#the red light on the glasses | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

robolvrr · 1 day ago

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pop 'n lock it! *⁠.⁠✧｡⁠☆

rodimus prime x gn! flirty bounty hunter reader

sexy aliens at hotspots near you! • rodimus has learned that maybe cybertronians aren't as feared by the rest of the galaxy as he thinks.

warnings: nsfw, sexual content. (fisting, valveplay, friends with benefits.) non-cybertronian reader.

"come here often?"

your fingers rub absently on the safety lock of a battered pistol. the sizzle of raw laser still sends a wave of nausea through your system, before your internal servers have forwarded through past memories and interactions to positively identify the cocky voice rumbling through your communications system.

your lips playfully pull upwards.

"how'd you get my line, roddy? don't remember giving you this frequency babe."

the laughter that follows is painfully confident. so much so, that you can easily pick the chuckles apart and find the nervousness coursing beneath. he's about to snip back at you but that's just so predictable, especially since he's much more fun tongue-tied.

"daww, you missed me pretty thing? and here i thought you were too busy being a lil commander. if you wanted me so bad you coulda just told me the last time."

rodimus lets out the equivalent of a bark. you turn your attention to the sky, squinting in an attempt to see if he was piercing through the atmosphere or not.

"oh, you're mean! you know, sometimes i think you just like to project. i get you that riled up, sweetspark?"

that's how he wants to play tonight? cute.

you make eye-contact with a ball of flame and melted metal dancing across bright, magenta skies like a comet out of hell. humming, your pistol meets your hip, belt heavy with equpiment.

"your paint job gonna hold, hm? coming down awfully hot, needy."

"am not."

"uh-huh. sure, speedy. you want me to buff it better later?"

"just get that expression off your face. ugh."

that smile is downright cheshire. this planet's entire warmth and core couldn't force his frame any hotter than the sly smirks you design. it's your plotting grin.

the possibilities send a nice shiver down to his pedes.

"good mechs get rewards. stop playing coy and admit you're stressed and you missed me."

silence, for once, fills your comms. he can imagine you sucking your teeth with a feigned, sour pout.

"... be ready."

your head tips back when you giggle. legs drape over a slender, glossy bike before it sets to hover over rusted terrain, helmet clicking into place as your suit whirs to function.

[ welcome back, user. where to? ]

wrists twist back until the engine purrs. you wonder if rodimus will too.

"the usual. clear my night and tell trax the job is done."

your bike and you shoot through the desert in a blur, leaving the approaching prime and your disintegrated target of ash far behind.

---------

rodimus knows he shouldn't be interacting with you on any level. like, at all.

it's not as if you're a major threat. he's learned the hard way not to leap to conclusions, though you've never made a point of following through with any threats and you're cute, kind of intimidating. almost some figment of his imagination that flits in the corners of his optics.

he hasn't told anyone, anyone, on the ship about you.

for one, they just wouldn't get it.

rodimus prime, captain of the lost light, dirty pervert who enjoys interfacing outside his species every once in awhile. who is hopelessly intoxicated by a being hundreds of feet shorter and yet lets 'em run him up a wall.

for two, he's sure it isn't "ethical." magnus wouldn't look at him the same and he already was in hot water.

for three? well for three, you should be in prison. he's not sure where or which one, but from his research and your blunt pride, you're not exactly a good person.

not entirely. you've gotten rid of some awful corruption and he doesn't like how he's starting to question where his morals and your efficiency mix, because he's certain you don't fry his processors that bad to the point he's losing his sense.

you do.

rodimus lands on the planet's surface, fields buzzing too much to remember the name or care about proper docking. it's not as if he's sticking around for long, per your request.

which is cool. totally cool.

rodimus feels like shareware when he transforms into alt-mode, aware you're probably already waiting. his pistons roar and he fights the urge not to ding you again, because yeah, he's needy.

so what if he misses your mouth? missed your skin, synthetic and otherwise, missed your foreign technology analyzing his ticks and limits?

he needed this. he deserves this, that much was true.

the crackle of his comms make his wheels bite rock aggressively.

"don't make me wait."

----------

he arrives not even five minutes later. you're too static to care about or remember his measurement of time. it's quick and to your standards and that's all that matters.

his chassis is dusty. sure enough, there is visible damage upon his descent. you don't look up, or over, your shoulder until he drawls in bratty greeting.

