Chapter Text
It probably stemmed from some sort of childhood trauma, something that aged and ate at your insides as you grew into a teen and then into your twenties. The metaphorical bottle kept filling, building with pressure you had so adamantly felt the need to contain until eventually that bottle was capped and shoved in a box, surrounded by a protective wall of the adopted duo philosophy of “not giving a fuck” and “minding your own”. In some ways, it was probably an unhealthy means to an unhealthy problem.
It was around then that you normalized being independent and fairly anti-social. You were a homebody, a lone-wolf, you enjoyed staying home keeping to yourself on your days off, and what social bubble you did have was comfortably small. You were good at conversing when the time called for it; you were an introvert at heart but knowing how to talk could often get you out of a situation quicker than if you didn’t. You’ve long grown over the idea of being everyone’s friend, shedding that people-pleaser mind-set and building a confident voice in and with yourself. Inherently, there was nothing wrong with any of that, but in this case - in your case - you’ve developed a stubborn, and at times, fiery temper. Especially when it comes to certain things; you’ve become protective of the strong walls and self-sustained life you’ve built. The reaction to any one or thing threatening that often left you vehemently quick to temper without filter.
You had grown tired of always being the one to listen to the bullshit, to take the punches and soften the blow for others. So you stopped listening, sometimes too much so.
You didn’t like being told to do something when you had all the right to not have to do it, so your mind would convince itself.
And in recent times, had found out that you absolutely, with every fiber of your being, loathed being given orders.
You never would survive in the military, or any occupation where there were strict social rules and conditions of conduct when it came to following a chain of command. Blehg. Sure, you had some leeway with your own, at times self-destructive, philosophy, the management at your workplace was easy enough to avoid, you had manners, you were nice, you just didn’t let people walk all over you. Not anymore. A high and mighty title or position did not equate to an entitlement of gratitude and respect, not unless you genuinely understood the reason for it.
With your hard head, that could make things a difficult task. That’s why it was always easier to just keep to yourself.
You didn’t ask for your life to be flipped on its back, but it was you who had been the one to encounter the Cybertronian-alien species first, at least in modern years. You had been the one to provide them aid, you helped acquire resources, you risked your name and your life because it was made clear from the beginning that them being at risk subsequently put your entire planet at risk. You were stubborn, you weren’t heartless, and you’d do it all over again if you had to.
In all honesty, it didn’t anger you - I know, shocking. After the initial panic that came with meeting and harboring aliens, you knew you were doing something important. As months went by, through blood, sweat, and precious metal, a frighteningly strong association with most of them had blossomed, and as years went by, your relationship with one in particular grew into something particularly special. It was hard not to feel entitled.
It was never easy, but you would have preferred life incognito to what was now today's reality. As threats increased, be it Deceptions or nefarious rouge cybertronians, living in disguise was becoming less worth the secrecy and more of a means to an end, or in the least, a considerably increased difficult path.
Couldn’t hide forever, it seemed.
So now, presently, the world knew they were not alone in the universe, and the government had their nosy fingers embedded in the Autobot’s business, as much as Optimus would allow it, anyway. You didn’t get involved in the politics of it, over the years you’ve had to adjust a lot of what you could be, but that definitely wasn’t your forte. You knew your place among the bots, you were secure in your relationships, even if things were different now, you understood that things needed to change and were content with it. They were family at this point, nothing would change that.
The bots relocated to a military base serving as their HQ, and their partnership with the nation’s government took off. And you, well, it was far from a cut and dry goodbye actually.
The allegiance wasn’t welcomed by everyone, and to say the least, your presence was no icing on the cake. It didn't take long for you to be called into one of those meetings where you often heard the younger Autobots gripe about, something you honestly had no idea how you’d contribute. If they wanted the details of what’s gone on while the bots were with you, they could settle that debrief with Optimus.
Turns out, not only had they demanded a comprehensive admission to everything you knew, but they also attempted to pull a powerplay and criticize why some woman knew as much as she did.
Optimus had been helping you with your temper though, so you practiced patience and kept your mouth shut and posture composed.
Director Galloway, head of something-something, a man whose presence immediately made you roll your eyes, quickly became the staple of the type of person you despised. Your lack of tolerance, courtesy, or respect was a direct reflection of what he offered you. It would have made things easier if you had just played along, but you were never good at that, not with these types of people.
The crazy part about it all though? He’s not even what really caused you to lose it, caused you to be doing what you were doing now, stomping down the dirt road into the dead of night, your face so heated that the desert night air hardly yet registered as cold.
Because your partner, the person you’ve built this unlikely yet entirely real and claws deep relationship with, had been on Director– Fuck Face’s side, so you’ve convinced yourself.
In front of everyone, Director Fuck Face announced the new regulations to your life, and it was hard to feel like it was “for your greater interest” when it sounded an awfully more like a threat - that rather than leaving your life, your home, your identity, and being monitored by the FBI for the rest of your life being of upmost importance to your health and wellbeing, that imprisonment, incarceration, and dare had they even hint at even more extreme measures being taken if the former wasn’t followed upon.
They couldn’t risk the potential of you sharing their secrets, was essentially the gist, sharing the knowledge you had about the Autobots, that your relationship with them in and of itself was a threat to national security. They even tossed in that harboring them for as long as you had without notifying the government would be considered some a ghastly crime. A felony. Jesus, they were really trying to scare you. Really, it only pissed you off.
You were baffled, astonished, and had even laughed but held your tongue because you were doing so well at containing yourself. It was enough to impress Ultra Magnus, who was present and the victim of several of your outbursts in the past. Ratchet knew beneath that façade of holding yourself together was like one giant pressure cooker just waiting to hit the right notch to explode and take everyone in the vicinity with it. He waited knowingly for it to happen. And you might have proved him wrong if your confidence in Optimus had lived up to what you thought was the trade off for having behaved yourself. He was going to speak up for you, you so thoroughly were convinced, with words holding more poise and power that you could ever manage.
