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).
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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 >:))
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 -> (w.i.p)
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.
I just wanna tell you that I love your blog~ I’m getting back into transformers and back into x-readers and I have so many of your fics saved so I can read them of my work breaks. I forget to repost or comment or heart because I’m so into them that I just want more.
Also I really hope we can see more of your art!! You have such a pretty style!!
hello hello!! WAHHH you are too kind, thank you so much!! i have a lot of love for writing so i’m glad people enjoy what i put out <3
thank u AGAIN!! i’m still kinda new to art, so i’ve played around A LOT with my style to find what i like and what suits me best, but here is a mini dump of some things i’ve done!!
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off to scotland until monday. the next chapter of by blade and steel will be posted on tuesday!! in the meantime u will be getting some across the divide food on saturday <3
Ahhhh no rush and ik the one Overlord fic was a one shot but I rlly wanna see how things progress with his human pet! I love love love how you write dynamics between characters its so good
♡‧₊˚ overlord x human fem reader 18+
• blue fire — pt. 2 • 1.1k words
-> warnings/tags: minors dni. unhealthy behaviour (c’mon, this is overlord we’re talking about). dubcon, oral, size difference.
sorry this took such a long time to write!! between my break and the writers block i experienced, so many asks collected dust in my inbox LOL. i find overlord kinda tricky to write for, but i hope you enjoy this!!
<- previous
The pain shooting up your knees is almost unbearable. You're cold, you're sore, and you're dizzy. You are currently sitting in your cage, your palms planted on the floor in front of you and sitting on your haunches.
Overlord holds the chain of your cage in a loose servo as he meanders down the halls of his ship, causing your prison to sway back and forth.
This is commonplace for you now. The nausea that once riddled you has long been squashed as your body became accustomed to rough treatment. It helps when you close your eyes and focus on taking paced breaths, which you're committed to doing right now.
Overlord's crew utter Cybertronian greetings to their commanding officer as they cross each other in the hall.
Perhaps the cage swinging like this is a blessing, as it makes it hard for anyone else to see how Overlord has decided to dress you. You're in hardly any clothing at all, wearing something that could hardly be considered a bikini, only just covering your nipples and a pathetic strip to keep you decent on your lower half. Graciously, he provided you with a robe. Unfortunately, its sheer material does nothing to give any modesty.
He finally stops walking once he reaches the bridge of the ship. He places his hand against the bio-reader, giving it a few moments before the doors open for him with a hiss. He steps inside, walking down the impossibly long walkway to reach the chair and the control panel.
Lifting your cage, he places you atop the control panel. You go with an oomph as the impact darts up your legs, making your imprisonment even more uncomfortable. Only Overlord would be capable of something like that.
Sharp talons slide the lock of your enclosure before he flicks the door open. It squeaks, and the sound is unpleasant to say the least. Just like the rest of your time since being in Overlord's company.
"Come out, pet," he commands, laying his servo flat in front of the door for you to step into.
You take a deep breath, hoisting yourself up onto your feet with a bit of a struggle. Pins and needles start to nip at your feet, but you do all you can to exit your cage and enter his palm. Sometimes, it feels like the cage he's using to imprison you is actually your biggest safety. It keeps him away from you and builds a barrier for a sweet moment. Walking out of your cage and into his hold is like leaving a sanctuary and throwing yourself into the maw of a rabid beast.
Once you're in his servo, he grabs you with his other servo, wrapping around your middle. You grunt with surprise, but try to remain as composed as you can. Providing him with any kind of reaction often results in him torturing you more.
"Are you frightened of me, pet?" He coos with that sickeningly sweet tone he uses, which you're pretty sure is reserved just for you. His thumb trails down your torso, heeding little regard for how comfortable this is for you.
"What would you prefer?" You dare to ask. One could say you're talking back to him, but your tone harbours no bite.
"I want you afraid," he whispers as his derma peel back to reveal a horrifying smirk.
He brings you to his intake, immediately drawing out his glossa to lick between your legs. The flimsy underwear you have on hardly acts as a barrier, feeling his wet touch intimately. You huff a surprised gasp, trying to remain composed.
"You taste so much better when you're afraid," he admits.
A thought crosses your mind. One that says you're no longer afraid of him, that you've been acquainted with his depraved behaviours for too long to pay it much mind anymore. But you wouldn't voice that out loud. He's unpredictable, and you don't know how far he'd go to instil fear in you once again.
His glossa slips under the seat of your underwear, using it expertly to pull the material down your legs. He bites, pinching the strip of fabric between dangerous dentae.
Your underwear is removed from you, and you're powerless but to watch as he spits them from his intake. He maintains eye contact as he moves back towards your cunt, licking at you again.
You whine in his hold, writhing slightly. His glossa is huge, targeting your little clit in a messy fashion. The insides of your legs rest against his faceplates as he dines on you. It's hard to properly lick you like this, it's more like he's rubbing you against his glossa.