"you know, most hosts are a little more attentive."

there he goes. classic rodimus, always misbehaving. biting what he could chew and choking instead.

you let the silence grow awkward before you give him what he wants. you can sense the way he's unsure by how his vents vary, fans slowly whirring as they lower the temperature down a degree.

"and most guests are more polite. who said i invited you?"

poor thing looks like a kicked pet. his optic ridges droop and his dermas screw up, stubborn.

"i can be good. it's just... i need you, okay? that's what you wanted to hear, right? just give me tonight. please."

he slips down the concrete wall as steps, practiced and nonchalant, drift his direction. all his insecurities and want bubble to a nasty concoction and his legs part without command.

he can feel it. your stare, right on his closed array. the visual, physical culmination of his obsession dripping and oh, primus. your mouth is opening and you're letting it fall on your tongue.

"hahhh.. frag." he stores the image in a file far away.

"like candy, roddy. i can forgive you for intruding if you haven't been touching yourself like i asked, darling."

he groans and his digits scrape the foundation. you suck your finger and he's shaking.

"sure tastes like it."

frag it all. you make him so desperate it's embarrassing.

he nods his head fast and his panels pop and lock open.

leaning forward, you make a mental note to see just when your schedule will open up again this lunar cycle. while his spike is just as pretty as he is, an curved phallic throb of silver metal with sparkling, ruby bio-lights, you dip lower instead.

rodimus didn't have time to ask, hearing the whoosh of your thrusters and suddenly tongue and spit find his node with turbokitten licks.

"ooohhhh, okay, hah! w-warn somebody before you just g— guhh..!"

you never ask him to mass displace when intimate. it's partially the reason he feels so gross. there is no reason for him to be this broken already.

he should be breaking you. you should be under him, unable to take an inch. unable to think straight, or walk straight—

you're nibbling.

the rounded knob is rubber and thick. solid. firm, but slippery. you're not worried about harming him, though you do bite harder than necessary to ensure he's getting stimulated.

transfluid starts to drench your chin as you swirl and slobber, forming a warm suction that earns you a glitched moan.

"yes, yes, yeeeeeeaaahh... j-jhust like. ah! that.."

eager fingers circle his valve. he hiccups his approval.

then, your hand. he has to focus on not crushing it but from the yelp and helm bumping the ceiling, he wasn't expecting the action at all. you dreamily continue to coat him in your saliva as your wrist slithers in.

rodimus is sure he's going to offline.

you're not big. that's been established. but he still has to ease his calipers, legs trembling as you shove more and more of your forearm in him.

"please don't stop. i-i'm sho sorry. i'll be good. i'll be so good fhoure yew."

lubricant coats his faceplate when he hears your wicked amusement murmur against his valve instead.

his processor is fuzzy. he can't grab at anything because his strength will collapse the support beams, or you'll shoot that domineering leer that makes him feel like he's tipped over a vase.

rodimus whines, bleats. after lapping and swallows, your mouth has lost patience and drifted to his pulsing shaft instead. your lips are so much softer than a cybertonian, pillowy and velvet.

meanwhile, you are lazy. still pumping up to the elbow, in and out, in, out, innnn, outttt.

"let me see you cry, honey. so cute when you do. so handsome. so pretty."

the captain ex-vents sharp. his optics are cerulean. they glow in the darkness and drink you up.

"y-yeah?"

greedy! he's too obvious.

"you're the prettiest cybertonian i have ever seen." there it is, that engine growl. it vibrates your form with a tickle.

"my little light. my perfect...", you know what you're saying is going to make him overthink. you keep going because you feel how close he is already. "perfect prime."

that does it. rodimus tries to reboot his vocalizer as he shrieks out, dopey and bursting. a large, pink pool puddles at his aft, a single servo snatching you by the waist by instinct and dragging you up, up, up, up.

his glossa shoves down your throat and you paw at his helm.

he wants this burnt into his very being. his spark is thrashing.

"give. more. c'mon."

smoothing away tears, you suckle. his glossa slithers out and spit and fluid makes spider-web bridges between your mouths.

"you know i am not that mean, right? relax your pistons."

rodimus looks at you, albeit too tenderly. you close your eyes and distract you both instead by kissing him again.

"hah. as if. you're evil."

"you seem to have a habit of letting evil people around you, roddy." clink. the suit on your body phases off. he looks like he wants to stick you in his intake, drool and all.

"... touché."