pls read more if you’re looking to request and/or want to read more of my work ♥️
╭────────────────────.★..─╮
── .✦ 𝓻𝓾𝓵𝓮𝓼!!
if you want to request on anon, please read how to do so -> here <-
be kind, be respectful, be courteous.
no AI
minors dni on 18+ content.
note: i am happy to take requests, but it can take me a while to write. please be patient with me, i am trying my best <3
continuities that i know
╰─..★.────────────────────╯
── .✦ 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽:
drabble/ficlet — short and brief, headcanons/glimpses or half a fic.
one shot — standalone singular full chapter fic.
multi-chapter — part of a larger story, multiple full chapters.
ೃ➷ optimus prime
seperate list here
࣪ ִֶָ☾. megatron
separate list here
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ tarn
hot circuitry - 18+, one shot, inc. megatron.
sparked desires - 18+, one shot.
drabble - 18+
steelbound - 18+, one shot.
housewife - sfw, one shot.
crossed wires 18+, one shot, inc. overlord.
steelbound cravings - 18+, one shot, inc. megatron
cotton circuits - 18+, one shot.
little bird - 18+, multi-chapter.
✧˖° soundwave
steel melody - 18+, multi-chapter.
possession - 18+, multi-chapter.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ possession pregnancy hcs
shared - 18+, multi-chapter, inc. shockwave.
drabble - 18+
boiling point - 18+, one shot.
drabble - 18+
𖥔 ݁ ˖ shockwave
drabble - 18+
chemical desires - 18+, multi-chapter.
drabble - 18+
shared - 18+, multi-chapter, inc. soundwave
⋆ 𐙚 ̊. windblade
drabble - 18+
₊˚ ᗢ. elita
drabble - 18+
drabble - 18+, inc. arcee
drabble - 18+
sizzling fuse - 18+
*:･ velocity
drabble - 18+
⟡ scavengers
free use - 18+
ᯓ★ overlord
crossed wires - 18+, one shot, inc. tarn.
blue fire - 18+, one shot.
drabble - 18+
✦ ₊˚. arcee
sugar sweet - 18+, one shot.
drabble - 18+, inc. elita
ఌ︎. knock out
ficlet - sfw
shut up and drive - 18+
‧˚𓇼 nautica
little dancer - sfw, one shot.
ficlet - 18+
➸⊹ brainstorm
drabble - 18+
₊˚ෆ rodimus
blazing circuits - 18+, one shot.
drabble - 18+
taste - 18+, one shot.
ficlet - 18+
ficlet - 18+
𓆩⟡𓆪 multiple different bots
kinks - 18+
kinks pt. 2 - 18+
cuddles - sfw
cuddles pt. 2 - sfw
positions - 18+
positions pt. 2 - 18+
mistletoe - sfw
spike hcs - 18+
floating lanterns - sfw
joint popping reactions - sfw
₊˚. skyfire
nebula - sfw
✠ dreadwing
drabble - 18+
drabble - 18+
drabble - 18+
⋆୨୧˚ thundercracker
drabble/ficlet - 18+
drabble/ficlet - 18+
ৎ୭ perceptor
starry night - 18+, one shot.
ೀ⋆ fort max
routine maintenance - 18+, one shot.
⋆‧° grimlock
ficlet - sfw
: ̗̀➛ ultra magnus
drunken love - 18+, one shot.
˙⋆✮ drift
drabble - 18+
quanto - 18+, one shot, inc. ratchet
•°. * ratchet
tempered nights - 18+, one shot.
quanto - 18+, one shot, inc. drift
. ݁˖ thunderclash
woven clouds - 18+, one shot.
⊱ ׅ ✧ combaticons
the more the merrier - 18+, one shot (all combaticons).
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
thank u all once again for waiting on this chapter! hopefully they'll be a bit more frequent over the next month now that life has chilled out a bit. happy reading, my loves! ꨄ︎
<- previous
Dust particles flurry and float all around you as you scurry across the training yard quicker than you did the last time you were here. Your feet shift against the dirt as you swing your wooden sword in hopes of landing a blow on your personal knight and, more recently, your training instructor.
Movement is made far easier thanks to the new leathers that have been fabricated for you. It's a rare sight to see you in anything but a dress specifically designed for court, but today you are fashioned in black leather hose that cover your legs entirely, and a black leather tunic with long sleeves and a high neck. Needless to say, you are far better dressed for such an activity.
Your greatest triumph as of right now is that you've actually managed to make Optimus draw his sword, rather than simply sidestepping your attacks. He parries with you, blocking all your advances.
"You are improving, Princess," Optimus announces as he flicks your sword with his. You grunt in frustration, taking another swing from a lower angle in hopes of catching him off guard.
Such a hope would be fruitless in the face of a warrior's skill, and you are soon humbled by Optimus' effortless ease in preventing you from landing an attack on him.
He tuts at you, shaking his helm at such a poor attempt to pull the wool over his eyes.
His next strike lands on your upper arm, an area you were poorly defending, and Optimus would be a fool to pass up such an opportunity. You groan at the impact, jumping away from his line of attack before losing your footing, ultimately tumbling to the ground.
Huffing, you quickly stabilise yourself and ground yourself on your feet once again. You don't bother to dust off your clothing, you've already taken enough tumbles to be coated in a layer of brown dust. Spinning on your toes, you shoot your opponent a displeased look, rubbing your arm to soothe the blooming pain forming there.
"That will teach you to better defend yourself," your knight says. "You have some distance to go if you wish to best me in combat, Princess."
A small smile forms under his faceguard at your tenacity, the stark look on your face that screams determination. Once you have your skills in order, he has no doubt that you will be a formidable opponent. Though it's unlikely you would ever reach his skill level, considering he's had millions of years to hone his abilities.
"You must be thirsty, Princess. We've been sparring for the better part of an hour. A break might be in order, wouldn't you agree?" He offers, extending his servo to take your training sword. You sigh lightly before handing it over to him, looking up into his shielded optics.
"I wouldn't turn down a cold glass of tonic," you agree.
Thessa, your lady's maid, has been standing watch on the outskirts of the training yard. It's been a delight watching you engage another in a way she hasn't seen before, but less enjoyable to watch you fail each time. She won't have the mind to mention that upon your next conversation.
"I will return shortly with some beverages," Thessa announces, her voice stretching through the field of the training yard.
You turn your head to look at her, nodding once with a warm smile as she takes her leave. You can hear the faint clicking of her shoes against the stone flooring, slowly fading out the further she gets.
"Come, Ser," you usher him as you start to walk to the edge of the training yard. You make your way to the elevated pavement that spans around the perimeter, taking a low seat to rest your aching feet. Optimus follows after placing the training swords on the wooden rack, taking a seat next to you.
The dust scattered around the yard settles, returning the training area to a desolate desert that hardly sees any use as of late. Training and battles have been unnecessary in this time of peace, which is a thing to be grateful for.
Looking down at your boots, you're greeted with blotches of brown and grey dust dirtying the previously pristine black leather. More of the dirt splays up your legs, and you dread to think what the rest of you looks like considering you spent more time on the floor rather than crossing it.
"Evidence of a productive session," Optimus says, looking at the state of your leathers.
"I would agree," you answer, taking your gaze to your reddened hands, "My aching hands speak to the productiveness, too."
"That wanes the more frequently you subject yourself to it," he tells you.
"Do your hands ache as mine do?" You ask, finding it hard to believe that he experiences muscle pain considering he doesn't have any muscles to speak of.
He brings his servos before him, displaying them to you and turning them over to show them off. "Not in the same way, I imagine. They can stiffen and seize, and often did in my early training days."
You trace the lines of his servos, the seams that connect each panel. It all works in tandem with itself perfectly, an intricacy that is not so easily fathomed. The joints that allow flexibility, the surface scratches from wear and tear, the glinting metal that seems suffocated by a layer of dust from the yard. It is a marvel wearing the mask of the incomprehensible, witnessing a greatness that has no name in any language you speak.
"You are a wonder of creation," you comment without looking away from his servos. "If all Worldlings were made in the image of The Fated Ones, I must ponder whose image you were created in."
"Flattery from a Princess is high praise indeed," Optimus says matter-of-factly, not divulging any information of his nature.
It occurs to you what you just uttered, and how that may be construed. In truth, you were not intending to lather him with flattery, but instead making an observation aloud. The revelation isn't enough to make you blush, but it does certainly pull you out of the cloud of admiration you found yourself in.
"Would you allow me to ask a potentially uncomfortable question?" Optimus approaches, hoping you'll gratify him.
You look at him with curiosity, thinking it to be out of his character to be so forthcoming. Anything to turn the topic of conversation away from your minor blunder is a blessing, so you'll take it where you can.
"Please. There are no uncomfortable questions," you answer, nodding your approval.
"What of your previous knight? Ronnin? I must admit, I have filled her role, but know very little of what happened to her," Optimus dares to ask.
You take a bracing breath, steadying the pain that arises every time you hear her name. Your lips pull into a small frown as you look forward, unable to face him when you talk about it.
"They say she was slain by a beast outside the castle walls," you inform, "But the beast which was responsible has never been caught. She had little time to say her goodbyes, let alone detail the attack. We were fortunate that Master Ephri managed to bring her to the medical unit before she succumbed to her injuries."
"Has an inquest into her death been undertaken?"
"With the dwindling evidence we have, it would be a tall ask. One could conclude that the event was one of nature. There are beasts in the Alder Woods that are known for hunting indiscriminately, and based on the trails left behind, that is where Ronnin was attacked," you explain, relaying what scarce information you have. You take another breath before peering over at him again. "So, a word of warning: avoid the Alder Woods where possible."
You can't see it, but a flicker of empathy kindles in Optimus' optics. He's known loss. It's a burden he's carried more times than he can count.
"I will heed your warning, Princess."
Silence replaces the conversation you were having, deciding that you no longer wish to speak of Ronnin. Your mourning period is over now, but the grief is yet to leave you. You can't help but wonder what it would be like if Ronnin was the one to train you in sword skills rather than Optimus. If you would take to her teaching style more easily, if she would be less punishing.
The familiar clicking of heels reenters the yard, Thessa quickly making her way in with a platter and two goblets atop it. You lean back to look past Optimus' large frame, smiling once again towards your companion. She may have been employed as your lady's maid, but you've harboured a caring friendship with her in that time.
"Your Highness," she greets, kneeling down behind you and Optimus.
"Lord Yonik advised me that I should prepare you a drink as well, Ser Optimus," Thessa says towards your knight. He peers into the goblet, seeing the bright pink colour of energon.
"You have my thanks, Lady Thessa," he expresses, reaching to grab his goblet.
"I am no Lady, Ser. You may refer to me as Miss," she corrects him politely.
"Be patient with him, Thessa," you say as you grab your drink. "He's still learning."
Your lady's maid stands, bowing her head to you before leaving once again, leaving you alone with Optimus in the training yard. Now would be a good opportunity to talk to him without any prying ears, though you suspect Yonik will be privy to any conversation you have. It's his job, you suppose.
"You know very little of my former knight, but it's dawned on me that I know very little of you," you voice.
Optimus uses his free servo to remove his faceguard, exposing the lower half of his face. He takes a sip of his drink before gazing over at you to meet your look.
"What would you like to know?"
"House Prime, was it? I must admit, I've never heard of it," you engage the conversation, passing it over to him to continue.
"It's not a House, Princess. It's a title," he tells you.
"Now you have my interest," you comment.
He contemplates how much he should tell you. What would be an error to bring to light, but what would be enough to cease your questions.
"On my home planet, Cybertron, being granted the title of Prime proves that you are worthy in the optics of our Maker. You are bestowed with a tool called the Matrix of Leadership, and you are entrusted with Cybertron's progression in the image of greater good."
"So you're a leader?"
That's what you're hearing, at least. You wonder if he has this Matrix of Leadership on him, or if the tool has been gifted to another.
"I was," Optimus states with a fraction of forlorn longing in his voice. "I relinquished my role."
"For what reason?" You pry.
He exvents, bringing his faceguard back to his face and clicking it in place. He places his drink by his side, and you get the message that he doesn't wish to speak of it. To aid the sudden awkwardness, you change the topic.
"What is that in your cup? I've never seen a beverage of that colour," you ask whilst nodding to it.
Your knight clears his vocaliser with a few clicks before answering you. "It's called energon. It's what sustains me, and others of my kind."
"Energon," you repeat, making sure you take important note of it. "I don't believe we have that in Velantra."
"Fret not, Princess. I have brought enough," he advises.
"Oh?" You voice, looking down at the fizzling drink. You're not sure where the rest of his reserves are stored, but you have a hard time believing that he's brought enough to see him through his tenure with you.
"Grant me one last question, Ser. What is a former leader of Cybertron doing here? Serving in the Velantrian Royal Court as the Princess' personal knight?"
You're not sure where Cybertron is, but it's certainly not a place you've heard of. That, paired with his metallic nature, you have to assume that he's probably not from this solar system. Intergalactic study is still young in this current society, but it seems wherever he is from is far more advanced in that field.
"I left of my own volition," he clarifies, "I believed that there was no further purpose for me to serve on Cybertron. I left the planet in a better state than I found it, and decided to hand the mantle to the next generation."
"And you found yourself on the tournament for my sword and shield?"
"Eventually," he says, glancing at you briefly. "I was wandering the galaxy for a while, and on my travels, I discovered this position. I felt drawn to it, so I decided I would try my servo at it."
"Well, Ser Optimus, I am deeply grateful for your nobility and your decision to be here," you voice lightly with a kind smile.
"And I am grateful to be in your service," he replies stoicly. "If you would be so kind, Princess, I am need in of recharge. Would you allow me to excuse myself to my quarters?"
Ah, you were wondering if he ever needed something akin to sleep or rest. He's been by your side or standing guard outside your chambers since being knighted, you were beginning to worry for his health. You take 'recharge' to mean exactly what it sounds like: his form of rest.
"Of course. You need not seek my permission to rest," you reply.
"I will keep that in mind for future. I will request that you refrain from straying too far from the castle walls if it can be helped, as I will be unavailable to accompany you," he asks calmly, grabbing his goblet before standing. He offers you his free servo, which you take softly to make it to your feet.
You're still not quite used to the protectiveness that he smothers you with, adamant on being with you as often as humanly possible, but it's not necessarily unwelcome. You do still have access to your peace, as he does not dare to enter your chambers, so you're making yourself acquainted with the highly frequent company outside of that.
. ݁ ⟡ ݁ .
The conversation you had with Optimus was both pleasant and insightful. You don't take it for granted that you're learning more about the one that is sworn to protect you, sating some of the curiosities that you've had since first laying eyes on him. His character is undeniably noble, but also stoic, which you've found marginally difficult to navigate.
Now properly dressed in your court attire, you walk through the lengthy corridors to your destination. Your leathers have been delivered to the laundrettes, ready to be worn again upon your next training session with Optimus.
Knights, Court Officials, and Lords alike all bow their heads to you as you pass them, but none of them stops you to engage in conversation. It's clear you are journeying to somewhere with intent.
When you halt outside of Lord Yonik's doors, you immediately press both hands against the towering oak to push them open.
As expected, the Chief Advisor is sitting at his desk in the centre of the room. He lifts his head from the text he was studying, immediately standing upon sight of your arrival.
"My Lord," you greet, walking into the grand room. There are a plethora of books and scrolls stored from floor to ceiling on each wall, making this a vault of knowledge fit for the King's Chief Advisor.
"Princess, how may I be of assistance?" Yonik asks with a shallow bow.
"I would like you to show me where Ser Optimus' energon reserves are," you request.
"Why would you worry yourself with such a thing?" The man queries.
"My motive is not of your concern, Lord Yonik. But if you must know, I would like to ensure that I am aware of where his vital sustenance is in case of any kind of emergency," you inform bluntly. Out of every Lord and Lady at court, Yonik undoubtedly challenges you the most. You've seen him do the same to the King and Queen, so you don't take it as any kind of personal slight, but it can still be mildly infuriating.
"Your logic is sound," he comments.
The urge to roll your eyes is only just quelled, resisting doing so in the face of the one you're asking help of in this moment. One day, you hope you may ask for something that he doesn't either combat or have a running commentary for.
"Follow me, my Princess." He gestures to the right-hand wall, taking the lead with you only a few steps behind. He takes hold of a lever that is jutting out between the shelves of the books, pulling it down to unearth a deep rumbling sound that resonates through the wall.
Shortly after, a section of the bookcase emerges before sliding across to reveal a hidden closet-sized room. These are common in the castle, and you're more than aware that Yonik knows of each and every one.
In the middle of the small compartment room, which is dimly lit by a weak candle, sits a single barrel. You furrow your brows, turning to look at the Chief Advisor.
"Is this it?" You ask.
"This is all he brought with him," Yonik answers.
Surely this is not a sufficient amount as he previously advised. You watched him drink a goblet of it in one sitting.
"Do we have means of obtaining more?" You continue.
"It is a foreign substance, of which no elements are harvested naturally on this planet," he advises you. He knows more of Optimus' nature than you do, which you expect. If anyone would know where to source more, he certainly would.
"I will need to address this with him," you mumble more to yourself than to Yonik. "Allow me to take a sample to Master Ephri, he may know of some way to formulate more."
Surprisingly, he doesn't argue with you. Instead, he walks back towards his desk to retrieve a vial from the drawer. You wait for him by the barrel, taking the vial once he hands it to you.
You crouch in front of the barrel, popping off the cork stopper of the vial before filling it halfway from the faucet. You seal the vial again, standing before offering your thanks to Yonik and taking your leave.
Though Master Ephri is undoubtedly talented, he is not specialised in botany or anything of the sort. You have little faith that he could curate something that matches energon, but you believe you know of someone who might.
You slip the vial of energon up your sleeve before returning to your quarters to ready yourself for your outing.
. ݁ ⟡ ݁ .
Mounting your white mare, you slip your feet into the stirrups before stroking her neck to greet her.
"It feels like it's been an age since we've been on a ride together, Atlas."
