maddestmads - Tumblr blog

maddestmads · 2 days ago

Text

✧ 𝙋𝙤𝙨𝙚, 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙩.

ᴍɪʀᴀɢᴇ/ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You can’t take him anywhere without people reclining on his hood or leaning against his fenders for a picture. He practically purrs under all the attention, and you’re one more smug comment away from showing him you can do it better.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.1k

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: sfw, but suggestive (idk how to write tension, but that shit hits so hard man); no use of (y/n) or appearance descriptors; fem reader.

Again?

That’s all your exasperated mind could muster. In this fuckass street parking — which you didn’t have to navigate into, thank God — there was a group of four girls huddled around a 911 Porsche. They were dressed to kill — three splayed across the same general area of the front end, one at a distance. She was holding a phone horizontally to take the pictures. Kneeling, presumably getting multiple angles. A dedicated photographer then.

And you understood them, you did. It was a nice car. Your car, a repressed part of you asserted. New paint — thank you, Noah. Standout model. People could take pictures, and you were sure this brunette was taking damn good ones to post later. Something in a social media collage of whatever their night would consist of. But situations like this, involving men or women, were constant. Just today, he’d already been a visual accessory twice.

You cleared your throat as you approached, in view, and held up car keys you didn’t really need in one hand. A plastic bag dangled in the other — the reason for your trip away. They didn’t notice you. You lowered your arm back to your side. Oh-kayy. “‘Ey!” You called, catching their attention now. “My car.”

The girls, confused at first, soon exchanged frantic glances. Suddenly, they were giving the car a much wider berth, stepping back onto the far side of the pavement. “Oh,” a girl in blue chimed, “we’re so sorry.” Her gaze flitted between you, the Porsche, and her friends with wide eyes. You could sense the apologetic nerves tingling off her, and you softened reflexively. “We wouldn’t have— you know.”

They didn’t know half of it. “Nah,” you dismissed, sounding significantly less impatient than before. “You’re all good.” You unlocked the doors, the hollow click alluding to the fact you’d be leaving soon. Well, maybe not just you per se. “Hope the pictures turned out nice.”

She seemed to deflate in relief, her eyes losing that deer-in-headlights look. “Thank you, so sorry again.” They regrouped, moving to walk away down the sidewalk to what you assumed was their original destination, when one called behind her, “Nice ride, by the way!”

You nearly snorted. She had no idea that your ‘ride’ probably basked in her company. Could actually feel her curves against him when she positioned herself on his hood. All the doting, the proximity — God, the touching. At least you knew he was never bored while you did errands like this; the short ones that more or less required him to stick around. On the other hand, an odd possessiveness within you often grumbled that a little boredom wouldn’t kill him.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you waited until the door shut — muffling the ambient cityscape outside — before leveling the blank radio with what you hoped was a stern stare. You could practically see his smug grin. A sigh was bubbling in your sternum. “I’m sure you ate that shit up, didn’t you?” It was almost too flat to be a question.

The engine roared to life, dipping to a slow — satisfying — hum. Showoff. “Oh,” Mirage groaned, his familiar voice projecting through the speakers, and you shook your head. “You have no idea, sweetheart. Like dessert and all, even got seconds.”

You turned towards the window, stifling your laugh and hiding your lingering smile behind a hand. “Unbelievable. You’re literally full of yourself, you know that?”

“Aw, like you’ve never wanted a taste of this.”

“I’d sooner starve.”

An over exaggerated gasp. “Liar,” he whispered, much too loud, like the word was a dirty secret.

“Dying to prove my honesty, actually.”

“Careful — I might take you up on ‘at,” he teased, his mirrors adjusting as he shifted and maneuvered out of the spot with an ease you couldn’t fathom. “Or worse yet, I’ll start thinking you’re just being mean to me because you’re jealous.”

Ah, shit.

The feeling of being exposed prickled underneath your skin. Where did he even get that? Okay, never mind. You, admittedly, were a little short with the girls. And the ones before that. Resisting the urge to squirm at the comment, you quipped, “I don’t need a reason to be mean to you, just comes naturally.”