"Master!" You moan, your hands flying to brace yourself against his upper derma. He chuckles lightly, admiring that pitiful look on your face.
These days, 'Master' is your most-used word. You rarely speak anymore, instead following his desires without protest. You're most vocal when he's intimate with you, when he's taking what he selfishly wants. Even then, you're only vocal because you know it pleases him. Whatever pleases him in turn pleases you, as it results in a nicer version of him.
You stifle a whimper. It always feels wrong to make any sounds for him. It's wrong, yet utterly addictive. Nothing can prepare you for the onslaught of his large glossa, licking at you like it's all he knows how to do. Shivers skitter up your spine, your toes curling from how good it feels. His optics glimmer with something sadistic, and you already know you're in for it.
A sharp cry tumbles from you as he sticks the tip of his glossa into your hole, ramming inside all too quickly. You grip harder onto his upper derma, throwing your head back. The stretch stings, but it feels so good that it's bringing you to tears.
His derma envelopes your pelvis, having you seated fully in his intake as he fucks you with his purple glossa. You struggle with how overly sensitive you are, but the pressure only makes him go for more and more. His glossa explores you, enjoying the way you pulse against him.
He's gotten good at this, better than you first thought he'd be. He was always so clueless when it came to your pleasure, instead staying loyal to his hedonistic path of self-pleasure. Over time, he started to enjoy it when you would find pleasure in him. It stroked his ego, you think.
Your first crest of pleasure is so abrupt that it startles you into thoughtlessness. You gasp as your pussy cinches around his glossa, desperately trying to keep him inside. Your body threatens to collapse as you let out a strangled moan, fireworks exploding in your vision.
Sooooo. You love Optimus Prime, I love Rodimus Prime. I’m wondering how OP would get comfort handing over the matrix and then hearing from the masses that Roddy is the “better prime.” (From the comics that share the matrix doesn’t cause Roddy pain like it did for OP, aka it’s a “better fit”). Give me angst!!!!
Bonus for Roddys side too, hearing this being said of his role model.
Thanks lovey 🫶
— ᨳଓ . idw optimus prime x human reader sfw
oughhh pookie this is EVIIIILLLL, but you know i love angst, so i had to write it LOL. thank you for sending this, i apologise for how long it took to write 💗
The moment you enter the bridge of Ark-27, you're hit with the potent scent of oil. It's mixed with a heavy smell of regret and wallowing, causing you to almost falter in your steps.
With hardly any light illuminating the space, it's hard to make much of anything out. You're relying solely on the natural light spilling in through the front windscreen, which is mostly made up of starlight.
It's silent as death itself, warning you against making any sound. It's so startling that you're frightened to breathe, afraid that the natural respiration would stir something unpleasant and awaken an unknown entity.
You move through the icy cold environment slowly, almost tiptoeing to gradually assess the situation at hand. It doesn't feel strictly dangerous, but certainly uncertain and uncomfortable.
Unsure if you should make your presence known, you simply stalk up the side of the Captain's chair to meet him. He may very well know that you're there, but he doesn't make a gesture to indicate it. He continues to dwell in his doubts, his helm hung low.
Gazing up at your large, heroic lover, you aren't sure what to say. You've seen him dejected and downtrodden more than once, but this feels different to the other times. Your brows crease into a frown as his energy starts to erode your heart.
"My love," you announce softly, "Would you like some company? Or would you prefer I left?"
He takes his helm from his servos, but he doesn't meet your eyes. He stares at his servos as though the answer to the universe is inscribed in the seams, studying them carefully and thoughtfully. You wait patiently, observing the pain in his beautiful optics.
"Stay."
It's one word. Whispered with intent, conjured from somewhere deep and genuine within his spark.
"Of course," you reply gently, walking closer to him. You turn and sit beside his ped, leaning your body to the side to rest your head against his leg strut. He vents a soft smile, lowering his arms to rest his elbows against his knees.
He stares out the front window, watching the freckled stars pass him by. He can't help but be drawn to the ones that seem particularly strong, that outshine the others around them. What's the saying? When a star shines twice as bright, but only half as long. A fitting analogy, the Prime thinks.
When he does all the saving, who will be there to save him?
Optimus has felt, for many centuries, that he's sitting in a tower surrounded by water. He remains in the damp, dark setting, wondering when someone will notice that he's there. Will anyone look for him? Or will they be distracted by Rodimus and his sparkling personality?
Sometimes, he places his servo against the cold wall and presses his audials against the brick. If he focuses hard enough, he's sure he can hear the sounds of others. He built the future for them, ensuring that they would be able to laugh in the same way they do now. But it came with a steep price: loneliness, agony, and dreams too large to ever achieve.
It's a burden he bears, a weight he carries. But he does so without any complaint, because this is the reality of bearing the Matrix.
Or, so he thought.
