before you ask, I do plan on taking this stuff home with me if we don't finish it." You shrug, bringing the other boxes Jungkook couldn't hold into the living room.

"How much do I owe you?" He asks, already taking his phone out, and you just lick your finger after having opened some boxes to look what's what, shaking your head.

"Your honest opinion on the chicken, really. I've never ordered those, but they do look very hot right now, not gonna lie." You say, sitting down before stretching your legs. Your shorts reveal a tattoo on your leg that seems to travel high up- he's spotted a glimpse of something up to your rib when your stretched earlier, rising fabric of your shirt having also revealed a sparkling butterfly hanging from a silver piercing decorating your belly button. It makes him wonder how much more you hide away from his eyes, what might be there to discover for him.

You seem to be such a free spirit- an uncaged bird, open, colorful, exciting. You're infectious too, your bubbly nature easily making him feel all happy and relaxed. And he swears that's not just his soulmate bond speaking. He truly believes he would've at least developed a crush on you no matter the circumstances, really. You're cute, a little wild, testing him as if to see if he's able to tame you. You're exactly his type, not just physically.

Your beauty is simply a bonus- a pretty soul safely tucked into an equally pretty body.

"I love them, even if they're a little greasy. I've got a horrible love for fried foods." He laughs, sitting down to eat across from you.

"Would've never guessed." You smile. "Not to insult you, really. But I always thought every Idol, you know, is obsessed with dieting and staying away from anything that could have more calories than a carrot." You say, before holding a hand towards your mouth, eyes wide. "Oh my God, that sounded so rude, fuck!" You shake your head. "Now I cursed, I'm sorry, fuck- I mean not fuck, shit- I mean-" you whine to yourself putting your face in your hands while Jungkook laughs across from you.

"You're fine, really, it's okay." He reassures. "I'm not that sensitive, and honestly, a lot of idols do be like that." He shrugs.

"Maybe? I mean, I probably shouldn't even bring that topic up. I don't wanna be nosy." You say quietly, stealing a piece of chicken from him before you freeze in your motions. "Oh God I should've asked- why am I like this?!" You scold yourself, and he smiles brightly towards you.

"You're cute, nothing wrong with it." He flirts.

You look at him a little playfully suspicious before you continue eating. "If you're aiming at getting into my pants, I might have to disappoint you, mister." You say, and his eyes widen while he stops chewing for a second. "In front of you sits a very awkward virgin that's not even sure if she even likes sex, or kissing, or anything of that nature really. I'm just putting it out there, lay my cards on the table, I guess." You shrug before taking a sip of your soda.

"May I ask why?" He wonders respectfully, wiping his fingers on a napkin close by. "I'll respect your decision, obviously. I'm just curious, I guess." He clarifies, and you shrug.

"You've got every right to be." You nod, licking your lips. "I guess every guy has always been so.. pushy with it to the point where I didn't want to do it simply just to spite them." You explain, not looking at him. "Wanted to see how they'd react if I said that I didn't want to. You know, neither kiss nor have sex. Like a test, to see if they're any good." You tell him, and he nods.

"And none ever passed the test?" He asks, making you shrug as you look at him now.

"I mean, there's one who's on a pretty good road of maybe being the first to do just that." You say, and he smiles charmingly, fingers playing with his lip ring for a second before he turns serious again.

"All jokes aside, I really am okay with that." He says. "I didn't invite you here to fuck you, nor do I ever plan on doing that. Putting up a facade to tangle you into something, I mean. I'd fuck you if you'd want me to, just to be clear here." He tells you, reaching over to steal a few sips of your drink.

"Well, you stole an indirect kiss now, so that gonna be some points added to your fuckboy-ness." You say, crossing your arms- unaware probably that he now gets a very attractive sight of your cleavage now.

"We can easily make it a direct one too, if you want." He flirts again, and you stay quiet for a second, almost making him apologize- until you actually speak again, softly.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind.." you mumble.

"You don't have to push yourself." He tells you calmly. "I'm sorry if it felt like I was trying to convince you. I'm only joking around."

"No-" you start, looking everywhere but him. "-I, don't know, I actually do wanna try it with you. See if I like it." You say. "But, you know, only if you're up for it too."

"I'd be dumb to say no to kissing a pretty girl like you." He shrugs with a boyish smile before he gets up from the floor and squats down in front of you, his hands on your knees as you're still sitting on his couch. He chuckles at your shyness a bit before he slowly leans upwards, making sure to check until the very last second for any signs of you becoming uncomfortable. But that moment never comes, and when his lips make contact with yours for a short peck, your hands find his to hold onto, making him smile into the kiss before he parts from you. "Good? You're free to say if it wasn't, I'm really cool with that." He says, and you nod.

"Never really knew what to expect from a kiss, really." You shrug. "But it's nice. I liked it." You nod.

"Wait that was your first kiss?!" He now asks, and you nod.

"Wasn't that obvious? I thought I made it obvious." You laugh, and he laughs as well.

"I mean, I understood the virgin part, but I thought, you know, a pretty girl like you would've at least been kissed before." He says, and you playfully hit his chest, making him fall dramatically on his butt.

"Oh come on now prince charming, go eat your greasy chicken." You tease, making him grin.

Yeah- he really believes he's gonna fall for you. Maybe he already has.

Either way- he doesn't mind one bit.

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#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader

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callsign-mimic · 4 months

Text

Not gonna lie, it had been a loooong time since I've written any fanfics of any kind. Needless to say, I am beyond rusty lol.

Anyway, here's a fluff fic with Price and Reader.

Threads of Moonlight

Tags: price x reader, GN!Reader, established relationship, pure fluff

Song: Moonlight Serenade - Diana Patton

Inspired by my own spouse lamenting their hair starting to go grey.

It was no surprise to anyone that Captain John Price was under constant stress. As a captain of a specialized task force, he has a lot of weight on his shoulders. You did your best to help him relax, but there was only so much you could do for a man who was actively trying to keep the world from falling apart.

