#tarn mtmte

BANG!! (x1)

☆ Melody For a Remedy — Tarn x GN Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff || They/them pronouns for reader || Warning for mild themes of depression

A/N: Tried to balance Tarn being eerie and comforting so I hope it comes across well- (also this contains Cybertronian/Deception Reader for context)

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

If anyone were to seek something akin to warmth from the DJD leader, all they'd find was heat in the form of smelting. He was a shadow on the wall to even fellow Deceptions, a highly feared enemy, and an unsettling ally. All being said, the way you'd carved yourself a home in his chassis was unexpected to even the leader himself. Something foreign and warm followed you, seeping from your voice and resonating in his processor. You had proven far from incompetent, not only worthy of Tarn's gaze, but his attention as well. All this light you brought was his to hold. Which is precisely why he noticed the second it was missing from his routine

He had barely seen your face yesterday, and not once today. Despite himself, something twinged uncomfortably in his spark at the absence. The moment there was a pause in orders, he began making his way to your habitation suite. He didn't entertain any of the confused or fearful looks he got as he strolled past, smooth on his path towards you. You'd given him the code needed to enter a while ago, which he quickly input into the door. It slid open, revealing you resting against the berth within. Not expecting any visitors, you turned your head to look over your shoulder. Your disinterested gaze widened at seeing Tarn of all bots in the doorway, and you sat up a little. "Tarn! I almost didn't hear you come in- Is there a mission I need to report to?" You asked, hoping against hope itself that he wouldn't notice the waver in your tone

Tarn Rut Cycle

I had alot of fun writing this piece.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Human/Cybertronian. Oral, anal/Vaginal sex depending on how you interpret.

Tarn Masterlist

Rut cycle masterlist

__________

Tarn’s optics dimmed, his clawed digits curling into fists as he leaned against the edge of the table in the conference room. voices droned on, meaningless noise in the back of his processor. His field radiated tension, a flicker of irritation bleeding across the room, though none dared to comment. They could sense something was wrong, but none would risk drawing his attention. Not when the leader of the DJD was so clearly on edge.

His systems were overheating, vents hissing softly as his processor reeled. The scent of them, his Human companion, was a maddening whisper in his olfactory sensors. Tarn had thought himself above such base instincts. His Empurata should have stripped him of such basic needs, and yet. 

Here he was.

He gritted his denta, talons scraping deep grooves into the metal of the table. It had been a mistake to bring the Human aboard the Peaceful Tyranny, he realized now. Tarn had taken them on a whim, fascinated by their fragility, their strange resilience despite their pathetic organic form. They were meant to be a distraction, a curiosity to amuse him when he grew tired of the endless cycle of violence and execution. 

It wasn’t just their scent, though that alone was enough to drive his systems into overdrive. It was their presence, the way they looked at him with those wide, expressive eyes, so full of fear and defiance. The way their tiny hands trembled when he drew close, though they tried to hide it. Tarn had always enjoyed breaking his enemies, watching them fall apart beneath his gaze, but there was something uniquely satisfying about them. 

A low growl rumbled through his vocalizer, drawing a few wary glances from Kaon and Vos. He ignored them, his optics narrowing as his thoughts spiraled further. He hadn’t expected his rut to return, not after the extensive modifications to his frame, not after everything that had been taken from him. But his systems didn’t care about logic or reason. It only cared about the hormones his system could pick up on from his little human. 

“Commander?” Kaon’s voice cut through the haze, hesitantly. Tarn straightened, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the room. 

“This meeting is over,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling growl. “Leave. Now.”

There was no arguing with him. The others scrambled, filing out of the room without so much as a backward glance. Tarn didn’t wait for the door to hiss shut behind them. He was already moving, his strides purposeful as he made his way toward his quarters. 

The scent grew stronger the closer he got, a heady, intoxicating lure that made his systems thrum with anticipation. When Tarn finally reached his quarters, the door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the small, fragile figure inside, their eyes widening in surprise as they tried to dart away to hide out of reach.  