For all these years, he believed that suffering was the downside to harbouring immense wisdom and power. Everything is give and take; nothing in life is free. For aeons, he's swallowed his pain for the betterment of his race and people. It was always about the bigger picture, which he never expected anyone to understand.
So, why is it that Rodimus has had such a different experience? One where he feels the Matrix wants him, welcomes him? Where it feels like resting on a bed of clouds? Why is it that it does not pain him to open his spark chamber to this mystical power? Why does it not feel like the Matrix despises to be wielded?
At this moment, there's only one conclusion Optimus has drawn:
He was never worthy of the Matrix.
It was a fluke, something given out of desperation for Cybertronian survival rather than genuine value. A fluke that lasted too long. Perhaps it only wanted to be used by Optimus in the interim, just to push through that first leg of the war, rather than be paired with him for an age.
How many mistakes did Optimus make during his time as the Matrix-bearer? How misguided did he become at the troughs of battle? No matter how omnipotent the Matrix is, it couldn't make him whole. Instead, he was a charade. A grotesque caricature of the Greats that came before him, a pale imitation of what he strived to be.
The whispers are unmistakable and only fuel Optimus' crippling inferiority complex. Rodimus was always the true Prime of this age, but he wasn't in the right place at the right time all that time ago. The Matrix settled for what it had before it.
"Will you talk to me about it?" You ask just above a whisper. You're happy to sit in silence if that's what he needs, but you know it's rare that anyone truly lends their ear to him. You'll give him the opportunity to express his struggles, if he wishes.
He leans forward, dropping his servo down to you to brush his thumb gently over the top of your head. You shift, looking up at him to meet his optics. The ghosts weigh heavy on him, you can tell that much.
Scooping you up from where you're sitting, he brings you up to his chassis to place you on top of his window ledge. He rests back in the Captain's chair, trying to relax himself in your tiny presence.
"Perhaps I am just an old, tired mech, thinking back on his life and how things could have been done differently. If there were choices I made that led to unnecessary deaths. Sacrifices that were in vain. Paths taken that made the journey harder."
"I can't say I know much about leadership," you counter, "But I can't imagine it's ever easy. There are parts of yourself that must change, things that you must close off for the greater good. No one is perfect, Optimus. Your people still love and laud you despite any mistakes. You took them through their darkest hours and saw them through the other side."
There came a time, not too long ago, when the tower Optimus felt isolated in seemed to change. He felt the presence of someone else just on the other side, closer than anyone else had been. He could hear the rasping of small hands touching over the bricks, hoping to find a loose one that could be shimmied free.
He could hear a disembodied, human voice asking if anyone was in there. It stunned him, as he'd become so used to solitude he almost forgot how to use his voice.
It came at an important moment for Optimus. It was when his hope had started to wane, when he started to believe that the rest of his days were to be lived like this. Ignored and neglected in a cold tower, but still having to uphold order within the world.
For the first time in a long time, Optimus didn't feel so alone.
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆
Cube-shaped glasses clink, engex swishes and pours like there's an endless amount of it, 'Bots cheer and rejoice. It's a rowdy environment, but Rodimus relishes it. Far from the doom and gloom they've all known for millions of years. The war is won, the 'Cons are disbanded, and peace has finally been restored.
"To our new Prime!" Drift lifts his glass for a toast.
A wave of cheers pulses through the rambunctious crowd, joining in on the toast. As it settles, Drift laughs lightly, the engex already getting to him.
"The people really love you, you know," Drift says to his closest friend.
Rodimus smiles at that, nodding somewhat bashfully. It was always his dream to be a Prime, but he never thought it would actually happen.
"They even say you're a better Prime than Optimus," Drift adds, hoping that the comment will serve as a high-calibre compliment. Surely, Rodimus would be flattered to hear such a thing.
Instead, a confused look twists his features. He shoots Drift a glance, processing the statement. Surely, that cannot be right? Rodimus better than the Optimus Prime?
"I think you're exaggerating," the orange mech replies as he takes a sip of his drink.
"I'm not!" Drift defends boisterously, "I've heard it being said. The people think you're a better fit! Just take the compliment, will you?"
"N—No," Rodimus hushes with a shake of his helm. "That can't be right. I am not better than Optimus, there's no way. He's the person I've strived to be for all these years. If anything, I'm just an imitation of him."
Drift laughs, actually laughs, at that.
"You? Similar to Optimus? You need to have your processor checked."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Be serious, Rodimus. Maybe you're similar to Orion Pax, but definitely not Optimus Prime."
Well, doesn't that mess with Rodimus' perception of himself?
blurb: In a world populated by both mechanical and organic beings, the whimsical is never an afterthought. Dragons roam the skies, elves and pixies reside in pockets of the earth, humans and magics alike occupy the surface. It’s a realm of peace and order, overseen by the aristocracy who maintain the way of life for all residents.
After tragedy strikes the Princess’ most loyal knight, her position must be filled by another.