She snorts, shaking her head to fan her beautiful pearly mane. She is a spoiled beast, never far from a brick of salt or any other treat of her fancy. Groomed daily, and her stable is lined with the finest hay that can be harvested. She was a gift to you from your father on your 5th birthday, and you've grown alongside her ever since.
You take hold of the reins before prompting her to walk on. She elegantly moves out of the stables, much to the dismay of every fussing stablehand in your vicinity.
"My Princess! Please at least tell us when you intend to return!" A stableboy shouts to you. Many of them tried to politely prevent you from leaving, or at the very least have an understanding of where you're headed to.
"I will back before the morrow!" You call behind you before you enter Atlas into a trot, and then a canter.
You're left to assume that at least one of the stablehands has scurried to someone in the castle to inform them of your departure, but they would be far too late to stop you. You can hear an orchestra of cries and calls from the workers, likely protesting the length of your departure, insisting it wouldn't be suitable for you to be gone throughout the night.
It's of no concern to you now. If someone intends to retrieve you, they are welcome to try. But no other horse in that stable can outpace Atlas, not even Optimus' steely mount.
You canter away from the castle grounds, taking a thin riding trail that leads to a landscape of rolling hills and forests. Atlas' hooves crash against the ground as your hooded cape carries in the wind behind you. You only wear it to conceal your identity, not fancying stumbling across any townsfolk who may want to draw you into conversation. Usually, you wouldn't mind, but you have a matter to deal with today that requires prompt attention.
Once you're sure you're far enough away from the castle, you pull Atlas into a walk. You glance over your shoulder, watching the facade of your home slowly shrink in the distance. It is a mighty place to call home, and you rarely get to see it from this angle. It sits high up from the sea level, built atop jagged volcanic rock for defence purposes. It dominates the skyline of Velantra, visible from every corner in the surrounding towns and villages.
It's beautiful to see the harmony of the town you reside over, golden lamps nothing more than pinpricks of light at this distance, which seem as though the stars have fallen from the sky to bless the villagers. The ambient luminosity flickers as the day starts to retire, the sun slowly retreating below the horizon.
The journey will take a few hours, meaning you'll reach your destination well after nightfall. Luckily, even at night nothing in Velantra is completely pitch black. The moon and stars that hang in the sky are so bright that they keep the landscapes illuminated somewhat, not to mention the countless torches and lanterns that are placed around the riding trails.
Atlas takes you along the flat, grassy terrain that leads into the valleys of the rolling hills. A handful of huts are dotted along the surface of the hills, belonging to a small group of villagers.
As you disappear into the hilly territories, you pass by various locals who are on foot. They nod their greetings, which you return in kind. Atlas knows these routes well, her ease blending into yours to keep you calm on your solo travels.
The rolling hills eventually become taller, jagged mountains after what seems like a couple of hours. A blanket of snow rests over the highest peaks, and the symmetry of them strikes you with awe. This is artistry blessed to the land by higher powers.
You've entered a territory where civilisation is few and far between, these climates are not ideal for living creatures. The drop in temperature is almost immediate, sending chills down your spine.
Beyond the last bend of the mountain's path, you're met with the sight you were hoping for. A hidden, tucked-away cover that clings to the cliff's edge. A nest of lanterns decorate the face of it, only just visible through the thick fog that swallows the atmosphere.
Wooden bridges that seem older than Velantra itself stretch from ledge to ledge, crooked railings that have deteriorated over the years are wrapped with vines, and some loose ropes hang from them. There are small coves that each bridge leads to, but based on the state of the bridges, you'd hazard a guess that no one lives in them.
Atop the cliff, you can see small, quaint towers with thatched roofs that are warmly lit internally with orange firelight. Your eyes follow the tall but narrow waterfall that cascades off the edge of the cliff and plunges directly into a turquoise pool that encompasses the bottom of the cliff.
As you follow the flow of water, your eyes land on an archway that leads to an internal cave at the very base of the cliff. If your intel is right, the person you're seeking resides inside of that cave.
Dismounting Atlas, you give her a reassuring pet before leaving her to graze on the thin strip of green grass curling around the foot of the mountain.
"Stay here for me, girl. I'll be back in a moment," you hush to her. She needs the rest after such a long ride, and she's trained well enough that she won't go anywhere without you.
You cross the shallow ravine via the conveniently placed stepping stones, approaching the slightly ominous-looking cave which is said to be home to one of the most ancient beings in all of Velantra. Your steps rustle the pebbles and stones lining the pool, and despite your best efforts, you have no visibility inside the cave from the outside.
Taking the hood of your cape, you remove it from your head to make your appearance visible to anyone who might be inside looking out.
"I come seeking an audience with Sol Madeis," you call, your voice echoing through the hollow space. You're hesitant to step inside, especially considering you have no source of light to guide you, and this is unknown territory.
Upon the lack of response, you try to make your voice heard again.
"I know the hour is late, but if you would be gracious enough to spare me a moment of your time, I would be eternally grateful."
Your voice once again parrots through the rocky cave, presumably either falling on deaf ears or on no ears at all. You look over your shoulder to Atlas, seeing her contentedly grazing as you left her. This trip will have been for nothing if you don't at least speak to the one you were hoping to find. You sigh as you look forward once again, shifting your foot against the pebbles to slowly approach.
As if your advance broke into some kind of threshold, the cave billows with light like dragonfire. Your hair is swept away from your face as each torch lining the cave walls illuminates one after the other, as if signalling your path forward.
The torches crackle, taunting you to come closer and make an entrance. You lace your fingers together, fiddling with your hands as your nerves start to nip at your heels. You weren't sure what kind of reception you were expecting, but this certainly wasn't it.
Your next step is hesitant, just as is the one after. Slowly but surely, you enter the cave, following the trail of torches. This seems like the kind of place that might prey on your fear, but despite your best efforts, you can't seem to unclench your jaw.
It feels as though your heart is in your throat, almost deafening you. There are legends and ballads about Sol Maldeis, and a part of you on the journey began to worry that she was nothing more than a myth. Right now, in this fearful moment, you're praying she's a myth, and this is just a strange coincidence.
A low, humming light comes into view at the end of the cave, one that is oddly humanoid in shape. You take a brave breath as you come closer, meeting face to face with the one you seek.
She is elven in her structure. Tall, willowy, long pointed ears. The only thing that makes her different is that she seems to be entirely fabricated of yellow-white light. Her entire appearance is nothing short of dazzling. She has long, beautiful hair that reaches down past her waist, and her features are defined enough that you can make out her face. She wears a long robe, which is also woven with light. It's as though you're looking at the sun in elven form.
"Come, my child," her soft, airy voice speaks, offering you her hand.
You gaze upon it, cautious to take it. Swallowing your fears, you slip your hand into hers so that she may lead you into a separate area of the cave, one that she's decorated as her dwelling. The way she moves is unlike anything you've seen before, floating through the air like an apparition.
"Y—You are… Sol Madeis?"
"And you are the Princess of Velantra, heir to the throne," she responds.
"I didn't expect you to know me," you admit shyly.
"I know everyone born to this land," she says.
As she stops in the middle of the illuminated room, she uses her free hand to signal a sign that is unknown to you. To the side of you, from thin air, comes a throw of cushions.
Magic is not uncommon in Velantra, but you've never seen it used for that purpose. And with such ease, too.
"Sit, and tell me of your troubles."
You take her up on her offer, sitting down on the arranged pillows as she walks to a counter decorated with trinkets and crockery. You glance around the rest of the room, amazed by the maximalism that is organised so perfectly. There are hanging charms, gems, crystals, flowers, and tapestries. Nearly every inch of the cave is detailed with something.
"I'm sorry to come to you with a request," you start. She has her back to you, preparing something on the counter that you can't see. "You see, I have a new knight. But he isn't from Velantra, or this planet. Instead, he hails from the stars."
Perhaps you sound insane, but to her, you're not sure anything sounds absurd.
"I discovered today that he is fuelled by a substance known as energon. The word is foreign to me, but perhaps you know more of it," you continue, taking the vial of energon from the pouch harnessed around your waist. "I also discovered that his supply is short, and I fear for what will happen to him if he runs out."
Sol Madeis turns from the counter and walks over to you, holding two cups of tea. She sits next to you on the pillows, and you are blinded by her sheer beauty up close. She is ethereal, there is no better word for it.
You take the tea she offers you, but you're unable to look away from her.
"Continue, my dear," she prompts.
"Y—Yes. My apologies. As I was saying, he needs this fuel to live. There's no natural source for it that we know of. Legends say that you are a mystical mage who can make the impossible a reality, so I come to you with a plea."
She looks down at the vial in your hand before she takes it, bringing it up to her eye level to inspect the liquid.
"You wish to know if I can make more?" She asks.
"I would be indebted to you if you could," you reply eagerly, wrapping both hands around your cup of tea.
"Your concern for your knight is admirable. You would take the half days journey to meet with me on nothing more than a rumour, ready to face any danger that might meet you on the road here, and not bring any companion apart from your horse," she observes as she swirls the vial.
"If I may speak freely, I have recently lost my sworn protector. I do not wish to lose another so soon," you say.
"Is that so?" She asks, amused by your reasoning.
What you don't know is that Sol Madeis does not just know everyone born to this land, but also what fate has in store for them. She can see how your life will develop simply by looking at you, but these powers are not to be shared with mortals.
"I will be able to make more for you," she warmly delivers the good news.
You sigh a breath of relief, thankful that your efforts have not been in vain.
"Thank you! This means a great deal to me. Please, name your price and I will see it delivered," you offer.
"No payment or trade is required, Princess. Though I will need a couple of days to perfect the formula."
"That is more than acceptable," you reply immediately, "Please, should you ever need anything that you believe the Crown may assist you with, we will be happy to oblige."
Sol Madeis smiles heartily with a short laugh, taking her bright hand to cup the side of your face.
"Return to the palace, my child. The journey is long, and I should like to see you returned safely. I will have a Fae of Light accompany you, and the energon will be delivered to you in constant supply once ready."
next -> (w.i.p)
y’all are gonna get catapulted into some plot next chapter. anyway, i hope you enjoyed this chapter, and i hope you have a lovely rest of your week! ꨄ︎
Hiiii I did a little study of your Oppy design because it's so cool!! I'm still trying to figure him out as I haven't drawn armor in years hehe. I hope this is okay!! 👉👈🥺
omg this got swallowed up in my inbox bc there was an influx of asks BUT WOWOWOWW omg he’s so BEAUTIFUL!! i love your art style, you’re genuinely so talented!! thank you so much for taking the time to draw this <3 you ATE !!
Not really a question, more of a comment- across the divide was so good I legit had to print it out to have a binder copy- the purification of the internet is terrifying and I was mortified over the idea that this would potentially get sniped :[
I’m not going to distribute it, obvi. This is just for me and my autistic ass because you wrote the characters SO DAMNED WELL that it’s influenced the way I write these characters, as well-
Thank you so much for making this, I adore it endlessly!!!!
i am literally SCREAMING this has gotta be the BIGGEST compliment i have ever received!! thank you SO MUCH RAHHH i’m so flattered what the HELL!! i don’t even know what to say rn FJSKJDKSJD. if u ever want to see any kind of spin off chapter for ATD you just LET ME KNOW and it will be done 🗣️‼️
literally kicking my legs and twirling my hair rn, i deadass can’t believe it. to think anyone would like my work enough to want a physical copy blows my MIND
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hello! I first started reading your fics on Ao3, and I am obsessed with how you write! The detail, the thought put into the plots, it's amazing! You seriously are such a talented writer, and you are giving me the motivation to start writing my own stories again. I have had horrible writer's block for the past few years, and after reading your stories, it's giving me the motivation to start up again.
I was wondering if you were going to do a part four to 'Danger: High Voltage?' I love how you write Optimus 🫣 I am so invested in seeing what happens next with Megatron as well. I am curious as to what Optimus will do when he finds out about what Megatron did, too.
Again, your writing is beautiful, and please take your time and give yourself breaks!
‧₊˚ tfp optimus x human fem reader x megatron 18+
• danger: high voltage — pt. 4 • 5.7k words
-> warnings/tags: minors dni. minor injury, hard sex, squirting, spit/oral lubricant (for megatron). oral, soft sex (for optimus).
HELLOOOO sailor. thank you so much for the kind words. i really appreciate it!! i do love writing so i’m glad ppl are here to read it. i would LOVE to read some of your stuff sometime!! pls send it my way!! writers block do be kicking all our asses fr 😩
<- previous
"What deal do you have with Megatron?" Ratchet asks.
Now is the time to ask. When no one is around, so he can speak his mind freely.
Optimus looks away from the monitor he's working on, landing his sights on his oldest friend who is staring back at him with a thoroughly knowing look.
"I thought Bulkhead had a screw loose when he mentioned it before," Ratchet continues upon Optimus' reluctance to reply. "When he hinted that the human had something to do with why the Decepticons have been unusally quiet."
Optimus listens without interruption, running possible excuses off in his processor. It isn't within his nature to lie, but Team Prime would never understand the nuance of this situation.
"But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Without a word, they vanished from the face of the Earth for months. All of sudden, they reappear without explanation. Since then, they leave for a week, then they're here for a week. Like clockwork. Without failure. It's stringent, too stringent to be passed off as a fluctuating work schedule. And don't get me started on the sounds we hear coming from your habsuite when they're here—"
Ratchet stops himself from the cringe. The idea of being so intimate with the native species of this planet has his chipsets sparking. You're all lovely, but interfacing is another matter.
"We know, is what I'm trying to say," he says. "We know that your relationship together isn't what it was when they were under our care before. I'm not judging you for that, take your pleasures, Primus knows you deserve them. But Optimus, I'm worried."
"There is no need for concern, old friend," Optimus speaks, trying to issue any ounce of reassurance he can without putting his ped in it.
"Then tell me what's going on with this whole thing!" Ratchet pesters, frustrated that he's being kept in the dark.
Optimus exvents, dropping his helm with a shallow shake as he contemplates his options. His digits flinch at his side as he can't help but imagine what you're up to right now.
Ratchet looks at him expectantly, the gnawing anxiety pitted in his frame telling him that his suspicions may very well be true.
"There's a truce," Optimus starts. "The Decepticon activity is low because Megatron and I have come to an agreement."
"Which is…?"
Well, it's not as if Ratchet isn't smart enough to have pieced it all together by now anyway. There's no point in denying it anymore.
"One week I have the human, the next, Megatron has them. We share them," Optimus tells with an uncomfortable look on his faceplates.
"For what purpose? How does one human prevent Megatron from wreaking havoc as he has done for many millennia?" Ratchet asks, truly confused.
"There are… Certain affections in place."
"So you're both interfacing with the human?"
"Yes," Optimus says awkwardly, dryly. He looks away again, too bashful to look at his medic.
"This is absurd, Optimus. A flimsy scheme at best. You know this won't hold for long, right? You realise that? Please tell me you realise that."
The Prime can't help but pull his derma into a taut line, shifting his gaze to the floor. Ever the optimist, he wants to believe that the truce will hold. It's either optimism or flat-out denial, but Optimus isn't sure he wants to know which it truly is.
"I think if you could see the way Megatron is with them, you would understand why I have faith," he mumbles quietly. Perhaps he isn't as confident in this plan as he first thought.
"But it's Megatron. His fancies change on a whim. He's unpredictable and volatile. How long will it take before he tires of this new toy and moves onto the next?"
That's a very good question.
• ꨄ︎ •
"Please Megatron," you whimper as you wrap your legs around his waist. "My pussy is so tired."
"And yet here you are wrapping your legs around me," he coos smugly as one servo trails over the length of your thigh. "You're too embarrassed to admit that you can't get enough of me."
Every day. Multiple times a day. Sometimes multiple rounds in a row. It's relentless how often he's fucked you over the last week. You've barely had time to sleep, all thanks to his ambitious goal of having you squirt. To prove that he is better than Optimus.
Right now, you're sitting on the desk in your room (which isn't really a room, but an open space in Megatron's habsuite), your pussy soaked from the glossa fucking you just received. Once again, he failed to make you orgasm to the heights he was seeking, but he won't give up so easily.
He grabs his spike, leading the weeping tip to your thoroughly used hole. Pressing in, he earns a fractured moan from you as the stretch stings. He slips every inch of his thick spike back into your welcoming cunt.
You stifle a grunt, your eyelids fluttering shut as you ball your hands into fists over the desk. Your muscles are fatigued from how much work he's been putting in with you, so at least he's been gracious enough to put you in a position where he has to put in most of the effort.
More of your moans are rendered muffled as Megatron draws his derma to your lips, connecting in a hot kiss as his thrusts start to pick up. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, cupping one hand on the back of his helm to keep him close. You're hanging onto him as he fucks you for what must be the fifteenth time this week.
His glossa traces over your bottom lip tentatively, and you're surprised that he's being so polite with his wants. You open your mouth for him, allowing his glossa to slip inside. He winds around your tongue, demanding the highest form of passion you can muster. You whimper into his mouth as you feel your lust overcoming you, fuelled by the sensation of his thick tip knocking against your G-spot.
The warlord's former statement about keeping you with him until he can manage to make you squirt holds weight. You're due to be returned to Optimus tomorrow, but at this rate, you don't think that's likely. You have tried to squirt for Megatron. You've thought about it, tried to focus on it, but it never happens. Regardless, you still reach mindbending orgasms, but it isn't enough to satisfy him.
One servo hooks under the bend of your knee, keeping you hoisted on his waist, as the other threads through the roots of your hair. You moan again, slipping your hand from the back of his helm to the nape of his neck. Your fingers brush over the cabling that lives there, taunting that particularly sensitive spot.
A mix of his oral lubricant and your saliva escapes from the corner of your mouth, running down your chin and continuing its path down your neck. His pace continues to be hard and fast, causing the legs of the desk to grate and rasp against the floor.
"Tell me how much you love it," Megatron breaks the kiss to say. The words bounce off your lips, your hazy eyes locked onto the damaged creases stretched over his derma. "I want to hear you say it."
"You know I love it," you reply breathlessly, squeezing your walls intentionally to make him falter.
He nearly growls as his grip on your hair tightens, but rather than wincing, you simply plaster a shit-eating grin on your lips. You squeeze again, tightening your legs around him to pull him impossibly closer.