“Tarn—”

He didn’t let them finish. In a single, fluid motion, he crossed the room, his massive frame looming over them as he reached out, his claws curling around their small form making them yelp as he brought them up to his optics. They freeze, breath hitching as they stared up at him, their expression a mix of fear and uncertainty.

“You’ve been driving me mad,” Tarn rumbled, his optics glowing brighter as his field surged. He had no doubt that the rest of the mechs on the ship knew he was in rut now. “Do you even realize what you’ve done to me?”

The human didn’t respond, their voice caught in their throat. Tarn tilted his head, his grip tightening just enough to make his point clear. “No matter,” he said, his tone dark and possessive.

He lifted them effortlessly, carrying them toward his berth with a predator’s grace. The Human squirmed in his grasp. “Tarn please! Put me down, I'm Sorry for whatever I did!” their protests falling on deaf audials. Tarn’s vents hissed, his optics narrowing as he pinned them beneath his talons watching them squirm against his berth. 

They let out a sharp yelp as Tarn's claws pressed into their hips, the razor-sharp talons only just shy of breaking their skin beneath clothing. Their body squirmed instinctively, in a futile attempt to escape his grip, but Tarn only tightened his hold, his optics narrowing. Their chest heaving as they gasped, every little sound they made sent another pulse of heat through his systems.

Tarn’s frame shuddered, his vents hissing audibly as he leaned closer, his massive helm casting their small body in shadow. He could feel the tension radiating from them, the way their muscles tensed beneath his claws, their soft skin is something he had always enjoyed.

Humans weren’t quite as small as Cybertronians often assumed. Tarn had learned that when he first acquired them, their length barely spanned the full reach of his arm. But they were still small enough, still fragile enough to ignite the darker urges buried deep in his code. His claws flexed against their hips, pressing into them enjoying the little noises of protest they made.  

A low, reverberating growl rumbled through his chassis, the deep rattle of metal and mechanical components vibrating through the room. His talons curled, catching the fabric of their clothing, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he began to tear it apart. startled gasp and the faint whimpers escaped their lips as they tried to push at his claws, small hands pressing against the unyielding metal, but it was useless. Tarn didn’t relent.

The fabric gave way easily beneath his claws, falling away to expose the bare skin beneath. Tarn’s field surged,a loud pulsing beep leaves him similar to an ear ringing sound. as his optics locked onto the newly revealed flesh. Their scent hit him like a physical blow, stronger now, richer, untainted by the barriers of cloth and distance. It was intoxicating, a heady mixture of fear, adrenaline, and something uniquely them. 

Tarn’s vents hissed again, his massive frame shivering as he leaned closer, his optics glowing brighter. He dragged a single claw along the curve of their chest, the sharp edge barely grazing their skin, just enough to leave a faint red line in its wake. They gasped, their breath hitching, “please” they whimpered and Tarn’s engine purred in response.

“You smell… divine,” he rumbled, his voice a low, guttural growl that sent a shiver down their spine. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to me? What you’ve done to me?”

They stared up at him, wide eyes glistening with unshed tears. Tarn’s helm tilted, his optics narrowing as he leaned in, his faceplate mere inches from their exposed skin. He wanted to taste them, to feel their warmth against his cold metal, to consume the scent that was driving him to the brink of madness.

“You’re mine,” Tarn growled, his voice dark and possessive. 

“Tarn, Don’t—” they finally managed to choke out, their voice trembling, but he cut them off with a low, rumbling growl.

“Quiet,”

 he commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding. “You’re not here to speak.” His words hung heavy in the air, a dark promise that sent a shiver down their spine. 

“Don't move”

Tarn reached up, his claws releasing their trembling form just long enough to grip the edges of his mask. There was a sharp hiss as the seals disengaged, and with a deliberate slowness, he removed the mask that so many feared. 

The Human gasped, their wide eyes fixed on him as they shivered beneath his gaze. Tarn’s optics burned into their soul, in truth they hadn't expected him to look like this, he had assumed the mask was his face. He leaned down, his exposed face mere inches from their skin, and his glossa flicked out, dragging against the curve of their stomach and chest in a slow, deliberate motion. 