Optimus becomes the newly sworn knight of the darling Princess, vowed to protect and serve every request and order. The dynamic they share is supposed to remain strictly professional. But what are they to do when love starts to trespass upon the invisible social divide which forbids them from coupling?
themes: medieval au, fantasy world, knight!optimus, princess!reader, forbidden love, yearning, slow burn, eventual 18+ storyline — minors dni.
hello angels!<3 it’s time for a new weekly fic, yippee! for those of u familiar w my stuff, this will not be as long as across the divide but i’m no less excited to write it 🫡. you can imagine any optimus you like, but I like to visualise his IDW design (but make it knight-ified)
they/them pronouns will be used for the reader, but terms like ‘princess’ will be used as descriptors!! no use of y/n for the reader. smut will also be from a fem perspective.
The needle pierces through taut red cloth, adding another slither of detail to your embroidery work. You are lounging comfortably in the tower block of your home, the royal castle known as Croftvalley. You've seated yourself by the arched window, having opened the stained glass a tad to allow in some fresh air. With it wafts in the gentle scent of Spring, the flowers are finally in their full bloom. A myriad of colours embellish your room through the decorated window, specks of dust dancing within the rays.
Idle company of chatter from the townfolk and birdcalls makes for pleasant background noise whilst you commit to your task. You weave the golden thread in and out, slowly building the portrait of a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Once finished, it will make a fine accessory to be fashioned onto one of your dresses.
A gentle breeze flowing in through the window disturbs the delicate tulle on the long skirt of your purple dress, curling underneath to send a small chill across your shins. You shift your legs, repositioning your skirt. Placing your work in progress down to your lap, you take a momentary break to gaze out of the window across the vast landscape of the land.
The feeling of tranquillity flows through your veins as you take in the sights, admiring all that has been built. The sun is cast, blessing every structure with Her radiant beauty. Rivers flow with gentle glimmers, markets thrive with visitors, and children laugh and play.
Velantra is a nation of peace, stability, and order. You were born into this world as the King and Queen's sole heir, and you have been raised under the values of conciliation and equity for all. Each day you learn more, you gather more experience, readying yourself for the day that you eventually succeed the King in sovereignty of the realm you call home. Since you could form your first thought, you have been educated in politics, history, the arts, languages, and even a small amount of magic. Some humans that are born in these lands have a natural aptitude for magic, but your abilities did not flourish as much as the King and Queen had hoped for.
This place has been governed as such for many millennia under the powerful royal house, which has been steadfast in its lineage since civilisation first settled on this previously abandoned land. The royal house is benevolent and takes the concerns of its citizens with high priority. Peace has managed to prosper in these lands thanks to the kindness that oversees it, the diplomacy that laid the foundation of everything every citizen lives by. Your ancestor, the first Queen, was not considered a conqueror, but a respectable woman who united everyone and everything that gathered here. She was a leader who was forthright and strong, so she was elected to the highest position through democracy.
Every creature and being that inhabits this land does so with full autonomy and freedom. The population is diverse; elves, dragons, dwarves, humans, and mages alike all co-inhabit without any conflict. The people are treated fairly, their labour is compensated in kind, and no singular individual profits more as a result of another's work. This has been the law of the land long before you were born, and it will continue to be so long after you are gone.
Your eyes draw away from the views outside, instead moving to study your quarters. The green chiffon curtains billow softly from the breeze, your bed is perfectly made, and the acacia wood flooring is sparkling clean. Gold and silver accents decorate every detail, with intricate details carved into the walls and furniture. Everything is uniquely ornate, catered specifically to your tastes. You acknowledge the privilege that comes with being a royal, and you'll never take a moment of it for granted.
As though the higher powers are seeking to disturb your peaceful morning, a knock sounds from your towering, dark oak double doors. Your eyes flit over to look, tracing the vine-like carvings that stretch up the middle of them.
"You may enter," your voice says clearly.
The doors open, creaking slightly as your visitor becomes visible to you.
"Master Ephri," you greet. He's an older gentleman, trained under the very best and capable of remarkable feats in medicine. He is stationed at the castle permanently and acts as a personal healer to anyone in the royal household. The man holds himself well, with a near-perfect posture and immaculate appearance, with long silver hair which is often tied back in a low ponytail.
"My Princess," he replies, his tone bordering on solemn. "It is Dame Ronnin. Please, the matter is urgent, so your haste attention would be appreciated."
Dame Ronnin is your personal Knight. She has served you since the day you were born, sworn to be your sword and shield. To protect you at all costs, to ensure your safety. She is more like a mother to you than anything, often taking it upon herself to teach you lessons that one might learn from a parent.
An equal mix of confusion and concern paints your features as you put your embroidery work next to you on a plush cushion. You stand, moving through the room with urgency to accompany Master Ephri. Your skirt flows in your path, almost making it look as though you are floating. The expression the healer wears is grave, and you begin to fear the worst.
"What has happened?" You dare to ask as you leave the room with him.