"Little minx," he chides flirtatiously, upping his pace. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?"
"Yes Master," you hush back, pulling up for another kiss. He indulges you for only a moment before using his sharp dentae to nip at your bottom lip.
He slams his hips at a pace that has sweet cries tearing from your throat. His tip brutalises your walls as the desk beneath you threatens to break.
"Don't stop, Megatron!" You beg, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.
Using the grip on the roots of your hair, he pulls your head back so that you're looking straight up at him. He loves that pathetic, teary look on your face. Flushed expression, glassy eyes, pinched eyebrows. It does more for him than you know.
"Beg me for more," he gruffly demands.
"Please, Megatron! Master, please, please, please. I want it all, I want all of you. I want you to fuck me until I squirt everywhere and pass out."
Debauchery. That's what this is. Pure debauchery.
"You're good at that," Megatron titters with a sharkish grin. He brings his other servo up to your face, gripping your jaw to wrench your mouth open.
He spits into your mouth, which surprises you enough to jolt you. Your eyes shoot wide open as you gaze upon his smug look, licking his derma with his ridiculously long glossa.
Obeying his unspoken command, you swallow. His grin only widens at that, making sure to bully your pussy the best he can.
Choking on your euphoria, your vision blurs as you arch your back. You cry out as your orgasm pierces through you, your legs wrapping tighter.
A forceful, heavy stream of cum squirts from you to splatter all over Megatron's abdominal plates and interface panels.
Your partner nearly startles himself on a gasp as you shower him with your pleasure. He looks down between your bodies with awe.
"You did it," he mumbles before looking up at your teary-eyed expression. Your breath leaves you in labourous pants as your mind scuffles, trying to anchor yourself back to reality.
Before you can even think to reply, he splays one large servo over your clammy chest before pushing you down. Your back meets the cold surface of the desk, which is a small win in this moment.
He bends over your body, his sharp dentae immediately seeking out the column of your neck as he continues thrusting into your used pussy harder and faster than before. You whimper as he grates the sharp points over your neck, taunting you with the promise of being marked even further.
"N—Not my neck, Megatron," you mewl.
Surprisingly, he listens to you. But instead, he lowers down to your collarbones. You gasp for breath as he digs his dentae in, immediately breaking the skin. A shrill cry leaves you as blood is drawn from his assault, your back arching as though you're trying to escape him.
His servos grip your hips, digging his sharp talons into the flesh he finds there in some possessive tirade. This is how he claims you as his. He litters you with flesh wounds that heal into light scars, so that you can be reminded for all eternity who laid claim to you.
You suck a breath in through gritted teeth as more blood pearls along the surface of your skin, your brain already fractured from the intense orgasm earlier. It's hard to stay alert when he's like this. Animalistic. Brutal.
"Too hard, Megatron! It's too much!" You cry. You feel like he's going to fuck you to the brink of passing out.
How does anyone have so much energy? He's been going at it non-stop all week. He spends more time in your pussy than anywhere else, and you, for one, are utterly exhausted.
He licks away the blood smearing over your collarbone, but his pace doesn't ease.
Luckily, the brutality doesn't last for much longer. A deep, chesty groan rumbles from him before he slams his hips one last time, shooting his thick load straight into your sopping pussy.
He fills you to the brim, far too excited at the prospect of you finally squirting for him. You writhe beneath him at the warmth pooling inside of you, your hot skin leaving condensation over the cold desk surface.
"Take it all," he growls.
"I will, Master."
After a few moments where the only sound in the room is your needy pants, he pulls out. The ache of him leaving you is both blissful and painful.
Your abused, gaping pussy gloops with his transfluid, already leaving a river of it on the surface of the desk. You're too exhausted to say or do anything, so you lie still basking in the respite. You finally squirted for him, so hopefully, this mindless and constant fucking will cease.
"I enjoy seeing you like this," Megatron says coyly as he ghosts his servos down the length of your thighs. "Completely at my mercy, ready to collapse from a rough interface session."
"I know, Megatron," you lethargically reply.
His sharp digits gently caress your cheekbone as he admires your fucked out expression.
"Optimus will be expecting us soon," he hushes lightly. There's no disdain, unlike times before. He's achieved what he wanted, so he's content to release you back to the surface of the Earth to be reunited with his rival.
You turn your head to kiss his palm, looking up at him through the corner of your eyes.
"I'll miss you," you utter.
"You could stay," Megatron responds with a grin.
As tempting as that sounds, you're looking forward to seeing Optimus and getting some recovery time. Something still simmers in the air between you and the warlord, a silent truth that your feelings towards Optimus are stronger than towards him. You've denied it, but the truth is plain to anyone with eyes.
"I could," you say, "But I like it more when the two of you don't fight. It saves my planet from destruction."
"How noble of you," Megatron sneers, dragging his servo to trace the fresh wounds on your collarbone. You wince from how sore it feels, squirming a little.
The bite marks between your legs that you received earlier today throb as you try to focus on anything but the dull pain of all the bites and scratches he's adorned you with.
• ꨄ︎ •
Finally back with Optimus, you decided you weren't in the mood for pleasantries with the others. You requested to immediately be brought back to the habsuite for some peace and quiet.
Optimus, though reluctant, agreed. It isn't like you to be so standoffish with the others like that, but he decided it would be best to take you somewhere you were comfortable, and then ask questions.
"You look… So tired," Optimus expresses his concern, looking down at you as you both stand in the habsuite.
"Thanks," you reply lethargically.
"I did not intend for that to come across negatively," he defends quickly. "Was your time with Megatron… Eventful?"
"You could say that," you answer.
His frown deepens at that.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" He asks, his intentions pure and meaningful. Since the truce, he's been able to explore other things on this planet as well as actually enjoy some free time. If you need anything, he has the time for it.
"Maybe just some cuddles," you say. They've been lacking as of late. Megatron's obsessive goal of having you squirt, and mostly failing, has left him so frustrated that he's hardly even kissed you outside of the incessant fucking.
"Of course," he replies.
He scoops you up off the floor gently, elevating you to place you on the berth. He sits comfortably in front of you before mass displacing, bringing him to a smaller height for an optimal cuddle size.
He shuffles back until his back is against the wall, then opens his arms to you. Feeling welcomed, you smile warmly before walking over to him. You mount his lap, one knee on either side of his hips. He wraps his arms around you, embracing you kindly.
You reach down by his side to grab a small square-shaped pillow. Placing it on the top ledge of his chassis window, you proceed to settle into the shape of him before resting your head on the pillow.
His spark whirs with warmth as you melt into the comfort. He dreads to think what Megatron had you doing over the past week to have you in this state.
Running his servos softly over your back, he hopes to comfort you further. He pairs it with a couple of short, delicate kisses to the top of your head, nuzzling your hair for his own enjoyment.
"The others have become suspicious," Optimus says lightly to stir the silence.
"Of what?" You reply.
"Of everything. Us, your schedule, the reluctance to answer anything."
"You aren't a particularly good liar," you say with a small smile.
"I take that as a compliment," he answers before kissing the top of your head again.
"What did you tell them?"
"Only Ratchet, and I know he won't tell the others. But I told him the truth. It's hard to lie to someone who has known me for as long as he has."
"I take it he wasn't very happy," you mumble.
"Never mind that," he hums.
The Prime slips his servos under your top to explore you properly, massaging the curves of your waist, but quickly halts when he feels a texture change on your skin. He hums, feeling the lines carefully to understand what it is.
You whimper lightly as you shift on his lap, ghosting your hands down to his to stop him.
"What happened?" Optimus asks cautiously. You pull back, sitting straight on his lap to look him in the optics.
"Megatron," you say just below a whisper.
"Can you… Tell me about it?" He asks lowly, the words falling lightly on your ears.
"Do you really want to know?" You retort.
"Of course I do," Optimus insists.
"It probably sounds worse than it is," you preface, but your eyes fall to his chassis windows so that you don't have to look at him. "He hooked me up to a cortic patch, and it gave him front row tickets to the things you and I got up to. It probably won't come as a shock that he became jealous, and well, it took off from there."
"So he did this to you on purpose?" Optimus pries.
"Not— Not quite. It was a byproduct of how rough he was being with me when we… Yeah."
Optimus doesn't need to know that you were perpetually dragged back into Megatron's berth to the point where your pussy ached. That's too much detail, and Optimus is a smart mech anyway. He can make sense of it without you spelling it out.
"How could he think to hurt you?" Optimus asks into the ether, a question not intended to be answered.
You draw in for a soft kiss, needing to feel his derma on your lips. The kiss is featherlight, so gentle it could bring you to tears. What an honour to bring such a big, strong mech to the brink of peace with your touch alone.
You stifle a whimper as you roll your hips, feeling the heat pool between your legs. With each movement, you get a bit bolder, grinding down onto his interface panels.
"Your body needs rest," Optimus says between kisses, holding onto your hips. He knows what Megatron would have put you through.
"Don't you want to?" You ask, a little disappointed.
"That's not what I said," the Prime answers.
"Can we, please?" You ask into the kiss. You know he's likely hesitant after seeing your minor injuries, and you know there's an element of guilt at play that he willingly hands you over to Megatron every week.
"Are you sure you want to?" He asks, adamant about your explicit consent before taking this anywhere.
"I always do with you," you answer.
"As long as you take it easy," he compromises.
He kisses you harder, holding firmer onto the back of your head as he shifts his weight forward to start leaning you back, the pillow on his chassis tumbling to the berth. You moan against his derma before wrapping your fingers over his chassis window, prompting him to stop moving.
With one servo on your head and the other wrapped around your back, he's practically cradling you as he displays his love for you through kisses. You know what he wants by trying to shift the positions.
"You always eat me out. Please let me return the favour," you ask sweetly.
"But I enjoy it," Optimus reasons with you.
"And I thoroughly enjoyed the one time you let me suck you off," you whimper in return, "Do you not like it?"
"I do," he admits, carding his digits through your hair to cup the back of your head. "But servicing you brings about another level of satisfaction for me."
You hear a subtle hissing sound coming from below. You break the kiss completely to peer down, seeing Optimus' interface panels disengaging.
"But since you asked so nicely, you can do with me as you please."
You have to stop yourself from salivating at the sight of his thick, multicoloured spike. You reach down between your bodies, wrapping your hand around it before giving a few experimental tosses.
Optimus' digits toy at the hem of your top, telling you loud and clear what he wants. You let go of his spike to take your top off, throwing it behind you before moving onto your bra, which follows the same path as your top.
The Prime almost coos at the sight of your tits, unable to help himself from taking a handful with both servos. You sigh a light moan as you grab his spike again, jerking the sensitive metal to work him up.
He kneads your breasts, but you pull away from him too soon for him to fully enjoy himself. You lower yourself, bringing your mouth to his tip.
You lick the tip, lapping up the small amount of prefluid built there. One servo returns to the roots of your hair, stabilising himself and prompting you.
Deciding you're no longer willing to wait, you open wide to welcome him. You latch over his tip, swirling your tongue around before gradually working more of his spike in.
You take most of him into your mouth, his length sliding down your throat to make sure you remember the shape of him. Your plump lips wrap around him, conforming to the ridges as you suck.
Megatron has trained you tirelessly in sucking spike. It's more often than not that you're on your knees rather than him on his. This much Optimus has to be grateful for.
You bob your head up and down, causing a flurry of wet gagging noises to erupt from you. Optimus exvents a low moan as he looks down at you, watching his spike disappear into your warm mouth.
He tastes so delicious, you don't think you'll ever be able to get enough. You moan over the metal, fresh tears springing along your waterline.
"Hmmph— That feels good," he vents, his optics dropping half-lidded.
His praise only fuels you, eggs you on in a reaching hope that he'll dish out some more. You use your tongue in tandem with your sucking, making sure every inch of him is stimulated. Your throat opens up so nicely for him, more than happy to accommodate his impressive size.
There's no doubt that there's no place he'd rather be than tucked between your thighs, enjoying his meal as many times as you'll let him, but this is divine. He's always been more of a giver than a taker, but when you suck him like this, he could be persuaded.
When he starts pushing your head further down, it's mindless. He isn't meaning to, but he's selfishly chasing more. You moan again, feeling your pussy throb with new excitement. You certainly don't mind being used by the Prime.
He forces your mouth to move on him exactly as he determines, exactly what works best for him. The noises spilling from you are obscene, but they're music to Optimus' audials.
You're growing wetter by the second, the seat of your underwear now sticking to your heat as you allow him to fuck your mouth to his spark's content.
"You have a talent," he murmurs thoughtlessly. He wonders where you learnt to service spikes so well, but then, he decides he doesn't want to know.
Saliva escapes from the corners of your mouth to run down what little length of his spike you can't swallow, pooling on his interface panels.
He can't wait to fuck you after this. To have your pretty pussy squeezing his spike until his optics offline. You make him feel better than anyone who came before you, and he detests that he must share with Megatron.
"Get ready," he warns, and it's all he gives you before he overloads.
Warm, heavy fluid shoots right down your throat, forcing you to drink every drop. You gulp it happily, pulling off his spike for air as soon as you can. The faint tingle of his transfluid bubbles over your tongue and at the back of your throat, producing more tears in your eyes.
You blink them away before sitting up properly, hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your shorts and underwear at the same time to push them off you. You plop them next to you before excitedly crawling back onto Optimus' lap for the main event.
He rumbles disappointedly as he takes in the wounds littering your collarbones, his audial ridges pinching in concern. He must've missed them when you took your top off earlier.
Suddenly, you start to feel semi-insecure over the appearance of them, shying away from him and splaying one hand over them. His optics snap up from your chest to your eyes, shooting a sympathetic look your way.
"I'm sorry, my love," he mutters, "I didn't mean to make you nervous."
He places a reassuring servo on your arm, running his thumb back and forth.
"Come here," he requests, urging you further onto his lap. You comply, moving closer to him and lifting your hips to put his spike in between your legs.
"That's it," Optimus encourages, looking up at you as your wet pussy shifts over the tip of his spike. "Whenever you're ready."
Lowering your weight, you let his tip slip inside your waiting core. You moan at the stretch, sliding down his length until you're seated on his lap.
"You're doing so well," Optimus praises you, placing his servos on your hips the moment you start riding him. You're steady at first, giving your aching muscles a warm-up for another round.
"Is this okay?" Optimus asks as he strokes your hips with his thumbs. You hum your approval, rolling your hips slowly over his spike. Megatron has tired you out, but you want this right now.
"Optimus," you moan, bringing one hand to cup the back of his helm as the other rests on his shoulder. The space between your lips is filled with your pants and moans.
"You'll tell me if it gets too much?" He hushes. He wants this, truly, he does. But he can only imagine what Megatron got up to with you over the last week, the marks and fatigue wracking your body are evidence of it.
"I promise," you moan lowly.
Another round with Megatron would probably prove to be too much. But with Optimus? You'll never tire of it. You're imbued with a new vigour as soon as you set your eyes on him.
He cares. He's soft. He's gentle. He's everything Megatron isn't. You have endless energy for it and him, because he allows you to go at your own pace. He gives, whereas Megatron takes.
Breathy moans tumble from your lips as you place your forehead against his helm fin. His gentle servos smooth over the curve of your ass, before one slips up to the small of your back. No sharp talons, no deadly dentae.
Optimus' optics flicker, his processor being drawn to the highs of his ardour. You always feel so good, but he adores it when you ride him. It does something particularly sinful to him. Each glide of your pussy over his hard spike ruins him further, his spark whirring rapidly in his chassis.
"Mmph, fuck— Optimus," you whine.
"I love you."
The confession doesn't fall from your lips, but his. You stifle a gasp as your shock causes you to stop riding him. His dreamy expression hardens a fraction as he's torn from the haze of the moment, focusing his optics on you properly.
The weight of his confession dawns on him almost immediately. You notice a flicker of worry spark in his endless optics, fearing the worst.
"I— I apologise," he says quietly, flinching to pull his servos off your hips.
You immediately stop him, laying your hands over them to keep them placed on you.
"Why apologise?" You ask.
"I… It was inappropriate," he remarks, somewhat regretfully.
Taking your hands off his, you snake them round his shoulders to cup the nape of his neck.
"Did you mean it?" You question, drawing your lips closer to his derma as you eagerly await his reply. A few moments pass where nothing is said, the weight of the silence inflating your lungs with anticipation.
"I did."
You whimper at that, closing the gap between you to kiss him. He returns your passion in kind, humming lowly as you resume riding his lap.
"I love you," you confess, "I love you so much."
He moans into your mouth as he grips your hips tighter, fuelling your bounces by helping you move. The two of you kiss as though it's the last thing you'll ever do.
"I wanted— to tell you— in a better way— than this," Optimus speaks through breaks of the kiss. You mewl as you claim him for more, slipping your tongue into his intake to deepen the kiss.
He's helpless but to comply, dancing with you in any way you like. You breathe your lust into him, conveying your love with every move.
"Just keep saying it," you plead as you part for air.
"I love you," he burrs again, "I love every part of you."
"Please don't stop," you breathily implore.
"I've loved you for such a long time. Before you were taken from me. Before I knew the truth of your fate."
Right. It's been so long that you almost forgot that Megatron kidnapped you with the intent of using you as a hostage, only to realise that he enjoyed you far too much and decided to keep you for himself, leading everyone to believe that you'd died.
"Holy fuck, Optimus!" You moan, throwing your head back as you feel the rapid climb to your peak seizing you. He gazes up at you as if you are the most beautiful creature he's ever laid eyes on, his processor and spark entirely dedicated to you in this moment.
"Cum for me. Please, cum," he begs you, sliding his servo up from the small of your back to the middle of your shoulder blades.
Aiding your journey to release, he lowers his helm to latch onto one of your nipples. You shudder a moan as he suckles on it, stimulating the sensitive flesh.
You arch your back, pressing your chest further into his face. He hums against you, sending little vibrations through your body. You gasp another moan as you feel your legs beginning to tremble.
With a pathetic whimper, you find your bliss. A hot flush courses through you as your lower half contracts, your pussy cinching around Optimus' girth. You milk him, eager for his transfluid dumped inside of you.