You were currently sitting on the bed, watching him run his fingers through his hair as he stares into the wall mirror with a furrowed brow. He sighs, stressed and exhausted, and joins you on the bed. You wrap your arms around him, planting a soft kiss on his jaw.

"What's on your mind, love?" You ask, enjoying the feeling of him melting into your embrace.

"I'm not even 40 yet and already starting to go grey." He mumbles, his stress showing clearly in his voice. You pull him down until he's laying his head in your lap and start running your fingers through his hair. You can see the strands of silver peeking out through his natural dark brown and chuckle quietly.

"I think it looks good on you, John." You say, your voice soft and soothing. He scoffs at your comment as he continues to pout in your lap and enjoy the feeling of your fingers in his hair. "I'm serious, John. It looks like you have threads of moonlight interwoven into the warm earth of your natural color. It's gorgeous."

John looks up at you, surprised by your poetic compliment. You look down into his eyes adoring and smile. "It's pretty fitting, too." You continue, running your fingers along the curve of his jaw. "Because your eyes are like starlight. Especially when you smile or laugh. I can see the universe in you, love. And you're only getting better with age."

He sits up suddenly and wraps you tightly in his arms, covering your face in kisses until you're giggling and squealing in delight.

It's no surprise to anyone that Captain John Price is under a lot of stress. But, at least with you in his arms, he gets sweet relief and all of the love he deserves.

#captain john price #john price x reader #price x reader #cod mw2 #john price #mimic writes #fanfic #cod fanfic #cod price #reader insert

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forever-rogue · 2 years

Note

Omg I had an idea!!! Maybe shy!reader and Eddie are finally dating, but not for too long. They go on a little picnic date. After they ate, they lay on the blanket, cuddling, little kisses...the reader puts flowers in Eddie's hair. He's confused but let her do it. Anyway the date ends, reader removes the flowers, but at home Eddie still found one flower and put it in a frame, where reader's picture is in it. FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF 🤗💕

AN | This is just some fluffy softness, but I hope you enjoy 🥺🥰

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You’re doing it again, pretty girl,” your face warmed up immediately and you turned away from him, hiding your shy little smile. Eddie laughed, that same lovely laugh you’d fallen in love with countless times before he gently reached over and turned your face back to his. His smile threatened to break his face; it was all teeth and dimples and nothing short of magical, “hi.”

“Hi,” your reply was soft and he couldn’t help but bring your face towards his so he could gently kiss your lips. You practically melted into him, wishing he would never let you go. He was sure that in that moment you were even more radiant than the golden hues that were starting to color the sky, “you’re really pretty, Eddie.”

“Flatterer,” he teased as you shook your head. You turned your body and shuffled so you were sitting in front of him. You reached up and put your hand on his face, gently stroking over his cheek before ghosting your fingers along his jaw and down his glorious neck, “what’re you up to, huh pretty girl?”

“Nothing,” you mused softly, “just admiring the art. The pretty, handsome, smart art.”

“It’s working,” he turned his face so he could press a kiss to your palm, “flattery works on me. Well - only if it’s you, honestly.”

“It’s not flattery,” you insisted, “not when it’s true. I like your eyes. They’re unique; brown but they look like they’ve got gold and honey in them. Deep though - I feel like you’re always looking right into my soul. Who knows, maybe you are, you are different after all.”

“Baby-”

“And your smile,” you traced your thumb along his full bottom lip and you swore he leaned into your touch, “it’s pretty. Your dimples show when you smile a lot, and your eyes get all crinkly at the corners and your whole face just gets this glow. It’s my favorite thing in the world.”

“Sweetheart-”

“And your little freckles,” you gently dotted your fingertips along his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, “I never really noticed at first, but now I see them all the time. Especially when you’ve been in the sun, they’re more obvious. They’re cute.”

“You’re really-”

“And your hair,” you giggled as you ran your hand through his roguish waves, lightly scratching at his scalp, “it’s so soft and wavy. I like it. It suits you.”

“You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned playfully as you leaned in and kissed his cheeks, “better be careful.”

“Now, now,” you whispered his ear softly, “don’t be so dramatic, Eds. I’m just telling you some of the many things I love about you.”

“No one’s ever…” he paused for a moment before waving his hand around dismissively.

“No one’s ever what, Eddie?” you took his hand and gently held it in yours, “tell me.”

“No one’s ever said things like that about me,” he admitted softly, “no one’s ever seen me the way you do. I guess it just feels…it’s nice. It’s really nice.”

“Then I’ll have to keep reminding you,” you promised softly, “just like you always do to me. You’ve always seen me too, just as I am. You make me feel very special. I love you, Eds.”

“I love you,” a pretty, soft shade of pink welled up in his neck and cheeks as you leaned before gently nudging his nose with yours before kissing him gently, “thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” you let your hand gently graze over the small patch of wildflowers to your side before a brilliant idea came into your head, “do you trust me, Eddie?”

“More than anyone.”

“Lie down,” you whispered as you motioned for him to rest his head in your lap, “and close your eyes and relax.”

He raised an eyebrow in question before grinning and quickly complying with your request. You made a small sound of content before brushing your fingers through his hair, and fanning out on your legs. He made a small sound at the feeling of your gentle touch. You were humming softly under your breath, a tune he’d heard somewhere before but couldn’t quite place as his mind started to slowly zone out.

You delicately picked some of the flowers before weaving them into his hair. Eddie could feel you doing something, but he kept his eyes closed, letting the sweet lull of slumber pull him further and further away. It was a tranquil moment, quiet and peaceful compared to normal days and part of you was tempted to stay there forever with him. But for now, the afternoon would have to do.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey sleepyhead,” Eddie’s eyes opened and he found himself looking up at you. Your expression was soft as you touched his cheek before he slowly sat up, failing to stifle a small yawn, “have a nice nap, love?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he gave you a sheepish little smile as you shrugged him off, “it just feels so nice to have some else playing with your hair, you know?”

“I know,” you agreed, thinking back at all the times he’d played with your hair, “you look even prettier than normal!”

