#rumble x reader

• Making kissy noises at you as you groan and plant your tiny hands on him to try and shove him away, he smirks. And notices the humans outside watching him and you. Plating lifting slightly, his servos flex into fists. “What are you looking at, squishies?” He snarls as you moan at him to not start stuff. Growling as one human nudges another and they both scowl, he lifts his hands in that one fingered salute he’s seen other humans make. Rumbling when you yank open your door, duck under his arm, and squirm into your car.

• “Hey,” he growls as you crank the engine and hastily reverse. Making your escape. Driving for the gate as Rumble follows you, mouthing about you not playing fair, your face flames and you can feel the protestors staring a hole in you as you wait for the guard to let you out. And Rumble’s rapping on your window, wanting you to roll it down as you step on the gas. Clearing the base and looking back at him throwing his hands up at you. Right before a pickup truck races to cut you off and you suck in a breath as your little sedan plows into the side of the truck, airbag punching you in the face.

• Snarling as he strides forward, he can hear the human guard at the gate yelling at him to back off, but he’s reaching, servos grabbing the metal of the gate as he forces it open and it screeches on its tracks. And it’s like a signal, the protestors scattering and yelling as he bends to grab the front of the truck and flips it. Yanking open your door and rumbling furiously at the blood dripping from your nose and mouth, your eyes confused and hurt.

Cliffjumper grunts when your weight actually fully settles on himself. And Sunstreakers asking him if he can't handle the size difference between you two- like pit Cliffjumper can't! This was- practically nothing! It's also less humiliating than sitting in your lap! When you try to get off him, Cliffjumper actually grabs you by your hips and pulls you back down on him. Because he's fine! This is nothing. He's not weak enough for something like this to bother him! Cliffjumpers glaring at Sunstreaker over the side of your frame. The lamborghini just scoffs and goes to his own seat. Cliffjumper's scowl stays on his faceplate till after Skyfire actually starts flying for a while.

You're heavy, yeah, no slag. You were above his size class, and it was really obvious with you sitting on him like this. With all your weight resting on his pelvis and the front of his chassis. His cheek basically resting on your back plating, when Skyfire says to get ready for turbulence since they need to go through a thunderstorm. So Cliffjumpers' whole frame nearly bounces with you when Skyfires frame shakes. His cheek scraping on your back plating and his thighs scraping on the bottom of your own. When your weight comes back downwards this time Cliffjumper grunts and has to bite back an embarrassing sound when your aft grinds down on his modesty panel.

And Cliffjumpers optics brighten, and his plating fluffs as much as it can with you pressing down on half of it. Oh, slag. Ohhhhh, slag no. Cliffjumper barely has the time to realize what was happening before another jolt makes you both buck up. Your frame comes back against his own yet again and its making his array want to become active just like that. Okay- don't panic. Do not panic. Cliffjumper is now hyper aware of how he's practically clinging to your frame and his servos twitch when he realizes how hard he's gripping you. Don't think about it-! Cliffjumper forces his plating to lax as much as it can and his servos to hold you light.

When you arrive, he gasps audibly when your weight finally leaves him properly, and you ask if he's okay. "Yeah! Definitely- why the frag wouldn't I be-?!" Hound's giving him a look, obviously wondering what's gotten Cliffjumper so heated. And Whatever-!

He's stuck thinking about you pressing against him for the rest of the day. Cliffjumper nearly screams when the memory still plagues his processor when he spots you the day after.

-

In this case, Brawn is actually the one who comes up with the idea. But he says it more to be an aft than actually expecting you to agree to the idea. Your frame unexpectedly thunking down on top of him has his servos latching onto your waist. Because what did you think you were doing-!? But you just say he offered, so you were taking the offer. Trailbreaker laughs and asks him if he can't handle the size difference between you two- and Brawn laughs at the thought. Brawn has fought off multiple seekers with nothing but his servos. Your sparkdamn weight was practically nothing to him!

It actually isn't that bad considering his own bulk and strength. It was mostly just being pressed more into his seat. Skyfire warns he's going to have to take a sharp turn due to flight traffic and to hold on. The turn is sharper than a sparkdamn blade and makes you rock forward more, than back even harder. Your back pressing flat against the front of his chassis. His servos grip onto your waist and chassis where he can reach as his fuel tank gets sloshed with the rest of him. When Skyfire straightens back out, you pull off his front, and your weight resettled right down on his lap. And Brawn lately realizes how you're basically riding him right now.