"Well done," Optimus praises after releasing your nipple. "That was so good, you did so well for me."
You continue bouncing on him, slickening his thick spike further with your release.
He knows you're tired, he can feel it simmering under your skin. You don't need to squirt every time with Optimus, he already knows where his talents are. You're motivated to fuck him like a turbofox in heat, but your exhaustion cannot be denied.
"Please fill me, Optimus," you mewl eagerly.
"I'm close," he huffs.
He moans heartily as he reaches his climax, squeezing your ass with both servos as he fills you just as promised.
You whine whilst slowing down on top of him, eventually coming to a stop and sitting with his spike lodged inside. You catch your breath, trying to ignore the burning muscles in your legs. It was worth it, no doubt.
"Are you okay?" He asks softly.
"Mmhm."
"Would you like to go back to cuddling?"
"Yes please."
He supports your back as he shifts down the berth, reclining to lie down flat. You reach over to grab the discarded pillow from earlier, plopping it on his chassis again so that you don't wind up with a horrific neck ache.
You sigh contentedly as you return to embracing him, glad to be with him in this moment.
"This week is going to go so fast," you bemoan. You're missing Optimus already even though you still have a full week left.
"He can't have you back," Optimus says as he lightly drags the tips of his digits up and down your back to soothe you. "I won't be able to live with myself if you set foot on the Nemesis again."
"What about the truce? It's going well," you answer with an air of sleep.
"I'm not concerned about the truce anymore. My concern lies with you. Unless, of course, it's your wish to return."
You roll your head on his chassis to look up at him. Gazing into those swirling optics, seeing the truth in them. He doesn't want you to go back. He wants you to stay with him. To choose him. Though he would not protest if you decided to return to Megatron, as freedom is your right, he would not enjoy it.
"My wish is to be with you, Optimus. I meant it when I said I love you. It might be selfish, as I know it would call off the truce, but I can't deny what I want."
"Then you can stay with me. Let me deal with Megatron." He smiles softly down towards you, a rare sight indeed.
i truly love writing this story but it takes SO LONG for me to pump out the chapters. if u wanna see more pls lmk but it can take me a hot minute to write!!
thank you for being so patient with the release of this chapter!! not many notes for this chapter. there's some more world-building (which i'm really enjoying btw). i hope you all have a lovely day 𑣲
<- previous
Opening the doors from the inside of your room, you take one step out before immediately being greeted by Optimus, who has been standing watch at your door since you excused yourself to your chambers for the night.
Today marks his first full day as your Knight, and he seems to be taking his role very seriously. You smile warmly at him before speaking.
"Good morning, Ser."
"Good morning, Princess. I hope sleep found you easily," he says in return. His tone is deep and metallic in nature, and slightly muffled by the faceguard he keeps on.
"It did. I intend to take a walk through the gardens today with my lady-in-waiting," you tell him.
"Then I shall accompany you," Optimus declares.
"No need, Ser. No danger will find me in the gardens. You may occupy your morning as you please," you giggle lightly as you lay your hands over your skirt. Today's outfit is simple: a floor-length mint green satin dress with bell sleeves and minimal embroidery.
"The duty charged to me is to be your sword and shield," is all he replies with.
"Yes, but you may take other pleasures," you counter. He is your sword and shield, but that doesn't mean he needs to be by your side all of the time. Ronnin would often enjoy painting in her free time, especially when you would take a stroll around the castle gardens.
He stares blankly at you through his illuminated visor, and enough time passes of this where you're forced to look away out of mild awkwardness. You nod once, turning on your toes.
"You may join us in the gardens if you so wish," you announce before walking.
Optimus doesn't verbally reply, but he does start to walk with you. He has one servo on the hilt of his sword as his new golden cloak billows behind him. Gold is the colour to signify that a knight is serving one of the royal family members personally. All other knights wear red cloaks.
You must say, gold agrees with him. A few gold accents are adorning his armoured frame, but his golden cloak makes the whole look beautifully cohesive.
His steps are heavy, but his armour doesn't clink and clash as it does on human knights. You're mildly curious about that, but undyingly curious about his metallic nature. He's already expressed that he's not of this land, but you have to wonder where such a being hails from.
He's a giant in comparison to you and nearly everyone else in the castle. His stark armour makes him stick out like a sore thumb, traversing through the walls of the castle like an ink blot on fresh parchment paper. You could get used to unintentionally entertaining company.
Hiking the front of your dress up, you descend the large and wide stone stairs before reaching the archway that will lead you to the gardens. Optimus follows without making any further conversation, which feels unusual in comparison to what you're used to. You can't help but think how Ronnin would walk beside you with your arm looped through hers as you would talk for hours on end, roaming the halls of the castle without purpose.
"Princess," your lady-in-waiting, Phria, greets you. She's in a simple pink gown, already holding a parasol so that the two of you are shielded from the powerful summer sun.
"Good morning, Phria," you reply with a smile, drawing to her side before threading your arm through hers.
"How are you today?" She asks as she starts to walk with you, entering the forecourt of the magnificent gardens.
"I am well, though a little tired from yesterday's activities," you express. "How are you?"
"Yesterday was quite fun, but I understand that you and I had different experiences of it. I do hope that you find some respite in the gardens."
Care and love have been poured into every corner of this wonderful place, there's something to look at no matter where your eyes land. From fountains to rose bushes, to statues, to perfectly carved bushes in the likeness of different creatures of the realm. There are also some man-made lakes, though very small in size, accompanied by short waterfalls which provide a natural sound to the space. You're fortunate to have something so breathtaking in your grasp.
You start to walk through the garden arches, perfectly modelled by the team of gardeners that maintain this space. The shrubbery towering over you provides extra shade as the stones scattered over the floor shift and rustle beneath your steps. Optimus makes more ruckus, though not intentionally. If not for the sound of his footsteps, you wouldn't know he was there.
Phria looks back over her shoulder at your new protector, unable to read his thoughts thanks to the full covering of his features. He certainly wields a presence that seems foreign to any soldier or knight she's known before, painting him out as a wolf amongst sheep.
She looks forward again, focusing on the path ahead.
"Your new knight is more of a shadow, is he not?" Phria says just above a whisper, "He seems very protective. Do you think he realises we are only walking through the gardens?"
"He realises," you reply simply.
"Is there cause for concern?" She pries.
You breathe a short laugh through your nose as you shake your head shallowly, a small smile spreading over your lips. Your sworn protector does not look at you and your lady-in-waiting, instead sweeping his optics calmly across the scene of the gardens. From the walls to the towers, the tree lines. He's watching diligently.
"He is here because he's convinced someone might attempt to assassinate me between the rose bushes," you say in jest, glancing over your shoulder at him.
"I sincerely hope no one does," Phria laughs lightly.
Every measured footstep behind you echoes against the cobblestone. His watchful optics do not cease scanning every crack in the garden walls, likely ascertaining every point of entry and exit for future reference. He is learning his new environment, taking a better understanding of it to fulfil his duty to you.
As if sensing your attention, Optimus draws his optics to you both. You smile reassuringly before speaking.
"We're perfectly safe."
"I am aware," Optimus replies plainly.
Phria stops the two of you in your tracks, twiddling the parasol in her perfectly manicured hand before turning at the waist to face Optimus more clearly. You loosen your arm from hers, peering over at her to see what she intends to do.
"Must you follow us?" Your friend asks, but not with malice or disgust.
"The Princess is outside the keep," Optimus replies without hesitation, as though the answer is obvious.
Phria tilts her head curiously, shooting him an almost perplexed glance at his answer. "Yes, they are."
"My duty is to ensure their safety," he explains blatantly.
"Yet we are inside the castle walls. There are fifty guards, and the gates remain closed. Would you not conclude that they are safe?" Phria presses, questioning Optimus' logic to remain by your side at a moment like this.
"That may be true. However, there are blind corners," he says, gesturing to the winding hedges. "Concealed approaches," he points out, nodding to the surrounding towers. "Elevated positions." Then pointing to the garden walls. "Limited escape routes."
"You believe flowers to be a tactical threat?" Phria questions with a sly smile on her lips. You can't help but giggle to yourself at her crude humour.
"The hedges could conceal a threat," Optimus advises seriously.
You glance over at the hedges in question, which are pristinely trimmed and reaching to your waist height.
"I believe I would fare just fine against such an enemy," you weigh in on the conversation.
There is a small pause between your statement and Optimus' reply, who is also eyeing the hedge that has consumed your attention.
"I would prefer to remove the uncertainty," your knight tells you.
Phria laughs out loud, placing her free hand on your upper arm. "I believe he's serious!"
"He is," you answer before looping your arm back through hers, taking up your leisurely walk once more. Phria is having a hard time containing her amusement, stifling her chuckles at the absurdity of it all.
"It's certainly different to Ronnin," you hush, "But who am I to refuse?"
"Princess," Phria states plainly, almost as if to remind you of your position. "If it pleases you, you can send him away."
Thinking on it, you sense his unmistakable presence behind you as he tails you closely. Strangely, it brings a sense of comfort. A vital part of you has been torn from you after Ronnin's passing, leaving you hollow and vulnerable. Optimus' presence does not heal that wound, but it certainly acts as a sense of safety.
"I'd almost forgotten what roses smelt like," you voice, turning the conversation into a different direction as you gaze around at the abundant flora surrounding you.
Phria smiles knowingly, taking in the scents alongside you. "You have been awash with duties as of late."
As you walk, your skirts brush against the fragrant herbs planted alongside the garden walkway. Behind you, Optimus walks across the cobbled path without causing a stir. Phria can't help the shivers that collect over her spine at the unnerving feeling of being stalked, but the presence is something you seem to welcome, so she doesn't voice her worries.
"I assure you, I did not ask to be inundated with duties," you advise as you draw closer to the tiered waterfalls up ahead.
As if your statement was spoken with the intent to bring forward the very thing you've expressed fatigue for, the King's chief advisor, Yonik, materialises before you to frighten you half to death. Despite all these years, you've never become accustomed to the way he seems to appear out of thin air. He moves within shadows, only coming forward when necessary.
"Princess," Yonik announces with a shallow bow, "The King requests your presence in the Council Chamber."
. ݁ ⟡ ݁ .
Ascending the stairs to the Council Chamber, two royal guards open the large double doors to grant you entry. You nod your thanks, but before anything else, they both move to block Optimus from entering behind you.
You turn at the waist, seeing how your personal protector does not seem to protest, but stands in place anyway. "He comes with me, Sers."
Upon your command, both step to the side. Optimus looks at the one on the right as he walks through, joining you as you walk towards the long coffin-shaped table which seats the King and his advisors that have been selected diligently. No one deigns your entry with any form of acknowledgement, but you're fairly used to that at this point. Each one fancies themselves a character of utmost importance and has little mind to pay anyone else.
There's already a flurry of chatter ricocheting through the handful of high-ranking Lords and Ladies present, and you quickly take your seat on the left of the King. Yonik is already seated to the right, seemingly comfortable in his seat. You're not entirely sure how he made it here that much quicker than you, but he has always worked in mysterious ways.
Optimus takes his place behind you, standing watch like a guardian angel sent to always oversee your activities and well-being. You place your hands in your lap, listening to the conversation to try to make sense of what you've missed thus far.
"The unrest in the Southern Seas is unprecedented. They've always been peaceful waters," Ayla, the councillor who oversees matters of ships and the seas, speaks, her hands placed on the table as she desperately tries to convey the urgency of her point.
"And how are we not certain that it's simply a turn of the tides?" The King speaks, almost to dismiss her. "Are the Seas not unpredictable forces of nature?"
"Your Grace, I am your Earl of the Seas. Will you not heed my caution?" Ayla expresses beseechingly, "Something nefarious is afoot, something stirs the Southern Seas. I beg of you to allow my men and I to investigate further."
The King's crown glints in the natural light spilling in through the floor-length windows sprawled over the wall behind him, casting the shadow of his seat halfway across the table. You believe this was an intentional design choice, built to perpetuate the idea that the reigning monarch's power stretches far and wide.
"Your efforts are required in Dragonfly Bay, as was outlined to you in our last council meeting," the King replies. Your head tosses back and forth with each interaction, and you're tempted to make your voice known, but you know better than that. You're here to learn how to rule when your time comes, not to meddle in the affairs currently unfolding whilst you're still in your tutelage.
"This must take precedence over the matter in Dragonfly Bay. Simple fishermen could tend to the dwindling fish numbers there, but what I'm bringing to you requires the full fleet of my navy," Ayla protests, not willing to take no for an answer.
The King sighs, bringing one hand up to massage his temples. The weight of the crown is heavy, and even in times of peace, the political peacocking still remains rampant.
This is how most of these meetings go. In a time of peace, the King finds himself utterly disinterested in anything that slightly contradicts it. It's a thought you've never shared, but it might be that he doesn't want to acknowledge any unrest out of fear that he would be the first in the long line of monarchs to see any kind of conflict in this realm.
"You may refocus your attention to the matter in the Southern Seas," the King relays with an air of defeat, "You are granted permission to dispatch your navy at your earliest convenience. I except a full report before the next council meeting."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Ayla replies, bowing her head shallowly to display her gratitude.
"Are there any other matters anyone must trouble me with today?" The King asks, looking around to his other councillors. Each of them meekly shakes their heads, not fancying testing his already thin patience.
"Wonderful," he declares, clapping his hands together once to conclude the meeting. "You are all dismissed."
Each member of the council stands from their seats before they take their swift leave, and just as you stand to follow them, the King brings up his hand to halt you.
"Not you. Sit back down," he demands.
You raise your eyebrows briefly as you seem surprised by the cuttingness of his tone before taking your seat once again, now left in the chamber with only your father and Optimus.
"If, and it's a big if, Lady Ayla's concern ring any kind of truth, I would like it seen to that you are prepared," the King tells you. You nod your head once, unsure what he means by that. The King looks over your head to Optimus, meeting his mechanical eyes.
"I would like the Princess to be trained in the art of the sword," he tells Optimus. You shake your head with confusion at that, deciding to weigh in on the conversation.
"But I am no fighter, Your Grace," you say, "The window to teach me those skills is long behind me now."
"Do you refuse my order?" The King says, snapping his eyes to look at you instead.
You stumble over your words for a moment, stuttering incoherently as you shake your head in disbelief. Isn't the purpose of having a personal knight to keep you protected?
"N—No, Your Grace. I am not refusing. I'm just bewildered by your reasoning," you counter.
"I believe it's in your best interest to have some knowledge of self-defence. I will admit it is a failing on my part that I did not see to this sooner," he says in a rare moment of self-reflection.
"Will you see to their training?" The King asks Optimus. It's an order disguised as a question, Optimus is not truly allowed to say no.
Your Knight nods once. "We can begin as soon as it pleases you, Your Grace."
. ݁ ⟡ ݁ .
The training yard has been a part of these castle walls for as long as the structure has stood here. Its spirit is central to the curation of the finest knights and soldiers that this realm has ever seen. Ornate stone pillars stretch high, leading to an open roof. The open roof was from damage sustained many moons ago, said to be from a battle of dragons.
Deep gouges cross the pillars from where true blades had bitten too hard. Shattered and broken practice dummies stand along the perimeter of the yard, each one in dire need of replacement.
You grunt, shifting uncomfortably in the layers of your dress. This is the only dress you own with only two layers, but it can hardly be considered fitting for this task. You're collecting dust from the ground on the bottom of your skirt, trying to roll your shoulders to loosen up the fabric as you hold onto the wooden training sword awkwardly. Wielding such an instrument feels foreign to you, as if you're trying to write with someone else's hand.
Optimus looks you up and down behind his visor, twirling his wooden sword in his grip easily. You can't tell if it's a habit or if he's trying to show off. Probably the former, you've not seen too much conceitedness from him yet.
"Do you not own any appropriate clothing?" Optimus asks.
"If I did, do you not think I would be wearing it?" You retort with a hint of annoyance. These kinds of dresses were not made for swordplay or battle, and Optimus' blatantly obtuse question only serves to irritate you further.
"Movement will be difficult, but we'll work with it for now," he says, ignoring your vexations. He eyes up your posture, seeing the sword held flippantly in your hand.
"Drop that," he says, pointing to it with his own wooden sword. "Before we do anything, we need to work on your stance."
You comply, believing that he knows best. The wooden sword clatters to the ground, leaving you awaiting his next order. His sword points to your legs, although fully covered by the long skirt of your dress, but he'll have to imagine until your tailor can make you something better.
"You need to be stable and balanced, ready to strike for quick movements. Place your legs shoulder-width apart, with one foot forward, the other backwards at a slight angle," he explains quickly and precisely.
Following to the best of your ability, you shift your feet into the position he described. He hums, tipping his helm slightly. It's hard to see if you're in the correct position with the length and volume of your skirt. He looks up at you, and you already know what he's thinking.
Gathering the length of your skirt, you hike it up so that he can see from your shins down. Anything else would be inappropriate, especially considering you are a Princess in the presence of a lone male. He nods his helm once, gathering that this is as much as you're allowed to show.
"There. Now you are balanced," he says before pointing his sword to the one you just dropped to the ground. You get the message, crouching down to take hold of the handle. Your hand wraps tightly around it, standing back up before awaiting Optimus' next instruction.
His cyan optics observe through his visor, taking in your stance and position. For the first time in a long time, you feel nervous at the scrutiny. You've become skilled and practised in anything and everything that's expected of you, and this is the first time in your adult life that you've had to pick something up that you have no proficiency in.
"Strangling the blade will not help you. In fact, it will only hinder you," he says, nodding to your tight grip on the handle. His voice is deep enough to seem broader and more menacing than any mountain on this side of the world. He stands amongst his fellow knights like a mountain, too. Easily the largest in this court. Possibly any court, if you think about it.
"How am I to wield it if I am not holding it?" You ask.
Optimus lifts his sword in front of you, demonstrating his hold. It's lax yet secure, as if he's familiar with every notch and nick in the handle. Perhaps if Optimus held this training sword too tight, he would splinter the wood under his strength.
