Your last encounter was… too much. Just as fresh as your bruises are, so too are the memories of that cramped storage room, the scent of your sweat, the softness of your body yielding to his firm grip. Memories of your skin and muscles yielding under the pressure of his flat fingers. Optimus apologized to you a thousand times for that carelessness, even after you assured him that everything wasn’t just fine-you wanted more. The stinging sensation of lust beneath his chestplates nearly spread from the spark to the limbs, but Prime’s cold resolve quelled the urge. The blue optics returned to the screen.

New symbols rise from the bottom of the screen to the top, like sunbeams peeking over the horizon. They displace the previous symbols and linger in one place for just a fraction of a second before new ones rise in their wake and displace them as well. Honor, duty, his team counting on him, your safety and the safety of the children, the safety of all humanity, the innocent souls. He must continue. In the name of all who have fallen, in the name of those who are still alive.

“No.” His voice is calm and quiet, yet his resolve is as clear and firm as snow, fallen from the roof of the house and landing squarely on collar.

Of course, you didn’t stop. Or rather, not for long. You went about your business, continuing to fulfill your daily human routines and obligations, but you spend every spare moment at the base; you pretend to accept his busyness, especially when others are watching, and after a short while you’re hanging on his peds again, rubbing your temple or pressing your cheek against the blue metal. With his permission-absolute silence, which can clearly be taken as “I don’t mind,” right? -you climb onto his shoulder, warming the metal of the audiosensor with your breath, while you whisper how good it felt to have your muscles ache from stretching, how you think of him every time you run your fingers along those blue lines in the shower.

Optimus’s fingers casually wrapped around you and lifted you onto the old creaky sofa, so beloved by children, as if moving an annoying bug into the grass so it wouldn’t bother anyone with its buzzing. His eyes never left the screen; his tall figure remained just as steady, as if welded to the ground, and his powerful shoulders-as smooth and straight as unyielding mountain peaks. God, how good it might be to be his height, to clasp those shoulders with hands while he, holding your hips, drives his spike deep into your pussy right on this stupid console.

You’re not helping. With these thoughts in mind, Optimus presses the control panel with far more force than necessary. The Spark and the Matrix are too close to each other, Cybertron’s most powerful artifact, containing all the wisdom of the previous Primes and Primus himself, vibrates with displeasure when it cannot ignore the very persistent base desires that are unacceptable in and of themselves, but at a time like this-

But his reserves are depleted, his mind hasn’t had a break in quite some time-even by his standards-and he hasn’t managed to gather all the keys, nor is it clear whether he ever will. Right now, he can’t just stop thinking about lying horizontally, or at least leaning his back against the wall, with your little body in his palms, into which he’ll bury his faceplate, just to calm his processor and microchips with a familiar scent, only for a moment. But for now, that’s impossible.

*** Another key has been seized by the Autobots; the decryption continues—on and on. It seems that Optimus’s already perpetually furrowed brows now completely obscure his optics. The final code, the loss of Smokescreen, his sudden return, Primus—they have all the keys! And just like that, they’re gone. The portal closed behind Starscream, who held the stolen keys in a tight embrace, separating Optimus from the reward for his sleepless nights, hunger, tireless work, and anguish. Fragging sh-

***

You call out to him gently, trying not to give in to the fear of the mech moving in circles with such a dark aura surrounding his frame. “…it's…not the best time,” Prime’s voice is hoarse after shouting, barely holding back another wave of emotion. It’s scary. It’s exciting. You speak to him again, not letting him sink even deeper into his thoughts, keeping your voice steady, even as he slowly moves closer with a look so intense that you haven’t seen anything like it in all the time you’ve been at the base. No, he’s wrong. This… he needs to treat this as mutual support! You want him, especially now, it seems, more than ever. And he needs, needs, this release. No less than you do. Optimus’s gaze sweeps over you. Long enough to give you time to study his tightly pressed lips, his tense shoulders, and the tiny drop of condensation on one of the wires around his neck—which you wouldn’t mind licking off. Large servos lift you rather abruptly to the level of the dark glass on his chestplates. The mech doesn’t say a word, doesn’t take his eyes off you, pressing you close. Optimus can’t climb into the sleeping area with you, afraid he'll simply lose consciousness from exhaustion, so the massdisplacement with you in his palms begins right there, before you finally wrap your arms around his neck and, in a few steps, the mech presses your back against the cold wall. Flat fingers glide over the fabric of your clothes, massaging your thighs and buttocks. With each press, your skin yields, and the fabric forms folds, this sight captivates Prime until he catches the scent of your arousal, alluring and pleading. Optimus ignores the vibration of the Matrix of Leadership, ignores the T-shirt on your upper body, unceremoniously - not at all as gently and gallantly as usual - stripping shorts and underwear off you at once. Metal palms grip your legs below the knees, spreading both limbs apart. It’s hard to hold back the tremor as his thighs, rumbling with the sound of the engine and cooling fans, press into your damp flesh. You try to catch the mech’s gaze, but his sky-blue optics are fixed only between your thighs, already damp but not wet enough.