Well, not basically. You were riding him. Aft on his lap and modesty panel. Thighs on top of Brawn's own. Brawn can feel his optic ridge raise, and his mouth sets sideways when he realizes it. He makes his grip on your frame loosen so he doesn't dent his digit pads right into you. Didn't wanna be giving you those just from a little trip around in Skyfire. You rock against his panel firm when Skyfire tilts, and Brawn half entertains the thought of purposely grinding back against you. He dismisses it just as quick. It's not like you knew what thoughts you were accidentally putting in his helm. But Brawn does let his optics wonder over the curve of your spinal strut and lower back for the rest of the trip.

When you get there and peel yourself off of him, you ask if you squished him too much. "Huh? Hardly! Takes more than a little bit of weight to take ol' Brawn down. It was like you were barely there."

Though the curve of your spinal strut and the feeling of your waist under his servos was... probably going to be sticking in Brawn's processor a bit longer than the sparkdamn trip.

-

Bumblebee's servos fly onto your hips instinctively when your weight settles on his thighs and pelvis. You ask if he's okay or if you should try him in your lap instead-? And no- no. Bumblebee was fine. He's fine. It's totally fine. He wasn't completely fragile or anything. Sure, you were- a bit heavier than him. But he could totally do this for the duration of the trip. You tell him you'll try and keep most your frame weight on your legs so you don't crush him. And he's humming in confirmation so his words don't come out strained.

He tries to keep his thoughts busy so he doesn't think too hard about how you're kinda squishing him against the chair. Skyfire says to watch for bumps since the winds picking up fast. And It's innocent, and you barely shift against him to just- adjust your weight when Skyfire jolts. Bumblebee is suddenly very aware of how your aft is kinda sorta settled on his modesty panel. He swallows and actually takes in the position you two are in. His servos on your hips- your aft on his panel- your frame weight fully on him. Oh- no! Oh no. Bumblebee can feel his array try becoming active, and he's praying to Primus it doesn't fully wake up. His plating twitching and his optics brightening more than they should be.

Bumblebee was going to have to leave- he was gonna have to leave the Autobots and change his designation and disappear never to be seen or heard from again! Bumblebee's em field clamps down on himself the same time as his plating when you shift your pedes just slightly. And he's screaming internally and trying to count the plating on your back to keep himself distracted. Which was not actually a very good distraction from you-! It feels like it takes vorns to get to your rather short destination, and when you get up off of him, he audibly sighs in relief.

"... Am I fine-? Yeah-! Yes." Bumblebee laughs, just a touch bit obviously flustered. "Totally fine. Yes." Sideswipe laughs, and Bumblebee stands back up and makes his way out of Skyfire as quickly as he can without it looking like he's actually running from you.

And Bumblebee just knows this experience is gonna haunt him for the next few recharges... at least. He really hopes he can look you in the optics correctly the next time you run into each other and not stare at your hips.

-

Rumbles, sure, as slag ain't sitting in Astrotrain's cargo storage! So he rushes for the seat in Astrotrain- so what he nearly knocks you over diving through your legs. He just grins and gets comfortable in his seat- and then you fragging sit on him! "Get your fat aft off of me-!" Rumble was half squished between your big stupid aft and the seat!Skywarp cackled and taunted Rumble, asking whats the matter with him- that Rumble couldn't handle another Decepticon just sitting in his lap-?! "Frag off Skywarp-!" Rumble can handle you! He wasn't weak by any standards- let alone by Decepticon standards!

Rumble relents and lets his servos stop warping the metal on your thighs in protest. You stop putting your entire frame weight on him when he stops fighting you. Rumble huffs when it doesn't feel like you're gonna crush him anymore and instead just feels like you're lying against him and on his pelvis. Which still heavy, but not nearly the same. Then Astrotrain says there's an asteroid belt they have to go through and to enjoy the mess of a ride till then. You both almost fly off the seat when Astrotrain jerks hard in one direction. Before he corrects and you both go sliding back. Rumbles back knocks against the back of Astrotrain with you sliding after and rocking right against his- his sparkdamn panel-!?

