#jetfire x reader

• Reaching to fumble for the bowl beside him until he finds an energon goodie, he idly sucks on it as he listens to the human on the screen talk. And he gets rocked slightly when you sit on his other side. Looking up, you’re just staring at him. While smiling softly. The only time he’s seen that look on your face was when another caretaker brought their baby in. Had heard Ironhide gruffly complaining that the humans thought they were all helpless sparklings now and he’d dismissed it. But now? He’s not so sure. “Something on your mind?” He ventures warily.

• Hands in your lap when you really want to drag him to you and press kisses on his helm, your shoulders lift. How offended would he be if you did it? Maybe he wouldn’t care. Or you could pretend it’s some human social custom he’s unfamiliar with. That anything small and cute must be cuddled. Watching him eat the energon goodie, you reach to fiddle with one of his wings, face heating. They’re just so tiny. Like him. And you think you understand why he’d spend nearly ten minutes one day mass displaced and gently pressing against your fingertips with a goofy, little smile on his face.

• “I’m sorry. But you’re really small and cute and there are rules,” you blurt and he startles when you drag him into your lap, one of your soft hands gripping his. Pressing your thumb against his palm as you smile to yourself. Baffled, he watches you toy with his servos like they’re the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. Like he’d done with your hands not too long ago. Wings lifting slightly as you turn his hand over and study it, he can’t really complain even as he’s left flustered. Pressed up against your soft warmth, your chin on top of his head. Should be mortified, but no one’s ever held him like this. It’s warm. Nice.

• Can’t get over his tiny servos. His peds. His wings. Yeah, you’re getting why some of the aliens are so weirdly tactile with their caretakers, because if they find humans half as cute as you find him right now, it’s a wonder they can keep their hands to themselves at all. Had been sure cuteness aggression was made up, but now you’re a believer. Want to play with his wings. Maybe nip one. Hug him until he squirms to get away. Carry him everywhere. And you can, because he’s so small right now.

Galvatron //

-Thigh man. In every sense. Have you seen him? Good lord. He loves when you fuck yourself against his thigh, and 100% makes you do so either in front of his troops- Or Unicron's decapitated head. To add insult to injury, he seems to have a thing for insulting and humiliating you for his own pleasure, and as a result he's completely insufferable.

Mirage //

•Valve/pussy eating KING. And.. An evil tease. Genuine worst on the planet who you want to- and should- wallop over rather helm. He'll make eye contact the entire time, smiling against your skin with an idiot all while holding you down by the hips and forcing you still so you have to rely on what he's willing to give. Mirage isn't all that different when he's sucking off a spike, though- Lazy pumps of the wrist and slow, easy smirks that tell you he knows everything, no matter how hard you try to avoid appealing to his ego.

Rodimus //

•His favorite thing in the whole wide galaxy? Spikewarming. Being ridden. Anything where he can sit back and, if you want or need it, let him take the lead. He likes to claim sitting on his spike while he works helps him focus, but if you were to read of his throwaway report drafts, it'd be a bunch of gibberish and keyspams. He usually breaks after a few minutes and just winds up fragging you on his desk, but being able to relax while he can is something he loves and always appreciates being able to do with you regardless.

Starscream //

-His wings are extremely sensitive, but you can't help reaching up and grabbing or pulling on them when he's giving you the spiking down of a lifetime. And every time you do, he pauses- Hip struts stuttering and vent catching in his intake as he shutters before getting right back to it- If only a little shakier and more vocal than before, but trying to hide it in your neck.

-Pretty valve. Always wet with transfluid when you pay attention to him, even before your hands are on his frame. He'll deny it ‘til the day he offlines, though.

Jetfire //

•Dacryphilia. It's not because of any hidden sadistic tendencies or reason, but because of the vulnerability of it- Crying during sex for one reason or another; You being emotional, feeling safe with him- Always gentle and tenderly wipes away your tears with his thumb before pressing a kiss to your lips and your forehead. Best aftercare out of this list.

Dinobot //

Skyfire leans over you, caging your body sprawled on the cushions, spike plunging deep.

One of his servos grasps your hips and belly closer to him, adding extra pressure right over the bulge he makes each time he presses in. His other arm serves as elbow prop to keep from putting all his weight over you, while his servos on that arm hold your chin tipped up, one digit teasing inside your mouth and you're all too compliant in sucking it through your moans.

It's a flimsy balance. Pressure keeps building in his struts with the need to go harder, deeper, to claim you thoroughly as he would another cybertronian. But care sets him back, fear of ever harming such a delicate frame. For more delightfully pliant it may be, he'd never forgive himself for harming you. Even if it's increasingly hard to maintain the line.Especially when those lovely sounds keep beckoning him, your pleading tone laced with arousal.