Nope. Definitely guilty.

Flicking a turn signal on, he merged seamlessly into the flow of traffic. Smooth bastard. “My good looks come naturally,” he gloated. “You, however, are just in denial.”

You tried not to sound petulant. “What would I even be jealous about? I’m literally the one inside you right now.”

“And don’t I know it, sweetheart.”

“I also take better pictures than that.”

“Oh, so you were jealous.”

You groaned, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “Not what I said. Forget it.” Despite the seatbelt you put on — a habit from other cars and a preventative measure for Mirage’s driving tendencies — you slid downwards in your seat. Was that an engine rev or just the blood rushing in your ears?

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he taunted. The teasing must’ve been affecting him too, though, his bravado be damned. He nearly missed the turn.

“You really wanna hold onto this one, don’t you?”

“C’mon,” he drawled. “Don’t be like that — all the attention’s like a compliment to you, really! You and your nice ride,” he practically purred.

You made a choked sound, much to his amusement, as you reared up indignantly. Wordlessly, you swatted playfully at the steering wheel. You hoped he was too focused on the road to notice the pink tinge of your cheeks.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he warned lightheartedly. “I’m just the messenger. Don’t make me start reconsidering who I offer my first-class transportation services to.”

Your tone dropped dangerously low. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He matched your challenge. “Try me.”

You patted his shifter as he slowed at a red light, mock contemplation overtaking your expression. It was like the metaphorical foot on the brake jolted, interrupting an otherwise smooth stop. “Didn’t I say I wouldn’t do that?”

It was easy to get lost in the banter between the two of you. Besides, the whole exchange was an empty threat and you both knew it.

Not long after you met the mech, he insisted on giving you a ride whenever you had someplace to be. Even borderline pouted when you drove yourself or had someone else pick you up. He was unavailable sometimes, but still managed to pull through for you on every other occasion. Never a minute late. You wondered if he ever sped to achieve that. Actually, he’d probably be pushing the speed limit regardless. Especially if there weren’t any cop cars around. If he got caught, made a scene? Prime might blow a gasket.

It was nice, though. Sanitary, handsfree, and a hell of a lot more entertaining. He was… fun to be around. Alien, no doubt, but the antics you two got up to had been the highlights of your life recently. At night, if both of you weren’t busy, Mirage would burn rubber in the streets while you whooped in the driver’s seat, blasting whatever music station best suited your taste at the time.

You asked him once if that — the fast speeds and the sharp turns that left his tires squealing — ever hurt him. The mech had merely shrugged. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, sweetheart. I ain’t ever one to complain about getting a lil oil pumpin’.” He stretched, as if to emphasize his point. Unbidden, your eyes caught every movement. You didn’t ask again.

But things were changing between the two of you. Lines blurred as the flirting felt less ironic at times, as the innuendos started to make your stomach dip. And now you had an idea. A terrible idea. One you would’ve shot down — hell, not even conceived in the first place — a few weeks ago. But now? His insinuation would echo in your ears, you’re just being mean to me because you’re jealous, and you’d be fixated on a way to tease him right back all over again.

—

You were radiant.

For tonight, you’d put an amount of effort into yourself that you almost hadn’t thought possible. The humidity from your shower still lingered in the bathroom; your outfit was carefully chosen, like it’d been designed with you specifically in mind. Maybe you’d taken a concerning amount of time to some, but there was no denying the effect: you were utterly captivating.

You were almost too eager when you heard a knock at the door, your steps falling in quick succession.

Although she didn’t know the full extent of your plans, of what exactly you wanted to do to an interstellar lifeform, one of your close friends had been onboard when you invited her out — no convincing needed.

Asking Mirage had gone similarly:

He agreed to pick you and a friend up tonight for a little city sightseeing. “No transforming, no ghost-driving,” you’d told him. He’d opened his mouth to begin to protest the latter. You stopped him with a wave. “Put some faith in me, yeah? It’ll be fun.”