The guards situated outside your quarters close your doors, returning to their firm standing position to keep watch. Master Ephri keeps with your pace as you take yourself down the long hallway, assuming that Ronnin is likely to be in the sanatorium.
"I will explain further once we get there," Ephri tells you, somewhat averting your look. This only lends to the idea that something has gone catastrophically wrong. Someone will rarely refuse you information that you ask for, but you're well-mannered enough not to push the topic.
Your heart rate starts to accelerate as a tingling feeling pools in your fingertips and settles in your teeth. You look down the long hallway, picking up the pace to reach your faithful Knight. The midday sun stretches past the pillars to cast shadows which you quickly pass through.
Master Ephri struggles to keep up with your pace, slowly falling behind. You can hear the rasping of his robes as he paces his breathing through his mouth, but it's of little concern to you in this moment.
Turning the corner so quickly that you almost lose your footing, you regain your composure as you journey the short distance to the third door down. Two Knights stand outside, turning their heads to see you.
"My Princess," one speaks, sidestepping further in front of the door. "I must advise against this."
"Stand down, Ser. You will not prevent me from entering this room," you declare sternly, on your mission to reunite with your beloved protector. The Knight currently standing between you and the door shows an uncertain expression, but soon sees Master Ephri approach from behind you. The healer nods, reaffirming that the Knight should step aside.
And so, he does. With a modicum of hesitation, he permits you entry.
You push open the doors, quickly slipping into the room. The sight you're greeted with is one that you never imagined you'd have to face.
Ronnin is resting on a marble slab, adorned in her silver armour. You have to bite back the gasp at the puddle of blood spoiling the brilliant marble, her pale complexion only just able to meet your gaze. A substantial gash has torn through the chainmail that pieces the side of her chestplate together, the wound so grotesque that removing the armour would have done more harm than good. The blood grows larger and thicker, bleeding through every strip of gauze wound around her.
Her burnt orange hair is dishevelled and messy, wisps sticking to her clammy face and neck. Her lips are dried to the point of cracking, already showing a chilling blue tint. Her lashes are clumped together; from sweat or tears, you can't tell. You've never seen her in such a weakened state, and it strikes a fear within you that is trying to claw its way out of your ribcage.
The moment feels like it lasts a lifetime, your body as still as stone. The weight of your heart keeps you rooted in place, unable to process what you're witnessing. Your eyes are wide, your lips parted a fraction. Master Ephri enters the room, drawing to your side. He looks upon you with concern and sympathy, unsure if he should utter any condolences yet, considering the light of Ronnin's life is still flickering. Barely.
"Ronnin…" You whisper, "What are you doing? What is this? Get up, Ronnin."
She sighs a shaky breath with what little strength she has left. She slides her hand across the blood-soaked slab, unable to lift it, but reaching out for you. Her chest falls and rises shallowly, clawing for each breath. Your heart begins to recognise an absence before your mind can process it, your sense of gravity entirely shifting.
"Come to me, Princess," she feebly asks.
Despite her plea, your feet will not take you any further. Your jaw clenches as your throat swells, the tingling sensation in your fingers spreading up your arms like an infestation. Master Ephri places a delicate hand on your shoulder, trying to imbue you with the courage to step forward.
"Dame Ronnin has held onto life so that she could say goodbye to you," he whispers softly into your ear.
A breath hitches in your throat as your nose and eyes start to tingle as well, your entire body succumbing to this new sensation. You clench your fingers into fists at your side, trying to quench your fears. Finally, your body moves. Not because you intended to, but because you needed to. Your heart was in control, but your mind seized the power to do what was necessary.
You come to her side, reaching for her bloodied hand. She's cold to the touch, but you hardly flinch. You wrap both hands around it, bringing it close to your chest. Glassy, teary eyes peer down at her as you hold back the urge to cry uncontrollably.
"Your dress," she hushes, regretful of the blood that is getting over the beautiful material. One as delicate as you should never know the harshness of bloodshed, nor should you be subject to dirtying yourself with it. That was always her job, to protect you from the harsh realities that sometimes befall this world.
"I don't care about the dress," you reply, your voice cracking. "I care about you, and you must stay strong for me. You will fare this, you've weathered tougher storms."
Your Knight smiles weakly, rolling her head over the marble in pain which she is trying, and failing, to hide from you. The foundation of all you know is slowly being removed from beneath you, brick by brick. You become more unstable by the minute, unable to find your centre.
"My sweet child," she murmurs, "I'm afraid that this is my end."
"No!" You reply desperately, holding her hand tighter. You begin to shake, knowing that you won't be able to hold it together any longer. Her blood smears over the tulle sleeves of your dress, sure to ruin this garment beyond repair. "No, Ronnin! You are sworn to me, and I have not given you leave!"
"You will make a remarkable Queen," she utters through a struggle, disregarding your outburst. "I'm sorry I will not be there to see it. Rest assured, I will admire your rule from The Divine Domain with utmost pride."