“What did you do?” he gave you a suspicious little look as you reached into your bag and pulled out the small compact mirror you kept with you. You opened it so he could see himself, watching as the smile grew on his face at the sight of the little flowers dotting his hair, “pretty indeed. But - still not nearly as pretty as you though.”

“Now who is the flatterer?” you reached over and gently pulled one of the blooms out before holding it to him, “for you.”

“You’re sweet, you know that?” he took the flower, letting his fingers linger against yours. You rolled your eyes before putting a finger to his lips to quiet him down.

“You’re sweet as sugar, my honey, baby, sweetheart, love,” you sang softly as he practically melted into a puddle, “I wish we could be here forever and not have to deal with anything ever again.”

“One day,” he promised softly, “one day we’ll go on a road trip, just the two of us and I’ll take you to see all the places that are almost as beautiful as you.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmm,” he cupped your face in his hands before playfully peppering kisses all over cheeks, forehead, and nose before stopping at your lips, “one day we’ll have it all.”

“Well I can’t argue with that,” you kissed his lips, “but I think for today we’d better get back. Or we’ll miss movie night and I am not missing out on Robin torturing Steve over that new girl he likes.”

“And pizza,” he pointed, “can’t miss the pizza.”

“Good point. Let me just,” you reached over and started to pluck out the flowers from his hair, setting them back onto the ground, “get these out of your hair. Next time I’ll make you a crown. A pretty flower crown for my handsome prince.”

“Such a dork,” he said without any trace of malice in his voice; his insides were practically fluttering with butterflies, “my dork.”

“Yeah,” you promised, “I’m yours, Eddie.”

“And I’m yours,” he reached for your hand to help you to your feet, “let’s get going. I promise we’ll come back soon.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey Eds,” you’d let yourself into his trailer when you heard the music coming from within. You were positive he wouldn’t be able to hear you over the noise, so you’d used the trusty key he’d give you some time ago. He startled for a moment before relaxing when he saw that it was you.

“Hi sweetheart,” he set down his guitar and stood up to pull you into arms, swallowing you into a tight hug. You allowed yourself to meld into him, into his soft but strong frame, burrowing your face into his neck. Today he smelled faintly of weed, cologne, and the fruity shampoo you kept at his place; he always managed to smell a little different but still distinctly like him - like home. He loosened his grip on you for just a moment in order to kiss you sweetly, “missed you.”

“It’s only been like…five hours since we’ve seen each other?” you couldn’t deny that you’d still missed him too. If it was possible, and wouldn’t drive either of you crazy, you’d spend every moment with him, “but I missed you too. What’cha practicing?”

“Just something new,” he flopped down on his bed, holding his arms out to you in order to get you to join him, “it’s not really fleshed out, just vague ideas at this point.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” you laid down next to him, snuggling yourself into his chest, “even if you don’t give yourself enough credit, Eddie, you’re very talented. One day, everyone will know that too.”

“Please,” he scoffed lightly even if the praise made his heart full to bursting, “you’re just being nice.”

“Nope,” you insisted with a boop to his nose, “facts only.”

You wrapped an arm around his middle and rested your head on his chest as your eyes quickly grew heavily. But before you could fully close them, something on his dresser caught your eye. You sat up and slid off the bed to take a closer look at it, Eddie’s following you intently, “what’re you up to, sweetheart?”

“What’s this?” you picked up the small brown frame, scanning over the picture in it. You couldn’t help but grin when you saw that it was a picture of the two of you taken over the last winter. Both of you looked half frozen, but so happy. But in the corner of the frame, outside of the picture, was a small dried flower. Just like the ones you’d woven into his hair when you’d gone for that picnic, “Eddie.”

“Hmm?” you hadn’t heard him get up, but his voice was warm and soft in your ear. You leaned back and he wrapped an arm around your waist before resting his chin on your shoulder. You caught his eye in the mirror and saw his wide smile that matched yours, “do you like it?”

“Of course I do,” you turned your head and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “it’s cute - we’re cute. You saved one of the flowers? I thought I’d gotten them all out!”

“Not all of them,” he grabbed a lock of his hair, shaking it gently against your cheek, which tickled and caused you to giggle, “you missed just one, pretty girl. I kept it - obviously.”

“Why?” you turned around so you were facing him. He shrugged lightly but the smile still stretched across his face.

“Why not?” he countered as you laughed sweetly, “besides, it’s a pretty flower from the prettiest girl, that I happen to love very much.”

“You’re such a soft sap,” you let out a soft sigh as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him tightly to you, “that I happen to love very much too.”

“Yeah?”

“Duh,” you teased softly, “always and forever, Eds.”

“Always and forever.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader

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bibittybopittybadbxtch · 2 months

Text

Colors

Pairing: Wonwoo x Reader

Word Count: ~ 1.1K

Warnings: None…I think

A/N: I’m on a SVT kick. So….here’s another Wonwoo fic. Love him so much. The sweetest. I hope y’all enjoy! This was so much fun to write. I also kinda wanna turn this into a series….let me know your thoughts. I love hearing from y’all. The first part is inspired by Colors by Halsey. There’s also a couple of disney quotes sprinkled in.

NOT MY GIF‼️‼️‼️‼️

P.S.

I do NOT consent to have my work posted, translated or published to any third party site or app.

XOXO, Bibi🩷

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Your last relationship had come into your life like a hurricane. He settled over you for a while, but in the end you were just another casualty. You were red and he was blue, a combination that created a beautiful lilac. Until he decided that purple just wasn't for him. He left destruction in his wake. You were left to pick up your own broken pieces, and learned how to live with the scars on your heart. For a while you were just a shell of the person you were before him. But after a year, you were stronger. You held your head higher, shoulders back, all the things your therapist taught you. You were learning how to enjoy your life on your own until you met someone new, Wonwoo.