“I’ll put something in ya, alright.”

“Mirage!”

“Okay, okay!”

You really had to stop thinking about that comment.

Your friend’s eyes widened as the door swung open. She whistled once, long and low, as she took you in. “I’m used to you looking good and all, but I just want you to know I’m wearing that lacy set you like.”

You smacked her shoulder as you exchanged wolfish grins in that familiar way. “How many times do I need to tell you? Dinner first.”

Chattering, the two of you made your way outside, where a silver and blue Porsche waited. It’s like you could feel his optics on you. Not to mention his curiosity. What were you so dolled up for? And why was your friend here? Said friend stopped short as you made your way towards his alt-form, brows raised.

“This your car?” Not accusatory, but definitely inquisitive.

My car.

“You could say that,” you shrugged, as though it was normal and self-explanatory. “Friend let me borrow it.” You could’ve been referring to Noah, your longtime ride-or-die that introduced you to the Autobot, or Mirage himself by that sentiment. Either was technically true.

She seemed to take her time processing that anyone would let this car go. “I’m not gonna break something by looking at it, am I?”

You’re sure Mirage would’ve squawked at that. Break him? As if humans were the ones who had to be careful with him! You chuckled as you rounded the car, standing along the left side. “Nah, it’s all good,” You took a steadying breath before your next remark, “Trust me, I’ve ridden it harder than we will tonight.” The driver’s side mirror jerked to your frame incredulously.

You brushed your fingertips over the handle and the door practically flew open, nearly colliding with your hip. Giving your friend an encouraging nod, your figure dipped to settle inside.

“This is—“ the hiss of Mirage’s voice cut off abruptly as your friend opened the passenger side door.

This is fun.

It felt vaguely like manhandling the mech as you started his engine and shifted gears. If you strained your ears, you were almost certain you could hear him muttering under the rumble of his mechanisms. You wondered how much restraint he was exerting just to refrain from peeling away like he usually did. But, just as he said, the speedometer only moved as you willed it.

The spot you had in mind wasn’t far. People and vehicles and city lights blurred outside as the sun neared the horizon, preparing its surrender to nightfall. In its final moments, it would paint everything with a golden glow — a parting kiss of color and warmth.

Perfect.

Pulling into an abandoned lot, you shifted into park and pulled the faux key from its ignition. Your friend gave the area a once over. She smiled, turning to you and querying, “How’d you find this little gem?”

You met her eyes, a bit startled, when you realized she was talking about the venue. Not the car-not-car you both were currently sitting in. It felt strange, not talking to him on the drive here. “What can I say?” The nonchalance in your voice faltered, giving way to a bright grin. Fuck, you were excited in that awful, mischievous way. “I got an eye for the best. Thanks to you, of course.”

She was a photographer. A rather good one at that; the professional camera now hanging from her neck wasn’t for decoration by any means. She barked a laugh, removing the lens cover. “Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed, fondness laced through every word. “Just get out an’ pose already. The sun’s almost setting.”

You did as you were told, even as you were sure the radio sputtered.

Yesterday, you’d asked your friend if she was okay with taking a few pictures of you on location. It doesn't have to be too elaborate, you'd said. She’d balked at that, saying something like, You know how long I’ve been waiting to have you in frame?

Your friend, an artist in her element, guided you like her most precious muse. The sunset at your back, you dragged a feather-light touch over the seams of the Porsche before turning your back to the front bumper. He wanted to tease? You could tease. Prove a point, too.

You reclined on the hood. Just like you’d seen so many girls do. You kept the majority of your weight on the ground, but stretched your arms leisurely across the width of the car’s body. She nodded approvingly. “Now just lean back a little like— yeah, like that.” She held her camera up.

It wasn’t a long shoot, not really, but you hung on Mirage. Always touching, always exerting your comfort. When your friend suggested a picture of you sitting with your legs hanging out of the driver’s seat, you posed. You’d ghosted a hand over his spoiler. You swore his mirrors followed you, twitching in your direction every so often.