The taste of their skin sent a jolt through his systems, his frame trembling as he growled low in his chassis, smoke billowing out from his exhaust. The warmth of their body against his cold metal was maddening. He pressed his glossa to their skin again, savoring the salty tang of their sweat, the faint trace of fear that lingered on their flesh. 

His claws returned to their hips, holding them in place as they squirmed beneath him. Every little movement, every soft sound they made, only fueled the burning sensation in his wiring, he truly hadn't expected his rut to be affected by a human so much. 

“I could devour you,” he rumbled, his voice low and guttural, against their skin as his glossa traced the line of their collarbone. “You’re so soft… so fragile. It would be so easy to break you.”

The Human whimpered, their breath hitching as they turned their head away, exposing more of their neck to him in an instinctive gesture of submission. Tarn’s optics gleamed with satisfaction. 

“But I won’t,” he continued, his tone softening just slightly, though the possessive edge remained. “You’re mine, my little pet. And I intend to keep you”

His claws moved lower, sliding down their trembling sides before curling around the waistband of their pants. With a sharp tug, he tore the fabric away, discarding it as though it were nothing. Their body jerked in response, a startled sound escaping their lips as they tried to cover themselves, but Tarn caught their wrists with a single claw pinning them above their head. 

“None of that,” Tarn growled, his optics narrowing as he loomed over them. “You won’t hide from me.” He leaned down again, his glossa dragging down, tasting every inch of them. holding them in place, savoring the way their body quivered beneath him. 

But Tarn wasn’t foolish. He knew his own size, the sheer difference in scale between their fragile organic frame and his towering Cybertronian frame. He wouldn’t risk damaging his pet, not when he had gone to such lengths to acquire them, to keep them. 

No, he would take his time. He would prepare them, ensuring they could handle him before he took them. Tarn’s claws traced over their body, careful despite their sharp edges, his optics flickering as he watched their every reaction. 

“You’ll take me,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise that sent shivers down their spine. “But not yet. Not until you’re ready. I want you intact, my little pet. I want to feel you writhe beneath me, to hear you beg for more…”

He pressed his glossa to their skin again, his claws tightening just enough to remind them of his strength. Tarn’s frame shuddered, his vents cycling heavily as he continued to taste them, to savor the scent and warmth of their body. 

The Human’s soft sobs filled the room, their cries muffled as they squirmed beneath Tarn’s unyielding grasp. Their small frame trembled, as he adjusted them, spreading their legs with a deliberate slowness.

They whimpered again, their voice a high, broken sound as Tarn pulled them closer, his massive frame looming over them. His talons curled around their thighs, holding them firmly in place. There was no escape, no chance for resistance, and they knew it, not to mention Tarn had told them not to move, they couldn't move even if they wanted to.

Tarn had them exactly where he wanted them. It was one of the upsides of his outlier ability on Human’s, they would do what they were told, it wouldn't off-line them like it could a Mech, no for Human’s it made their body completely give into commands, only simply ones so far but it had been a rather interesting discovery.

His glossa flicked out again, dragging along the sensitive skin he had exposed. The taste of them sent a jolt through his systems, his vents hissing as his sensors were overwhelmed by their scent and taste. It was intoxicating, like Mixing Diesel, High grade with energy crystals, just as addictive as his transformation cog addiction.

“You’re perfect,” Tarn rumbled, his voice low and guttural, vibrating against their thighs. He leaned in further, pressing his mouth against them, his glossa flicking with precision and purpose. The Human cried out, their body jerking in response as Tarn’s claws tightened on their thighs, holding them still.

 His glossa moved slowly, deliberately, savoring every reaction, His optics dimmed slightly, his focus entirely on the sensation of them against his glossa, the way their body trembled beneath him.

