Hello! If ur still open for requests, may you write a fort max smut pls pls pretty pls 😭 you write vividly and theres softness to it
༊*·˚ fort max x human fem reader 18+
-> warnings/tags: minors dni. soft smut, fort max has complicated feelings. 3k words.
MAN i have a lot of fort max requests in my inbox rn LMAO (tbf i did make a post a few weeks ago saying that i was surprised no one has requested fort max and then the fort max fuckers FOUND ME) — i loooooove writing for him tho, so i’ll definitely be writing more <3 (mayhaps… a fort max mini series if ppl like this??)
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The smell of oil and grease pins itself to each breeze as you're perched on the mechanical equivalent of Fort Max's left pectoral with a welding torch in one gloved hand, smudges of lubricant smeared over your other. The white compartment located in the middle of his chassis is popped open, allowing you access. A full face protective mask is hinged over your face to create a barrier between you and any sparks that may fly.
He sits like a rock, his engines idling as he lets you work on the intricate web that makes up his circuitry and components. His optics go from watching you to tracing the lines of the ceiling panels, then back to you. It still feels a little strange, letting you delve into his innermost workings and tend to any repairs that he needs. It took him a long time to trust you, to believe that you weren't going to hurt him. Ridiculous as it might sound, considering he could easily swat you away before the thought even sprang into your mind.
"I appreciate this," Max rumbles, his tone low.
"And I appreciate that you let me do it," you answer as you pull on a latch to open a smaller panel inside of his chassis, "Heaven knows that you won't."
"I could," he replies.
"We both know that you wouldn't be thorough enough, you'd ignore all of your diagnostic advisories and just say that they weren't a big deal," you cock a brow as you fuse a connector together with the welding tool.
He'd chuckle if it wouldn't impair your actions, so instead, he just smiles.
"You know me better than I give you credit for."
You shut the interior panel, reengaging the latch to keep it closed. You pull the welding tool out from the inside of his chassis, placing it next to you. You pick up a screwdriver that's about twice the size of one you might be used to back on Earth before diving back into the exposed chassis.
"Someone has to," you tease with a sly smile as you start to tighten some of his screws, "You don't need to keep running yourself so ragged, Max. There are no more battles left to fight."
"I know," he quietly says, accompanied by a light ex-vent before looking back up at the ceiling, "But it's hard. I still remain on stand-by, listening for orders that'll never come, anticipating a bullet that'll never fire."
The war really did a number on him. Overlord really did a number on him. You don't blame him for being the way he is. When you first came to him, he was little more than a husk, the only presences that lingered inside of him were the ghosts of his past reaching for freedom.
You look up from the inside of his chassis, peering over to his face.
"Then how about you listen to me instead?" You suggest, "Let me take care of you for a change, you deserve a break."
He doesn't answer you, so you proceed with your minor repairs to his frame as the silence stretches between you. You twist the screwdriver in a few different places, on the screws that are particularly close to his spark. The vibrations from his spark make them come loose over time, but that's an easy fix. Welding and reconnecting energon lines is the slightly harder task, and it wasn't like you could watch any YouTube tutorials on it before you attempted it the first time.
You know it took a lot of trust for him to allow you to do that, and you don't take a shred of it for granted. His trust is cradled in your cupped hands, and you guard it like a flame from the wind.
─ ✦ ─
Fort Max decided that he'd spend the night in your bed, willing to burn through the energon to remain mass displaced throughout the night. Most of the time, you sleep in your bed and he recharges on his berth, which are located next to each other.
But your big lover has been feeling a bit more sentimental since your earlier restorations and repairs to his frame, almost to a cloying degree. He hasn't let go of you since, and you've spent more of your evening kissing him than you have anything else.
The kisses haven't stopped, even as he's slotted perfectly behind you to spoon you. He still greedily claims your lips as his head leans over to make the kisses easier for you. You're both tucked under the covers, ready to go to sleep whenever this burst of kisses comes to an end.
"So affectionate today," you murmur into the kiss.
"I know I'm not always the most affectionate," Fort Max says, almost lamenting the fact. He wants to be, but he's so afraid of hurting you. He treats you as if you're made of porcelain, so lighthanded whenever he does handle you.
"We can work on it together," you reassure him, well aware of the reasons that hold him back. He tenderly kisses you again, splaying his servo over your stomach.
"Maybe tonight we could…" He starts, but feels his hesitation creep up to shoo away the rest of his sentence.
"We could…?" You prompt him to finish his request.
Max almost grumbles as the words falter in his vocaliser, the correct signals failing to send in order to form the words.
"What do you want to do, Maxi?" You ask quietly, soothingly.
