#transformers Optimus x reader

[smallestapplin]

I NEED more of MC and Optimus smut stuff🙏🙏🙏🙏 bros a prime, and he also became addicted to MC‼️‼️‼️‼️🔥💥

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

/not forcing btw!!! Take all the time you need!!!

Oh anon how you tempt me.

Minors do NOT interact! 18+ only!

Warnings : GN!Reader, belly bulge

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Optimus knows he shouldn't be hooked on you like he is, you're his partner, his beloved, he adores you and wants to spent nothing but all his time with you, alas he is busy, but any free time is spent with you! He wants to take you on dates, to lay and talk with you.

He's ashamed how much he loves your valve.

He wants to hear about your day, truly he does, but he can't stop himself from holding you up and buring his glossa into your leaking valve. Your cries and mewls make his engine rev, he could listen to you all day.

He is Optimus Prime, leader of the autobots, and yet with you he is nothing more than a pleasure bot made just for you.

He has all your sweet spots, all your whorish expressions, all your wants and what makes your knees weak, all locked into his brain module. He grows restless when he's not with you, not having you on his spike is a fate worse than death for him, he just needs to have you.

The smell of your heady sex, the sounds of your pleasure echoing in his habsuite, the taste of your salty sweat on his glossa. His blue optics illuminate the dim room, though he's staring at your bulging stomach.

He can't get enough.

It's never enough.

"O-Optimus..!" Your small hands grip his servo that has you by the waist, using you like a fleshlight.

"I'm sorry, I can't...*mmm...oh frag, so tight! Gonna...you're going to make me overload-!!"

You squeal, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as Optimus quickens his thrusts, rutting into you like a heat stricken beast. He's losing control of himself, his voice crackling into static with each whine he lets out, he just needs more.

You aren't sure you can cum again, he's been fucking you like a mech starved, and to Optimus he might as well have been, going over five hours without painting your insides with his transfluid is a crime to him.

"Just one more, please, just overload for me once more."

His voice is breaking, his optics are crossing at just how tightly your valve clenches around his spike. But you know the truth, its never just one more, you'll be here until someone comes looking for him.

and who knows when that will be.

"Fuck! Fuck fuck, please it's too much, you're-mm!!- too deep. Oh god, Optimus!"

"Yes, yes, just like that. Plese, indulge me." He vents loudly, trying to cool himself off but it's all just too much and not enough to sate him.

It'll never be enough, he needs you.

He wants you, all of you, every last bit of you.

[paperstarwriters]

to Hear, to Feel, to Know

Inspired by @muletia’s Obsessed Optimus fanfics—they just so so so so good!! The yearning, the ill-buried desire, Optimus chaining himself in place like some dog with a biting problem when all he wants to do is love you???? OUAGH so so good!!

Asdfghjkl I wanna try my own hand at a fic looking at Optimus’s tendency towards obsession in love, but for now, I’ve been thinking about Optimus as a bot who tends to listen….

Pairing: Optimus Prime x Reader

Warnings: n/a

Summary: Optimus is a bot who's exceptionally good at listening. What he likes listening to most of all though, is you.

Masterlist | Transformers Masterlist

Word count: 1,106

───♡-♥-♡-♥-♡-♥-♡───

There was no denying that Optimus had a keen eye, and an even keener attention. His ability to promptly decipher texts based on key words or phrases allowing him to understand the greater picture from his days as an archivist served to train him well in noticing patterns of behaviour if he focused his attention on it. The ongoing war certainly helped as well, forcing him to zero in on what would allow them to survive. Forcefully training his eye to fall to keep points in any battle field.

And yet as trained as his eyes were, Optimus was always keen to listen.

Or perhaps absorbing was a better comparison. How despite being a leader, despite giving commands, Optimus was almost always better suited to listening to the people around him. The information that they shared, the feelings they expressed. Ratchet always used to say he would make for a much kinder medic than he if he took a role in that field. Perhaps it could have served him even better as a leader, but there was little he could change through the tides of time.

It’s why he clings to these things, saving them in the event that one day they may save him. From another attack or another encounter with Megatron, to even a stretch of boredom or loneliness.

It is why he clings to your every word.

Why he loves it when you sit atop his shoulder. So close to his helm, it is as if you’re speaking directly into his processor, filling his thoughts with your words—your delights, your frustrations, your sorrows, your needs. A direct feed like some constant supply of energon into his lines.

Both, he supposed would make his spark stutter a bit.

Ah, just thinking about it brings to mind the many times you’ve pressed yourself against his audial, leaning against his helm or purposely cupping his audials as you whispered sweet words his way, words for him and him alone, a gift sweeter than any energon could ever be.

You didn’t even have to be saying something sweet. Scathing secrets and vicious critiques against some other’s back from the mistreatment you received in the hands of a cruel stranger or an even crueler co-worker, or even some coy remark against a teammate, the fact that you chose to whisper your words to him—to confide your secrets and burning emotions to his audials.

Even being chosen as a Prime was a lesser honour than this.

But perhaps the thing he enjoys listening to most, though your every word delights him and your laughter makes his spark feel so light it might burst from his chest, the sound Optimus likes best it’s the soft thud of your heartbeat and the whisper of your breath.

He recalls when he first heard the sound, mass displaced at your request as you showed to him your beating heart after he showed you his whirring spark.