Every word she speaks drains her energy further, but she's determined to commit every last breath to you. Through clenched teeth, you suck in a sharp breath. You shake your head adamantly as tears start to fall over your waterline, pulling her hand to your cheek. You cradle your head in her palm, seeking the maternal comfort she has given you unconditionally for so many years. She cannot leave you like this, not so soon, not in such a way. She is deserving of a more graceful death than this. The Fated Speakers play a cruel game, never showing respect where respect is due.
"I can't be Queen without you," you say with a shaky voice, "You are my strength."
"Nonsense," she whispers.
One last smile is all she can manage before the life deflates from her lungs. You watch the light in her blue eyes fade looking straight at you. It's as though you're watching the sun decide to never rise again, lurching you into a territory no one could have prepared you for. She cradled you in her arms when you were just a babe, and she's passing on peacefully, knowing that you are the last person she got to see.
You sniffle as more tears flow from you, feeling your heart crack in your chest. Lowering down, you place a delicate kiss on her forehead.
Master Elphi comes up behind you, placing a consoling hand on your back. You pull away from your deceased protector, looking over your shoulder at the senior healer.
"Please have my assurance that I did everything within my capability to save her," he says quietly with a sorry look.
You look back to Ronnin, parting one hand from hers to brush her auburn hair from her freckled face. You smooth your hand over the roots of her hair as your tears fall onto her cheeks. The hands that taught you how to hold the world are now letting go of it, the roots of your oldest tree turning to ash beneath the soil. Your tears stain your cheeks as you look at her, hoping that the flame of her candle will relight any moment now so that she may return to you.
"I am deeply sorry, Princess," he continues.
Standing straight, you wipe your tears with your bloodied hand, refusing to let your other hand leave hers. Your bottom lip trembles, feeling as though you have lost a vital part of yourself in this moment.
"You did all you could, Master Ephri. You have my thanks for that. I'm sure you worked tirelessly, so please, excuse yourself for the rest of the day so that you may rest," you speak with a tremble.
Despite your grief, you try to be as benign as Ronnin always taught you to be. The greatest rulers do not obtain loyalty through fear, but instead cultivate it with kindness, until devotion becomes stronger than chains. You try to live by this, modelling yourself day by day into the eventual monarch you wish to be.
"We should allow the Daughters of Myre to handle things from here," he suggests gently. You peer over to the corner of the room, seeing three women standing there in the same stance, their hands crossed loosely over their front with their fingers laced. It's possible they were there the entire time, but you never noticed them.
The Daughters of Myre are a mystical entity. They are identical in appearance, with deathly pale skin, tall stature, straight, long black hair and pointed ears. From what you understand, they act somewhat as a hive mind, but they're hard to get any conversation out of. They are also known as the Keepers of Death, handling the deceased and overseeing the transition of the spirit to the care of The Fated Speakers so that they may enter the afterlife peacefully.
You sniffle once again, bringing Ronnin's limp hand to your lips to give her one last farewell. It is done with anguish and heartbreak as you hear the voice that always called you home becoming nothing more than an echo.
"Rest well, my dear Knight."
next ->
thank u for reading chapter one!! this chapter was just to set the foundations and establish the world!! optimus will arrive in the next chapter hehehe <3 i will aim to post on a weekly basis, but it may sometimes be ever two weeks!! i'll aim for chapters to be 4k+ words, but the first couple will be shorter as i develop the world!!
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hiya beautiful <3 hope you're doing well!!!!! looots of love from my end
currently battling ARFID but reading your fics offer a much needed distraction from everything. whenever i read your fluffy op fics i feel like this image
mwah !! all the best
sfw drabble — stargazing
hello my darling!! i’m sorry to hear that, things like that can be so difficult to deal with :( i hope you feel better soon and that you have a supportive net to help you <3 here’s a lil smth smth with my fave optimus <3
Rhythmic chirps sound off around you as you gaze up at the clear night sky. It’s a summer night in the middle of June, the air is stagnant and warm. You have your hands behind your head, basking in the natural warmth that emanates from Optimus’ mass displaced frame.
He’s adopted the same pose, resting back against the green fields to accompany you in stargazing. Both of you look over each pinprick of light, admiring them in their simplicity from your long distance.
“That one is called Orion’s belt,” you point out to the three stars in the sky, picking it first intentionally.
“Orion, huh?” He says.
“Yep,” you answer, “You were written in the stars long before you got here.”
He chuckles lightly at your theory. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“Mmm, maybe not,” you admit, “But it’s a nice thought, right? I like to think you were destined for this place.”
“And to find you,” he adds softly.
The words have your stomach doing flips, grateful for the night atmosphere to mask your growing blush. He’s so nonchalant with the way he says things, you aren’t sure if he means them as flirtatious comments or not. Maybe he’s just that smooth with it.