They writhed, their small hands pressing against his claws in a futile attempt to either free themself or pull him closer,but Tarn didn’t relent. He pulled them closer, his massive frame adjusting to ensure they couldn’t escape his grip. His engine purred louder as he pressed the tip of his glossa against them, testing, teasing, before slowly beginning to press inward.

They gasped and cried out loudly, their head tilting back as their body tensed, a broken sob escaping their lips. Tarn’s systems shuddered in response, warning lights flickering in his HUD as his spike panel began to pressurize, the plating heating beneath the strain. But he ignored it, his focus entirely on them, the way their body responded to his touch, the way their taste grew stronger, sweeter, as he worked them open.

“Relax,”

 Tarn murmured, his voice a low growl. His glossa pressed deeper, moving slowly, carefully, as he explored them, savoring every moment. The taste of them was maddening, a sensory overload that made his vents hiss and his frame tremble. He could feel his spike panel straining, the pressure building as his systems screamed for release, but he held himself back. He wouldn’t rush this. He wouldn’t risk damaging them, no matter how desperate his own needs became.

They moan out, their voice high and strained as Tarn continues to work them open, his glossa moving with precision and control, teasing and toying with them. “I could do this for cycles and never tire of it.” Tarn rumbled, his voice thick with desire. 

The Human’s breath hitched, their chest heaving as they choke back little soft moans. They were his. Completely, utterly his. And Tarn would savor every moment of their submission.

Tarn’s optics glowed faintly as he watched their trembling form beneath him, He hadn’t expected this. Tarn had assumed, logically, based on their fragile organic nature, that they would be far more resistant to his touch. He’d prepared himself for the possibility of injury, or having to leave them to take care of his rut. But as he pressed further, he realized how wrong he had been.

Humans were far more pliable than he expected. Their soft, warm body yielded to him, stretching around the intrusion of his glossa with far less resistance than he anticipated. He tilted his helm slightly, his optics narrowing as he studied them, his movements slow and meticulous. Their body was trembling, yes, but there was no sign of pain, no indication of damage. They were adapting to him.

 small, broken whines escaped their lips as Tarn pressed a single digit against them, his claw curlingly slightly to avoid the sharp edges. He didn’t push in immediately, instead, he teased, testing their reactions as his glossa continued its slow, deliberate exploration. When he finally pressed the digit forward, their body tensed, a sharp gasp escaping them as they tried to pull away. Tarn growled low in his chest, his claws tightening on their thighs to hold them in place.

“Don’t fight me,”

he rumbled, his voice dark and commanding. “Your body knows better than you do.” He pressed in further, slow and careful, watching as their body stretched around his glossa and digit. It was remarkable, the way their soft, pliant flesh accommodated him, even as they struggled against it. Tarn’s optics flickered, his systems humming with barely restrained anticipation as he continued to work them open. 

“You’re… adaptable,” he murmured, almost to himself, his tone laced with fascination. “I hadn’t expected this. You’re so soft, so fragile, and yet… your body bends easily.” He added the slightest pressure, his digit sliding deeper as his glossa continued its slow, deliberate movements. The combination drew a sharp cry from them, their body arching beneath him as they squirmed in his grasp. Tarn’s optics brightened, satisfaction flickering in their depths.

“See?” he said, his voice a low growl as his digit curled slightly within them, testing their limits. “You can take me.”

He moved slowly, ensuring they stretched with each movement, each deliberate press of his glossa and digit. He forced himself to remain patient. His spike was far larger than his glossa, and he wouldn’t risk damaging his pet in his haste. Not when they had proven themselves so capable of yielding to him.

“You’ll take all of me,” Tarn murmured, his voice dark and possessive as his optics bore into them. “I’ll make sure of it. Slowly, carefully… until you can handle everything I have to give.”

His glossa dragged against their trembling form one last time before he lifted his helm, his claws gently releasing their thighs to allow him to shift his massive frame. His vents hissed, his systems running hot as he observed their flushed, shivering body beneath him. The sight alone was enough to send another pulse through his overworked circuits.