There is meaning to the action, to show one’s spark to the other, but Optimus felt he need not explain it to you, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to return the gesture.

And yet somehow you did.

Even if you could not pull back the viscera from your chest the way he did the plates of his chassis, you brought his helm to your chest, pressed his audial against you, and implored him to listen.

And he did.

In the caverns of your chest, Optimus heard as air filled your lungs, swelling with every breath you took, and for a moment he mistook that steady beat for an abnormal twitch, until you began to explain.

“That’s my heart.” You had told him. “The ‘thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud’.”

And pressing just a bit harder, Optimus stilled his fans to listen to the faint beat.

And he heard it.

Loud against his audial the drum of your heart pounded against your chest like an insistent knock, or the demands of a captive begging to be freed.

Though perhaps that’s just wistful thinking.

He hears it in his full form sometimes, when you lean your back against his helm or when you cling to his audial in a moment of fear or excitement. A gentle faint rhythm, that sings that you’re alive.

He wishes some days that it would accompany him in his berth, as he lies under the midnight silence hounded by the whispers and wails of the dead of the living he must fight, of the humans he’d never know. They all rattle and sob frying his processor as he starves himself of a proper recharge, but then, some days he hears something this in the base. Perhaps it’s his own movement, perhaps something falls—once even it was the rumble and stroke of thunder and lightning overhead. All the same, it brings to his mind the thump of your heartbeat, and like a spring being unwound, he replays your words in his head. Every praise, every sweet word, every secret you’d give him. Your smile your laughter, your delight and glee he’d play them all over and over in his processor, lingering on the compliments you’d direct his way, every smile you’d make when your eyes met his.

All with the background theme of your heart singing its little song of life, your every breath an instrument to the symphony.

You were here, you were alive, you were with him.

Ah, but sometimes those moments stung worse than the wailing dead.

You were not here with him now, and all he had was the echo of your heartbeat. If he could hum its melody he would, but the sound doesn't comply with his voice box. Still he taps it out with a digit sometimes or a pede even, a little reminder of a precious tune.

He hasn’t had the chance to listen to your heart again. To mass displace and press his head against your chest, to listen to that sound, and maybe listen to you speak as he follows the gentle beat. He hopes one day he might get the chance. He hopes one day to tell you what it means when one shows the other their spark.

One day, he dreams, he’d tell you what it meant, and you’d smile, perhaps in rapt delight, perhaps shyly, but you’d open your arms to him and allow him to listen once more, let him listen as he lets you watch his glowing spark.

Until then, he basks in what he can get, faint as it is against his full form, listening to the soft beat of your heart, feeling you warm and pressed against him, resting assured in the knowledge that you were here, you were alive.

[fandom-lover2]

My Sword Is My Shield, And I Shall Never Bend

Chapter Four - No Politics At The Table

Word Count - 1359

-image not mine-

Chapter Three - Too Young For This

Chapter Four - Music And Mead Make Men Happy

Optimus had been convinced that seeing the girl dressed the way she was when she first entered the dining hall was the most beautiful he’d ever see her, but he was mistaken when she entered a second time.

When she’d come in after being summoned, she was obviously straight off the training field, quiver secured to her back and bow still in hand. Her sword rested in the scabbard tied around her waist. The white shirt hung loosely on her top while tight leather pants hugged her legs tightly and boots went up to her calves.

Her hair caught the last few rays, making it shimmer a mix of gold and chocolate brown. It had been the same as this morning, except then her hair had been untied and showed the golden more. Now the locks were secured in a plait, though some strands had escaped and stood out in all directions.

When she left the room it was almost as if she was excited at the news she would be joining the meal. That had not been too long ago and now she had returned.

A royal blue and cream gown covered her body, hugging her chest snuggly. Her hair was pulled away from her face, but now showed tight curls that cascaded down her back, so beautifully natural.

Everything about her was so natural, the way she moved with grace but also comfortably. How she flopped down into the chair rather than slowly sitting. How the small “thank you” that followed after the servant had helped push her in was automatic and not forced.

Optimus decided that he liked all three versions of her equally. The morning bedhead who cared not what others thought, the training hard and looking like it, and the dressed up. Each showed a different side of the same woman.

She began eating without a word, but snuck glances at every one of the men when she could, studying them. Curiosity danced in her eyes, blending effortless with wonder.

The Lord began talking, but the General did not bother listening to him. He watched her. Then Ironhide, who sat beside him, nudged the General.

Optimus snapped his attention back to the Lord. “Yes?”

The Lord was glaring at Optimus, clenching his teeth. “I asked how long you thought the war would continue?”

Optimus was used to these kinds of questions.

He and Lord went back and forth, war talk. Optimus continued to talk. As long as the Lord focused on him, his men could eat.

It was after Optimus had said something about casualties that the Lord decided to toast, “To worthy sacrifices!” he cheered, hoisting his challis up.

Before any of the soldiers had the chance to be horrified at the Lord’s callousness, a snort broke the tension. Everyone turned to the end of the table, where the Lord’s daughter was picking at her plate.

“Yeah, worthy.”

Optimus felt the shift in Ironhide beside him, the anger now aimed at her. He raised a hand to rest on his friend’s shoulder but it was shrugged off.

“You will not speak at the table.” The Lord ordered, putting the challis down.

“No,” Ironhide spoke up, squaring his shoulders as he looked at the girl. “Let her speak.”