The groinplate slid back, exposing the impressive length of a smooth spike. The warm metal pressed against your labia, his silvery thighs swayed and spike quickly slid between the folds. Like this, he seems even sexier. Still in a bad mood, Optimus Prime rubs your wetness into the metal of his spike, with a focused, frowning gaze.

You sway with his movements, continuing to hold onto his shoulders with your hands, just as you’ve wanted for so long; quiet moans escape your lips when he-whether on purpose or not-glides over the tip of your clitoris with perfect pressure, but a moment later begins to move slightly to the left or too gently. These faint flashes of caress feel more like sweet torture. You want to ask him to destroy this bundle of nerves, but the calculated way he watches the first drop of lubricant from the tip of his spike, then immediately rubs it along its length with quick movements, mixing it with your own wetness of arousal, makes you silently swallow your saliva.

He quickly reloaded. The thick transfluid briefly pools on your stomach before trickling down to the floor, leaving wet trails down your sides and tickling you slightly. It seems your pussy is ready to ooze wetness in the same way. Optimus’s fingers clamped painfully tight around your thighs, and his thick spike slid into your wet entrance. With a short squelch, his length entered you almost completely, the sharp tip pressing against your cervix in a kiss. You hiss at the less-than-ideal position, in which his abrupt entry caused a slight burning sensation, but with the same silence and the same impatience uncharacteristic of him, Optimus thrusts his hips, letting out hot air from the vents and a quiet moan of pleasure.

The faint burning of the muscles inside is worth it, definitely worth it. His metal vibrates beneath your hands, shaking from the intensity of the engine’s work, his faceplate, always so weary, flushed with the usual Cybertronian blush; clouds of smoke are about to pour from the pipes on his back; your gazes finally meet, and the hot metal of his lips presses against yours, pushing the back of your head against the wall with a dull thud. Prime doesn’t stick his tongue in your mouth, doesn’t bite or pull your lips apart-he just presses himself against you, as if wanting to leave as many bruises as possible.

Your legs wrap around his impossibly narrow waist, pulling you closer to your partner, your protector, and your hero—the master of your soul and your pussy. Without stopping his assault on your lips, Optimus slams the metal of his thighs against yours in quick jerks, impaling you on himself like a toy. The kiss breaks, and his faceplate presses against your neck, biting your skin-sometimes gently, sometimes harder-testing your skin’s reaction. The wall doesn’t rub or scratch your back only because your T-shirt is still in place, its fabric absorbing the condensation dripping from the mech's frame.

You praise him, in your usual, not quiet voice, but in this chaos of slapping sounds, engine growls, and the white noise of the fans, it would be hard to hear you anyway if his audiosensor weren’t right in front of nose. You tell him how well he handled the challenge, how he dealt with the injustice-his hip rhythm faltered for a split second-better than anyone else could have. You tell him how proud you are that he is your partner in every sense of the word. That you’ve fallen so deeply in love with him that you want to take on at least half of all his hardships

.

.

.

“Optimus, I know you’ve taken a liking to Elizabeth from House Starlight,” Zeta Prime talked to his youngest Prime. “But we have made arrangements for you to meet Princess Elena.” 

Orion didn’t like it when Zeta talked about these things. He had been trying to avoid it but the leader of the Primes had been more insistent on the matter.

There were some Cybertronians in House Prime that were there to assist them. To prepare energon and clean their gears but Optimus never liked to ask for help. To them, they were their equals and besides, he could do everything by himself. 

Although some Primes may disagree. 

“Since when did you take an interest in my personal life?” “You didn’t act this way when the other Primes chose a partner.”

“Because the other Primes chose a pure Cybertronian … or a mixed offspring.”

Sparklings could be born from a relationship between a human and a bot. It was a difficult process but possible. That’s how the royal line began. Many years ago when the first Cybertronian arrived on Earth, Megatronus Prime had fallen in love with a human. From their love, a boy was born. The first Human-Cybertronian Hybrid. 

Like Cybertronians, he aged slowly.  His destiny had started. He took the name of the house of his mother. King Cygnux of House—

“I just don’t want what happened to Megatronus to happen to you.”

He was too young to remember. 

But after the passing of Megatronus’ lover … Megatronus wasn’t the same. 

He had bonded to her and lost himself. Nobody knows where he is or if he is even still alive. 

“Humans live for a very short time and—

“My feelings for Elizabeth won’t change,” Optimus interrupted him. “Please do not make me marry someone I don’t love.”