“One date. If you still hate the idea of dating me after that, I promise I’ll leave you alone.” Wonwoo looked two seconds away from getting on his knees and begging. He had sworn he did not believe in “love at first sight” until he saw you. As cliche as it sounds the sight of you was like looking into the sun. He’d told you so himself. To which you rolled your eyes in a very ladylike fashion and walked away. Back to the moment at hand, he had been asking you out for months. You were friends and he always presented date ideas in a respectful, light hearted manner but you knew he was serious. His eyes never told a lie. Looking up into those big brown orbs it broke your heart to say no to him once again. “Wonwoo, no. I told you. I don’t wanna jeopardize our friendship.” He hadn’t seen you before. He only knew the new and improved you. You feared that opening up to him would agitate old wounds. You had lost enough people over the years and weren’t willing to lose Wonwoo too. “Come on Sunshine, you know that wouldn’t happen. We won’t let it.” Despite what you thought to be your better judgment, you said yes.

First dates were awkward. Common knowledge, basic fact, first dates felt like having chicken pox. Except this was Wonwoo, and of course it wasn’t awkward. He was still your dorky best friend. He knew you, better than you knew yourself. He took you to a drive in movie. You sat in the car and cracked jokes and threw popcorn at each other. The night ended with ice cream and Wonwoo walked you to your door. “So..am I gonna get another date?” He asked hopefully. You saw his ears tinge pink under the porch light. You pretend to think about it. Just to watch him squirm before you smile at him, “Yes, I´d actually really like that”. The smile that stretches across Wonwoo’s face is forever burned in your memory. He sweeps you into a hug, before bidding you goodnight. That night you call your best friend, you recount every moment in detail. She knows before you do that you’re falling in love.

Wonwoo picks you up the following Friday, a beautiful bouquet of daisies in his hand.”You ready Sunshine?” He asks as he takes your hand. “Well, I’d say yes but I don’t know where we are going.” He chuckles and leads you to the car before opening the door, “Do you trust me?”. “With my life,” you reply earnestly as you get in the passenger seat. Trusting him was the easiest thing you had ever done. From the moment you met him Wonwoo had been nothing but reliable. It didn’t matter if it was 2am or snowing, he found a way to be there for you. Never one to disappoint, that was Wonwoo through and through.

When the car finally comes to a stop after an hour's drive to the outskirts of the city, the sight in front of you almost makes you cry. You were at a sky lantern festival. At the beginning of your friendship, you had mentioned how you wanted to go to him. He remembered. “Wonwoo..” you begin, you don't know what you had to say. Wonwoo just looks at you and smiles warmly before getting out of the car. You're unbelievably touched. Wonwoo was by all means not an outdoors person, but the fact he held on to your words and went out of his way, brings tears to your eyes. After retrieving your lanterns the two of you find a space on the large expanse of grass. You both sit down and start decorating your respective lanterns when an idea hits you. You grab your notebook from your bag and rip out a page. Wonwoo looks over at you puzzled, “What are you doing?” “Let’s make a wish. Write your wish on the paper, when the wish comes true we tell each other.” Wonwoo agrees because how could he ever say no to you. You finish your lanterns and release them at the end of the festival, wishes tucked safely in your respective pockets. That night when Wonwoo walks you to your door, he asks you to be his girlfriend.

Two years later Wonwoo takes you back to the same field that held the lantern festival, and proposes. In the ring box, there is a small piece of paper that you recognize from a notebook that has been long forgotten. You recognize Wonwoo’s chicken scratch. “Y/N” with a small heart. “Sunshine, you were always my wish. Will you marry me?” You launch yourself at him sobbing. “So, is that a yes?” he asks cheekily. “In every language. Oui, Si, Ja, Yes.”

On the car ride home, Wonwoo sees you digging around your bag for something. “What are you looking for?” “Hold on. I know it's in here somewhere.” You bring out your wallet before unzipping it. You shuffle around for a second before pulling out a small piece of paper. “What’s that?” Wonwoo asks as he glances over before returning his attention back to the road. “My wish” you state proudly. “Oh yeah? What was your wish?” You flash him your brightest smile before unfolding it and showing him. There is your delicate handwriting. He sees his name “Wonwoo” with a smiley face. Wonwoo swears his heart is gonna explode. “You made me believe in love again. You restored my faith in humanity. You made me whole.” You tell him through your tears. Wonwoo pulls the car over and cradles your face, wiping your tears. “No, Sunshine. You did that all by yourself. I’m just here to appreciate your hard work.” He kisses you.

#wonwoo x y/n #wonwoo x you #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo #svt #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt imagines #svt fanfic #svtgifs #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo

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lolahasmoxie · 6 months

Text

Cuddle Monster (E.M.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Childhood Best Friend Reader

Warning: (smacks fanfiction) This baby holds so much fluff! Kids! Cuddling! CASUAL INTIMACY UP THE ASS!

Word: 487

Notes: I'm a second-grade teacher, and my kiddos still love to give hugs. I also have friends with kids the same age. Not gonna lie; some warm kid hugs just make my soul happy. This doesn't really push the story forward at all; it's a pleasant little interlude.

Also, my edible JUST kicked in. Enjoy!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /

@kimmi-kat @feltonswifesworld87 @mrsmunsonxquinn @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @hahahafucku @emilyroxy @ihatepeanutss @mackyboo21

Ronnie Wayne Munson was his father's child.

Whenever you watched Ronnie, it was like seeing your best friend grow up all over again. But the similarities ran more profound than just sharing the same hair and colored eyes.

It was how they both poked their tongues out while in deep concentration to how they would fall asleep in full starfish mode; you enjoyed every bit of Ronnie Wayne Munson.

Especially the fact that he inherited his father's love language of physical touch.

Every time you were at their home, Ronnie would take you by the hand (after his father had welcomed you properly with a kiss) and had you sitting on the couch as soon as he could. Then he would proceed to climb into your lap, tiny arms around your neck and his warm body pressed against yours, as he told you about his day.

You'd had to chastize Eddie once or twice as he sat next to you on the couch. His arms crossed over his chest, and a pout on his plush lips, as his son slept in your arms.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?"