The girl took the challenge, sitting straighter and turning to face Ironhide.

“What do you think of war?”

She took a second before replying. “I think more damage comes of it.”

Ironhide narrowed his eyes, a cue to continue.

She took it. “Fields destroyed, towns burnt to the ground, millions of lives lost and good soldiers buried, and yet no side ever gains an advantage, so the cycle continues.”

“You think war to be brutish and unnecessary?” Ironhide tried to be aloof about the question, but the underlying tone and way he was gripping his mug said otherwise.

“I think that there are times when war is necessary and times when it was a loss of human life.”

Ironhide barked out a laugh, but it was not one of joy. “You believe diplomatic talks are the way to end manslaughter?”

Now the conversation had changed from war in general to the current war. Would she notice?

The girl took a moment. “You ever hear of the debate of whether the pen or the sword is mightier?” The question was directed to Ironhide.

He clenched his jaw, leaning back. “Yes.”

The girl smiled. “Well I believe the mightiest is the hand that knows when to pick up a pen, and when to raise a sword.” She allowed a moment for her words to sink in. “And mightier still is the hand that knows when to lay down the sword.”

That struck something inside Optimus.

The girl then turned her attention, looking at each soldier as she spoke. “From what I understand of this war, two men with similar ideals picked up pens in an attempt to make a change, to speak out against the abuse the old council dished out to the Kingdom of Cybertron. They gained attention from the people and soon their writings turned into words. But soon one lost faith in the pen and raised a sword in anger. The second then raised his in defence, and both men gained followings that started the war. Neither have learned how to lay down their swords.”

 She then fixed her gaze on Optimus. “Though from what I hear, neither of you are trusting enough of the other to allow peace talks to occur.”

Optimus cleared his throat, readjusting in his seat. “You speak with a wisdom far greater than your age.”

The girl smiled, picking up her goblet. “Perhaps I can just see both sides.” Her eyes never left his as she took a sip and swallowed. “But that is just the ramblings of a child who has never seen war.”

“Exactly.” her father started, and every soldier was brought back to the awareness that they were all seated in a dining hall in a Lord’s mansion.

How did she always manage to steal the attention of every person and make them hang off her every word without even asserting herself in the centre of the room?

“Just nonsense ramblings of a girl. From now on you will hold your mouth at the table.”

The girl scoffed, leaning forward to take an apple from the table. “Sure, as long as you keep holding that stick up your ass.”

Optimus could see many of the men try to hold in their laughter, hiding smiles behind feigned sips of mead. Ironhide was the only who didn’t bother holding back.

“I like her.” he decided, shooting a genuine smile in her direction, which she returned.

“Take her.” the Lady spoke up, smirking at the girl from across the table. “You can turn her into the army’s whore.”

The smile fell away, but instead of hurt or fear, she girl looked at the woman with fake innocence. “Didn’t my father meet you in a whorehouse?”

The soldiers shifted uncomfortably. This was definitely not something they should be involved in.

The Lord rose, slamming his hands on the table. “Go to your room!” he roared.

The girl kept her gaze on her paled step mother, a smirk gracing her beautiful face as she rose, apple still in hand. She made a show of scrapping the chair as she stood, then doing it again as she pushed it in. Once she got to the door she turned, dipping her head.

“Brave warriors.” she addressed, then raised her head to the General, repeating the action and calling him his fill title.

That was the first time Optimus heard his name fall from her lips, and he liked it.

Then she spun on her heels. Her father’s call of her name stopped her.

She turned to face them again, doing a very exaggerated curtsy. “Sperm giver. Whore.”

It was very clear who that was intended for.

Then she rose to her fill height, took last look at every soldier who stared at her in wonder and bit the apple. She spun again, pushing the doors open. “Jack! Come on, we’re going to the tavern!”

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

POV: You’re a British tourist that got lost in the Nevada desert

Bonus 👇:

Part 2

[transformers-spike]

Mmmm handholding intimacy part two

[raspberrighost]

... big metal wife

[3ic95id864pg]

Thundercracker [Twitter:@percivore]

[tamayakii]

Imagine the long car rides with Optimus, sitting in the driver seat, hands off the wheel and singing whatever song you requested the auto-bot to play through the radio- Giggling as you ‘pretend’ to drive whenever a cop is in the next lane. Just days long car rides… stopping wherever you want to for the night. Stargazing in the middle of the desert, dozing off and him pulling off the road, tires digging into the dirt as he does so.

The lights slowly turning off one by one, but he leaves the engine on- just until he’s assured that you are deep in sleep, letting it be a white-noise for you.

Kissing the dashboard!!! He can’t go into his bipedal form when there are strangers around, so it’s the closest you can get.

Him revving the engine when you kiss the plastic out of the blue, the rumble shaking the cab of the truck.

[smallestapplin]

OPTIMUS LIKES TO PUT READER INTO A FULL NELSON OR A MATING PRESS! ANY POSITON THAT LETS HIM FEEL HOW DEEP HE CAN GO INTO READER!

Yes absolutely he does! Written from mostly Optimus's pov so cybertronian language is used.

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Optimus is a big softie at heart, especially for his darling. You're so small compared to him even if he uses mass displacement as best he can.

You're still tiny compared to him, but yet someone so much smaller than him captured his spark. You're so stunning, he loves to look at your face while he frags your cute valve.