Optimus sometimes visited his house. House Prime was seen as royalty as it was them who helped start the royal line. He had everything he could wish for but he certainly wishes to not be at home sometimes. Especially when Zeta was here, lecturing him. 

“Nothing good would come out of it, don’t you understand?” Zeta asked, putting a servo on Optimus’ shoulder. 

Optimus didn’t like the sound of his voice. Gentle. As if trying to understand them but not actually putting any effort. He snapped and pushed him away. 

“Just because the human you loved married someone else doesn’t mean I have to share the same fate as you!”

His voice resonated across the Main Hall. Seeing Zeta’s hurt faceplate immediately made Optimus regret his words. 

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“Politcs worked differently back then,” Zeta interrupted, his voice no longer gentle but stoic. “Humans oaths meant everything and she had been promised to another house the moment she was born. Even with my title of Prime, I could only watch as she walked to the altar with another man she didn’t love.”

Optimus stayed quiet. Shame overtook his entire frame. He doesn’t how he even dared to talk against the words of Zeta Prime in the first place.

“The Starlight family will have a dance ball coming up soon, I plan to finally introduce you as Optimus Prime so you can finally take on your duties as part of our House,” 

‘But Zeta, I can’t—”

Zeta turned to look at Optimus and his gentle demeanor disappeared. 

“The only reason why I have let you play ‘Knight’ to the Starlight family is because of the promise I made to an old friend. Promises mean everything.”

The leader of House Prime walks towards Optimus who, out of respect, did not look at him in the optics.

“And when you became Prime you swore to serve this house,” he said. “But let me be clear, Optimus. You are sworn to protect (READER) Starlight … and you don’t need to be a knight to do so and I think I have let you indulge in the role for too long.”

Seeing the clear discomfort, Zeta felt guilty. He was young and he needed much learning. Placing a servo in Optimus’ shoulder, he finally granted him permission to look at him. Optimus finally met his gaze and was relieved to see that his gentle expression had returned to the Prime.

“Young blood, the reason why I am still here today is because I didn’t bond with her,” Zeta said with a painful tone.  “Have you wished for me to have the same fate as Megatronus?”

“... No, sir,” Optimus said.  “I do not.”

Of course he didn’t. He loved his Prime, he respected him. Appreciated him. He knows that he owes him everything. But sometimes he wishes he was free from this feeling. 

“Make your preparations.” 

.

.

.

“Can you at least look more pleased? You’ll meet many bachelors tonight.”

Looking outside the window, you turn to look at Arcee. 

She was one of the most beautiful Cybertornians to ever exist. Many bachelors were after her. Even Springer, the bravest warrior in all the celestial Kingdoms … and Hot Rod who was under the care of House Prime. It was rumored that the title will be bestowed upon him soon. Nonetheless, Arcee simply had fun with the two. Still not knowing who to choose. 

“It really doesn’t matter when I know my step-mother will bond me to Lord Megatron,” you said. 

“Yes but we still have to see if he fancies you.” Arce looked through your closet to try and pick the best dress for you. “Have you thought of that?”

You haven’t thought of that possibility. Megatron had to like you for the engagement to be confirmed. Maybe if you try to be as mean and ugly as possible … to be embarrassing even, you could get away with not having to marry him.

“Good argument.” You walk towards Arcee who puts in front of you a beautiful gown only for you to put it back. “I’ll be as undesirable as possible … If I am lucky I won’t have to marry anyone and I can be sent to a convent.” 

“Or maybe you can meet someone else and fall in love with him? Why do you always have to be so extreme?”

But you didn’t hear the reason. Everything that went through your mind was about what you could wear that made you look as unfeminine as possible.

“By any chance … you wouldn’t have knight armor, would you?”

.

.

.

Orion had his paint polished for tonight. 

Zeta had insisted on presenting him to society, meaning he wanted everyone to know that he was Prime. 

He didn’t want to do this. He needed more time. He wanted Elizabeth to choose him for who he was and not because her family would see fit to marry her off to a Prime. Knowing her, she would probably marry whoever her mother wanted. 

“Lord Megatron from The Decepticon Kingdom is making an appearance.”

Orion’s thoughts quickly were interrupted as his best friend, Jazz, sneaked outside the carriage.

As stupid as it sounded, Cybertronians of the highest position usually mass-displaced and rode in carriages just like humans. The reason for that was that they couldn’t afford for their tires to get dirty. 

It's not like they weren’t allowed to transform. In Cybertron, it was common practice to take the shape of common vehicles or machinery. But the shape and forms may be disturbing for some humans. Some found it to be beautiful and others a mystery. 

Transforming was common during the Great War, now most Cybertronians who transform simply did it as a demonstration of extreme hostility. The common folk preferred it that way. No transforming bots meant no war. A sign of peace. 

Transforming wasn’t illegal however, it wasn’t just as used. However, there were special occasions in which it was expected of a Cybertronian. 