"The sword is not an object to be carried," he informs you, spinning the sword in his servo in the same fashion he did at the tournament. You watch how easily it moves upon his will, and how he doesn't even need to think about catching it again. You furrow your brows at his statement, breaking your sights away from his sword to his shielded faceplates.
"A sword is an extension of you. Of your balance," he continues.
You blink once at that, tilting your head slightly out of confusion as you loosen your hold on your training sword without even thinking to. Your mind thinks to imitate him, to embody what he does with every step he takes.
"I don't think I understand what you mean," you mumble.
"Patience, Princess. In time, you will," he replies smoothly.
Optimus strikes you as the patient type, almost beyond measure. You hope your deduction of his character proves to be correct, as you have little faith in your fighting capabilities, and you'd rather not vex him after only 24 hours together.
"Strike me," Optimus orders, leaving his arms at his sides to open himself to you. You take a breath, focusing on your hold of the sword before lifting it over your head to initiate a strike. Before you can take the effort to swing it down at him, he zips closer to you before gently nudging your torso with a single digit. Your footing can't prepare for it, causing you to nearly topple over. Luckily, you catch yourself before making an utter fool of yourself.
"You're simply imitating my balanced stance," he observes, letting you regain your composure.
"Is that not the point?" You rebuke as you shift your feet back into position.
"The appearance is the result. But the purpose is stability," he says, using the blunt edge of his sword to nudge you again. You groan as you wobble, even though this time you were anticipating it. "A swordsman relies on the earth first and foremost. Allow the ground to be your support and stop relying on your muscles."
Trying again, you envision the ground as your stability. You allow yourself to merge with it, pouring your trust in it as you always have. The ground has never vanished from beneath your feet before, and it likely never will. Your muscles relax as you take root in your position, imagining yourself as a tree growing from the roots beneath you.
When he nudges you once more, you remain standing without a hitch. Optimus hums, nodding his helm.
"Well done. You remained."
"Barely," you huff in defeat.
"Barely is the beginning of mastery."
"You have a very encouraging way of saying discouraging things, Ser," you reply with a half-smile.
"I have had considerable practice. Now, come at me again."
Drawing your back foot forward, you shift a dust cloud over the ground as you swing your sword with the weight of your hips, just as you remember Ronnin doing. Optimus, the skilled fighter that he is, simply sidesteps your attack. He encourages you to ride the flow, causing you to angle yourself again for another strike.
In your encumbered wisdom of battle, you believe that speed won battles and strength was the utmost paramount element of a fight. You believe that a sword must remain permanently in action, disallowing any opponent the opportunity to attack. These misguided beliefs you have are what are currently leading your actions, your advances are choppy and insistent. So much so that you are forgetting yourself. The wooden sword seems determined to go everywhere except where you intend, an entirely frustrating ordeal.
"The instincts that possess you are wrong," Optimus observes as he outmanoeuvres you, bringing his sword to your back. "And if this were a real battle, you'd be dead."
He doesn't engage you again, instead stepping closer to you before circling behind you and slotting his training sword under his arm to free his servos. You take this short moment to catch your breath, your head turning to follow where he's going. You look over your shoulder at him, admiring him in his towering glory. It's somewhat intimidating to have such a beast engulfing every atom of space behind you.
To your surprise, he places his servos on your shoulders. He pulls them back lightly, adjusting your position. Ronnin would touch you often, from braiding your hair to taking walks with you arm-in-arm, but your dynamic with her was different. She was more of a mother than a sworn protector.
Next, his servo runs down your arm to grab your wrist. For one so strong, he knows how to be gentle. There is consideration and compassion in the way his servo moves over the fabric of your dress, minding the barrier that prevents him from touching your skin.
"Your blade is impatient," he says lowly, "You must learn not to be. Right now, you are not wielding the sword. It is wielding you."
He lifts your wrist, elevating your hand with the sword in clutch. He shakes, imploring you to loosen your grip again. You hold it in the same way you did before, repeating over and over in your mind to keep it this way.
When his servos move to your hips, you yelp with a little jump. You hastily step away from him, turning on your toes to face him with a flustered look on your face. Despite the facial coverings, Optimus seems taken aback by your sudden reaction.
"Mind yourself, Ser. It is not proper to touch me in that manner," you tell him. Touching your shoulders and wrist was one thing, perhaps one thing that would cause a few eyebrows to raise if anyone saw it, but grabbing your hips? A knight most definitely should know better.
"My apologies, Princess. I am still learning the rules of your court," he replies, evidently not too perturbed by his error. Maybe physical touch is not so guarded where he comes from, and you're doing all you can to be understanding of that.
"Might we continue?" He presses lightly, taking his sword from under his arm.
"On your command," you reply, sliding one foot back against the ground to get back into the position you've already practised tediously today. You hold the sword before you, angling the wooden blade toward your sworn knight.
"Start!" He barks, not even bothering to hold his sword in a defensive position.
Each swing teaches you something new. Every move uncovers more mistakes, each correction highlighting flaws you didn't even consider. Your heart batters against your ribcage as you juggle using the sword and not tumbling over your skirts, which is proving to be more difficult than you first anticipated. The beast that is your training sword is stubborn and does not seem to know nor care what you want.
This is the realm in which Optimus lives. He abides by the laws of blade and steel. He moves as naturally as it is for you to breathe, and even following his movements is a tall ask in itself. The level of grace he has even now is astonishing, and this can hardly even be considered a warm-up for him. Only you are exerting any real energy, your brow dampening with sweat. You advance time and time again, and Optimus hardly needs to react to slip away from you.
"Your movements are sloppy, Princess," Optimus says loud and clear. You huff and grunt in response, gripping the blade with both hands as you swing at him. He dodges with ease, barely even needing to sidestep such an attempt.
"Hardly fair when my sparring partner is a fighter of your calibre," you express with annoyance, already so short of breath that it's embarrassing. The weapon in your hand exposes your ignorance in the same way that sunlight reveals dust, your failures stripping another layer of your pride.
He slices his sword through the air so quickly it creates a woosh, stopping it just in front of your exposed neck. He moves too quickly for you to even register what he's done, the breath stolen from you as the threat startles you into stumbling back on shaky feet.
"Dead again," he burrs, catching your eyes.
Without giving you amoment'ss respite, he starts again. Hurried, panicked whips of your sword clash against his as you walk backwards. The skill divide is plain as day, and a part of you loathes that. Your eyes are frantic, your breathing is quick and shallow as you try to counter his blows. The need to know his roots and where he learnt to fight in this way is incessant, it gnaws at your bones until they're brittle. He is a fascinating individual, and you're not like to meet another like him in your lifetime.
"You are the Princess of Velantra. You can govern and negotiate in five languages, you can name every noble house from the Western Seas to the Iron Mountains, you can recite any and all dances with ease. But here you are, stumbling upon the field like a sparkling," your tutor taunts, but his tone carries no mockery. You're not even sure what a sparkling is, but you're too preoccupied with countering him to focus on that.
"Dancing is much easier than this," you reply sharply, finding it hard to maintain the pace you're going at. Today, you are learning that a crown could be inherited, but a sword never could.
"Then treat it like a dance," Optimus challenges, trying to meet you in the middle. He'll teach you however he needs to, but he refuses to let up on you. He'll push. Push. Push. Push.
The flurry of movements swarm past you at an alarming rate. The beat of your heart pounds in your temples as your lips tingle, your eyes tiring from how rapidly they're scanning for his next move. You feel as though your body is not your own, your arms flailing in a desperate hope to block his advances. This isn't even a fraction of his prowess, and you're fumbling as though you have two left feet.
In the next moment, you lose your footing over your dress. You yelp as you trip backwards, landing hard on the ground. Your grip on your sword loosens entirely, leaving it discarded on the ground next to you. You wince as the blunt force booms up your back, your eyes watering from the winded sensation inflating your lungs.
"Dead. Three times over," Optimus announces down to you.
Blinking the glaze away, you take a deep breath before looking up at your teacher. He stands tall and broad, almost engulfing the natural light spilling into the training yard. There's not been a single glance where your impression of him has been anything short of grand and powerful.
The blue and red armour that protects him is rich and reflective in the sun. His face lacks flesh, but the luminosity behind his visor carries more warmth than any human you've ever known. He is uniquely familiar in a way where words fail you.
"No warrior was forged in a day," he reassures you as he offers you his servo. You huff, reaching up to take hold so that he can hoist you back onto your feet. Your wrists ache, and your arms are trembling with exhaustion. Patting down your dress, you rid yourself of the dust clouds that have clung to your skirts.
"Are you well? You took quite a fall," Optimus asks, an authentic shred of concern glimmering in his voice.
"I am fine. We can go again," you insist, ignoring the throbbing in the small of your back.
Instead of gratifying your request, Optimus places a delicate servo on your shoulder. You meet his eyes behind the visor, only just making out what they look like beneath the covering.
"We can continue tomorrow, Princess. I believe that's enough for today."
"But I am able to continue," you refute. You want to at least manage one blow on Optimus before the day has retired, even if you're here until the moon hangs high in the sky.
Beneath the mask, Optimus smiles. Your tenacity is admirable, and he has no doubt that you'd keep him here until your hands were littered with splinters, but he'll remain the voice of reason.
"A wise warrior knows when to take rest, especially when it freely presents itself to you."
You sigh lightly, looking down at your fallen sword. His patience is thick, but not unlimited. You will pester him again tomorrow for more training.
next ->
this chapter was meant to be longer buuuuut the extra bit i had planned for the end of the chapter will actually work better in the next chapter. the plot will start moving properly soon i SWEAR
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i'm away from tomorrow to sunday, so i won't have time to get by blade and steel out this week. it should be out next tuesday!! i really tried to get it finished for today but it's not at a standard where i'd be happy to put it out. i'd rather give u something good because you all deserve it <3 thank you for your patience mmmmmmmwah!
I love all your work can I request a rodimus gooning to reader after seeing her and megatron
⋆˙⟡ mtmte megatron x human fem reader 18+
-> warnings/tags: minors dni. voyeurism (unknown and then known), multiple rounds, squirting. 3.4k words
hello!! i mixed these two requests together because it fuelled good brainworms.
the opening relates to this chapter where megatron and reader do it on the bridge of the LL.
i’ve said it before and i’ll say it AGAIN, in across the divide, only megatron has the hots for the reader. all other characters are strictly platonic, so although this was fun to write, it isn’t really canon to ATD!! with that said, please enjoy 🙂↕️
Tossing and turning, Rodimus doesn't find recharge coming easily to him this cycle. He wishes he were the kind of mech that could just switch off, like Whirl, but the responsibility of captaining a ship of this size weighs heavily. He has to wonder how Optimus did it, and far more, for such a long time.
The ping that rings in his processor serves as a momentary distraction. There's an alert that there's activity in the bridge, causing Rodimus to sit up to grab his datapad. It's Megatron's watch, and usually, he just remains in the chair, often reading through various reports to bide the time.
Rodimus unlocks his datapad, pulling up the live feed from the bridge. It's unlikely that Megatron is actually up to anything, but Rodimus wants to snoop anyway. It's better than lying here in silence whilst the hours tick on by.
What the fiery mech is met with on his screen is nothing short of jaw-dropping. You, albeit much larger than usual, have been bent over the control panel of the Lost Light. Behind you, hammering away ruthlessly at your sopping pussy, is Megatron. AKA the other Captain of the ship. Who definitely shouldn't be acting so indecently. Who should know better than this.
Should.
But clearly, doesn't care for what expectations there are of him.
Rodimus, on the other hand, should lock his datapad and go back to his tossing and turning. Or should make an announcement through the PA system to tell the two of you to pack it in, and that you're acting like charged up turbofoxes. Better yet, pay you both a physical visit and make you stop that way. Rodimus should be horrified.
Should.
Instead, Rodimus feels his internal temperature rising. He can't look away from his screen, the light in his optics fluttering. Rodimus presses the audio toggle on the screen, even though he knows he shouldn't be doing this. It's a complete invasion of yours and Megatron's privacy.
"Been thinking about this for so long," you babble desperately, your voice coming through the speakers.
"You have, haven't you?" Megatron coos, "You fantasised about this before we were together, didn't you?"
"I did," you whimper back.
"Does it live up to expectations? Am I fucking you even better than your mind thought?"
"So much better, you're fucking me so good, Megatron!"
It occurs to Rodimus that he's basically watching a homemade porn video. There's no way Megatron doesn't know there are cameras in the bridge. He has the same access on his datapad.
Rodimus grunts, feeling his resolve weakening. Before he can control it, his interface panel opens. His spike emerges from the array, and his transfluid is already leaking from the tip of his spike. He knows better, but the pleasure outweighs the warning.
It's been a while, he thinks to himself. He hasn't had any affections since Drift left the ship, and he's too horny for his own good.
Forgetting shame, he shifts on the berth to sit back against the wall. He holds the datapad in front of him with one servo, winding the other down to wrap around his spike.
He watches how Megatron takes you, and how you scream and moan in response. Rodimus can't help but gasp as he starts to toy with himself. This is the forbidden fruit of all forbidden fruit, and he can't seem to stop taking another bite once he's done with the last.
This is wrong. He shouldn't be doing this. It's not right. But Primus, does it feel good. Megatron's dirty talk is so good that it's fuelling Rodimus' lust, even though the comments aren't directed at him. This is immediately growing on Rodimus as a guilty pleasure, unable to stop himself.
You're clawing at the control panel desperately, and Rodimus shudders to think how messy you've made it. Shudders? Actually, that sounds pretty hot. The orange mech certainly wouldn't mind having a look at that after you're both done.
Rodimus moans, tossing his helm back as he thinks back on the time he walked in on you two. You're on Megatron's lap, taking him on the ride of his life. How you half-yelped, half-moaned when Rodimus made his unannounced intrusion.
Drawing his eyes back to the screen, he watches how your pliant flesh jiggles with each hard strike of Megatron's hips. He doesn't have a clear view of Megatron's spike entering you, but this view is doing plenty. The tip of his spike weeps more fluid, some of it running down the length already. Rodimus' generous movements spread the fluid all over his length, lubing it for a more seamless experience.
⋄✧⋄
Sitting in Swerve's bar on a fairly quiet night, you've joined Megatron for his night off. You're sitting on the table, opposite your lover in the booth. The music is low, and only a few 'Bots are present to fill the space with inaudible chatter.
Megatron traces the wall of his glass as he clears his vocaliser awkwardly, purposely not making eye contact with you. You furrow your brows with confusion as you take a small sip of your drink.
"What's got you acting so sketchy?" You ask.
"I just… Had an interesting conversation with Rodimus," he admits quietly, keeping the words away from any eavesdroppers.
"Yeah? About what?" You ask, leaning back and placing one hand on the table behind you for support.
Your lover's features flash with something half-uncertain and half-curious, not giving you any tells for what this could be about.
"He— hm," Megatron stops himself, his derma pulling into a straight line in thought. "He wants to watch us."
"Watch us?" You echo, hoping he'll elaborate.
"In the berth."
Your eyes widen at that, your jaw dropping a fraction. You're not entirely sure what to say in response.
"I thought it sent him into a crisis that one time he walked in on us. Now he wants to actively watch it?" You say.
"I don't understand how Rodimus thinks anymore than you do," Megatron replies, now looking at you.
You huff a short laugh, shaking your head before taking another sip. Rodimus sure can be a funny mech. The only thing is, Megatron isn't laughing.
Peering up at your large former-warlord-turned-loverboy, you instantly pick up on his thoughts.
"Oh my God, Megatron. You want him to watch?" You ask, astounded.
"You don't think it'd be fun?" Megatron asks in return.
"Has our sex life really become that boring for you?" You parry, the joke hinted at in your tone.
"No, no," he quickly defends, "It's not at all boring, far from it. If this isn't something you'd want to do, I would completely understand. I wouldn't push you on it. It's just a suggestion, nothing more."
"But you… Want it, right?" You question.
"When he first said it, I thought he'd lost his mind. Then I thought about it, and— Well, it did something to me," he admits honestly.
"Megatron!" You gasp, "You're so scandalous! I never took you for an exhibitionist."
He laughs lightly at that, drawing his glass to his derma to take a sip. "It seems that you have brought out sides of me I didn't know existed."
"Hmm," you vocalise, "Let me think about it."
⋄✧⋄
And think about it, you did.
Which leads you to where you are now, sitting entirely nude on Megatron's lap. He's on the edge of the bed, grabbing handfuls of your ass whilst Rodimus sits a couple of feet behind you.
He drags his spike through your folds, spreading your slick over his length to get you both ready.
"I can't believe your body can take something like that," Rodimus says, gawking at the size of Megatron's spike slipping through the valley between your legs. He always thought Megatron would be blessed in that department, but this is beyond even what Rodimus imagined.
You whimper out of embarrassment, hiding your face in the crook of Megatron's neck. Never once did you consider that something like this might happen, especially after how tormented Rodimus was by catching the two of you early on in the relationship.
"You're going to see just how well they take it," Megatron coos over your shoulder to his co-captain, flashing a cocky grin.
He pulls your hips up so that you're seated on the tip of his spike. Your clit throbs as you moan, letting him split you over the width.
Pulling you down gently, you stretch to accommodate him. Rodimus vents a light moan as he wraps his servo around the width of his spike.
Rodimus is amazed by it, thinking that your body must be such a resilient little thing to take something of this size so often without being completely bedridden. His curiosity is louder than his caution of the situation, letting the honey of your ardour slide down his glossa to his tanks. Is he self-servicing to you, Megatron, both, or simply the view? He can't quite tell, and isn't able to handle the ramifications of what the first three options would mean for him.
He jerks his length faster and faster, almost thrusting into his servo. He can't look away for even a single moment as the two of you get started. You whimper as your pussy is dragged up and down the thick grey spike, stretching to your maximum.
Your nails scratch over Megatron's paint, but it's hardly enough to even cause a blemish. You whine as you claw at him, holding onto him for dear life as you're moved on top of him exactly how he likes it. You're trying to take some control and bounce, but Megatron's grip on you is unrelenting.