He likes any position that gives him a better view of your face.

But given his size, even a full Nelson lets him lean over you to see what lewd expressions you're making, letting him see your greedy hole sucking him back in.

And oh your cries.

Your pleads for him, for more, he can't deny you, he's weak to you.

"Optimus! F-fuck, S'deep!!" How you try so hard to cling to him as he folds you and manhandles you however he wants.

He loves you so much, loves kissing you as you overload. You're so precious to him, he loves you, adores you.

He wants nothing more than to ravish you, to pour his love into you day in and day out, oh if only he wasn't so busy he'd stay with his spike buried deep inside you all the time.

Maybe even keep his helm between your legs and lick you clean.

[paperstarwriters]

To the Soft and the Cold

Optimus Prime x Reader

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Despite being a giant metal robot, sometimes people call Optimus soft. Despite being a soft squishy human, sometimes people call you cold.

Masterlist | Transformers Masterlist

Word count: 1,397

───・❅・❄・❆・❄・❅・───

"It's funny."

"Hm?"

The wind blew past you, sweeping through your clothes and cooling you down as the setting sun kept you warm. It would not keep so kind a temperature for long—the cold seeped in more and more with every passing minute—but in the Jasper desert a little bit of cool air was a welcome gift. Which, perhaps only highlights the strange disparity between you even more.

"Despite being the soft squishy human from a hot little desert, I'm seen as cold. Despite being the giant transforming iron truck from a planet made of metal,  you're seen as...Soft."

Despite the beauty of the sunset and the growing hues of pink that burst across the horizon, Optimus never tore his optics from you—until now. Averted to the setting sun, he shifted so he was closer to you before he tucked his legs up to his chest, and leaned a little more against the rocks you stood on. His helm now within reach, you swept your hand across his audial fin ignoring the feeling of dust against metal.

Having spent so long in this little desert, the dust and debris has long since ceased to irritate you—even more once you met Optimus. It's far from the worst he's been anyways. Compared to some other times, this layer is at least very thin. It's a thing you've noted lately, how you would often find that Optimus only ever really had a thin sheen of dust overtop him, while some of the other bots like Bulkhead or Arcee, or even Ratchet seemed to have layers upon layers of sand and grime. At best, they only cleaned when it became awfully visible, at worst they'd clean only when the grime began to impede their functioning. You didn't blame or judge them of course. Cleanliness could take a bit of a back seat in the face of ensuring both your own and an entire easily squishable population's survival.

It made it easier to touch and feel him though. Sometimes you liked to think that it made it easier for him to feel you.

"Do you think so too?" Optimus asked, the fin you had been petting for a while now twitching slightly and encouraging you to reach for the bottom side of it.

Despite your temptations, you're cautious not to reach too far, knowing the twitch of his fins were hardly under his control. It's never really happened before, even as his fin twitched as your hand remained against it, but you still can't help the natural fear of a big metal object slashing through the air and slicing or crushing your arm.

"Think what?" you ask, sweeping your thumb across the metal you hold. It's hardly any movement at all, but you can see how Optimus relaxes at the feeling. It's a little hard to wrap your head around—how such a big bot can feel such a small thing—but you're grateful for the little kindness that you’re allowed to give.

"Do you think I'm soft?"

You answer immediately. You answer without thinking.

"Yeah."

His fins go still.

Could you really deny that Optimus was soft? When he leaned against the surface you stood on, placed his helm so close to you so that you could touch him. When he snuck the both of you away and carved time from his hectic and important schedule just to read poetry with you—Primus, not even just for you. When he'd offer to bring snow back for Raf to see, when Miko and Jack would struggle in their classes—a miniature, distracting problem in the face of planetary survival and war—but Optimus would still offer advice from his experience and knowledge as an archivist and help if he had an extra moment to spare. When he'd calmly console Bee or Ratchet or compliment any member of his team...

It was impossible to see him as anything but soft and tender and kind.

You knew, of course, that many criticized that. War was no place for a person to be soft. It lead to enemies being spared, left to kill another day, left to take another one of your own when you didn't take one of theirs. Optimus had been criticized many a time for that lingering trace of softness around Megatron, the sort that made him falter, and let Megatron get the upper hand.

Soft, perhaps, is an insult to someone like him.

"I mean when you're with us," you blurt trying to remedy Optimus' spiraling thoughts. "You're soft with the kids and your team, I don't think that it's a bad thing to be kind to at least—"

"I don't think you're cold,"

"…What?"

He lifts a servo and as gently as he can manage, he brushes it against your stomach and chest. It still manages to knock you back a step, but once you lean into his touch, you find comfort in the tender motions

"You're warm,” he muses, optics trained intently on the the contact between his digit and your torso. “You're soft as well."

The laughter that bubbles up in your chest isn't meant to sound mocking, but you can't help but worry if it does. You've received many cold criticisms for the cruelty of your delight, even when you never intended to mock or harm. It makes you guarded, weary.

When you look at Optimus, all you see is his soft blue eyes, bright against the darkening sky, and the softest little curve of a smile upon his lips.

Soft. Warm. Tender. When he looks at you like you hang the stars in the sky, how could you describe him as anything else?

"I didn't mean it like that," you grouch instead. Averting your eyes back to the horizon where the sun had already long slipped down. The hues of orange and gold are the only traces of it left, and the darkness approaches with astounding speed.