As dusk fell, the light slipping from steel and glass, the two of you returned to the cab of the car. Technically, the sightseeing part wasn’t a lie. After she reviewed the pictures with you — and pointed out her favorites, which were stunning — you drove around the busy streets. If Mirage were bothered, it wasn’t to the point where he wouldn’t subtly assist you in navigating the narrower lanes.

Sufficiently sated, you eventually charted back to your apartment. Rather, back to your friend’s car, which was parked nearby.

Meanwhile, Mirage was surprised he wasn’t experiencing any mechanical malfunctions. Did you notice that the air blowing out of his vents was slightly hotter than usual? The windows were down — he really hoped not. Thank Primus you were driving — something he never thought he’d say; he always thought the ‘speed limit’ was an oppressive construct — because he would’ve veered multiple times by now.

Your body against him like that felt like a rewiring, everywhere you had been still simmering with a phantom heat. You were so warm, so pliable and soft. It didn’t feel like that with his usual crowd, not even close. Frag, what were you doing to him?

And those words were echoing in his audial processors again: Your car, your car, your car. He heard you say it when you scared off those girls by the sidewalk a few days ago. You’d called him your car. When your friend asked you about him being yours this afternoon, you hadn’t denied it.

You could say that. Dammit.

Speaking of your friend, no offense to her, but he couldn’t wait for her to leave. He wanted to talk to you, to ask what the hell was that. That hadn’t been a part of the plan he signed up for. Not that he was complaining, of course. Did he even had a word good enough to describe how you looked? No, he definitely didn’t. On second thought, he’d much rather show you. Wait, no, he couldn’t do that — shit.

As he rolled to a stop near a Honda, which must’ve been hers, your friend politely and cheerfully said her goodbye before closing his door with barely enough pressure to fasten it shut. He could appreciate that about her at least.

The distance back to your apartment could barely constitute as a ‘drive’, but Mirage wasn’t about to wait a second longer.

Your name sounded ragged, even through the radio. “You didn’t tell me about… that.”

He sounded so not suave that you momentarily fumbled for a response. “I did tell you I could take better pictures, didn’t I?” A pause. Then what sounded like restrained laughter. “Hey!”

His voice was flush with amusement, the conviction that came with being right, “You were soo jealous. Primus, you were thinking about that the whole time?”

You pretended to focus on pulling into a curbside spot in front of your building. Mirage shifted into park for you. “I liked it better when you didn’t talk,” you grumbled.

His response was quick. Sure. “No, you didn’t.”

You didn’t. Despite your actions tonight, you weren’t about to just admit that, though. Not yet. “Careful, I might find another car to pose with.”

He scoffed, allowing the subject change. “As If anything else looks this good.” You could picture his servos pointed inwards, gesturing up and down.

You rolled your eyes, unable to help a half-smile at the image. “Goodnight, Mirage.”

Before you could reach for the handle, the door lock clicked. You blinked, eyes darting to the radio. The Autobot symbol was emblazoned there, filling the dark with a blue glow. The same one you saw on Mirage’s hood and helm when he was bipedal.

Silence. You were about to call out his name when his voice, so gently, murmured, “Wait. I— you looked beautiful tonight.”

You froze, the earnest way in which he said it so unlike his usual flirting.

It sounded like he snapped out of a daze then, as though he’d seen your expression and was trying not to sound so serious. He coughed, and you didn’t even think he needed to. “I mean, you always are, but... I think it was especially obvious tonight, you know?”

“I think I do,” you breathed, something warm fluttering around in your chest. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Except I’d appreciate a warning next time, actually.”

It was like you glowed from the inside out. “Consider yourself warned.”

—

As requested, your friend sent you the raw images in the morning. You even showed them to Mirage, aware of every inch of him so close to every inch of you as he peered over your shoulder at your phone, though he was uncharacteristically quiet looking at them.

And the next time you saw a guy start to prop himself against Mirage’s fender, the car alarm went off.

#HEHEHEHEJFHFJDK #im okay. i swear.#fav

110 notes · View notes