Neither of you is being shy with your noises. You're moaning, panting, and mewling. Megatron is grunting and letting his fans make some noise, which is about as much as you get from him most of the time. On rare occasions, he moans, but it is rare.
The sound of skin slapping against metal fills Rodimus' ears, an unmistakable sound that he's heard a couple of times through the vents and hallways. But here, where there aren't any doors or ventilation shafts to muffle the sound, Rodimus is coming to appreciate it more and more. Normally, he would shudder when he'd hear the two of you at it. Who would've guessed he just needed to get up close and personal to quell his aversion? He's feeding a hunger that only seems to grow more insatiable with each bite, he's starving for something that he's unsure will ever be satisfied.
Rodimus' optics hone in between your legs. Watching how Megatron's spike disappears in and out of you. He can't tell if he's imagining himself in your place or Megatron's right now, or if he's just getting off to being a dirty voyeur. Megatron fucks you on his spike with utter ease, displaying his raw strength. He's bouncing you as if it takes no effort whatsoever, which it probably doesn't. After all, the grey mech didn't lead the Decepticons for all that time without having the strength to back it up.
The orange mech ogles at the white ring of slick gathering around the base of Megatron's spike. Rodimus squeezes his spike harder, desperate for relief. He doesn't mean to, but his free servo floats up to touch you, wanting to feel your body. The sight of your body riding Megatron's spike nourishes him, his craving outgrowing his senses.
"Don't you dare touch my Starlight," Megatron warns sternly as soon as Rodimus gets too close. Having him watch is one thing, having him participate in any capacity is another. "They're mine. You can look, and that's it."
Rodimus pulls back, admiring from afar. Both of you look hot like this, and it makes him miss his days with Drift.
Megatron's possessive booms through you, causing you to hurtle into ecstasy. You orgasm with a high-pitched moan, rolling your hips desperately over his lap as you make use of every inch of him. He vents a low sound at the feeling of you squeezing him, drawing his derma to your neck to pepper sweet kisses there.
Your back arches as your orgasm continues to pulse through you, your vision blurring. It feels so good, and maybe you're even more excited at the fact that Rodimus is getting off to it. You're liking this more than you'd care to admit, seasoning your own appetite through Rodimus' optics.
"New position," Megatron announces against your neck. He grabs your hips, pulling you off his spike. You whine at the emptiness, but are soon startled into silence when he manhandles you face down on the bed.
You land with an oof, scrambling your hands to grab onto the pillow under your chin. Your hips angle upwards, presenting yourself to your lover. He hums happily at your obedience before crawling over you, his fat spike settling on the small of your back.
"This is one of their favourites," Megatron tells Rodimus as he draws his spike to your dripping hole. He grunts as he pushes in again, stopping when his hips meet your ass.
He starts thrusting, picking up his rhythm once again to put you back on track to a mind-bending orgasm. You whine and mewl, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you feel him knocking against the blissful spot inside of you.
"There are two particularly sensitive spots that they love having stimulated," Megatron says to Rodimus.
Your lover wiggles his servo under your hips, snaking in between you and the bed to find your clit. Your hips prop up further naturally to give him the space.
The moan that tears from you when he starts circling at your clit and hitting your G-spot at the same time is nothing short of obscene. You hide your face in the pillow, moaning and screaming into it.
"Keep moaning like that, littl'un," Rodimus pants as he jerks his spike faster. Your moans are like the highest-grade engex money can buy, and he finds himself becoming dependent on them.
You're too preoccupied with taking the assault weapon known as Megatron's spike to even hear Rodimus, but despite that, you don't stop moaning. You never do. As said before, it simply can't be helped.
The inside of your thighs are soaked, but at least that gives Megatron an easier time.
He's enjoying this so much more than you thought he would. He's getting off on it, you can tell by how he's being with you. The riled-up energy electrifies his circuits. Having Megatron show his slightly wilder side is something you savour every moment of, God knows you don't get enough of it.
The thick tip of his spike bullies the spongy spot inside you, making you choke on the pleasure. Right now, you're hardly even registering Rodimus' presence just to the side of you. It's just you and Megatron, revelling in the abundance of sexual chemistry billowing between you.
You're being fucked so hard that the slats of the bed are creaking, threatening to splinter and break any moment now. A moan gets stuck in your throat as his punishing hips slam against your ass until your cheeks are red raw. It feels like you're being spanked over and over and over and over.
"Oh fuck— Megatron!" You cry, "Slow down!"
"You've taken more than this before," he utters back. Rodimus's audials perk up at that, curious just how much the former warlord can dish out. And how much you can handle.
"Muh— Hngh," Rodimus starts to say, but his voice quickly loses him. "Maybe… Slow down…"
How noble. Riddled with lust, tugging his weeping spike at the sight, but still thinking of you.
"They have a safeword," Megatron responds, not letting up for a single moment. "If it gets too much, they know to use it."
Your back arches as you moan crudely, lifting your head from the pillow. Tears prickle over your waterline, and your climax is so close it's sending you wild.
"I understand now why the two of you interface so often," Rodimus marvels. It was a treat watching you through the cameras, but in person it's a feast.
A shrill cry spills from you as your orgasm floods through you. You squirt a gush of fluid through Megaton's legs, making a mess of your bedsheets. The stinging of his hips against your ass has turned to pure molten gold pleasure, fracturing your mind into a thousand pieces.
"Primus," Rodimus hushes.
"That's my good Little Light," Megatron praises, "Putting on a show for Rodimus, hm?"
"I— I can't help it," you babble back as tears fall down your cheeks. "You know you're good at that."
"Oh I know it," Megatron leans down to whisper into your ear. "You love squirting for me. You love overloading around my spike as I fuck you senseless."
"F—uh—uck," you fracture a curse.
"You're filthy, Megatron," Rodimus comments with hints of static in his voice.
"Isn't he just?" You whine through a moan.
"Don't be fooled, Rodimus," Megatron says, "They love when I'm filthy."
Megatron pulls his servo away from your clit, moving up to shove his digits in your mouth. You stifle a moan around him, your vision slowly whitening as you suckle on his wet digits. You'd be an idiot to leave any crumbs behind, so you'll eat your meal with every bit of grace that Megatron shows you.
"Holy Primus," Rodimus gasps. Watching Megatron use you as he pleases does more for him than anything he's ever seen before. In truth, he almost expected the roles to reverse in the berth. Megatron is naturally more dominant, and he thought that the trope where people like that are more submissive in the berth might be true. Evidently, that is not the case this time.
Megatron grunts deeply as his movements get harder, finally succumbing to his own pleasure. He fills you the the hilt with his spike, making sure he's as deep as possible to give you his thick load. The warmth swarms over your lower half as you gasp around his digits. He blesses you with every last drop, but he isn't quite done. There's still one person in this room left to find their peak.
Your lover pulls out of you, slipping his digits out of your mouth to grab your hips with both servos. He pulls them up, leaving you in a face-up, ass-down position. Your eyes are hazy as you pant shallowly against the bedding, your fingers and legs quaking.
"Come, Rodimus. Take a look," Megatron invites.
Rodimus leans over to peer behind you, and Megatron cups his servo under your abdomen before pushing on it. As soon as he does so, a healthy gush of transfluid gloops from your hot cunt. The pink fluid runs between your folds, dripping down onto the bed. It makes the co-captain ravenous, witnessing a banquet he isn't allowed to feast at.
The orange mech has no choice but to find his climax there and then. A desperate, sharp moan tumbles from his derma as he releases, shooting his load over your floor. You're too out of it to pay much attention, trying to settle your reeling mind.
There's a large puddle of Rodimus' transfluid on the floor by the time he finishes, slowing down his movements to ease himself off the high. He's venting, his internal sensors warning him of a risk of overheating. He sits back on his haunches, releasing his spike at long last.
Megatron reaches over to the bedside table, grabbing some tissues before coming back to start cleaning you up. He collects his load from you, scooping it up. He'll take you for a bath later, when you've returned to your senses. Without acknowledging Rodimus further, Megatron grabs you to flip you over onto your back. You whine as you settle whilst Megatron pulls a blanket over you. Not that modesty would be of much use to you now.
Your partner brushes sweaty strands of hair away from your face, dipping down to give you soft kisses over your hairline.
"You did well, Little Light," he hushes light praise.
Megatron wipes his spike off with more tissues, offering Rodimus some as well. The other captain takes them sheepishly, suddenly embarrassed by the whole thing. This is a level of debauchery he didn't think would be present on his ship.
"We uh— We'll keep this from Magnus, right?" Rodimus says nervously.
"We keep this from everyone," Megatron responds.
Rodimus vents a short laugh as he nods, starting to tidy up the puddle of his transfluid.
ngl optimus isn't even in my top twenty favourite transformers but just the two chapters of the new fic you've put out is making me rabid for him, your writing is so good heart emoji
HELLO thank you omg, that is so kind of you to say!!<33 if you continue reading, i hope you enjoy it throughout 🙂↕️♥️
it was brewing for a long time in my Mind Palace™️ so i’m glad to start actually writing it!!
hi again! this isn't a request or anything and you don't need to post it, but i hope you had a wonderful trip and that everything is going well for you! i just wanted to say that your writing in blade and steel is phenomenal and i'm absolutely eating it up!!! your fics always are works of art but something about blade and steel is just such a pleasure to read, and it really reminds me of madeline miller's work. if you've ever had an interest in greek mythology, i think you might really like 'circe' by her. her more famous work is 'the song of achilles' which is brilliant too. also, the drabble you wrote in response to my earlier submission was just so cute. thank you so much for it and it definitely brought a little bit of sunshine to my situation <3 much love!!!!
hello hello!! thank you so much, you are such a lovely ray of sunshine <3 i love when ppl spread positivity and u do that to the fullest!! i hope you have a day just as wonderful as you are 🫶
i’m glad you’re enjoying by blade and steel!! i’m having fun writing it and i look forward to writing more!!
i had an absolutely lovely time in scotland, it was my first time there. here are some pics >:))
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
thank u for the love and support on the first chapter!! it really means a lot to me <3 also, if you’re curious, i whipped up a little design for what i envision for optimus in this here
<- previous
The feasting hall remains quiet, with no sounds other than the clinking of cutlery and crockery as the King and Queen enjoy their meals. You look down at your plate, which has the finest meats and vegetables that could be asked for, truly succulent and mouthwatering, but you have no desire for it. With a diminished appetite, all you're left to do is push the food around with a silver fork.
The King sits at the head of the table, adorned with his crown positioned perfectly on his head, his white hair complementing the gold. The Queen sits at the other end of the table, her mousey-brown hair braided back neatly.
It's hard to scrub the memory of Ronnin's deceased remains from your mind, even harder to rid yourself of the grief that has tormented you since. There is no one in this realm you trusted more than her, and without her, you're left with no one to confide in.
Your ladies-in-waiting are pleasant women, with amenable personalities and good humour, but they aren't Ronnin. You fear you'll never meet another like her again.
"Please eat, my child," the Queen speaks softly, noticing your aversion to food since Ronnin passed on.
"I am not hungry," you reply simply, quietly.
"The chef went to the trouble of preparing your favourites," she says, "It would be a shame to see it wasted."
The Queen is a kind, soft-mannered woman. She speaks in delicate tones and moves in such a way that you could be fooled into believing she's carried on clouds. She captures the hearts of everyone she meets, and you have borrowed many traits from her under her parentage.
"And the chef has my gratitude for it. I will be sure to deliver my compliments personally," you say back. "Please may I be excused?"
"You may not," the King interrupts, "We have the matter of finding you a new protector to discuss."
"My dear," the Queen says to the King, trying to stop him before he can say anything else. Despite her words, he does not heed the warning hidden behind them.
"It is vital that the position does not remain vacant. I suggest we hold a tournament for it," he says, setting his silverware down before lacing his ring-clad fingers together.
You continue to look down at your plate, shaking your head shallowly. Finding Ronnin's replacement has been the last thing on your mind, and how the King can proceed so insensitively is beyond you.
"Dame Ronnin departed from this world not even 24 hours ago, and you wish to discuss her replacement? Like she was a disposable pawn who can so easily be forgotten?" You retort with a bitter taste in your mouth.
"And she served you well and faithfully for many years. But as it stands, you are exposed without a protector," the King declares clearly and powerfully.
"Darling, I don't believe this to be the time," the Queen tries her hand at diplomacy once again, pleading with the King to understand why this is an inappropriate dinner conversation.
"If not now, then when?" He says, looking at her. "Are we to pussyfoot around this until their grieving period has ended? Who knows how long that will take?"
The Queen glances at you with a sympathetic look. The King can be obstinate and headstrong, something the Queen knows all too well. She just wishes, for your sake, he might show a shred of leniency under these circumstances.
"Do what you must, Your Grace," you say to the King, your tone tight and words spoken with restraint.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Standing in front of a long, oval mirror, your stomach ties itself in knots. In hopes of distracting yourself, your eyes trace the weaving details that are carved into the gold frame. You are met with your own unsettled reflection, dreading the events planned for today.
"Does this one please you, Princess?" Thessa, your lady's maid, asks as she drapes a beautiful jewelled necklace over your clavicle. Three striking rubies hang from the silver chain, making it a beautiful accessory for any occasion.
"Yes, thank you," you reply quietly.
This is the last thing you wish to be doing. Anyone else who suffers the loss of a loved one in this land is granted 14 days as a mourning period, during which they are not required to fulfil their daily tasks and duties. Everyone in this land is treated with equity and diligence. Everyone except for you. Because, as it's been made abundantly clear to you, you are not to live in line with the traditions your citizens have. You must be different. Perfect. Seen to have no weakness, for weakness would testify to the fact that you are not worthy of the throne.
Thessa moves to the dress she has already hung out for you, placed on the outside of your wardrobe. It's a remarkable dress, with a green and pink satin skirt and bodice that cuts into a sweetheart neckline, bell-sleeves that stretch far enough to hide your hands, and a sparkling overlay for the skirt.
It is beautiful, and would certainly be a statement piece for the tournament held in your new Knight's honour.
"I am more than pleased with your choice, Thessa. However, I am still in mourning. I would like to wear one of my black dresses for this occasion," you advise. She nods, disappearing into your colour-organised wardrobe to fish out what you desire.
You look at yourself in the mirror, twisting one of your rings around your finger. Your nose and lips are reddened despite no tears being shed. It's hard to believe that any good will come from today. It will be one of those drab duties where you have to show up for the sake of showing your face. No one will replace Ronnin in your heart. The King could hold a thousand tournaments, and no one would suffice.
"I think this one will do nicely, Princess," Thessa says. You study her choice; a long-sleeved, long skirt black dress with silver embroidery and embellishments. The black material itself has floral designs embossed into it.
"I agree," you reply.
She gathers the skirt of the material, bunching it so that she can place it over your head. You slip your arms through once you can, leaving her to shimmy the skirt down and neaten the length. She takes her nimble digits to the laced-up back of the dress, pulling the cord through to secure it to you.
"I know it is hard, Princess. But please have faith that this day will go well," she speaks as she continues to lace you in your dress. "I have a good feeling about it."
"It feels ridiculous to be in pursuit of another Knight so soon," you bemoan lightly, "How am I supposed to hold my head high when I want nothing more than to be buried within my sheets and sob?"
"The King simply cares for your well-being. He isn't good at showing it, but you are his priority," she reassures you.
"Only because he failed to produce another heir," you quip back under your breath.
Thessa hears you, flashing you a look of acknowledgement, but she decides not to answer. She fears the two of you will only go in circles otherwise.
. ݁ ⟡ ݁ .
Swallowing back the bile that threatens to spew from you, you steel your anxieties as you step onto the shaded decking before walking on shaky legs to your seat. Placed on the left of the King, whilst the Queen sits to his right. Thessa takes a seat on the other side of you.
A sizeable audience has already gathered to witness today's entertainment. It isn't every day that the people are treated to a tournament, so many of them ensured they carved the time out of their busy day to be here. The crowd bustles and chatters, keeping the atmosphere lively to a tasteful degree.
Sitting in the shade is a blessing you won't take lightly, as today seems to be particularly warm. Not a single cloud shows itself in the sky, allowing the sun to beam down without obstruction.
Perhaps black was not a sensible choice.
You sit, shifting slightly on the comfortable red cushioning as the corset bodice of your dress makes it even harder to breathe. You're practised in this, far too used to wearing restrictive gowns that threaten to render you lightheaded, but your growing grief and the heat certainly don't help things.
Right now, you should be with Ronnin. Paying respects to where she has been laid to rest. Not here, already seeking her replacement.
The King turns to you, noticing your pallid complexion. Comfort does not seem to find you easily, but your duty calls.
"I'm glad to see you managed to join us. Albeit later than I would've liked," he comments lowly.
Today, within the next couple of hours, your new personal Knight will be named. The person who will remain by your side to see to it that you are free of any dangers. They will have to be strong, worthy, honourable, and most importantly, faithful.
You clear your throat, sitting straighter in your chair as you look ahead before answering. "I apologise for my tardiness. There was a wardrobe disagreement."
"Hardly an appropriate choice for an occasion such as this," he reasons with you. It cannot be denied that the dress you're wearing is marvellous, but the King would have liked for you to be mindful that this is a day about you, not Ronnin.
The King's chief advisor, Yonik, appears between your seat and his. A peculiar man, with more secrets than there are stars in the sky. Despite all these years he's been in service to the King, you personally are still unaware of his origins. If you had to hazard a guess, you would say he gets his blond hair and tanned complexion from the Dry Salt Isles, which take weeks to travel to by boat and do not sit within the modern realm. Thankfully, his sudden appearance has spared you any further lecturing from your father.
"The tournament is ready to commence whenever it pleases you, Your Grace," Yonik says.
"Excellent news. Thank you, Yonik."
The advisor steps back from the chairs, returning to the furthest wall to watch everything from afar.
After a couple more moments, the King stands from his seat. The Herald blows the loud, baritone horn to notify all that the tournament is about to begin. Each individual gradually quiets down into silence before the horn has finished with its fanfare.
Once full attention has been brought to the King, he speaks, loud and clear for all to hear.
"I would like to thank you all for joining us today. It is now time for the best fighter to prove themselves worthy of joining the Royal Guard, and to be granted the honour of being the personal protector of the Princess."