It's cool, and soft and, tender. A welcome relief against the desert heat.

The night is nice as well, but not nearly as kind to you as the cool metal of his digit.

"I know." Optimus chuckles a little, his smile growing wider.

In the face of it you can't help but run through anything and everything you could do to keep the broad grin on his face, knowing it was a fleeting rarity amidst all of his hardships. You wish you had met under better circumstances. Even if he was still an archivist rather than a powerful faction leader selected by an alien god, you'd still want to be with him. Perhaps then, without the weight of two worlds resting on his shoulders, you could wring a smile from his face and keep it there for longer than an hour.

Inevitably it falters, and eventually it falls away. You don't know what had caused it, but it strikes a pain in your chest all the same.

"I meant... In the way you refer to me as soft as well," Optimus clarifies, once again shifting his digit to rub patterns against what little of you he could touch. "You're warm. You're kind and sweet and tender. You say I'm soft as if you aren't warm."

Your body decides to take his words as advice, as your cheeks and chest grow warm under Optimus' scrutiny. Once more delight burst across his face, and his digits curl around you, to allow his thumb to press a little firmer against your warm chest.

"So warm..." he hums, delighting in your embarrassment.

You try, and fail to tuck yourself away from his scrutiny. You could have done a better job at it, you know, but the chance to watch the liquid delight wash over his features is a moment you would never squander. So you let him grin and ridicule you in silence, the delight in his eyes, combining with a pillow-soft look, as you settle down in your half-hiding position leaning against his thumb.

"So... Soft," you reply.

Despite your whisper, you know Optimus can still pick up the soft sound of your voice, so keenly attuned to listening for you. Even then, you continue to hide halfheartedly, still taking the chance to watch Optimus laugh and still trying to hide the warm look that was surely growing on your face.

You didn't want it to be too easy for him to prove himself right, after all.

[runicarbiter02]

I’m sure this is a very common take, but I haven’t had any motivation to write fandom stuff lately, so I wanted to get this little bit down while I had the inspiration

—

Being the human partner of a Cybertronian, any Cybertronian really, and turning this huge, hulking, intimidating bot into a giant mechanical cat with some gentle touches, some kisses, and sweet words. Standing on your bot’s shoulder, gently stroking a hand over their cheekplate, and listening to that earthshaking rumble of their engine as they purr. Your bot gently nudging you with their cheek or nose when you stop, silently insisting the continued touch and affectionate words. Your bot mass displacing and crawling into your bed, arranging pillows on your lap before laying their head down and promptly falling into a well deserved recharge. (Let’s pretend that they wouldn’t shatter the bed frame just by putting a little weight on it, lmao-) Your bot trying to teach you chirolinguistics, not realizing that you don’t have the same kinds of sensors in your palm as they do, leaving you incredibly confused. Your bot relishing in the tiny flickers of unabashed emotion they get from your very weak organic EM field. Singing softly to your bot, only for them to croon one of their favorite Cybertronian tunes right back, and the both of you giggling over just how vastly different your music is from each other’s. Your bot trying to teach you the Cybertronian language, and you trying to teach them about human art/literature/philosophy/etc. You and your bot being soft and cute and fluffy. Send tweet 🏃‍♀️💨

—

I hope you don’t mind me tagging you, but you’re the one who motivated me to get back into writing!!! This lil drabble certainly isn’t my best work, but it’s the most I’ve done in awhile, haha @revelboo

[fandom-lover2]

My Sword Is My Shield, And I Shall Never Bend

Chapter Five - Music And Mead Make Happy Men

Word Count - 2538

-image not mine-

Chapter Four - No Politics At The Table

Chapter Six - We Can Fade Away Together

Optimus could not stop thinking about what Saiph had said. Mostly because he knew she was right. All this fighting, all this death, it broke their futures more than it saved them. All the fighting was doing now was destroying their chances of rebuilding Cybertron. If the war ended, when it ended, all that would be left was barren land.

But Saiph had also been right, and the General was ashamed to admit this, that he was too stubborn to meet Megatron to talk of peace.

Perhaps stubborn was the wrong word, he knew no solution would come of it. Megatron would not yield and would not agree on a peaceful resolution for the kingdom’s future. Any talks of surrender they had would be treated as the perfect opportunity to plan an ambush and would only end in more fighting.

Perhaps this war was not meant to end peacefully, but rather only through one side completely eradicating the other, and everything else in the process.

No, Optimus needed to have hope. If not for himself, then for his followers, his allies, for the good and innocent people of Cybertron who had not deserved this.

Dinner after Siaph’s departure had been uncomfortable and silent. Everyone ate quickly, and then dispersed. The Autobot warriors had full bellies and, once again, tired bodies. Many settled down for the night, Ratchet going to check on Bumblebee a final time before retiring for the day.

Optimus could not sleep, did not even bother to try. He knew his mind was too preoccupied. All Saiph had said, Saiph herself, it was all playing on his mind.

So, he went for a walk.

The cool night air ruffled through his hair, catching his cloak as he scrolled the town’s streets. Many were empty, market closed for the day and everyone retiring for the night. But, when the wind blew just right, Optimus could hear the music. The tavern.

Saiph said she would be at the tavern, not that that had any sway on his decision. He just happened to be interested in going to have a look, maybe get a glass of mead for himself.