“Yeah, I like how that sounds,” you reply quietly, keeping your sights on the constellation. Trying to bat away your subtle shyness, you start speaking again.
“Greek mythology says that Orion was a giant hunter who was hung amongst the stars by the Gods, but there are a few different meanings behind it depending on who you ask.”
He nods as he listens, storing your information to his hardware. He’ll make sure he never forgets it, so that he can gaze upon the stars and always look back on this night fondly.
“And that one,” you say as you move your finger to another set of stars. “That’s Aquila, Zeus’ bird that retrieved his thunderbolts.”
“Zeus?” Optimus echoes.
“Greek mythology again,” you say, shifting your head against the grass to look over at him, “He was the King of Gods.”
“An impressive title,” he comments, looking over at you to meet your eyes.
“I like listening to you talk,” he admits, “I find it very peaceful.”
You smile at that, feeling bashful all over again. The strange set of circumstances that dropped you into Optimus’ orbit is something you’re forever grateful for. He is kind, compassionate, loving, gentle, and strong. Perfect in every way.
“Well I like being in your company,” you respond, “It’s nice getting to spend some alone time with you.”
“It pains me that we can’t do it more often,” he confesses, shifting over to draw himself closer to you. You watch him approach, noticing how he retrieves his face guard into the intricacies of his helm to reveal his beautiful face. It’s truly a crime that he keeps it covered most of the time.
He lowers down to you, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. You return the gesture, resting your hand against the side of his helm. He’s languid in the way he moves against you, maintaining a healthy pace for passion.
Right now, there’s no where in the world you’d rather be than right here with him.
here to say i have finally started writing the fantasy au knight!optimus x princess!reader i promised so long ago LOL. it’ll be a loooong fic (not quite as long as across the divide but still around 20 chapters) SOOO stay tuned for that my guys xoxo
i will try to get the first chapter out in the next few days!!
-> warnings/tags: minors dni. no plot, just porn. fairly vanilla, valve oral, soft/sub first aid. 1.6k words
hello hello!! waahhh you are SO KIND. i would LOVE to read some of your work!! it makes me kick my legs and twirl my hair that other tf fans like reading my stories!! if you like first aid, you should read some of @lostlighter375 ‘s work. they have some DELICIOUS first aid content!! anyway, i hope you enjoy and have a lovely day ♥️
For the first time in what feels like forever, the medical bay is empty. There's not a single spark i sight, which means that First Aid can finally enjoy some downtime.
You peer up at him, focusing on how his bright blue visor flickers with overstimulation as your tongue refuses to let up on his leaking valve. He's gripping onto the seat of the stool for dear life, nearly on the verge of breaking it. This wasn't how he thought his workday would go, but you're always full of surprises. He also never thought that he'd be having his valve eaten in one of the empty bays of his medical unit.
He's so beautiful when his processor is running amok because of you. He's a quivering, endearing mess. It's something he just can't control around you.
You're practically making out with his valve. You're being messy and sloppy, making sure to target all the good bits that have his circuits frying in no time. He prefers this over clean, precise licks. It's funny how people differ in the berth compared to how they are on a day-to-day basis.
"Primus, have mercy," he whispers, "Don't stop. Please don't stop, it feels so good exactly where you are."
He can be needy, even more so when you're paying special attention to his anterior node. Your tongue moves languidly, easily finding every sweet spot he has. Your tongue feels so much better than a Cybertronian glossa.
His frame is heating up, causing his cooling fans to activate. Whirring sounds emit from him, which is beyond sexy. It wouldn't have done anything for you before your life merged with mechanical beings, but now? That's an entirely different story.
You couldn't stop even if you wanted to. You're far too into this, and the rhythm you've found begs not to be broken. You'll stay on this path until you have him releasing all over your tongue.
You take your hand to the entrance of his valve, pairing two fingers together before pushing in. His helm rolls with bliss as you part the callipers that line his walls. The pads of your fingers find his interior node, and you immediately start to beckon up against it.
With both nodes receiving a constant flow of stimulation, he moans in a high pitch. His hips buck ever so slightly, but you manage to stay on him. You moan into the hot metal of his valve, feeling his prefluids already gathering over your plump lips.
"Ah! Ah!" He whimpers pathetically, rolling his hips. You huff a short laugh, entertained by his pleasured antics.
Fluid trickles down the crack between your fingers and spreads into the palm of your hand. Your tongue flicks his anterior node with expert precision, excited to see him coming undone in front of you.
"Mmhh—phh!" He whines as his leg struts start to shake. He vents deeply and heavily, gripping the stool impossibly tighter as he reaches his climax. His vocaliser cuts out mid-moan, left to enjoy his ecstasy with nothing but the sound of your fingering and licking.
You hum as his taste swarms over the buds of your tongue, seeping into every corner of your mouth. Giving one last long lick over his valve, you finally part from him, pulling your fingers out at the same time.
You suck the fluids off your fingers, making sure to make eye contact with him as you do so. He's besotted with the sight, almost to a humiliating degree.
