#tarn x reader

• Fingers flexing on your glass as the ice clinks against the sides, you take his words to mean he doesn’t need liquid courage for this. You’re not really sure what’s in the drink two of your friends had fixed for you, only that they’d called it an Incredible Hulk. Staring at the vibrant color, you take a drink and almost choke, coughing. Can feel the weight of his stare, his amusement as the stuff burns all the way down and you make yourself take another swallow. “Am I really so intimidating?” He purrs the question and you’d never thought you had a thing for voices, but when it’s his? When he whispers things in that deep rumble of his, a whole other type of heat lifts through you. Are you really doing this? ‘Yeah,’ you admit, flushing because you hadn’t meant to say that.

• “Finish your drink then,” he says with a soft laugh, amused at how candid that answer was. ‘You’re drinking, too,’ you mutter to make his lips twitch as he tips up his engex without answering. And he watches you make a face, downing your drink and leaning to reach for the next one as you shudder. “Slow down. We have all night.” Isn’t sure how that stuff will affect you, but he wants you aware. For you to feel every touch and be in the moment. Even if you’d insisted you needed it. That this was a party and it would take the edge off. “Come here,” he growls, pouring himself more engex and he clears his vents when you stand, clutching your glass of that green, shimmery stuff.

• You’re already pleasantly warm despite the taste and burn of the stuff lingering. Feel light as you cross the floor and climb into the mass displaced mech’s lap to straddle him, taking some satisfaction in seeing his optics flare behind his mask like you surprised him. Emboldened, you take a drink, the burn becoming welcome now. Making you feel certain and sexy in a way that’s powerful. “Tell me what you want,” he says, that purr in his voice spilling into you as he reaches up and removes his mask. Shocking you this time as one of his big hands rests on your hip and you stare at his handsome face for the first time. ‘You,’ you whisper, the alcohol a pleasant hum as you lean up to brush your mouth against his chin and you feel when his spike releases to pressurize between your bodies. ‘I want to go to sleep in your arms. Wake up with you every day.’ Moving to rock yourself against him, you shiver when he rumbles. Taking another long swallow, you shudder and his servos pluck the glass from your hand, setting it aside as those red optics study you.

• Venting deeply as you stare at him and he catches the shift in your scent, his lips twitch behind his mask. “Come here,” he growls, letting his voice dip to a low rumble and the flustered way you meet his optics has hunger spreading through him. Crooking a servo at you, he watches you slowly come closer across the top of his desk. “Sit. Be my muse,” he murmurs, gesturing at his datapad and you give him a bemused look before sitting cross legged on the edge. ‘You mean, distract you?’ You tease and he smiles indulgently behind his mask.

• Watching him jot a note in his strange glyphs on the screen, you study the image on the datapad. “Who is he?” You ask, gesturing with your bottle before drinking. ‘A deserter,’ he says, optics studying you, not the screen. ‘He renounced the Decepticon cause and paid for Autobot protection with privileged secrets. I intend to let the others take out his guards first while he watches. Then I’ll have a little talk with him.’ Skin prickling, you know the way his voice dips with the promise of violence shouldn’t be a turn on. Flustered, your eyes drop as you peel the label on your water.

• “Do you disapprove?” He asks and you exhale, eyes lifting to meet his optics. ‘He’s a traitor to the cause, right?’ You counter and he reaches to lift your chin with the tip of a servo, venting and scenting your need. “Treachery must be ripped out at the source,” he murmurs, setting aside his stylus as he splays his hands on the desk on either side of his datapad. Hauling himself up and mass shifting. And you look up at him as he walks closer. “It can’t be suffered to exist,” he adds, reaching out a hand.

• “It would spread like a poison,” you agree, laying a hand in his palm and his servos grip you, tugging you to your feet. Stepping closer as his other arm hooks around you and pins you against his chassis, you trace your fingertips over the lines of his mask as his baleful, red optics watch you. ‘Just so,’ he purrs, head lowering to rest his masked face against yours so you can feel the warm air when he vents against you. Shivering as he brushes the hard edges of his mask against your jaw and neck, you know he’s going to leave it on this time. Watch you from behind his mask as he claims you so he can stay in character. So he can do the hard, necessary things like dealing with traitors.

• Cornered, you bare your sharp denta as his big shape fills the opening of your hiding place, casting you in shadow. And he’s squirming into the shallow cave with you, keeping between you and escape as he makes a low noise. Tense and hissing, you’re tempted to snap at him. To tear into him and hurt him so badly he’ll leave you alone. Except, that hadn’t stopped him at all last time. He’d come back for you. Why can’t he just let you go? Tendrils flicking as he lays down against you, his head on top of yours, you’re trembling. Wanting to cry when he shifts closer and his warmth sinks into you.

• Listening to your broken mewls, he expects you to lash out. To feel your wickedly sharp denta and claws tearing into him at any moment. Rumbling softly, he clears his vents and your miserable noises eventually quiet as the thunder rolls outside the cave. Leaving him with his thoughts. With the question of if you’ll ever forgive him. Had been so focused on living up to Megatron’s standard, with perfection, that he’d hurt you and hadn’t understood how badly until the damage was done. Misses with way you smile when he teaches you something new, the sound of your laughter. The feel of you stretched out against him, chest rising and falling with your breath as your heart beats. Misses you. Human and imperfect.