Three times to be exact. 

When had completed the Conjux Ritus. This was done privately in the presence of one’s spouse.

The second time was when a sparkling was done to show the newborn his abilities. 

Lastly, in a death ceremony. Done to honor the fallen one.  

“Lord Megatron? What is he going to do at the Starlight’s dance ball?” Orion asked as his friend had a cocky smirk. 

“To look for a wife, what else?”

“If he even dares to think of courting Elizabeth, I—”

Orion’s voice quickly became aggressive. A clear signal for Jazz to step in. 

“Even if he wanted, do you really think Lady Victoria would allow her favorite daughter to marry the cruelest of lords? No, I am sure she wants Megatron for (Reader).”

“Lady Victoria would not allow any of her daughters to marry such … aggressive bot.”

“Come on Orion, you are the only one who believes that,” Jazz said. Rolling his optics at his friend’s nativeness. “You know Lady Victoria favors Elizabeth.”

“Even if that’s the case, I will not allow that to happen. I will not allow (Reader) to end up with that ruffian.” 

“Even if you have to battle him again?” 

Some time ago, when Orion was still learning the art of sword-fighting, Megatron had come to the House Prime. He had come to talk to Zeta and Megatron insulted him. Although he wasn’t supposed to speak without being given permission first, Orion challenged Megatron to a duel. 

Orion was overly confident. Thinking he could win against a gladiator of Kaon.

He lost,  of course and he was ready to accept his fate. By megatron’s servo, he should’ve been killed. 

But before that could happen, Megatron spared his life. He threw his sword on the mud, turned around and walked away.

“Not many bots challenge me these days. I only forgive you because you gave me some entertainment. But next time, there won’t be mercy.”

That had sparked Orion to become the best Knight in all of the Seven Celestial Kingdoms. 

“I would battle him for eternity if I must. I’ll do anything to protect (Reader)’s happiness.”

“Why don’t you marry her then?,” Jazz asked. “You would make her happy wouldn’t you?”

“You know I would. If she asked me, my duty goes beyond my wishes. But I am not the one she loves,” Orion said. “She must choose the one and you know I also love Elizabeth—”

“Lies.” Jazz keeps Orion’s gaze. In one of those moments in which his friend looks terrifying. “You are a Prime. If duty meant so much to you, then you would shut your intake and marry Princess Elena, just like Zeta asked you to.”

Orion stays quiet.

“Just admit that your affection for (Reader) goes beyond your duty. That you are trying to mix your wishes with your duties so it benefits you, ” Jazz said. “But do not confuse the one and the other.” 

There was a reason why Jazz was Optimus' friend. 

That’s because he always kept him in line. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: Next part … Reader and Megs meet. Its gonna go like:

Reader: “I am gonna use knight armor so I look like a man and not feminine.” * Uses a metallic grey, and blue armor. *

Megatron who used to be a gladiator in the pits of Kaon which is customary during courting rituals to assimilate one’s color plating: “.... Are you courting me?”

Optimus from Iacon city in where it is customary for courting partners to assimilate one’s color plating: “.... Are you flirting with me?”

Or something like that idk lol

I need to make a Master Post at this point .... I don't have time lol

Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes, I don't proof read lol

....

----- PREVIOUS ---

They can't playfully poke, prod, pinch, nudge or touch you without leaving a mark if they're not thoughtful enough.

Knowing that you can't lay on their chestplate or sit on their shoulders for too long because it makes your body ache (and they feel guilty the longer you stay and tell them you're fine)

Understanding that humans are tactile creatures, and wanting to be more physically comforting to you, but their size make that a taxing challange.

They wish sometimes that they could hold your hand instead of holding you in theirs.

When their cuteness aggression flares up, they can't engage with you too enthusiastically without hurting you.

Wished they could personally patch up your injuries or pamper you as easily as you can them, due to your small and accessible stature.

Seeing you bundled up in many cozy things and believing that you will always be more comfortable surrounded by things softer than they are.

Pining for the expierence of being tangled up in a mountain of blankets with you and cuddling together.

Yearning to be able to trace your freckles, moles, scars and stretchmarks without having to be so wary of their own strength.

Longing to hold your hands in theirs and dance the night away.

They want to help you with menial household tasks, like folding laundry or washing the dishes, but they're only able to watch you do it all.

Craving to share in your delight when cooking and tasting new treats just so they can feel closer to you.

Wanting to handpick a bouquet of flowers or collect little trinkets to gift you, but their big and obtrusive builds make rummaging through nature very frustrating, and they can't help but feel incompetent.

They wish they could lay their head on your lap and feel your body rise and fall with every measured breath and every rhythmic pump of your heart.

Failing to notice your many little physical quirks and habits because of the drastic height difference, and feeling like a letdown because of it. —————

I probably need to touch grass after this 😅