He averts your gaze, feeling too abashed to ask for what he wants. He shouldn't be so selfish, he shouldn't ask for these kinds of things. The crippling thoughts are torturous, making him regret ever even opening his intake.
"Do you want to have sex?" You query in the same tone, but using plain words in hopes that it'll get a straight answer.
"Yes," he replies timidly, your plan succeeding.
"Okay, my love," you hush, "we can have sex."
You've only been intimate in that way a couple of times, his anxiety seems to get the better of him more often than not, preventing him from taking you in the way you both internally yearn for. It's hard to trust himself, to believe that he won't hurt you, when his history is full of inflicting pain on others. Warranted or not.
Sliding your hands under the covers, you loop your thumbs into the waistband of your pyjama trousers, pushing them down and shuffling your body to help rid yourself of them. The material rasps as you work it down, kicking it off once it reaches just below your knees. Your partner has a firm hold on you, making it slightly difficult to actually undress. Despite his light-handedness, he can be quite clingy.
"I want to take you like this," Fort Max says as he cradles his face in the crook of your neck, the words bouncing off your skin.
"You can have me however you like," you reply softly. You're not going to be picky over the way he wants to fuck you. From your previous experiences, you know it'll be mind-shattering no matter how he has you.
Fort Max can't stop himself from rubbing his interface panel against your ass, feeling those residual urges start to awaken inside of him. He huffs a vent warmly against your neck before he releases himself, the panels opening to allow the hard length of his spike to emerge. It casts between your legs, the hot metal making a path between your pliant flesh to nustle cosily. You hum at the feeling, your pussy already jumping with joy at the feeling of him. The tip of his spike pokes out from your thighs, his slit drooling pink fluid already.
He thrusts his hips slowly, rubbing his spike through the gulf of heat that aches at the top of your thighs. You squeeze your muscles to tease him, hearing a staticy whimper prattle from him. For such a big, brave bot, he often feels small around you. It surprises him to admit that he doesn't entirely hate that, because he trusts you implicitly to handle him with care.
His arm strut holds you tighter, keeping you pinned so firmly against him that it's almost as if he's attempting to merge with you. He vents against the goosebumps forming in your neck, his optical ridges pinched in a frown as he fucks your thighs.
Your pussy slickens with anticipation, the liquid heat rippling in your core as your mind diverts off into thoughts of having his spike shoved inside you. His venting is pacified by his decision to latch his derma onto your neck, kissing and suckling on the prominent line that runs down the side.
A subtle moan pushes from your lungs as you crane your head back, giving him ample space to continue lathering you with his derma. It just feels so right when he kisses you, when he decorates you with his love. Your hips grind in tandem with his, angling yourself to drag your clit over his absurd length. It makes your hips stutter almost immediately, the action sending whistling fireworks through your abdomen before blossoming into a swirling pool of desire.
You leave a trail of silky, stretchy wetness over his heavy spike as you move, trying to tempt him into hurrying things along. He muffles his moans against your neck, his servo spreading out over your torso to clutch at you as if you're the only thing that will keep him stable. In a moment of haze, you are his clarity. You are the pillar he finds in the lashing storm, and you keep him firmly rooted in reality. Your soft hands caress him in a way that soothes all of his worries. You keep his optics on you as he chases the sparks that skitter over his circuits.
Fort Max gets bolder in his thrusts, upgrading from his timid rocking. His tip drags against your clit in a way that makes your eyes roll back, your mouth falling open to let out an airy moan. He separates your folds with each move, marking you entirely with his hot, pink fluid.
"Can I—" He begins, vents whirring over his words as he drives his hips, "Can I put it in?"
You thought he'd never ask.
"Please do," you respond before slowly parting your legs to give him more room. You shoot your hand down to grab his length, helping him guide the hefty weight to the entrance of your cunt. You're dripping wet, and maybe a little underprepared to take him, but the stretch of his spike gets you seeing stars regardless.
The head of his spike fits perfectly against the curve of your pussy, as if your parts were designed to go together. You feel the thrum of his engines vibrating his spike mildly, his excitement apparent in his frame as he starts to push in with your help.
You swallow a ball of air as your hole opens for him, spreading over his unbending tip. Your elevated leg moves to hook over his hip plate, saving your muscles from straining to stay in that position.
The servo on your sternum pulls you impossibly closer, trying to work you down as he moves in. It's a tight fit, so much so that his vocaliser is distorting as he tries to tell you how good you feel. His dentae accidentally graze your neck as he preens, moaning lowly as his spike bottoms out inside of you.
"I'm sorry," he utters. Apologetically, he quickly licks his glossa over your neck. You giggle in return, pressing your ass up against him to start the motion.
"You could never hurt me, Maxi," you reassure him. He hums in appreciation, nestling his nose against your neck as he starts to pump his hips.