“You should feel honored,” Tarn rumbled, his voice low and guttural, vibrating through the air like a storm on the horizon. “I had no intention of ever using this.” 

Their breath hitched, wide tear-streaked eyes locking with his optics before shooting downwards, their voice trembling as they tried to form words. Tarn tilted his helm, his optics narrowing as his words hung heavy in the silence.

“I remodeled it,” he continued, his tone carrying a faint edge of dark amusement. “Reduced its size. Softer metals. Less dangerous. I didn’t think I’d ever need it again… not after what I’ve become.”

His claws flexed slightly, holding them in place as his spike panel hissed softly, the sound sharp and deliberate. The Human froze, their body tensing as they realized what was about to happen. Tarn’s optics brightened, his engine rumbling as he leaned closer, his massive frame casting them in shadow.

“But then you…” Tarn growled, his voice trailing off as his spike panel slid open, revealing the length of his spike. His optics flickered as he watched their reaction. “You sent me into rut. You. my fragile little pet, did this to me.”

Their face paling as the full length of Tarn’s spike was revealed. It was still enormous compared to their small, organic frame, the sheer size of it making their stomach twist with fear. The metal gleamed faintly, the design smoother and less jagged than Tarn’s usual armor plating, but it was still intimidating.

They shook their head, their voice finally breaking free as they began to argue, their small hands pushing against his chest plating with a desperation that only made his optics gleam brighter.

“I didn’t do anything!” they cried, their voice trembling as they squirmed against his hold. “It’s not my fault!”

Tarn chuckled darkly, the sound low and resonant, His claws shifted, holding them firmly in place as he adjusted his position, his spike pressing against their stomach. The tip was cool to the touch, the softer metal deceptively smooth against their warm skin. Tarn’s optics burned as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“You didn’t ask for this?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “Do you think I chose this? Do you think I wanted to be brought to my knees by a mere Human?”

He pressed the length of his spike against their stomach, his optics flickering as he measured the size difference, the way it spanned nearly from their hips to their chest. His claws flexed again, holding them steady as they squirmed, their protests falling on deaf audials. Tarn tilted his helm, his optics narrowing as he observed them, his field crackling with restrained power.

“Do you see this?” he rumbled, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you understand what you’ve done to me? This is your fault. Your scent, your body.”

“Please,” they whispered, their voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You’ll take it,” he said, his tone final, unyielding. “Not all at once. Not yet, that will take time and training. But you’ll take it, little one. Your body will adapt. It already has. And when I’m finished… you’ll understand exactly who you belong to.”

The air was heavy, charged with an electric tension that seemed to buzz and crackle like static around them. Tarn’s vents hissed, his massive frame trembling as he shifted, his claws gripping their fragile form. They cried out sharply as he flipped them over, their small body pliant but trembling beneath his hands. A sob escaped their lips, muffled against the surface below, but Tarn’s optics remained fixed on them, 

His spike, heavy and heated, pressed against their smaller entrance, the sheer size of it a stark contrast to their soft, trembling body. Tarn paused there, the tip resting against them, savoring the moment. 

The sound of their labored breathing, their soft whimpered whines, was a melody he hadn’t realized he craved. They were so small, so fragile, and yet their body so warm, so alive, yielded to him, stretched for him, bent to his will.

Slowly, Tarn began to press forward, his optics locked on their back as he watched their body take him. The tip of his spike stretched them, the sight alone sending a pulse of heat through his systems, but he didn’t rush. No, he had control. ensuring they felt every inch, every movement, as he worked his way inside them. 

Their cries grew louder, their small hands clawing at the tarps beneath them, but Tarn only growled, his voice low and reverberating through the room like thunder. One of his claws flexed against their hips, holding them steady as he pressed deeper, grinding slowly into them, making them take more of him with each careful thrust. The other dug into the frame of his berth lesving clesr marks in the metal. 

“Breathe,” 

Tarn rumbled, his voice a deep, guttural growl that seemed to hum in the air around them. “You can take it.”

