Mirage, in his sleek alt-mode, impatiently awaited Y/N. As she emerged, a crude whistle pierced the air. "Damn, girl, sweet ride! How about a spin in my Mustang?" Mirage’s doors flew open, slamming into the flirter's face. He howled. Y/N quickly slid in. "Was that necessary, Mirage?" she asked. His voice rumbled through the radio, "Yes. Yes, it was. No one flirts with my woman and gets away with it."
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