"Go sit on the berth," you say with a nod towards the medical berth behind him.
He looks over his shoulder behind him, weighing up the consequences of doing something so lewd in a place designed for sanctuary and curing. It's a doubt that only lingers for a moment, a moment cut short by a flood of bodily memories of how good your pussy feels. He stands from the stool without even thinking to do so, moving over to the berth as though it yields a gravitational pull.
You grin at his obedience, standing from your kneeling position and wiping your wet fingers on your top. You follow him over as he sits on the edge of the bed, eager optics awaiting your arrival.
"Can you take your spike out for me?" You hush sultrily, eyeing up his interface panels.
He nods, utterly distracted by the shape of you. You giggle lightly as you notice his ogling, and you decide to gratify him further. As he disengages his panels, you start undressing.
First goes your top, then your shorts, discarded onto the floor. Next, your bra, and then your underwear. They both join the pile of your clothes, and they'll remain there until you're both done with your fun.
You hear his vents work harder, his shielded optics tracing the lines of your body. He never thought he'd be so intimately intrigued by an organic.
Taking one step closer, you reach out to grab his servo. You bring two of his digits to your mouth, sucking on them to slicken them. Behind his mask, his intake drops.
You pop them out of your mouth, leading them between your legs. He gets the memo, taking the initiative to stroke his newly wet digits against your hole. You sigh a soft moan at the delicate touch. It's a bit difficult to take him without having any foreplay received on your part, but you're too desperate for his spike to delay it any longer.
He withdraws his digits, settling his servo by his side whilst patiently waiting for you to make the next move. You settle your hands on his shoulders before hiking your legs up to straddle him. You hover over his spike, nestling it in the arch between your legs.
You shift your weight down, slipping his spike inside. He huffs with a moan as your heat starts to envelop him, working your way down inch by inch.
Tucking your head into the crook of his neck, you start to litter the intricate metal with hot kisses. Your hips bounce on him, nice and steady.
He whimpers as you drag your tongue along the fuel lines on his neck. Your hips roll steadily over him, feeding his leaking spike into your pussy over and over again.
You slide your hands down his frame, following over to his arm struts to take his servos into your hands. You lead them to your ass, prompting him to grab on. You fit perfectly in his servos, like a lock and key.
"Don't be shy," you coo against his neck. "You can grab it properly."
"O—Okay," he stammers back. He gives an experimental squeeze, letting the soft flesh spill in the gaps between his digits.
You let out a little breathy moan, enjoying the feeling of his talented servos being so crude with you.
"Keep going," you plead.
He heeds you, squeezing again. He finds a rhythm with it, and realises he enjoys the way your ass gives under his touch. He hums a small moan, being so bold as to actually assist you in riding him.
It helps your aching thigh muscles, which you're grateful for. You start moaning heavier against the metal of his neck, tucking your face in further. Your tongue comes back out, tracing along the ridges. He mewls and whimpers at how sensitive he is, and it serves as fuel to make you ride faster and harder.
Ever so lightly, you graze your blunt teeth against his main energon line. A staticky gasp leaves him, feeling startled. You giggle, pulling away from his neck to face him. Your eyes look through his visor, seeing his barely visible optics beneath. You draw him to pepper kisses over his mask, settling one hand on the side of his neck and the other on his shoulder.
"You feel so good," he compliments, the words causing his mask to vibrate. It sends a pleasant sensation over your lips, almost ticklish.
"I'm glad," you hush back, "You deserve some respite every now and then."
You press your chest up against his chassis, seeking to be as close as possible to him. He welcomes it, squeezing your ass harder. He's moaning beneath his mask, trying to control himself out of worry that someone might hear. This is a grossly inappropriate way to conduct himself in his medbays.
"Ah—" he whimpers, "I'm gonna overload."
Maybe the risk of semi-public sex really does something for him. This is quick for him to find his release, but you certainly aren't complaining.
He lets out a long, deep-rooted moan as his spike twitches inside of you, dumping a heavy load of transfluid into you. You gasp, arching your back at the warmth spreading through you. His visor flickers with light as his fans work overtime.
"Mmm," you hum happily, "I love it when you overload."
"G—Good thing you're so good at making me doing it," he babbles.
You continue riding him, now looking to carve out your own pleasure this evening. You gasp little moans as you move relentlessly on his lap. He shudders with static at how sensitive his spike is, but he makes no motion to stop you.
Winding your hands behind his neck, you single out a couple of wires with nimble fingers. He whines as you gently start caressing them, knowing how sensitive they are.
Your fingers dig in a little as you sense your peak approaching. You throw your head back with a gasp as you focus on that feeling, envisioning how his spike looks going in and out of your sappy pussy. The thoughts are enough to unravel you, your hips staggering as the pleasure pulses through your lower half.
Your release is sweet and hot, your walls clenching around his throbbing spike. It's just the high you needed.
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