Rumbles servos had flown onto your waist when you'd both started getting shaken. And now he's realizing he can feel the dips and details of your plating under his digit pads- while you're just sitting on his panel- Oh. Yeah. Yeah. Rumble was in a pretty fragging dirty position with you right now, wasn't he? Astrotrain jerks again, and you both just go jumping when he does. Your aft grinds down on him again, and Rumble chokes on the gasp that comes outta himself. You shift right after, and Rumble grits his denta- play it cool- Play it cool! He's not about to pop his spike over something- stupid like this! Not in front of everyone else-! And not because of you sitting on his lap!

When you get there, you stand up and actually ask if he's okay- Rumble has to remind himself he needs to activate his vocalizor if he wants to talk. "Yeah-! Fragging fine-! It was like nothing even happened." He crossed his arms over his chassis, trying not to look at the dents he'd first made in your hips when this started.

So- so fragging what if he's still thinking about it a few days later!? It doesn't slagging matter at all! It was just- just some accidental friction. Something dumb and little like that wouldn't get Rumble going. No- absolutely not.

Removing your hands from Rumble’s open chest, you tossed them roughly into the air. “Y'know what? Fine. Do it yourself. Better yet, get Frenzy to pull the shrapnel out of your chest. That'll go great.”

You would have slid off of Rumble’s lap and stormed off, if not for his massive servos closing around your wrists with an unexpected delicacy. Your efforts to remove your hands only reinforced his grip, using just enough force to keep you from leaving without crushing your wrists entirely.

“H-Hey, no need ta be so hasty! Look, I’m just steamed cause'a the battle, dat’s all. Frenz’ can't do dis, it's gotta be someone more… dainty. Y’know. Little human hands and all dat.” The harsh glow of his visor had dulled slightly as his gaze cast down to your hands. You rolled your eyes, wrists finally slipping from his grip as you settled back in. 

Dangling wires and sparking shrapnel dotted his open chest cavity, illuminated by the light of his spark chamber. Rumble had staggered off-balance into your workshop whining about the prodding pieces of broken metal keeping him from transforming properly, yet you’d barely managed to get two wires back in place before he started squirming and whingeing and slinging verbal abuse at you.

 Not that you weren't used to it, any interactions with Rumble and Frenzy usually involved some level of bullying. Fortunately, the two cassettes are also incredibly predictable. As soon as you would threaten to take away or withhold what they're asking for, they’d start falling all over themselves with apologies and placations. After all, you may not have been the only mechanic in the area, but you were certainly their favorite.

“Are you going to actually let me work? Or are you going to start yelling at me again?”

“Yellin’? Who's yellin’? Yer the mechanic here, my spark is in your squishy little hands. Do your magic, doc.” He sat back again, servos clutching the edges of your workbench in a show of effort, a genuine attempt to keep them still (or however genuine any show of rule-following from Rumble could be.)

“That's what I thought. Now let me actually fix a few things before you start whining again.” Your gloved hands dipped back into his chest cavity, skirting the edges of his spark chamber to pick away at the bits of loose shrapnel stuck in some of the wires. His frame shuddered, a hiss of steam escaping through his dentae as your knuckles brushed the underside of the spark casing.

“C-Careful,” He said again, with significantly less bite to his tone.

“Does it hurt?”

“Somethin’ like dat.”

“I'll be careful, so let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smoothed a palm down the armor covering his stomach, flinching back when you heard another sharp hiss of steam.

“I’m fine! It's fine! Just… do ya gotta be all on top’a me like dis?”

“I can't reach properly if you're laying down. If you're standing you might keel over on me, and I really don't feel like being squished to death today.” He let out a low grumble as you jacked another cable back into its proper port. “I'll try to be quick, that way you won't have to worry about my ‘human germs’ and you can get outta here. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-”

“Be careful. I know.”

And with that you went to work, separating and organizing cables, taping off leaky tubing and removing pieces of scrap metal as gently as you could. Every once in a while Rumble would jerk or twitch beneath your touch, letting out a muffled curse or huff but sparing you from his usual complaints. It was… uncharacteristically quiet, for sure. This was the most extensive repair you'd ever done on him, though, so maybe he was just having surgery jitters.