"You came to see me; I should be in your lap."

"Eddie, he's 4!"

"I mean, this level of disrespect in my own home is appalling. I will NOT let it go unanswered.”

“Jesus Christ, get over here you giant baby.”

Weekends are a sacred time for you and Eddie, but you can hear his tiny little feet creeping into your bedroom like clockwork every Saturday and Sunday.

You feign sleep, trying to hide your giggles as Ronnie huffs and puffs as he tries to climb into your bed. He always comes to your side of the bed since Eddie sleeps like the dead, and eventually, you pick him up and gently place him in the middle.

His warm, tiny body curls instinctively into you. You run your hand up and down his back to coax him back to sleep. You let out a yawn when Eddie stirs next to you.

"You two left me out? What's a guy got to do to get some damn cuddles in this place?"

"Eddie, the sun isn't even up yet. Can you wait until, like, 9 am to be weird?"

"Nope, cuddle me, NOW."

"But we're so warm and cozy here." You give him a sleepy grin, closing your eyes as he grumbles while inching towards you and his son.

"Gonna file a complaint with the Union, I tell ya. Can't get a cuddle from my woman. Can’t get a cuddle from my own begotten progeny, my very own flesh and blood..."

"Go to sleep, Eddie."

"Not until you tell me you love me."

Silence.

"Please?"

"Fine!" You lean in, and in seconds, Eddie's plush lips are softly pressed against yours. His arm lands on your waist, both of you creating a soft cocoon for Ronnie. "I love you."

"I love you too, Princess. Can I tell you something?"

"Tell me."

"This, all of us. It feels really nice, right?"

"It feels perfect." You feel lips against your forehead and calloused fingertips trace lazy patterns as you slowly fade back to sleep. "Wouldn't change it for a thing."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you

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j0kers-light · 9 months

Note

I am not sure if your requests are open but was wondering if you would do a smut one-shot where y/n and joker dress up like their getting married maybe it's y/ns weird fetish or jokers but it is one of thems idea that's up to you

[Most importantly hope you don't mind this but the joker isn't wearing any makeup in this]

Ps. Love his lighthouse love it

His Lighthouse: A White Future (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

A White Future - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A STORY UPDATE!

Hey hi @jokerslittlepage 🖤✨please excuse me for taking so long in writing this! This one was tricky to write I'm not gonna lie… I feel like Joker is a little OOC in it since I mostly head canon his against marriage but hey. I did what needed to be done. Please don’t hate me!! 🥹🥹 and at this point Joker rarely wears his clown makeup around Y/n so you’re all good beloved!

Enjoy as I post this in the dark at 1AM!

— Oh and this is definitely not possibly canon with His Lighthouse. You'll understand after reading lol 🤭

Also I'm kinda feeling this song playing in the background as Joker and Y/n dance on the balcony. Its soft and gentle enough yet angst for this ill fated couple 😘

taglist:

@blackreaderatrisk @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angel @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy @kaidennnnn @urdariingdoll @motivation-idontknowher

Wanna be included in the His Lighthouse journey? Join the taglist!

Joker blamed you for this.

You unlocked another one of his weird fetishes that he never would have known existed, all completely by accident.

You were cleaning out the closet in the guest bedroom and trying on things to see if they still fit. If it didn't, you were donating it.

Joker had returned from a late night meeting at the main hideout and was relaxing on the bed, still dressed in this three piece suit. This one was all black, giving off mafia vibes, especially since he proudly wore the gold chain you bought him around his neck.

Your initials were on a small charm hanging from it. It was a subtle way for Joker to acknowledge his girl; he never took it off.

Joker washed his clown makeup off in the bathroom and was content watching the strip tease and mini fashion show you were putting on. So far he kept his hands to himself.

No surprise Joker was a great judge with his killer fashion sense. He was honest about the things you tried on.

"It's a no for meee."

"Wait, Bunny! Keep that one. It makes your hips look... mmm. C'mere pretty thing.."

"I dunno.. bell bottoms are making a uhhh comeback. I like the color, doll."

"Don't even try that on. Toss it."

"Y/n, what possessed you to buy that?"

Rude comments and all, you were making progress with Joker's help! You had almost everything cleared out and ready to either return back into the closet or in bins for charity, that is, until you squealed and dug out a white garment bag.

"I forgot about this!" You laid the bag out on the nearby couch and unzipped it.

Joker lifted his head at the sound and watched you eagerly lift up a dress. From here it looked cream or was it white? He spoke up to ask. "What's that, bunny?"

He missed your megawatt smile. "One of my fans invited me to her all white wedding before you and I met. She asked me to be her bridesmaid and I totally forgot I kept the dress!"

You held it up to your body and faced the mirror. She was so happy you made it and they were such a beautiful couple. You were glad you made her day even more special by being there. You smiled while reminiscing fond memories.

You turned just enough for J to finally see that garment in its entirety and his brain swiftly short circuited.

"Put it on."

You turned towards Joker. "Huh?"

He had this hazy look in his eyes as he watched you stand before the mirror. The urge to see you in white struck him hard and fast. He didn't know why.

"I said.. Put. It. On."

You knew that tone very well and scrambled to do what Joker said before he lost patience.

You took off your bra and shimmied into the cool satin material. The panty line was too harsh in the white fabric so without thinking, you peeled off your panties and tossed them aside.

Joker swallowed audibly watching them go. He liked that pair very much. However they looked better on the floor.

"Can you zip and button me up?" You held the front of the dress up to your breasts and moved your hair back for him.

Joker took in a shaky breath. The dress wasn't even on properly and he was already having impure thoughts. The ivory color against your darker skin just made it pop even more. You tried on countless articles of clothing tonight but this was the icing on the cake. He stood up from the bed and walked over to you.

His green eyes met your e/c ones in the mirror before you looked away, hiding your flushed cheeks. For once he didn't comment on your skittish behavior.

He reached out and pulled the zipper up, letting his fingers brush against your skin like a feather.