You don't look at the King as he speaks, even though every other set of eyes is glued to him. Chewing the inside of your lip, you are unable to take your mind off the good memories you've shared with Ronnin. It's hard to accept that no matter what anyone does, she will never come back to you.
"I would implore you all to keep in line with good manners," the King continues. Sometimes, sports such as this can bring out a boisterous side to people that often borders on being distasteful. "With that said, let the trials commence."
As soon as the order is given, a set of large, heavy metal gates begins to grate against the dirt ground as the handlers pull them open for the challengers to make their entrances.
The sound of trotting hooves can be heard first, kicking up the dried mud as the first challenger rides in on his horse. He wears a full helm, paired with a pristine set of full-body silver armour. It's polished to perfection, but your first thought of that is perhaps that he's never seen real battle. He flies a green flag, one belonging to one of the smaller houses of the realm. His horse, a chestnut stallion, trots down the length of the arena before taking position on the other side.
Next, a challenger with all-black armour, inscribed with red runes, boasts a red banner. You recognise the runes as the Hellinston native language, though it's a language that has not been actively spoken for many centuries. His helm exposes his face, displaying beautifully carved features. His onyx mare is the night incarnate, with impeccable braids woven into her tail and mane. He follows suit, lining up on the other side of the arena next to the other participant.
Your interest is not held for long, already fatigued of witnessing this needless gallivanting. Two more soldiers enter, sporting chrome armour, but you've already forgotten the colour of their banners. They rode past, earning claps and cheers from the crowd, but your mind still remains elsewhere. Each one lines up as previously instructed, awaiting the matches.
A much louder round of applause rises from the crowd at the next warrior, likely to be the fan favourite. The King is nodding in approval, clearly liking what he sees. Your eyes are still void of any sparkle as you stare off into the distance, disassociating from this plane of consciousness. Thessa joins in on the clapping, looking at you to see if there's any reaction. What she finds is someone physically present, but entirely distant from themselves, like the moon after an eclipse.
The last warrior to enter turns nearly every head in the audience. It is a distinct presence that even has the steeds of the other champions shifting uncomfortably. Remarkably, it is such a gravitating energy that it manages to tear you from your thoughts. Your eyes refocus, and you take a sudden breath through your nose as you regain your awareness.
You look upon the new challenger, the breath from your lungs being all but robbed from you. He is staunch and striking, leaving an impression on you already.
It seems to be a sentiment that is shared by the crowd, who are all entirely magnetised by him. Attention has been suffocated by the other contenders, and it's amusing to watch the unison of moving heads as the newest participant moves through the grounds to join the others.
He is fashioned in red and blue armour, and from what you can see, there doesn't seem to be a single exposed point. It's not traditional armour, and not nearly as reflective. His blue helm is decorated with a red feathered accessory on top, his eyes are covered by a bright blue visor, and his faceguard is silver. Unorthodox would be one descriptor for it, if not a little daring. And if you look closely enough, you could be fooled into believing that his visor is illuminated.
He carries himself with a honed prestige that's rare to find in anything but nobility. His posture is perfect, his energy is a force field. Anyone would be impressed to come across someone as distinguished as this, and you are no different.
Even his mount is clad in bespoke armour, matching the colour palette of the rider. It is a large, formidable beast that seems bigger than any other horse you've seen. You suppose, looking at the proportions of this new challenger, any mount would have to have above-average strength to allow him to saddle it.
He takes his position beside the other challengers, who are also all looking at him. Next to them all, he stands out. He's larger, more robust, and sporting unique armour.
"Bear witness to the participants who will fight for one of the highest Knight positions in the realm," the Herald speaks through the bullhorn, his voice amplified for all to hear. "Challenger one and two are up first. Gentlemen, please make the necessary preparations and take your stances on each end of the tilt rail."
The first two riders who entered through the gates collect their lances from the handlers who offer them. The green flag bearer canters to the far side of the rail.
To your surprise, the Hellinston fighter trots over to the royal decking rather than taking his position. He makes eye contact with you, smiling in a way that's almost disarming. He stations himself at the foot of the deck, bowing his head to you. His pitch-black armour engulfs any light from the sun, and his midnight mare stands as elegantly as they come.
"I would be honoured if my Princess would give me their blessing," the soldier speaks. The King turns to you, looking at you with expectation. You can see it out of the corner of your eye, and deciding to play your part, you clear your throat before standing.
Walking forward, you collect a rose from the large chalice of flowers before approaching the soldier. You reach up, tucking the stem of the rose into the braided mane of his horse. Peering up at him, you smile softly.
"You ride a beautiful mount. I wish you the best of luck."
"When I win, I will be sure to gift her to you as a token of my loyalty," he replies with a kind smile.
Turning on your feet, you return to your seat to watch the joust unravel. The nausea is unsettling, you're hardly able to focus on anything else. Flashes of your blood-soaked dress continue to invade your mind, and for a moment, you swear you can feel the cold touch of Ronnin's hand on yours.
You take a deep breath, settling your hands in your lap to fiddle your fingers together. The King glances at you, ensuring that you are not behaving out of line. This day is ultimately about you, so every scrutinising eye is pointed in your direction.
Both soldiers take their positions on either side of the grounds, readjusting the jousting poles in their hands to get more comfortable. The horse you just graced with your blessing snorts, kicking its front hoof against the ground.
The stoic duochrome soldier stands steely and powerful in his waiting position. His mount does not fuss or waver, and he oozes nonchalant confidence. Not arrogance, but he knows himself. He understands his strengths and weaknesses.
Leaning over, you whisper in Thessa's ear. "Do we know the name of that warrior in red and blue?"
"Does he have your favour, Princess?" Thessa hushes back with a playful smile. You pull back from her slowly, eyeing up the individual once again.
"Perhaps," you reply quietly.
She giggles under her breath before looking over at him as well. His sights are set forward, watching the jousts as though he's studying them.
"I believe his name is Optimus Prime," she informs you.
You hum, settling back into your seat. Jousting sticks clash and clank together from the two fighters currently going at it, but your thoughts are drawn elsewhere.
Prime. You're not sure you've heard of a house with that name. Perhaps he's not from this land. His armour definitely lends to the idea that he isn't Velantrian. No metalworker in these regions crafts in that style.
The track your thoughts were riding is abrasively interrupted when you hear the loud crashing of metal armour against the hard ground. A wave of gasps and reactions spills throughout the audience, your eyes snapping up to look at who fell.
Roars of bellows and cheers erupt, and the Hellinston soldier stands victorious above the other, who was knocked from his horse, and seemingly, knocked unconscious. You sigh a breath, fiddling with your rings once again for mindless distraction.
Two foot soldiers march over to the fallen challenger as the handlers rein in and steady his horse. The soldiers collect the unconscious man, quickly rushing him from the field to the medical tent situated on the outskirts of the arena.
"The first victory is claimed by Tarlen of House Hellinston!" The Herald announces.
The man known as Tarlen basks in the glory of his first win, waving to the adoring crowd as he returns to the line of fighters to await his next opponent.
"Our second round for the day will be between challenger three and four. Please take your positions."
Challenger three approaches the royal deck. She flies a purple banner, which you believe belongs to House Gourk, if your memory serves you right. She grins at Thessa beside you, lowering her head in respect.
"I believe I would have my victory assured if the lovely Miss Thessa would grant me her blessing."
A light blush crawls over Thessa's cheeks as she stands, walking over to the chalice to pick out a flower of her choosing before threading it into the mane of the white horse. The fighter utters a quiet thank you before taking off to ready herself.
Taking her seat next to you, you shoot her a coy glance with a smirk on your lips.
"It seems you have an admirer, Thessa," you observe in a whisper.
Her blush grows stronger, averting her eyes from you. You giggle lightly before paying attention to the fighters taking the field.
"Begin!" The Herald calls.
With the command, both riders prompt their horses to bolt. The rhythmic sound of heavy footfall from the rampant horses bounces around the arena, creating a song for the battle.
The first spar is blown, jousting sticks clashing against metal armour. The abrasive noise of the wooden lance splitting sends shivers down your spine before the entire weapon clatters on the muddy ground.
One handler quickly obtains a new lance, jogging to meet the rider who lost their weapon and offers it over. The horse makes a sharp U-turn as the rider snatches the lance from the handler before they charge along the tilt rail once again.
Despite the fact that your attention should be devoted to the fighters in front of you, you can't help but glance in the direction of the mysterious individual whom Thessa calls Optimus Prime. You're insatiably curious to know more about him, and you're highly anticipating his battle.
You wish to remain as discreet as possible, attempting to reel back your gawking at him. You tear your sights away from him with great difficulty, focusing on the joust unfolding in front of you.
Although your eyes are witnessing the battle, your mind isn't committed. The actions are not processing as they should, and before you know it, the battle has taken a turn.
They duel, but it seems they are fairly equal in power. Both of them are dismounted, knocked clean off in the same fell swoop during a clash. A collective wince erupts from the crowd.
Thessa gasps, sitting straighter in her seat to look upon the Gourk woman she gave her flower to. Both challengers groan and writhe slowly on the floor, likely to be littered with bruises come the morning. There are worse fates to have as a result of losing or drawing a joust. Consider it lucky that they kept their lives.
"Our second battle ends in a draw! Both participants are disqualified!" The Herald booms through the bullhorn as foot soldiers and handlers retrieve the soldiers and horses.
That's the way of it. A draw is equivalent to a loss, and neither participant is permitted to retry. It's not a matter you worry yourself over, as it means that the event will be over quicker.
"Challengers five and six, take your positions and prepare yourselves!"
You sit forward a little more in your seat without explicitly meaning to, your interest brought to its peak. This is what you've been waiting for. Anticipation flows through your veins as you watch Optimus Prime take his stand on the far end of the tilt rail.
The call to begin is shouted through the bullhorn, and Optimus' reaction speed far exceeds his opponent's. It seems to fluster the other fighter, prompting his horse to bolt with a panicked knock of his heels.
Optimus delivers a strike that is so quick that if you blinked, you would have missed it. His opponent is steadfast despite his nerves, hitting back as hard as he can. The red and blue warrior circles around at the end of the rail, resuming his march to victory.
Watching him fight is a feast for the eyes. He is practised and diligent, seems to leave no openings, and moves as if the very art of battle was designed after him. It's spectacle enough to momentarily distract you from the curdling grief that plagues you.
He glides across this arena as though he were born for it, as if he knows it better than the back of his hand. He doesn't require a moment of respite or to find his bearings once reaching the end of the tilt rail. His steed dances to the beat of the battle, creating a flawless battle.
There's never been a warrior who's taken to this as effortlessly as he is right now. You don't believe the realm has ever been graced with such a polished fighter, even if it pains you to believe that. Quite frankly, it's unprecedented. Even the King and Queen are in awe.
Tarlen watches on, anxiety nipping at his heels. His mount senses it, causing her to snort and fuss on the spot. He pats her gently, trying to settle her, but he's entirely unable to look away from the monster ravaging the field.
Without a shadow of a doubt, Optimus will be his opponent. In truth, he believes that the foreign challenger is toying with his adversary, purposely dragging it out for the love of the sport. Maybe he likes to savour his meals, to have every ounce of flavour seep over his palate.
"He is fascinating, is he not?" Thessa murmurs to you.
"I am inclined to agree," you reply.
"Your favour may have blessed him more than any flower could," she says.
"Skill like that is not born from favour. It is crafted and perfected to the most acute degree," you comment, unable to keep your eyes off him.
The strikes Optimus lands are heavy and precise, and his opponent can barely keep up with them. Granted, he is doing an impressive job of staying on his horse. Just about.
It's hard for your eyes to follow the speed of the fight. Every turn Optimus takes at the end of the tilt rail leaves clouds of dust, his horse never once faltering. Both of them have been carved into the perfect fighting machines.
Upon the next strike, Optimus' opponent falls ungraciously from his horse, landing directly on his back and smashing the back of his head against the hard ground. He groans in pain whilst the impact rings through the metal of his helm. His skittish horse neighs and rears, its heavy hooves falling against the ground before galloping off.
"The victor of the third joust is Optimus Prime!" The Herald cheers.
The crowd roars with applause, struck with a powerful sense of admiration after watching the way he battles.
Before the foot soldiers can get up to help the fallen rider, Optimus dismounts his steed. The gentle beast remains still, patiently waiting for further instruction from his master.
Optimus walks over to his defeated opponent, offering his servo out. After a couple more grunts and groans, the man takes Optimus up on his offer. They lock wrists, allowing the mysterious fighter to hoist him back up onto his feet.
"A powerful fighter and well-mannered," Thessa hushes to you, "It's rare to come by someone who is both."
You hum in agreement. It's true, you've never seen a battle where the winner helped the loser regain their footing. It's a statement which you're yet to fully decipher.
"You fought well. Be proud," Optimus speaks, his deep voice tinny through the faceguard.
"T—Thank you. It was an honour to face you. It is a skirmish I will not soon forget," the other man speaks somewhat sheepishly. Even though he just got knocked on his backside, he can't deny how mesmerising it was to watch the Prime.
"Do you need assistance? If needed, I'd be willing to escort you to the medical tent," Optimus offers.
"No, no. I'm uh— I'm well, if not only a little winded."
The red and blue bot nods once in acknowledgement before turning to his horse. He utters a single phrase in a tongue you're not privy to, causing you to slightly cock your head to the side. He most certainly is fascinating, and a part of you hopes that he will come out on top by the end of the day.
He takes the reins of his horse, leading it over to the edge of the pit to join Tarlen. The two champions nod their helms out of respect before Optimus straddles his mount again to await the Herald's announcement.
"We have our final two contenders!" The Herald speaks, causing the crowd to whoop and clap. "Tarlen of House Hellinston, and Optimus of House Prime. Gentlemen, please take your positions."
So, this is it. One of these men will be your protector until they pass or are no longer fit for the role. Today, Ronnin will officially be replaced. Neither of them can hope to fill the void that the loss of her has left behind. Despite your excitement after watching Optimus perform, you still feel hollow and led astray.
A pin drop could be heard from the sheer amount of bated breath, every curious eye watching anxiously as the fighters stand at the ready.
Just as before, Optimus does not hesitate to charge the second the call to begin is made. Tarlen moves too, if not a short moment after. The banging drum of the hooves hitting the ground builds further excitement for every onlooker, and it's quickly cut short as the first collision booms.
Tarlen juts back on his horse, but manages to compose himself quickly after. Optimus didn't even flinch, turning sharply at the end of the tilt rail to charge again. He moves relentlessly, his mind and body entirely in sync.
There's a rampant fear emanating through the crowd that if Optimus maintains this level of ferocity, he may very well kill his opponent. It's as though he's studied the art of battle for a millennium, everyone else who faces him is trifling in comparison.
You can hardly believe your eyes. Blow after blow is landed on the black-armoured competitor, and he has no opportunity to strike back. This may be one of the most one-sided battles you've ever seen.
The King watches eagerly, utterly impressed by the prowess being demonstrated. This powerhouse would be more than worthy of serving as your sword and shield, but the conclusion of the fight is yet to be seen. It's entirely possible that the son of House Hellinston could make an unexpected comeback.
The next clash of Optimus' lance against Tarlen's armour causes the latter's horse to spook, rearing on the spot with a startled nicker. Tarlen adjusts, trying to stay atop his horse, but his feet fall from the stirrups, and the rest goes so quickly you hardly register it.
Tarlen tumbles off the back of his horse, hitting the ground with a loud thump before rolling. His horse snorts and whinnies as she kicks up the muddy ground, fussing in such a way that her armour rings.
Optimus' mount gradually steadies into a trot, then into a walk as the crowd gives him a standing ovation. He doesn't seem to relish it like others might, like he's too humble for such a thing. The Herald announces Optimus as the champion of today's trial, only fuelling the audience further.
Your heart rate picks up as the uneasy feeling sinks further into your stomach. You're mere moments away from knighting another, leaving Ronnin's position as nothing more than a note in history. This will be the first time you've ever known anyone else to protect you in the way Ronnin did, and it suddenly feels all too soon.
The foot soldiers have already collected Tarlen from the ground by the time you come back to your senses. He has one arm each around both their shoulders, limping through his injuries. He perks his head up, glancing over at you on the royal deck. You see his mouth move, and then the foot soldiers look your way too.
Changing course, the lead the wounded runner up over to you. You smile warmly as he approaches, seeing Optimus dismount his horse out of the corner of your eye. He hands the reins to the handlers, who take the beautiful steed into the stables.
Two royal advisors move into the field, approaching Optimus to have a conversation that you're not able to hear from this distance.
You stand from your seat, walking a few steps over to the front of the decking to meet Tarlen up close. He has a gash through his eyebrow, bright red blood trickling down his handsome features. You note the dents in his armour, which luckily took the damage in his place.
"I am sorry to have failed you, Princess," Tarlen says as he bows to the best of his capabilities.
"You have done no such thing," you reassure him warmly, "You are a marvellous fighter, and are worthy of Knighthood. I have no doubt you will achieve it in the near future."
"Your graciousness knows no bounds," he expresses deeply.
"Please, I insist that you take the necessary rest after your battle. I will ensure that Master Ephri, our finest healer, personally tends to you." You peer behind you, catching Thessa's eye. She hears your request loud and clear, standing from her seat to call for Master Ephri. The foot soldiers leave with Tarlen, guiding him to the medical tent where the other competitors are.
The royal advisors accompanying Optimus bring him to you, and you're astounded by how large he is. He's notably larger so close up, you have to wonder if his roots stem from the giants that roam the rolling hills in the far East of Velantra.
"Your Highness, allow me introduce you to your champion, Optimus Prime," one of the advisors says.
The Queen's sworn protector, Vamir, draws up to your side before kneeling and offering you his sword. It's the finest sword you've ever laid eyes on, crafted by the most talented blacksmith in the realm. Its long silver blade is sharper than obsidian, and the hilt is made of pure gold with engravings that took the blacksmith months to complete.