“Okay, I've gotten most of the shrapnel out. But there's a piece right behind your spark casing.”

“Well? Get it outta there!”

“I'm going to, but I need to get my whole hand in there. I'm warning you now because it's going to be bumping up against your spark casing a lot. I'm going to do my best but you have to tell me if it hurts too much.”

Rumble let out a long, pathetic groan. “Actually doc, maybe you can just leave dat one in there? F-For funsies?”

“Eh?! Rumble, I’m not gonna just ‘leave it in there’! It's gotta come out.”

“Something's gonna come out if you keep proddin’ around in there like dat…”

“What was that?”

“Gh! Nothin’! Don't worry ‘bout it!”

“...Okay. I’m gonna start now. Are you ready?” Rumble only responded with gritted dentae and a tense nod. Working your gloved hand under his spark chamber, you could feel the ambient energy making the hairs on your arm stand on end as you felt for the jagged edge of broken metal. Your glove blocked your view entirely, so you were left blindly groping your way up the metal surface, feeling for anything bent or out of place. When your fingers could no longer reach any further while still avoiding the casing, you slid forward and ducked slightly into Rumble’s open chest, the back of your hand pressing up against the underside of his spark chamber.

CLANG!

You jumped, and if it weren't for Rumble’s arm wrapping around you and almost crushing you into his open chest you may have jostled the sensitive chamber even further. You slid your hand back again, easing off of the reinforced glass, and his grip receded.

“What the hell was that? And what was that clang?”

“I said don't worry ‘bout it!” He hissed, voice glitchy with static. “Everythin’s totally normal, I dunno why you're getting all jumpy ‘bout- MMNGH?!” You moved your hand up again into the same position, and Rumble let out an embarrassingly high whimper. You glanced up at his face, a flush of pink behind the usual grey and beading with coolant… and something clicked.

“Oh my God are you getting off on this?”

“N-No!”

Behind you you heard a sharp snikt, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics.

“...Maybe?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“H-Hey, don't go gettin’ a big head or nothin’! A bot’s spark chamber is sensitive! Don't go thinkin’ this is cause of your squishy frame or your soft little digits or nothin’!” He seemed to almost shrink in on himself, face plate practically glowing as his shoulders pulled up around his helm. You'd never say it to his face, but he looked surprisingly… small, at this moment. You heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going to get this last piece out, alright? It's the last one. And whatever happens while I'm doing that..? It just happens. We won't bring it up again, no need to be embarrassed. Deal?”

“‘Deal?!?’” He squawked, positively scandalized. “How do I know yer not gonna gossip with Frenz’ the next time he's in for a tune-up?”

“Well Frenzy usually never lets me get a word in edgewise, first of all.” You huffed. This was way more than you'd signed up for. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Rumble. Let’s just get you patched up, then you can head home. Okay?”

His mouth was pulled into a tight, wobbly frown as he glanced down at you, choking out a single word. “...Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Slag. alright, let's get dis over with.” He lolled his head back against the table with a clank, resigning himself to his fate. This time, when your knuckles brushed his spark casing, he couldn’t stifle his soft moan. Your fingers felt further and further up, until almost your entire hand was behind the glass bubble containing his pulsing spark. Finally, you could feel the jagged piece of metal. You wrapped your fingers around it and gave it an experimental tug. It stuck fast, and your hand bumping against Rumble's spark only pulled another surprised moan from him.

“W-Watch it!” He yelped, sounding too fucked-out to come across as actually threatening.

“It's really stuck in there. I'm going to start working it out, so let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Wh… workin’ it out? Whadda ya- ohhh…~” 

With your thumb and forefinger gripping the edge of the broken metal, you began to wiggle it gently back and forth to ease it from the plating and wires around it. Each time you moved the back of your hand rubbed up against the far side of his spark chamber, warmth radiating through your glove as Rumble started to vent more harshly.

“Slag… slag! Don't think it's ever been touched back there before. Feels… feels crazy.” He moaned. The metal of your work table shrieked and crumpled like cardboard under his iron grip, desperate to keep his servos off of himself or, Primus forbid, you. The piece stuck firm, and as you braced your other hand against the outside paneling of his chest to readjust your balance he let out a sharp, staticky yelp. “S-STOP!”