The intimate gesture sent shivers down your spine.

Joker was so close you could feel his body heat on your exposed skin and his hands were like a branding iron buttoning the two pearls at your neck. When he was done, Joker rested his hands on your shoulder and spoke to your reflection.

"You ahhh need heels." He whispered on your neck.

You didn't understand where he was going with this. You weren't trying on full outfits, just the clothing itself.

Joker rolled his eyes when you didn't move and stalked over to your endless pile of heels for himself. He flung a few to the side and mumbled under his breath when he couldn't find the ones he was looking for.

"J what are you doing?" You walked over barefoot but jumped when J laughed after finding the perfect pair. He wordlessly pointed for you to sit down.

Thank goodness a chair was nearby. Joker meant business when he didn't speak. You flopped down in your sage accent chair and waited for the lion to stalk its prey.

You were speechless when Joker got down on his knees to put a pair of Tom Ford stilettos on your dainty feet. They were the same pair he gifted you recently. He swore he purchased them with real money.

Like you actually believed him.

Regardless if he obtained them legally or not, they made your skin tone pop even more and highlighted the stark white of the bridesmaid dress.

You wore clear heels to the wedding but Joker was in charge here. Only the best for his Light.

"There... perfect." He whispered more to himself than you. His green eyes snapped up to you. Joker's hands were rubbing your calves but they slowly creeped up under the gown to caress your thighs. "A vision in white."

From the halter neck to the draped bodice, you were a sight to behold. This gown, what it represented, was doing things to him. His Light bathed in white whereas he was swallowed in darkness.

Yin and yang. The two of you were polar opposites and he absolutely loved it.

"A-Alrighty.. um it still fits! So um... can I take this dress off now?" You asked with a shaky breath. Green eyes pinned you down further into the seat as Joker's lips inched closer and closer to yours.

"NoPe. It's our big day and you look... phenomenal. You look so heavenly.. n' all for me." Joker tucked a wayward curl of hair back behind your ear.

His words made your eyes widen. Big day? What was he going on about?

"J.. what're you..?"

"Stay right here, doll. Don't. Move." He ordered. He grinned at you before backing away and leaving the room altogether.

You blinked in shock but did as you were told.

Just what had gotten into Joker and where did he go? It was taking him longer than a minute to return.

You tapped your heels on the floor as you waited.

He came back with your fresh bouquet of flowers that you always kept on display in the foyer. This week it was a hodgepodge of wildflowers mixed in with chrysanthemums and snapdragons; the perfect wedding arrangement. You finally had an understanding of what was going on here.

"Did you know it's considered bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?" You accepted the fresh flora and discreetly shook off the excess water from the stems before it soaked into your satin dress.

Joker just shrugged and helped you to your feet. He kissed your cheek and led you out of the bedroom. "Who needs luck when I have you?"

Now that was sweet.

You bowed your head and let Joker guide you out onto the balcony. He walked you out just like a newlywed couple to the reception.

The night was balmy and the distant lights from the Fashion District cast a neon glow on everything. Joker stepped away to turn on the patio's string of lights to soften things up a bit.

They came on and illuminated you in a warm intimate glow. You were missing a veil for this to truly be a dream come true. Joker would just have to go without. Your smile monopolized all of his attention anyways.

You shined brightly just like the lighthouse he named you after. You laughed when Joker bowed and offered you his hand, like a true gentleman.

You both knew he was anything but.

"May I have this uhh, dance?"

Joker's smile was genuine and without his signature makeup, he looked dazzling under the twinkling lights.

You could stare at J for hours. You didn't care about his scars. Yes, they made him into the fearsome man he was, but in your opinion, Joker was beyond stunning no matter how you looked at him.

How could you say no to such a handsome man?

With your bouquet in one hand– you gave Joker the other as he swept you up into a ballroom waltz right there on the balcony.

You heard gentle music playing from the speakers and knew this must've been what he ran off to prepare.

"But you don't plan things.." You mumbled under your breath.

Joker kissed your cheek to silence his laugh. You loved pointing out his affinity for structure and plans.

The two of you danced along to the soft music and stared into each other's eyes. Yours were more bashful whereas Joker did nothing to hide his desire. The grip he had on your hip clenched tighter when you bit your lip. It wasn't unusual for Joker to get handsy but your curiosity got the better of you at the origin of his passion.

"So... um you're not gonna tell me what brought this on?"

He scoffed as if you should've already known the answer. "Do I need an excuse to dance with my wife?" Joker dipped you suddenly.

You were sputtering and gaping like a fish. "W-Whahh? Wife?" He slowly straightened you back up.

"Do play along, Y/n." Joker said with an eye roll.

"Oh I'm sorry Joker! I didn't know we were roleplaying tonight. I was trying on clothes and you went all... thison me! How was I supposed to know you had a bridal fetish or whatever this is? I bet you wanna skip straight to the honeymoon anyways."

You looked away and missed Joker's licking his scars in agitation. You knew the exact buttons to press with him, it was infuriating.

The scene was set. Why couldn't you just play along?

Joker spun you again but this time he jerked you roughly so your back was against his chest. He kept you steady on your feet with his strong grip.

"I.... didn't know I had one until you found this... this... dress. White looks soo... ethereal on you my Light. So what if I wanna end our uhhh re-cep-tion early and consummate our bond. Hmm? Are ya gonna stop me? We both know that's what you wanT."

Joker leaned down to whisper in your ear. "You wanted me since the moment I came home."

That may be true, but he didn't have to call you out on it!

That matte black suit of his was equal parts sinful and alluring plus you really wanted that gold chain of his swinging in your face tonight.. An airy moan slipped out before you could stop it.

How did he know your body better than you?!

Joker ran his hand down the front of your dress and bunched the satin material up until your legs were bare to his touch. The humid air teased your bare sex, making you shiver.

"I bet you're thinking about it.. righT now, aren't ya? Let's see just how needy my wife is..."

Without warning, Joker plunged his fingers into your wet pussy. You clutched onto his forearms and gasped at the intrusion.

