I have no idea what this is, a blurb, if you will.
Contains: fem-human!reader x Optimus, unrealized pining on Optimusβ end.
Aged, battle-worn Optimus Prime who has taken refuge back on Earth to handle localized Decepticon sightings with his comrades. In his absence, Bumblebee had resumed command once more, establishing a base on a young womanβs countryside property, your acreage. The details of this settlement are unclear, and Optimus is cautious, even with Bumblebee acting as guarantor of your trustworthiness.
Your first meeting is polite, succinct; he is tired, and wishes to rest. He does so in the west field, observing his brethren and you from the outskirts. Always observing.
You hold the faceplate of Bumblebee and tell him to be good before he sets off. Reprimand like a vice when his Autobots tussle over disagreements and your grounds become collateral. Chastisements whilst reaching within one of his comradesβ broken chest pieces to retrieve shrapnel that Ratchet cannot.
He wants to believe your benevolence comes from genuine care, but heβs been betrayed by many a human before. Thus, he finds himself outside the small balcony to your bedroom late into the evening. He doesnβt see how his Autobots have collected in hiding to speculate amongst themselves.
βWhat the hell is he doing?β asks one.
βHeβs barely spoken to her,β says another.
βBig guy finally makinβ a move, huh? Mustβve been lonely up in space.β
βHow would that even work?β
βUse your imagination.β
βShut up, all of you.β
Optimus Prime, last of the Prime lineage, Leader of the Autobots, taps gently upon the closed balcony door and awaits.
For a moment, thereβs no response from within your bedroom, and Optimus sighs quietly. He braces a hand on the second level siding of your home and begins to turn away. His Autobots share a collective disappointment, their entertainment dashed for the night.
Sharp, blue optics fixate on you, clothed in a long robe that has been tied at the waist, feet bare and hair undone. A human, with flesh too soft to be touched by hard metal, teeth against ripened fruit.
βGreat Primus, heβs gonna fuck it up.β
βToo bad you wonβt shut the hell up.β