You mewl at the feeling of him making a home in your walls. You wrap around him so tightly, so lovingly. He feels himself falling in love with you more and more by the second, eternally grateful to your previous confidence to help prompt him into this situation. There's nothing he wants more than to excel in your relationship, to fill it with all the physical affection you could ever ask for. He just needs a helping hand to goad him into these situations.
With time, he'll build the confidence to do so independently. He's one of the most courageous people you've ever met, but he constantly falls victim to his fears of hurting you. Even now, his thrusting into your hot cunt is slow and gentle, carefully spreading you and mindful not to cause you any pain.
"That's it, Maxi," you breathe, "Just like that. You're making me feel so good."
Max grunts, your words ringing in his audials harmoniously. He adores it when you praise him, when you speak to him in that voice that makes him melt. Primus, he's just a ball of putty in your hands.
You tighten around him in time with your moans, your mind going dizzy as you feel his smooth tip push and pull against your sex. It's times like this that you look back on and mourn over the fact that he doesn't fuck you more often, for whatever reason.
Moving the servo on your midriff, he journeys beneath the covers to find that sensitive pearl that sits at the crest of your cunt. His strong, sturdy digits start to strum at your clit to aid the run-up to your eventual climax. You try your best to dampen the sharp cry that manifested in your throat, not wanting to make any loud and unexpected noises so that you don't frighten him. Even though it's a cry of pleasure, he could take it as a cry of discomfort and quickly recoil back into his shell.
Your hand flies up to take a hold of his audial fin, grabbing it loosely as you succumb to the quiet and quick moans that are fucked from you. Max takes it all, he makes sure that each sound is perfectly recorded in his processor. You're such a wonderful little partner, even the noises you make drive him wild.
"I love you," he whispers into your ear. It makes you whimper, gripping his audial fin tighter as he utters his soft confessions to you. It helps that his spike feels sensational, and the long strokes of his digits are doing wonders for you.
"I love you, too," you return. He's sometimes a little reserved, but he's the type of silence that understands you. He cradles you tenderly, the candle of his affections only ever glows a steady flame, it doesn't dare flicker or threaten to go out. He's a living weapon, with artillery in nearly every part of his body, but he's a cannon that never blows.
You can feel his engines purring against your back, sending tingles down your spine as your clammy skin sticks to his frame. You're slowly becoming parts of each other, recognising yourself in the reflection of his spark.
"Mmm, Maxi…" You voice, "I'm nearly there. Keep touching me," you beg of him.
And Primus would have to scorn him and strike him down on the spot if he ever refused you. He keeps the same pace, not picking up or slowing down. That's something he learnt last time, that changing his pace can often throw you off the trajectory to orgasm. He dips down to plant more zealous kisses along your neck, making your back arch as you rumble more beautiful moans and sighs.
"Yes," you hiss with a gasp, "Fuck— yes." You feel that booming thunder clapping through you, and you're just waiting for the lightning to strike. You can sense it, the hairs on your body bristling as your lungs run out of breath, silencing your moans. All you manage is a squeak as you're consumed by the crackling, shocking light that catapults you to your climax. Your back bows marginally further, your cunt pulsing around him as you ride out your high. It's long and drawn out, the pleasure seeming endless.
Max can't help the low moan that courses through his vocaliser, the rapturing feeling embedding deep within his circuits to cease their operations momentarily.
"My sweet spark," Max utters, slinging his nickname for you as he pumps his hips, chasing the end that he can sense. Your limbs are trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but your pussy still accepts him fervently, as if it'll never tire. No amount could ever be enough to sate your cunt's greed.
The mech grunts gruffly as his movements falter, driving into you a couple more times before he buries himself to the hilt. Mere moments later, his overload surges through him, spurting a healthy amount of transfluid into your waiting pussy. He drawls a moan as the liquid pours from him, every drop of it rejoices to be one with you, as if the transfluid itself has enough understanding to recognise that it belongs with you.
Once he's done, he vents, but doesn't move to pull his spike free. Instead, the servo that was toying with your cunt returns back to your midriff. He holds you close once again, dragging his legs up and bending them at the knee to slot them perfectly against the underside of your thighs. He encompasses you fully, having it so that nearly every part of your bodies are touching.
He keeps his spike nestled deep inside of you, relishing the warmth of your soaked pussy.
"We should recharge," Max suggests with another chaste kiss, this time to your cheek.
"Like this?" You half-giggle. With his spike still stuffed inside? His fluids plugged up? Hot and slightly sticky from the film of sweat that coats your body?
"I don't want to be apart from you," he reasons.
His tone is enough to strike your heart, and it makes the idea of staying like this not seem so bad.
this is 3k words exactly LOL, kinda impressed w myself for getting an even number by accident