"Told ya, princess.. you're sopping wet for me." He groaned at hearing your wet lips gush out as he thrusted them deeper inside. Your eyes fluttered half mast but flew back open in fear.

You looked left and right, hoping it was dark enough for your neighbors to not witness what was going on your balcony.

Just because you owned the penthouse didn't mean there weren't other buildings surrounding yours. Gotham City was notorious for peeping toms and noisy neighbors.

"J-J... my mmph!" Your complaint fizzled away when Joker's thumb rubbed at your clit. Why did you take your panties off around this man?

J loves when you wear dresses and skirts for 'easy access' and for good reason.

The man was a sorcerer with his fingers and you loved when he worked his magic. He curled them just so and had you hurling straight to the cusp of pleasure in record time.

You were wet the moment he walked in the bedroom but he didn't need to know that. Joker knew his tailored suits turned you on.

Finally getting some much needed stimulation was sending you over the edge. You clawed at J's arms as the heat threatened to consume you entirely.

A flick of his thumb against your bundle of nerves and you were moaning out in ecstasy.

You made a mess of his fingers right there for anyone to see if they looked out their window. The thrill of being seen had you squirming in J's arms. You swatted at his hand with your flowers when he tried to prolong your orgasm.

He easily overpowered you and laughed at your sensitive walls clenching down on his fingers. Joker clicked his tongue when you tried bucking away from him.

"Tsk. Always running away." He sighed.

You squeaked when he picked you up, bridal style, and carried you back inside.

Usually Joker would toss you down on any nearby surface and watch your body bounce helplessly before he dragged you back towards him, but today was different.

Today, Joker stopped into your enclosed sunroom and set you down gently on the couch. He hit the light switch and instantly the balcony lights went out and plunged the both of you into darkness.

Now only the moonlight shining in from the glass roof guided his lips to yours.

You dropped your flowers to cradle the back of Joker's head and deepened the kiss. He let you have control for as long as it took him to discard his suit jacket and rip off his tie. He was working on the buttons on his shirt when you pulled away.

"Ngh, no let me... l-let your wife do it." You moaned out.

Your hands were shaking as you undid the buttons. You were too nervous to look up at the panting dragon before you.

Joker let you push his shirt off his shoulders but he tilted your chin up when you failed to look up.

You acknowledged your role and needed to be rewarded.

He whispered your name amongst the lush plants and flora in your sunroom. The air in here was stuffy since he left the balcony's sliding door open. You were already collecting sweat on your brow and good thing Joker took off his makeup earlier or it would be melting off of him.

He still licked at lips in that nervous habit of his.

"Do you want this? Tell me to uhh stop if ya don't." Joker slowly pushed your dress up to bunch up around your stomach. He had no plans of taking it off. If he did, he'd risk tearing it to shreds and that wouldn't do.

If he had it his way, you would wear white everyday, you looked so beautiful in it. But back to the matter at hand.

You nodded in the dark and wrapped an arm around Joker's shoulder. His gold chain was still cool to the touch and you ran your fingers over it fondly.

"I want this. I-I want you. Please, J."

He left a kiss to your forehead and groaned. "You already have me, Y/n."

Joker moved to remove his pants after earning your consent. The sound of his belt buckle in the dark sent a rush of adrenaline to your core. You were excited and the fact you could hardly see made this encounter even more hot.

Your heart was beating out of your chest when you felt Joker's hands slide up your heel clad legs and yank you closer to him. Your back hit the couch cushions and you scrambled for something to hold onto in the dark.

Joker must've seen you flailing around since he guided your hands back onto his shoulders.

No fair how he could see perfectly in the dark whereas you were blind as a hehe... bat.

"Hey.. I wanna see yo— ah!"

Joker slapped his cock on your pussy as if he heard your joke. You jumped at each impact of his hard on hitting your clit and clawed at his upper back in delight.

He seemed to enjoy the sting and tipped his head back in a groan.

Then a pair of neon green eyes stole your attention. It was unnatural the way they reflected off the lack of light, almost feline at times. Joker's night vision was legendary and it was all focused on you.

Your beautiful body sprawled out on the couch. Your curls framing your face like a halo and Joker swore the white of your gown made your melanin skin glow.

How did he get so lucky? He must be dreaming. If it were a dream, he would enjoy it while it lasted.

Joker slid his dick into you, slacked jaw and eyes filled with longing. Your eyes rolled back feeling him stretch you open and come to a rest inside. Joker panted above you and braced his weight on his hands near your head.

You were now caged in with nowhere to go.

"Yeah? This what you– mmhm d__n, is this what you needed, my Light? If ya want me, then take it. Take. All. Of. Meee." Joker grunted and set a rhythm; steady deep thrusts that jolted your entire body and stole your breath.

You buried your hands into his hair and tugged, knowing J loved that. He moved with the motion and laughed to himself.

"F__k, relax Princess and work with me." He pulled his hips back so he could slam into your pussy deeper.

You cried out and wrapped your legs around his waist. He felt the straps of your heels press into his back.

Note to self, clothed sex was hot.

"See? There ya go.. now I can beat it up just the way ya like it. Ohhhh, I got the best wife. Tight cunt, killer body... sexy moans– louder doll. I wanna hear just how good I'm making ya feel."

You bared your neck as he picked up the pace and plowed into your womb. Each rock of his hips hit your g spot and made you dizzy.

You looked up and watched the clouds distort the image of the moon through the roof. Such a beautiful night spent with the one you love.

Joker noticed your distracted gaze and brought your focus back on him by pressing down on your lower belly. You keened loudly in his ear.

"Haha. Eyes on me, Princess. I know, I know. You can cum if it feels that go~od."

You nodded, gasped sweetly, and then came on Joker's cock. And he didn't stop his powerful thrusts either. He plowed right through your orgasm with no regard for your hypersensitivity.

You couldn't escape his passion and took out your agony on his back. Joker hissed when your nails initially dug into his skin but laughed it off.