Following the music, he finally found it. Men stumbled in and out the doorway, the band and cheers filling the hair, mixing with the stench of ale. Slipping between drunken men, the general made his way inside. He looked around, his height giving him an advantage to see over the crowd to find her.

He soon found that wasn’t needed.

There she was, hair untethered once again. She was in a simple dress, barefoot and atop a table. She was singing along with the men, but the words never met Optimus. It was her smile that he focused on, the joy in her eyes as she looked around the room at the mirthful men.

When was the last time his men had been so carefree? When was the last time he had smiled? She looked over, and her eyes caught his. She paused for just a moment, taking the General in, and then resumed her dancing and singing.

Optimus decided standing there like an idiot was not a good look, so he made his way to the bar and found an open seat. Somehow, over the cheers and chants, he managed to order a drink.

He had taken about two sips when the song changed, and almost dropped his mug when Saiph appeared beside him.

“If you’re here, that means it over, right?”

Optimus frowned, leaning down to he could he sure he heard her properly, and her him. “What is over?”

“Dinner. Dinner is over.” she elaborated.

Optimus nodded, and watched in confusion as a smile spilt across her face, her eyes taking on a dangerous glint of joy.

“Come on.” She reached down, grabbing his hand and pulling.

Optimus had no choice but to slip from his chair and follow her out the tavern, abandoning his cup on the bar counter and following the parting she made as she dashed away.

The cool night air greeted them as they turned left out the tavern, heading back towards the mansion.

Some of the men laughed at the urgency, mistaking the situation. She did not give him a chance to slow down and explain.

Her tiny, smooth hand remained latched into his.

“Come on!” she smiled, pulling him along behind him as she raced towards the house.

His heart pounded as he followed after her, watching her hair bounce as she led him through the town with only the light of the moon to guide her.

It was so simple, just run and let her guide him. Just keep her close, and everything would make sense.

With every step following her, Optimus felt a year of war and burdens and hatred, and pain, and responsibility melt away. Running with her was all he needed. It made him feel alive, so simply at peace.

He found himself wishing they would never find the house, but in no time at all the moon was blocked out by brick and glass.

Only, she wasn’t going to enter the house. Or at least, not through the front door. She pulled him to a side entrance, past the stables and the servant’s quarters to a door.

Without knocking, she shoved the door open and pulled the General inside.

The kitchen. She had brought him to the kitchen. The very busy kitchen, where staff were still bustling around.

“Are we almost ready?” she asked, letting go of his hand.

He tried to not look sad about it, missing the warmth.

“Yes. Final trays are being prepared.” The head chef answered, carrying a half full tray of the chicken that had been for dinner.

“Good. We’ll need to move fast.”

“What is happening?” The General decided to ask, because he was wildly confused. Why would they need to move food so quickly?

Saiph turned to look at Optimus with a smirk, “You’ll see. But we need to do it fast, and no one can know.”

The door leading to the main house opened, and a few more staff carried in the final trays of food. The metal plates were placed on the large central table, and the food was sorted to be placed onto smaller trays.

Optimus watched. Why would she be so interested in the food being thrown out? Maybe she wanted some, since she had missed most of dinner?

“Ok, we’re ready.” The chef spoke, walking over to them and bowing to Saiph.

“Let’s go. By now they should be-”

Everybody froze when there was the sound of a door knob rattling, and then the door connecting the kitchen to the main house opened once again.

Apparently, the soldiers weren’t expecting anybody to be on the other end either, because Ironhide and Jazz froze upon seeing they were not entering an empty kitchen.

“Uhh, what’s up Boss?” Jazz greeted.

“I don’t know.” Optimus replied.

“Hurry up and get in here.” Saiph urged.

The soldiers followed her orders, filing into the kitchen. All 18 of them and Sunstreaker closed the door.

“Great. More hands will make this faster. Everyone grab a tray.”

General Optimus still had no idea what was going on, but he was not about to stand around questioning her. Not when she looked so attractive with her stern expression and determined eyes.

He took a tray closest to him, and his men followed his lead.

“Optimus, what?” Ratchet managed to ask as he passed his leader, but all the General could do was shrug.

Saiph took a tray too, and when everybody had accumulated all they could carry, she nodded to the kitchen boy and he opened the door.

She led the way back out, through the stables, into the streets and towards town.

“What the hell is going on?” Ironhide gruffly asked.

In response, he was shushed by half the staff and Saiph.

“They may be busy screwing themselves silly, but they could still hear you. Shut up and walk.” Saiph whispered, and Optimus tried to fight the smile at his lieutenant’s blush.

It took a couple minutes’ walk to get to the town’s centre, and Optimus was surprised to see it full. Not only full, decorated.

All around the fountain, tables were set up and candles burned. Lanterns hung from strings, illuminating the centre. People stood around in small crowds, children close to their, the band from the tavern stood to one corner preparing to start playing.

When they noticed the approaching trail of food, they cheered.

This was food left over from the feast, supposed to be fed to the pigs or tossed in the sewers. That was how the rich were, uncaring of anyone not equal to them. And they certainly didn’t care what happened to their left-over food.

That was how things go.

But here she was, his gorgeous Saiph, hand delivering food to the people in secret. The food from her house, a meal she did not end up eating that was meant for her, and she was arranging a secret meeting to feed the people.