Their sobs shook their frame, but Tarn could feel it, the way their body stretched, adjusted, yielded to him. The sensation was maddening, the tight, warm pressure of their smaller form around his spike sending his systems into overdrive. His vents hissed louder, glowing red with the strain of holding himself back. He wanted to slam into them, to bury himself to the hilt, but he wouldn’t. Not yet. 

The scent of them was overwhelming, mingling with the faint taste of static in the air. It clung to his olfactory sensors, stoking the fire raging within him. Tarn’s spike throbbed, his systems flickering with warning lights as he ground deeper, pressing further into their trembling form. He could feel his control slipping, his frame trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

Their cries and moans grew louder, their small body arching beneath him as he pushed deeper, grinding slowly, methodically, ensuring they felt every inch. 

And yet, even as he claimed them, his processor wandered, flickering with thoughts he hadn’t considered before. Could they carry? Was it possible? transfluid, designed to create new life among Cybertronians if all else failed, but for a Cybertronian to carry a sparkling to full term was a 15% chance. Would it take to a Human? Could their soft, organic form nurture a sparkling?

The thought sent a jolt through his systems, his spike pressing deeper as his talons tightened on their hips. The idea of them bearing his sparkling, of their small body swelling with his creation, was enough to make his vents hiss louder, his frame trembling with barely restrained need.

Tarn continued to grind into them, his large spike stretching them further with each movement. He leaned closer, his voice a dark, guttural whisper. “Perhaps,” he mused, his tone laced with dark fascination, “you could bear a sparkling. My sparkling. Imagine that, little one.”

Their wails grew louder, their small frame trembling beneath him as Tarn continued, his movements slow but relentless. His processor buzzed with the thought that stoked the fire of his rut into a roaring inferno.

The room was alive with the sound of his vents, hissing and cycling furiously, interwoven with the soft, broken cries of the Human beneath him. Their small, trembling body quaked with each slow, deliberate movement of his spike. He could feel his control slipping, his systems screaming for release, demanding he give in completely to the primal, all-consuming cycle of his rut.

And he did.

The deliberate slowness of his earlier actions gave way to something more raw, more urgent, as he pressed deeper, each movement drawing a sharp cry from his Human. Their warmth, their softness, the way their body stretched and yielded for him, it was a pleasure unlike anything he’d ever allowed himself to experience.

“You take me so well,” Tarn rumbled. Each thrust sent his systems closer to overload, warning lights flickering in his HUD as his spike pressed deeper, grinding into them with force. The tight, warm pressure of their body around him was maddening, driving every thought from his processor except the need to claim them, to fill them, to mark them in every way possible.

His optics flickered as he leaned over them, his massive frame engulfing their smaller one entirely. Tarn’s pace quickened, his movements growing more forceful, more desperate, as his rut overtook him completely. He drove into them, his spike throbbing with the strain of holding back his release. He wanted to savor this, to draw it out, but his systems were reaching their limit. His frame trembled, his optics flaring brightly as his engine roared. 

“You’ll take it,” Tarn growled, his voice thick with possession, his words a dark promise that sent shivers through their small frame. “All of it. Every drop.”

Their small body had gone limp beneath him, Tarn’s claws flexed one last time, his optics burning as his frame shuddered, his engine roaring as he drove into them with a final, powerful thrust. His spike throbbed, his systems screaming as he finally let go, his transfluid surging forward in thick, pulsing waves. He growled low in his chassis, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that filled the room as he filled them with bright pink fluid which leaks out in gushes.

His frame trembled, his systems cycling heavily as he came down from the high of his overload. The Human beneath him was still trembling, their small body limp and pliant, their breath coming in soft, broken gasps. “You’re mine,” he rumbled, his tone final, unyielding. “Completely, utterly mine. And now… now we’ll see what comes of this.”

He pulled back slightly, as he watched his transfluid drip from their trembling form, his processor buzzing with dark satisfaction. The thought of them carrying his sparkling, of their small body nurturing his creation, was a thought that filled him with a possessive pride he hadn’t expected.

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