"Argh, those d__n nails of yours are sharp! Is it really that good, darling? Too much cock making you go crazy stupid already? You want me to stop? Huh? Too bad, cuz I'm noT done yet." He groaned when your walls clamped down tighter on this dick but he recovered quickly to resume his brutal thrusts.

He picked you up by your waist and positioned you to straddle him properly on the couch.

You cried out when you sank further down on Joker's cock due to the angle.

Now he could see you properly as a beam of moonlight shined down from the roof to a spotlight on you bathed in white.

Your hair was in complete disarray and your lips red from biting them in pleasure but in Joker's eyes, you were absolutely stunning.

You locked eyes with Joker and braced your hands on his shoulders. His fair skin was flushed red from exertion but he still looked every bit of Gotham's City most wanted criminal.

The dark gleam in his eyes was a warning in itself.

Your gaze latched onto the gold chain hanging around his neck, and most importantly, the tiny charm with your initial bouncing with each thrust Joker made up into your pussy.

It was hypnotizing and you couldn't help but lean forward to kiss Joker.

He didn't mind and slowed things down so you could feel each vein sliding against your gummy walls. The wet slap of skin and heavy pants was the only sound in the sunroom. You wouldn't be surprised if the glass behind Joker was fogged up by your lovemaking. It was still too dark to tell for sure.

You were the focal point here so you leaned back and put in some work to get Joker off.

You rolled your hips in figure eights that he loved so much and was quickly rewarded.

Joker placed his hands onto your hips and used them like handlebars.

"D__n Y/n. F__k meeeeee." He leaned back on the couch and watched you ride his dick, chasing another orgasm.

You didn't care that you were getting your dress dirty or that your feet were killing you in your stilettos.

Joker took one look at you dressed in white and gold and smacked your behind. You whimpered softly. The sting spurred you to go faster and you began chanting Joker's name like a prayer.

"Nuh uh bunny. You know what ta call me." J whined when you clenched tighter around him.

You bit your lip, looking away.

He could call you wife all night long but it was something different about returning the favor. You knew Joker needed this to get off but it meant more to you.

"Say it Y/n.. p-plea— nghh just once. That's all I, ahhh, that's all I neeeed, darling. I want you to have it, but I need.."

Oh. Joker begging meant he was serious. His eyes were squeezed shut as he neared his own release but you could tell something was holding him back.

You could feel it with how handsy and needy he became. Anything could spill from Joker's lips as he reached his summit. He needed whatever this fetish was.

You drew in limited air and blew it out in a shaky moan.

Just the sight of Joker, usually so composed and calculated, losing all self control– because of you, was empowering. At this rate you were gonna cum again.

You wanted Joker to cum with you; it felt right with the emotions floating in the air tonight.

You choked back a moan, "I want it! I want my husband to c-cum. I need you, J! Please fill me up!"

His reaction was instant.

"Yeah? Ya want it? My beautiful wife wants my cum? Anything you want, it's yours, Y/n. Ask of me anything. I will defy my own will to grant your desires!! Y-You can have it all just.. stay with me. F-Foreever. Never.. s__t, so tight! Never leave me Bunny."

You recognized your own book quote mixed in with Joker's pleas and moans. If possible, you fell even deeper in love. You wouldn't stop for anything after hearing that.

You felt the moment Joker came undone.

He squeezed you close as his hips bucked up into yours uncontrollably. He didn't care about moaning obscenely in your ear because he babbled his deepest darkest fears to you in between struggling to breathe.

"Stay with me, Y/n.. I need.. I need you please— you complete me. You own me. Don't go.. my beautiful wife. M-My Light. All mine.."

It was the most vulnerable you ever heard Joker speak. He was open about his future with you.

You were uncertain about his plans after he healed up and left, but tonight you got a glimpse of the future. He wasn't going anywhere and neither were you and you never felt more closer to him than in that moment.

You bared down and let a silent scream paint your features as your own climax was ripped from out under you.

The fact you came with Joker made the release ten times more intense and hearing him confess in your ear was like an atomic bomb.

Joker fell back and took you with him as the afterglow hit you both. Shivers and gasps were exchanged in the muggy room.

Your dress was sticking to your sweaty skin and you felt absolutely euphoric wrapped up in the arms of your lover. Joker wasn't in any better shape. The satin fabric of your dress was brushing up against his sensitive skin with every rise and fall of your breathing but he couldn't move.

He was slowly softening inside of you and cum was oozing from your pussy and pooling down to your inner thighs.

It was filthy but neither of you could bear to move. You were right where you needed to be. In his arms.

If Joker had a shred of morals he would carry you to the bath and help wash you up but first he had to address what he said during the heat of the moment.

Joker rubbed his scarred lips along your collarbone and subtly cleared his throat.

"I.. meanT it, Y/n." You turned your head and rested it under Joker's chin. "I dunno what started all of this but I uhh.. I'd like that. Us. You know... together.. Not right now! But ahh uhh.. it's on the table for the future... if ya want."

You tensed up in his arms and he thought the worst.

What if you disagreed and thought he was insane? What if you wanted nothing more to do with him? Was this the end of this phenomenal relationship all because he considered marriage?

Joker sounded so cute, all bashful and unsure of himself and you loved watching his eyes dart around in a panic. You put his worries at ease by leaning up and kissing him soundly.

"I meant what I said too silly. I-I need you too but only if you'll have me." You looped your hands with Joker's much larger ones.

He stared at the clash of skin tones and sighed. He was worrying over nothing.

"Forever then, yeah?" He kissed your palm before looking down at you. That breathtaking smile of yours was highlighted by the moonlight.

Since J quoted The Greeks Among Us, you decided to do the same.

"Until the last star fades in the night sky, I'm yours forever and ever, ο εραστής μου."

He rolled his eyes at your direct quote but attacked you with kisses anyway. His sweet little nerd. However the phrase summarized your love perfectly, all for a man who didn't deserve a single ounce of it.

Joker would spend the rest of his days proving his love for you. He could start by giving you that ring he bought.