“yes, don't stop, sky!”

Your voice makes him swell with affection and burn with lust, reflecting in the way his engine whines higher, vents blowing hot and sputtered. Primal groans he's never made before spill out of his intake, you're intoxicating.

His thrusts never falter, maintaining a steady rhythm that carefully increases, shifts to adapt to your changes, the pitch of your voice, the way you shudder and curse at a particularly good angle shift.

“F-fuck, there!”

He's happy to oblige, lowering calculated weight over you, pining your body closer to him, adjusting so his chassis doesn't prod uncomfortably. The change seems to be effective as you lean up to him, an incomprehensible whine escaping your soft lips, and the sound goes right through him.

The new position doesn't affect only you it seems, he can feel you closer as your muscles tense and ripple with each of his thrusts, the soft velvety surface a sensation he can never tire of. He can feel you winding, meeting his thrusts with renewed energy. Close.

"You're doing so good sweetspark, this ok?"

He earns a moan in return, having forgotten his digit still inside your intake. He makes to remove it and you follow it, a gentle bite on the joint sending a pleasant jolt to him. He shivers minutely in turn, the change makes him miscalculate his next thrust, too strong- he realizes a nanoklik too late.

But before he can sputter an apology you're tightening around him with a spasm, the feeling so delightful you loosen your bite with a whine.

"More! please sky, please!"

"Didn't I hurt you?"

"Please!"

He obliges, trusting your judgement, quickening his pace to a fast and deep plunge. Your moans increase exponentially and flood his processor with pleasure.

He's close, must last longer.

But then your tiny arm snakes up to grasp his audial and he loses it.

A staticky groan rips out of his vocalizer along with a full body shudder.

"Frag-!"

Is all he can utter as warning before he feels the overflowing charge and his interface sensors overload, triggering his transfluid tank.

That also overflows, unsurprisingly.

Concern flashes him mid pleasure, the servo supporting your pelvis twitching as he tries to massage the increasing bulge there. The moan you let out in turn is melodic in the most carnal sense.

The delightful pressure around his sputtering spike increases tenfold as you meet your peak, sending new jolts of electric bliss.He's half aware of you still grasping his helm, the cushions, legs stretching with each thrust and trembling in your overload.

Primus forgive him, your valve is divine. The way it ripples around him, pulsing hot as he feels your own fluids join his own, changing the dielectric currents.It triggers a second overload, one which surprises you both as you gasp in unison.

The renewed burst of transfluid is considerably smaller, his tanks not fully replenished. Yet, Skyfire can feel the extra excess drip and spurt out from where you're joined, slipping on his legs and your thoroughly wet valve, aft and thighs.. such an utter mess, he distantly notes.

Though by your moans it seems you're not harmed, at least. He continues massaging your belly and softly thrusting until you both calm down and the only remaining sound is his vents and your breathing. You're laid down carefully into the cushions, no wonder very spent.

He murmurs your name as he spoons your back, nudging your head fibers with his nasal vent, enjoying the soft. Your scent is salted and musky, It brings him an odd feeling of accomplishment and possessiveness. He presses closer and you only acknowledge him with a groan, shifting to nuzzle him back.

"Are you alright?" He asks, voice muffled in your hair.

"Wonderful" a minute shudder punctuates your speech.

He rumbles, content.

“We should get you cleaned up”

He carefully pulls out, feeling the remaining transfluid dripping out. Ignoring that, you immediately roll over and wrap your arms around his neck.

"Stay... please?"

"I'm not leaving, dear” he shifts, half sitting half leaning on an elbow, his optics glow warm.

You shakily try to sit after him but he stops you with a gentle hand to your forearm, in the second it takes you to look up his thumb caresses the skin.

“We'll cuddle after” he reassures with one of his smiles, the ones so full of love you can't resist.

"Definitely" you reply, he leans closer and steals a kiss, leaning away before you can reach him with your arms again.

He unsubspaces his cleaning cloths, already damp with 'organic friendly cleanser' as he'd dubbed it.He waits for your nod before gently dabbing it onto your skin, cleaning the rough excess. A second towel takes care of the remaining, and a third clean one, scented suspiciously like your clothes softener, is the final touch. He proceeds to quickly clean his armor with a single bigger cloth, polishing skipped, before gathering you to him.

"Thank you" you murmur to him, not wasting time in reaching for a kiss.

He keeps it chaste despite your prodding tongue. Upon breaking, he can't help the small nib of your earlobe, the soft skin there alluring to him.You both exchange small kisses and questionably chaste gestures until tiredness and sleep catches up to you. Skyfire gathers your sleeping frame close, now on top of his, and unsubspaces your favorite blanket to drape over you both.