You take the sword, offering your thanks before taking a deep breath, turning to face the victor of the joust. His visor makes it hard to gauge any eye contact, and up close, it definitely seems like it has a built-in light effect. You've not seen such a thing before, furthering your conspiracy that he's come from a land beyond your scope of knowledge.
"Kneel before me," you order lightly. Optimus complies, lowering to one knee and bowing.
"Remove your helm."
He doesn't act as quickly as you expect. Your thumb rubs over the engraving in the hilt of the sword as your stomach winds itself into knots.
Rather than removing his helm in the way you expected, he brings his servos to the sides of his faceguard, pressing against the latches placed there. He removes the faceguard, but the angle of his bow means you cannot yet see his face. Next, you hear a subtle hissing noise, one you don't recognise. Your brows furrow with confusion, but all makes sense once he lifts his face to look at you.
Your gasp is stifled, but the Queen's is not. You gaze upon crafted beauty, but one metal in nature. His eyes are a unique kind of light, something that looks like sorcery. Only a mage could have created a being such as this. He is humanoid in structure and appearance, but he is a fraction removed.
Nerves have you gripping your sword tighter, unsure of what you are looking at. You've never seen anything like this before, and you aren't sure what to say.
"You are not…" You start, hesitating. You take in all of his features, your mind running through the mythical creatures like a rolodex to see what you can pair him with. Unfortunately, you come up blank. He is, put simply, a metal man, and nothing of the sort ever came up in your education.
"I am not of this land," he confirms the obvious. Of this land? More like this world. Your deep curiosity regarding this enigma of a being is growing ravenous with each new development that shows itself.
The crowd watches on nervously, nearly on the edge of their seats with anticipation. This day continues to get more and more interesting, it may very well go down in the history books.
"Native or not, we have our champion," the King speaks, not nearly as fazed as the Queen. "We must honour it. This is to be your new Knight, so you must continue with the ceremony."
You don't look at the King whilst he speaks, finding it hard to look away from the man before you.
But the King is right. This is your duty, and the warrior before you won the trial. You take a steady breath before lifting the sword.
"In the name of the Fated Ones, I charge you to be born anew," you say as you touch the blade of the sword on one of his large shoulder pauldrons.
"In the name of the Statans, I charge you to be just and faithful," is your next set of words, moving to his other shoulder pauldron.
"And in the name of the Keepers, I charge you to protect the innocent and maintain integrity." The last touch of the blade is brought to the top of his helm. With it, the ceremony has concluded. One chapter of your life has come to its end, and another is about to begin.
"Arise, and do so as Ser Optimus Prime, Knight of Velantra, and sworn protector to the Princess of the Realm."
next ->
i hope u all have a lovely day <3 thank you for reading!!
so i had a random thought come to me. a total what if scenario and completely noncanon to Across the Divide, but Megatron being found by Optimus and co
But Optimus sees that not only has he made a good life for himself, he sees that he has a family
maybe “change” his sentence from imprisonment to being sent into exile, wink wonk
JUST AN IDEA I WANTED TO SHARE! Hope you have a good day!!
.⋅˚₊‧ mtmte megatron x human fem reader
• across the divide — spin off • 3.1k words
helloooo!! this is such a cute idea. ppl asked for brainstorm getting to meet the family too, so i’ve developed on your ask to include some other mechs >:)
"Go away! Leave me alone!" You shout over your shoulder as you scurry through the meadow at the back of your house.
"Wait! Littl'un!" Rodimus calls from behind, picking up his pace. Optimus and Brainstorm follow behind, and before you know it, they're circling in front of you.
You stagger back, your breath hitching as though you're in some kind of imminent danger. The three of them would never inflict harm on you, but your concern lies with Megatron and what it means for him that the three of them have shown up.
"Why would you come here?!" You shout at Brainstorm, "You know I needed this! Why have you come here to ruin it?!"
Tears bloom over your waterline as your blood pressure rises. Brainstorm looks taken aback to be the one at the receiving end of your upset, but he can't say he's too surprised. You are the closest to him out of the trio, you probably feel the most comfortable with him.
"It's— It's not like that!" Brainstorm adamantly defends.
"I want you gone from here! From this place! You can't be here!" You shout and cry.
Optimus and Rodimus watch on as you have your meltdown directed towards Brainstorm. Evidently, you are pregnant and are probably fearing what consequences will come from their arrival. If only you would let them get a word in, this could be settled.
"Listen to me—"
"No! Because if you've found us, then that means anyone can. I just want to live in peace."
You barge past them, not letting them corner you anymore. They go easier than you thought they would, witnessing how you storm off from them. You journey through the field to your home, clearly not in your right mind. All you want is to go back to Megatron, not thinking that they'll likely follow you home, and you'll lead them right to him.
The trip you take home is fast and frantic, your mind on a single track. Your heart is pattering wildly, and your breathing is frenzied. You're clenching your jaw so tight that you're sure to give yourself a headache any moment now.
When your home comes into view, your pace quickens until you reach your back door. You grab the handle, opening the door hastily before slipping inside and slamming the door shut behind you. You throw your bag down on the kitchen counter before threading both hands through the roots of your hair, staring so fiercely at the ground that you might burn a hole in it.
"Little Light?" You hear Megatron's voice call from the living room.
You shudder a gasp as you try to release the high anxiety trilling through you, looking through the doorway to the living room.
"What's the matter?" He asks as he exits the living room, crossing the hall to enter the kitchen. You look like you've seen a ghost, frightened half to death. You look behind you out of the kitchen window, seeing the three familiar figures approaching closer.
"Go, go, go, get in the living room," you demand, closing the gap between you almost inhumanely fast. You press against his chassis with urgency, but your strength is trifling in comparison to his own. He peers down at you with bewilderment, trying to piece together what has got you so flustered.
"Tell me what's wrong, Starlight," he implores, grabbing your wrists from his chassis in hopes of grounding you.
"Fuck!" You curse, "I'm such an idiot! I led them right to you!"
"Who?!" Megatron presses beseechingly, unable to make sense of what you're talking about.
"Th— The others! Rodimus, Brainstorm! Optimus!" You prattle frantically, "They're here!"
Megarton glances up to look out the window, seeing those familiar colour palettes close in on his home. He is not struck with nearly as much fear as you are, but he doesn't foresee this being good. He pulls you into an embrace, wrapping his strong arms around you for comfort. He kisses the top of your head, shushing you gently.
"Starlight," he voices, "I need you to stay calm. You're not thinking straight, okay? I need you to find your centre again."
He pulls back a fraction, using one servo to tip your face up towards him by your chin. He gazes into your frenetic eyes, trying to lull you into calmer tides. "Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly. In for four seconds, out for eight seconds."
You follow his instructions, trying to shift the looming feeling of dread that draws closer and closer to you.
"That's it," Megatron commends lightly, "Just like that. Keep doing that for me, okay?"
You nod, feeling the terror expelling from you through each exhale.
"Stardust is in the living room. Go and sit with her."
"No—"
"Please. For me. She'll be confused and frightened by new people, she needs her mother there to be her sense of safety."
Relenting, you heed his request. You focus on your breathing as you slip out of Megatron's hold, vanishing into the living room to reunite with your daughter.
Just as you leave, the three Autobots arrive at the back door. A knock sounds from it, and Megatron steels his resolve before stalking through the kitchen to open it.
Optimus stands in the middle, with Brainstorm and Rodimus on either side of him. His optics meet Optimus' only, but he stands broadly in the doorway to deny entry.
"We owe them an apology," Rodimus speaks first, not even bothering with pleasantries. Megatron supposes he isn't entirely deserving of them. "I think we gave them a real fright. We didn't mean it!"
"Why are you here?" Megatron asks, though the answer may seem obvious.
"Would it trouble you to let us in so that we can explain?" Optimus speaks.
Megatron looks over his shoulder in the direction of the living room, knowing that everything he holds dear sits in there.
"You've not started off on the best ped. You have frightened my wife," Megatron informs.
"You wanna talk about not starting off on the best ped?" Brainstorm asks, his voice full of sass.
Optimus glares at Brainstorm, silencing him. Antagonisation is not what any of them are here for, but Brainstorm seems to forget himself.
"I'll allow you to come in, but please be mindful of my family," Megatron says, stepping to the side.
All three of them ponder that word. Family. Megatron and family don't seem like two words that should be in the same sentence.
Optimus enters first, followed by Rodimus and then Brainstorm. Megatron shuts the door behind them and then takes the lead in bringing them to the living room.
You hear a group of footsteps through your home, only serving to make you feel more nauseous than you already are. Your daughter is sitting between your legs on the floor playing with her train set.
Like soldiers filing in, Megatron and the others enter. Your energy is tense and on edge as your eyes flit between them all.
"It's alright, Starlight," Megatron says.
"I'd like to apologise to you," Optimus starts. Your daughter looks over to the strangers in her house, crawling closer to you to splay her arms over your thigh.
"Mama," she warbles. Rather than cuddling up to you, she crawls awkwardly over your thigh. The room is silent as your child crawls towards the mechs, specifically going straight to Brainstorm.
You stand up, almost immediately magnetising to Megatron's side. You keep a keen eye on your daughter, who sits by Brainstorm's leg, slapping gently against it for his attention.
The 'Bots in the room have no idea what to do or say. Brainstorm observes with caution, as if he's never encountered something so young before.
"They're going to take you from me. From us," you speak to Megatron with worry.
Megatron cups the side of your head with one servo, smoothing his other over your growing baby bump. You're staring at the trio with sheer panic, your nerves through the roof.
"Stress is not good for the baby," Megatron reasons softly, "Let me deal with this, hm?"
He kisses your temple in hopes of reassuring you. You hold onto the wrist of his servo currently placed on your stomach before you drag your sights from your guests to your husband.
"I'm not leaving," you whisper with glassy eyes.
"And Megatron's not leaving, either," you snap at the group.
"Please," Optimus speaks, raising a servo to reach out for you. You pull back, holding Megatron tighter. The Prime retreats, renavigating the situation. "We have no intention of taking Megatron away."
"Dada," your baby verbalises, crawling away from Brainstorm to her father.
"Come here, Stardust," Megatron says as he crouches down, slipping out of your hold. He picks her up, resting her against his chassis before standing again.
"If you have no intention of taking him, then why are you here?" You retort with caution.
Your child starts to teethe on the edge of Megatron's chassis, either looking to feed or looking to relieve the discomfort in her gums from her baby teeth growing in.
"Please stop eating your father," you grumble, reaching over to the table behind you to get one of her teething toys. You rattle it, trying to present it to her. She looks at you out of the corner of her little eyes, but she has no interest in what you're offering.
"She's okay," Megatron reassures you, bouncing your daughter lightly. "She's not hurting me."
He knows you're fussing because you're frightened. After all, the last time you saw these three, Megatron was sentenced to life imprisonment. You breaking him out of jail is an equally heinous crime.
"We came here to see if the two of you were here," Optimus starts to explain.
"But now that we know, we can lead the others away from here. Tell them that the planets been searched and you were no where to be seen," Rodimus expands on Optimus' point.
"How am I supposed to trust that?" You reply, your words riddled with hesitation.
"Do you think I'd lie to you?" Rodimus says with a crease in his optical ridges, pained that you'd think so little of him.
"I— I don't know," you hush, looking over to Megatron again. "But I can't risk it. I'm happy. We're happy. We have a family, a community, a good life."
Optimus' optics look between the two of you, seeing your closeness. Watching how Megatron coddles and soothes his young child, and ensures the comfort of you and your unborn baby. It's not the Megatron he knew, and he can hardly imagine this Megatron doing half the things his history speaks of. Optimus never got to see the relationship between you bloom. Any Cybertronians knew of you, knew that you were the organic to open Megatron's optics, but Optimus never could have imagined it would go this far.
"Megatron," the Prime announces, "Can I speak with you? In private?"
Your lover looks away from your daughter to meet Optimus' optics. You shiver out of fear for the worst, wrapping your arm around his to keep him close. He nods towards Optimus before peering down at you, placing a warm servo against the side of your face.
"Can you trust me, Little Light?"
"It's not you that I don't trust," you reply.
"Please," he hushes lowly, "Just this once."
You run your fingers up his arm strut, glancing between him and your daughter. She coos happily, gnawing away at the metal of Megatron's chassis.
"Okay," you whisper before loosening your hold on him, motioning for him to hand your daughter over. He slips her into your arms, and you rest her against you with her head on your shoulder.
You take a few steps towards Optimus, gazing up at him with a serious expression. You push your finger against his chassis window before speaking. "You better bring him back to me."
"I will. You have my word," he answers.
"Come, Optimus. We can talk outside," Megatron says, leading the way to the back patio. The two mechs vanish into the kitchen, leaving you in the lounge with Brainstorm and Rodimus.
You sigh, expelling your fears. You rub your daughter's back as you place little kisses on her head. Just like with Megatron, she starts to rub her sore gums against your shoulder, but don't even flinch.
"Sooo…" Brainstorm pipes up, "Looks like I was right, huh?"
"Come again?" You reply with an air of fatigue, confusion being pointed at your best friend.
"With the pregnancy," he declares as if it were obvious. Walking over to you, he places a servo on your swollen stomach. "I told you before that I thought it might be possible with Megatron as long as he was in his human form. And look at that, so successful that you're already pregnant with baby number two."
You huff a laugh, glancing over at Rodimus, who seems utterly bewildered that such a thing is even possible.
"And your genes didn't stand a chance, did they?" Rodimus says, "She's Megatron's, no doubt about it."
"Yep, I grew her for nine months just for her to look exactly like a mini Megatron," you respond with a warm smile. Brainstorm rubs your stomach, almost fascinated by it. It's his first time actually seeing an organic carry their offspring, and he already has a million questions.
"Would you like to hold her?" You ask Brainstorm.
"M—Me? Hold your sparkling? Are… Are you sure?" He stammers, nervous at the idea.
You giggle in response, nodding your head. "Of course. You're basically her honorary uncle."
"Oh, Primus. I've known her for 10 minutes and I'm already being given uncle responsibilities," he responds in jest as you hand her to him. She goes happily, warbling in her baby talk.
"Yeah, I wish I knew what you were saying," he says to her. She coos some more, stretching out her little hands to his faceguard. She taps on it, exploring what it is.
As Brainstorm starts a monologue on how important his faceguard is, Rodimus approaches you.
"Sorry for being so defensive and cagey earlier," you express to the fiery mech. "I just panicked."
"A totally reasonable reaction, littl'un. I don't blame you," he sympathises warmly, placing a servo on your shoulder. "I was being serious, by the way. We'll throw everyone who is still searching for Megatron off the trail of this planet. You know that they'd take Optimus' word for it."
You're distracted midway through your conversation when you notice Brainstorm transforming his digits into equipment and tools he's likely to use in the lab, trying to entertain your little one with them.
"Brainstorm, please don't teach my daughter how to build weapons of mass destruction," you groan, not entirely sure what else you expected.
"What?!" He exclaims, "I wasn't!"
"Then what are you doing?"
"Being a fun, cool uncle!"
"You can be a fun, cool uncle using the mountain of toys Megatron needlessly spoils her with," you say, pointing towards the many boxes of toys in the corner of the room.
"Ugh," he scoffs before looking at your daughter, who is giddy with excitement. "Your mama is so boring! I don't know how you put up with them!"
Brainstorm moves over to the box of toys, holding her with one arm strut before fishing around for a fun-looking toy that will entertain them both. You roll your eyes affectionately, turning back to Rodimus to continue your conversation.
"Let's hope she doesn't grow up to be a crazed weapons engineer," Rodimus comments.
"If she does, I'll know who she learnt it from."
"I'm happy for you both, truly. Though, I do hope that Megatron gives you a break soon. It seems he still can't keep his servos off you," he jokes, nodding at your pregnancy bump.
"Yeah, well… He's such a good dad. When he asked for another, I basically folded immediately. I did make him wait over 800 years for a kid though, so I think it's only fair."
Rodimus laughs at that, watching how Brainstorm interacts with the tiny human. It's amusing to say the least.
"Megatron being described as a 'good dad' almost makes me feel like I'm in an alternate timeline," he sighs, "Never thought I'd see the day that the Big Bad himself settled down like this. Tranquil planet, a cosy cottage, a conjunx, sparklings. He really ended up with it all."
"Although I never met them, I like to wonder what his former Decepticons would think of this," you say.
"Shockwave basically went insane from how illogical it was that Megatron would change sides. So, having him settle down with an organic? I think that'd take out most of the Decepticon forces," he adds, "If only you'd come to us sooner, you could've saved us all a lot of trouble."
⋄✧⋄
"Please, sit," Megatron voices, motioning to one of the two chairs on the porch. The Prime takes him up on his offer, sitting on the wooden chair with a creak. Megatron sits on the other, resting as he gazes upon the beautiful pasture that stretches out at the back of your home.
"What your conjunx did was incredibly daring. I can't say I know many people who would risk something like that," Optimus says to open up the conversation.
Megatron vents a short laugh, watching as various wildlife hop through the fields.
"You're right, Optimus. What they did would be considered treason, no?"
"It would."
Your lover doesn't answer to that. He knew the risks of what you did the moment you did it, and yet, none of it stopped you. You knew what you wanted, and you were determined to make it happen, no matter what. Megatron won't be surprised if he leaves this day in chains.
"Despite that, I can see why they did it. I believe they knew what could be built with you. I can't fault them for striving for their dream," Optimus adds, "I am glad that you found the peace you'd been looking for for so many centuries."
"Never truly believed I'd get it," Megatron answers quietly, almost ashamed. "It was never Peace through Tyranny. It took me too long to learn that. I owe you an apology, Prime."
"I think we're past that now," Optimus replies.
A couple of moments pass where neither of them speaks. They simply bask in the chitter of wildlife, relish in the scent of summer that flourishes around them. If only their younger selves could see them now.
"I'm not going to take you from your family," the Prime declares, reinforcing what was said earlier. "I won't carry out your sentence. Instead, we could call it banishment."
Megatron peers over at his old nemesis, studying his optics for any hint of insincerity. He doesn't find it, not even a flicker.
"I hereby banish you from Cybertron, and you will remain here for the rest of your days," Optimus remarks, making it official.