You froze immediately. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

A few shuddering vents were your only response for a moment, Rumble’s visor lights flickering frantically as he tried to steady himself. “Whooo… Almost blew my top for a second there.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Yer the one that told me to tell ya if I need ya to stop! I'll be slagged to the Pit before I let some ‘squishy’ run my charge like dat.”

“...Can I start again? I’m making some progress here.”

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Yer good.”

You let out another soft sigh, trying to focus on the rhythmic sktch sktch sktch of metal on metal rather than Rumble’s shivering whines. His vocalizer pitched and warbled with static, attempts to stifle his own words slowly giving way to a deluge of fucked-out babbles.

“Ah! Gh! Ohh, mmnh, stupid little hands feelin’ all- nnh!~ Jus’ get it outta there! Please?”

I’m working on it. You’re doing good, just hang in there.” Your placations only resulted in another desperate moan. After what couldn’t have been more than another thirty seconds or so, he blurted out again.

“Ah! Stop!”

You retracted your hand for a moment, letting Rumble gasp for breath above you in a futile attempt to cool his core. You rubbed at his chest paneling as he shivered beneath you hard enough that you thought bolts were going to start coming undone. Even the paneling you were seated upon was burning up, heat seeping through the fabric of your coveralls. His glowing face plate was slick with coolant. Without thinking, you reached up and swept away a bead of it with your thumb, making him jump.

“H-Hey, quit dat…” He groaned, all bite lost from his tone.

“Rumble… The more you keep stopping me the longer this is going to take.”

“You think I don’t know dat?!” One of his arms draped dramatically over his face. “I’m tryin’! But you just keep pokin’ around in there and it’s all touchy and it’s makin’ me feel like my spike’s gonna burst and I can’t take it anymore!” He sniffled. Could Cybertronians even sniffle? You weren’t sure, but he sounded close to tears.

“Rumble… Have you ever actually edged yourself before?”

“Whu- Whuh? How’s dat any of yer business?”

“I’m just thinking…” You ran a placating hand down his shivering plating. “If you haven’t it can be really overwhelming, and-”

“I can handle it! I-I can!”

“Let me finish. It can be really overwhelming, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. Just… take a deep breath for me, okay?” You took a slow, steadying breath, and after a second he mimicked it. “Good. Just think about letting go, okay? I’m not going to judge you. Just think about it.”

He let out a low, pitying grumble, peeking at you from behind his arm plating. “...You can start again.”

Once again, your hands dipped into his chest cavity. Only this time you slid both hands up behind his spark casing, gripping as much of the broken metal as you could reach. As you rocked it back and forth Rumble’s moans returned with a fervor, one servo finally flying to cup your lower back.

“Ah! Ah! Slag, oh slag please! Please don’t stop I’m so fraggin’ close.” He fisted the back of your uniform, crumpling the cheap fabric between his digits. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon I need it!”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Just let it happen.”

With a metallic shriek and a gush of brackish oil the shrapnel popped free, the force enough to send you sprawling if not for Rumble’s servo in the small of your back. Of course, said unexpected force also slammed the backs of both your hands right into the underside of his spark chamber, and Rumble’s voice box screeched into a wail of radio static. Something hot and sticky splattered up the back of your coveralls; said something you decidedly were not going to look at until later. His frame rattled and shivered beneath you, steam venting and joints glitching and spark pulsating a near-blinding glow.  Finally, after a burst of noise and sparks and twitching, he went slack beneath you, helm clanking against the workbench as his optics flickered.

As delicately as you could, you removed the oil-slick shrapnel and let it clatter onto the floor before shedding your gloves and dabbing at his face plate with the cuff of your sleeve. With the whir of an old monitor blipping back to life, his visor blinked back up to its standard brightness.

“Whuh… Wheh?” He garbled.

“How you feeling, hun?”

“Like I got struck by lightnin’... but in like a nasty way.”

You choked back a snort. “Well, I’ve got all the worst of it over with. Feel free to rest for a while if you need it. I’m gonna go change my jumpsuit.” 

He let you slide off his lap without a fight, not even commenting until you’d turned around to make your way over to your office. Only then did he let out a low, salacious whistle when he’d finally caught sight of the back of your uniform.