People who were starved by her father.

The soldiers looked rather stupid, just standing there dumbfounded with trays of food in their arms. Then again, Optimus was doing the same.

Saiph had placed her tray down and was speaking to a group of people. The remaining kitchen staff had placed their trays down too, beginning to help distribute the food to the people.

Optimus moved forward, walking across the centre and placing his own tray down. His men followed his lead, placing their own trays on any available space on the tables.

“Please, everyone!” Saiph addressed the crowd. “Dig in!” She gestured to the food with a smile.

The people, hungry and overworked, visibly relaxed as they were handed plates of food. The tension in their shoulders loosened, the smiles reached their eyes. The children ran around, chasing one another. The band began to play again.

Optimus moved slowly, watching in awe as he moved to sit against the fountain.

His men scattered around, some moving to help hand out food. Others were stood to the side, watching the events with gentle smiles and mugs of mead. Jazz was with the band, singing along.

Then, she was beside him again. She handed him a mug.

“For earlier.” she supplied.

He took it with a thanks, grateful that he had an excuse to let their fingers brush together.

“So, you do this every night?” he asked after watching the crowd with her for a time.

She shook her head, and looked down at her lap. “Not enough food on a normal night. Only when there’s a feast.”

“They appreciate it.” He reassured, reaching over and placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I want to do more.”

Oh, why was this woman making him fall harder in love with her? He’d only know her for a day, and not even a full one at that.

Saiph looked up, and then was rushing to stand. For a brief second, the General thought they were caught, or under attack, or something far worse.

But there was no threat. Just an elderly lady.

Saiph rushed to her side, taking her arm and beginning to help lead her to an open chair. She smiled at something the elder woman said, then laughed politely and helped her sit. Reaching up, she unlatched her cloak and placed it around the woman.

It wasn’t a cold night, the last few days of summer still clinging to the air, but it was not warm enough to be running around in short sleeves.

As she moved from the elder woman, Optimus approached her, unclasping his own cloak and wrapping it around her before she had a chance to see him appear from behind.

“I would be ok.” she defended, but did not make a move to remove his cloak. In fact, she wrapped it tighter around herself.

And then he looked up at him, and past him, and her smile dropped. “Oh my Primus.”

The General turned, and his heart dropped.

It was Bumblebee, being guided by the young boy Raf and Perceptor.

Saiph rushed past the Prime, a hush settling over the crowd as they began to notice the young man. A few of the citizens bowed.

Optimus often forgot that Bumblebee came from a Nobel family, and therefore was used to this kind of lavish life. Or at least had been, before joining the war efforts.

Saiph reached his side, and angrily gestured around, her ire aimed at the house doctor. He seemed to try reassure her, and Raf tried add his own opinion, but she cut them all off.

Bumblebee stopped her, reaching over to grab hold of her arms and pulling her into him.

He held her close, resting his chin on her head and closing his eyes. She said something, and he cracked a smile, releasing her.

“Bad idea.” Ratchet startled the General, Ironhide coming up on his other side.

“I did not-”

“Oh please Prime, you wear your thoughts on your face.” Jazz cut him off, joining the growing crowd.

“We won’t be here long, and when we leave it will be for the front lines again.” Ironhide started.

“She will try to join us.” Jazz observed.

“Only thing harder will be keeping Bumblebee here.” Ratchet added.

“She will not join the war. You heard what she said at dinner.” The General defended on her behalf.

“Yeah, but she seems to be the type to fight for what she wants.” Sideswipe joined the group.

“She will not leave them.” The General gestured to the other two people who had joined the family reunion.

“But you cannot stay here to be with her.”

Optimus was slightly offended Ratchet even thought to add that, but his medic was not wrong. It startled Optimus how easily he was willing to actually consider staying with her.

All these years, all they had gained, and he was going to throw it away for a pretty girl.

But Saiph was not just a pretty girl, she was a woman. A strong woman, a proud woman, a smart woman.

“She would make a good Queen.” Ironhide spoke up.

An odd thing to say, but he was not wrong.

“Maybe we could stay a few more days.” Jazz decided to add. “Make sure none of Meggie’s men followed us, see if we can get a few more supplies while we’re here.”

“And I would like to ensure Bumblebee adjusts well to the environment, and that he receives the care he should.” Ratchet casually added as he sipped his mead.

“I want to see how well that blacksmith can wield a hammer.” Ironhide cracked his knuckles.

“I want more mead.” You could always count on Sideswipe to be honest.

“A few more days would not hurt.” The General agreed, watching as Saiph had now led her cousin to sit and was holding a plate of food for him to pick at. “I believe this town has something for all of us.”

“Or someone.” Ratchet muttered into his mug of mead, and the small crowd dispersed.

Someone. In the General’s case, it was definitely a someone.

Tags: @simpsallthetime1997

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

Part 2 of when you’re a British tourist that got lost in the Nevada desert

Part 1

Continue under the cut 👇👇

I gave up shading this part 😭😭

Apologies for the inconsistent comic style idk wtf I'm doing

[3ic95id864pg]

His antennae extend when he is embarrassed [Twitter:@kiceinboredom]

[skeletons-can-draw-too]

hello, love your art! how about some tfp optimus doing domestic stuff with his human?

Ahhhh here he is! I’ve also never drawn tfp Optimus before so I hope he looks good :3

[smallestapplin]

Wedding bells!