• He’s not trying to drag you back to the well. Not trying to punish you for defying him, for fighting back. And you don’t understand this Tarn. Don’t understand what he wants. Especially when you’re so scared and hurt. Afraid to believe that maybe he’s realized what he did was callous and wrong. That he betrayed you. As much as you hurt for things to go back to the way they were, you’re not sure that you can ever trust him again. Not sure that he really can change even if you desperately want to believe he can. Feel him clear his vents against you, his muzzle brushing yours. So tired of fighting him. Want so badly to go home.

• Going still when you shift against him, your head brushes against his neck as his tendrils flick. Waiting to feel your sharp denta sink into him. But you only make a low, chittering noise and rub against him instead of fighting him. Maybe you’re as tired as he is. Maybe despite how he hurt you, some part of you misses him, too. Wants to believe that as you curl closer to him. That it’s not too late to fix this. That as badly as he’d broken you, he can still salvage this. That both of you can still go home. Feeling you shiver against him as lightning crashes outside, he nudges your head with his, keeping watch over you. Protecting you like he should have done all along.

• You have no idea what he’s talking about, but his big body is moving lazily against yours as his masked face nuzzles against your neck. And something is seriously wrong with you for being turned on. Maybe it’s how grumpy he is, that he never seems to want anything to do with you at all, and right now? He wants you and seems to hate it. What would it be like to have this? To have him? Nothing serious, just a one time encounter to scratch that itch and sate your curiosity. “Don’t stop,” you whisper and he snarls, servos flexing against your hips. Probably leaving bruises.

• Servos tugging at your covering impatiently, he’s horrified at himself. Horrified that he can’t seem to stop as his spike pulses, hurting to be released. One time. And this deviant abhorrent urge will be out of his system. Material tears when your mouth brushes his neck, the touch of your tongue on his mesh jolting through him and his spike releases to pressurize. Why are your coverings so complicated? The closure frustratingly tiny. Growling as you help him get you out of your layers, he rocks himself against you and almost overloads at finding you slick.

• “This is obscene,” he snarls, hips rocking to slide the length of his spike against you when you’re aching hollowly. Needing him inside you. Squirming against him, you hike a leg against his hip. Trying to get him where you need him. Feel the head of his spike slide against you again before he finds you and you both groan when he stretches you. “Filthy and degenerate,” he growls, hips pumping as you hang onto him feeling every ridge of his spike stroking inside you. Gasping as your head falls back against the wall, you can hear him growling and grunting as he thrusts. Making you aware anyone can just walk by and see you both.

• Losing himself rutting inside you, those noises you’re making string him tight. Growling as he thrusts, you’re wiggling against him, gasping his name before you’re crying out. Fisting his spike and he can’t stop. Can’t pull out. Hips pumping urgently as you milk him until he’s shuddering and overloading hard. Feeling his spike immediately swell to lock him inside you to his dawning horror. What if Megatron happens by? Sees him inside an organic? Growling, he tries to pull out and you suck in a breath, legs wrapping around his waist. Refusing to let him go. Every time he pulls air in, all he can scent is your arousal and his own release and he’s shuddering as he overloads again even as he hates himself for it. Hating his own weakness when you whisper his name, lips brushing his neck like a lover and he cups your cheek in his hand. Needing that soft touch and resenting it.

• Startling at the ped that comes down a little too close for comfort, you look up at your assigned mech as those red optics glare from behind his mask. And you know it’s not time for his bath. “Hungry, sir?” You ask as you wiggle until the taller caretaker puts you down. While you’re not really sure why they don’t just go get their own energon when they’re thirsty, you’ve seen other aliens hunt down their caretakers just to ask for energon. His optics slide from you to your friend and back. Before he bends and just grabs you, straightening with a rumble as you cling to his servos.

• What is he even doing? Should be encouraging you to flirt and court that other human. If that’s what you’re doing. Has no idea, but he’d hated seeing that other human holding you. Had felt violent, servos flexing with the urge to lash out even though the impulse makes no sense. It’s beneath him. If you fall in love, you’ll leave him alone. Which is what he wants. Right? You annoy him. Ambush him for baths, follow him around, and won’t take no for an answer. “Sir? Is something wrong?” Why won’t you ever say his name? Temper flaring, the lapse in his control is mortifying. Can feel you in his servos, soft and warm. Alien.

• Staring up at him as you wiggle in his grip, his optics have an angry slant to them, the mask making it hard to be certain he’s mad. He’s not talking, though. What exactly he thinks you did is beyond you. Maybe he just hates fun. From what you’ve seen dealing with him, that feels like a valid possibility. As you watch, his face tips up towards the sky. Before he lifts you and vents, that annoyed rumbling getting louder. Know they’re funny about scents, but you’re not wearing anything new that might bother him. And he rounds a corner between two buildings, mass shifting so suddenly that you feel like you’re falling, gasping sharply as you grab at him.

• Venting deeply, he can scent that other human all over you. Isn’t sure why he cares, but he does. Maybe because you’re courting him, because you leave your scent on him after washing him. And now you smell like someone else. Feels like a betrayal. Backing you up against the wall, he pins you there. “Sir?” Growling, his mask brushes your cheek and neck. ‘Tarn,’ he corrects as his body shifts against yours. Hands sliding over your softness as you make a startled, breathy sound that has him heating to his absolute horror. You’re making him do this. Making him rub up against your soft body like some deviant to replace that stranger’s scent with his own. Shuddering when you whisper his name while trying to ask what’s going on, he’s fighting the obscene urge to remove his mask so he can put his mouth on you. Taste you. Horrified that his frame is responding to feel of you against him.