Commissioned by @reallyshadowycollective as a continuation of this previous comm!

I’d also like to thank @savvymantis and @peachypede for helping me write this and beta reading for me!

Warnings : gn!human reader, headcanons based on conjunx ceremonies, and fluff.

Word count : 1,045

Optimus prime x reader

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Optimus smiles at where you lay on his chassis, his spark thrumming in tune of your heartbeat. After unintentionally spark bonding with him it’s been quite the experience, feeling his raw emotions through you never fails to make you flustered at just how much he truly loves you. Though the same could be said for Optimus who always can feel your most intense emotions and can send a little love back through the bond, easily soothing any worries or troubles.

It takes so much to get used to, but you wouldn’t have it any other way with your big mech. One careful digit rubs up and down your back, enjoying the moment before he speaks.

“How would you prefer our ceremony be, my spark?” His low voice sends a tremble down your spine.

You lift your head up to look at him, a hum vibrates in your throat as you try and think.

“Well, what are some traditions cybertronians have? Maybe we could combine some of our cultures?”

Optimus smiles softly, the age on his face plate showing as smile lines begin to show.

“I’d offer you my innermost energon, but I am not sure how it would work with your organic body,” his thumb gently rubs across the top of your head, “perhaps I could make you a veil or sash in the colors of the nebula, Earth fabrics are much easier to come by than on cybertron.”

Your eyes sparkle at the mention and he can’t help but chuckle at how cute you are, always so excited to learn more about cybertronian culture.

“On Cybertron conjunxes to be would hand craft or buy a veil, sash, or shoulder cape, often in pink, purple, green, yellow, something that would match your conjunx’s paint job.” Optimus’s optics soften remembering his home planet, thinking back on traditions that haven’t been held in so long, “Fabric was rare back home, it was a luxury, and so it became a romantic gesture to get some for your beloved.”

You move up, sitting further up his chassis to kiss the underside of his jaw, "A veil would look beautiful on you.”

Optimus blinks, his optics cycling as he processes your words, his cheeks dusting a light blue flustered by such a saying.

 "Ah. You believe so?" His voice is soft, bashful even.

"Absolutely, to make you a pretty veil of purple and yellow, maybe with some star-like designs. Would you want one, or would you prefer a sash?"

You can feel your own cheeks heating up almost burning like it’s you who’s being praised, your heart rate picking up filling with so much love it’s overwhelming, still not used to the deeper connection that the spark bonding has allowed.

"Well…It's tradition for Primes to wear a cape to their ceremonies.” 

Your eyes narrow at him, his voice may be even but you can feel the slight change in feel through the bond.

"That’s a fun fact, but what does Optimus want to wear to his ceremony?"

“My love, it’s fine, truly.” He chuckles, though it’s coy.

“No, I don’t want you to feel like you have to wear a cape just because you’re a prime. It’s our big day, one we both are sharing, I want you to have something you want.” You lean into his neck cables, nuzzling against him with a smile on your face as his engine begins to rumble, happy and content.

Carefully the large mech leans into you, basking in your warmth against him.

 "Anything you offer will be perfect, as it will have come from your hands, your spark. But you will need similar garments. Do you have a preference?" Though he already has a feeling you’re leaning towards a veil for him, and he cannot lie, the idea of you making him a veil and wearing it for your ceremony makes his spark soar.

You hum, thinking about his question but nothing really comes to mind.

"Hm…” You hum, thinking about his question but nothing really comes to mind, “Not really. I trust you to find something that suits me, I know you have good taste.”

You kiss his neck, smiling at his engine purring. You both fall into a comfortable silence, thinking of what else to plan for or ask, or maybe if there is something you two are forgetting? You are broken from your thoughts when Optimus wraps his servos around you, moving you from your place and setting you beside his helm, allowing him to roll over and face you.

"We spoke of the traditions of Cybertron, but what of Earth? This is your ceremony as well; what do Earth weddings usually consist of?"

Blinking a few times a light bulb goes off in your head, realizing you didn’t mention any human traditions.

"Oh! For where I'm from, there's usually an officiant, someone legally able to create binds between two people. I imagine Fowler wouldn't mind filling that role. Ratchet could too; he'd just need to fill out a form online."

Optimus hums, noting human ceremonies sound simpler than he thought, perhaps a few more steps than Cybertronian ones, but still easy enough.

"That is quite simple. There are no other requirements?"

"Not for an officiant. There are also witnesses, usually in the form of bridesmaids and groomsmen. We can talk with the others about who stands at your side and who stands at mine, though."

"Witnesses…?” Optimus tilts his helm a little. Sure ceremonies could have family and amicas, but it wasn’t a requirement.

You softly laugh at confused puppy-like expressions.

"To corroborate that we are married by a legal officiant, silly.” Your smile widens as you remember another detail, “Then there's cake! The couple usually cut the first slice together. I've already been talking with Ratchet about being able to make energon goodies, so we can make one cake-shaped for our ceremony too.” You aren’t sure why you feel so shy after rambling so much, meeting his soft blue optics with a nervous glance, “If you'd want to do that?”

A rush of affection rushes through your body, your eyes stinging with tears threatening to spill down your cheeks from the intensity. Optimus reaches to you, the knuckle of his index finger gently rubbing against your cheek.

"Yes. I wish to do everything with you."