He didn’t.
You were furious.
And ohhhh, you let it show. You snapped, to Ratchet’s correct presumption, after so long of holding back, you gave it your all. In front of Director Fuck Face, to which you referred to him as such, proud and loud, and all his gremlin assistants, in front of all Prime’s attending crew which were his mentioned Second in Command, CMO, and several lieutenants. Ultra Magnus loured at the sight, Ratchet was mildly amused (he could very well be blamed for some of your vernacular) but mostly exhausted, Prowl and Jazz were entirely appalled, and Arcee, bless her spark and unbeknown to you, directed her attention and EM fields to their leader. For your sake, she attempted to alleviate his unnervingly still aura with a gentle brush across his fields.
Judging by his closed off and silent mien, however, she didn’t reckon it would have been enough.
The things you said… did not make anyone look good, much less yourself. In all honesty, it only made things worse, but in the aftermath of the utter silence that instilled over the silo, you left. You retreated to your old habits of ignoring everyone, you flipped the bird, and you cursed the heavens to hold back the tears because you were not going to cry. You shouted at anyone who tried to stop you, snapping at any and all the guards that went to even motion toward you. You were well known enough that people knew to back off the strange lady that was friends with the giant space robots.
So now, you walked, it would be an agonizing one in this temperature for miles until you reached some beaten down motel. But you were mad, clouded with emotion, and probably going to be followed anyway.
Part of you was so convinced you had every right to be upset, but the other insufferable, character-grown part of you knew there was a much better way to go about that. Director Galloway and everyone he represented had reason to do what they did, sacrifices were going to have to be made, they always have been - that wasn’t anything new to you… But you were just so angry. The tone used to address you, the presumption you were just expected to do what you were told after you were thrown poorly disguised insults. It was the ultimate test of your composure, and you flunked. Hard.
Deep into your brooding, you ignored the sound of a rumbling engine off in the near distance, and eventually watched as your shadow appeared before you when headlights illuminated from behind. You never stopped though, not even to look over your shoulder, not even to check to see if it was really him. Which you knew it was, this was a one way road, and you didn’t get far from where you started. Besides, you’ve long grown in tune to the sound of this truck.
In your speed-walking fit, the big rig crawled forward in suit. Nothing but the rumble of his engine and the crunching of his tires slowly inching forward made a sound between you. This continued on until finally, you snapped.
“You have already been made into a dog, Optimus. Obeying your new master, so quick to agree, and now sent to go fetch the straggler.” You scoffed, fists clenched. “Just when I thought I started to understand the hub-bub about being a Prime-” You grunted as you suddenly walked into a solid figure, leaving your body jolting with an uncomfortable tingle. You frowned, rubbing your nose as you looked up to meet the face of Optimus’ holoform. It fizzled from the impact, but soon solidified itself into the large barrier that was his body before yours, even as a human.
His handsome freckled face and normally soft blue eyes were hardened, holding no refrain in conveying his disapproval of your behavior. The two of you locked eyes and your glare was just as severe.
You huf-
“Enough.”
The rumble of his sonorous tone resonating from behind, up and through your spine, snapped you out of the attitude. It was enough to cause the thin hairs on your neck to bristle.
“Get in.” he ordered.
Alarm fizzled into anger, bristling in a new way and reigniting your fight. You looked at him as if he had grown two heads. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Optimus only looked down upon you with that stoic, unchanging demeanor.
“Why should I listen to you?!” You went to step around him, but he side-stepped in your way. You stared at your feet while trying to pivot in the other direction, only to be blocked again, “Why did you just let that asshole say all those things to me?!” and again, “After everything I have done,” and again, “everything I have already given up!” and again, “Why did you just,” and again, “fucking,” and again. “AUGH!” You screamed, and shoved your palms as hard as you could against his broad chest. Your eyes were so tightly screwed together, you didn’t see if it had actually done anything.
“In front of everyone you just–!”
“In front of everyone you made a fool of yourself.” Optimus seethed as he pinned you against the grill of his alt-mode by your wrists. The smell of his hot, idle engine filled your nose and although your eyes were locked onto the searing pale ones before you, you were brutally aware of himself from behind.
But your stubborn reputation was no exaggeration, even if to hold your pride was at the cost of your own physical expense.
Your nails dug into the palms of your hands with how clenched your fists were, your back writhing against the uncomfortable ridges of the grill as you squirmed beneath Optimus’ grip.
“I don’t need no arrogant, augh, hoity-toity dipshit from the govern– ment telling me what I can and can not do with my life!”
Optimus forced his thumbs upward into the skin at the base of your wrists then glided them into your palms to effectively get your fists open. His large hands quickly enveloped yours, fingers interlaced with your own to prevent your nails from further cutting into your own soft palms.
“You,” he began, pressing his knee against the bumper of his alt and hiking your body off the ground by lifting it between your legs, “have an issue with authority.” You grunted at the pressure against your crotch, toes completely off the ground. Optimus loomed over you further, pieces of his cropped dark and gray hair falling over his forehead. “I would know.”
“Oh,” you laughed, “what’s that supposed to mean? You think just because you’re-”
“You are angry,” his fingers began to morph into claws, caging your dainty hands beneath his, “I understand this, but to succumb to your petulant need to lash out at anyone who gives you so much as a poke to your pride is an incredibly shameful and disappointing representation to your persons.”
“How dare you-!
His engine roared from behind you, vibrating and heating your body - you tried your best to arch your back off his grill. His holo glitched during the display of power as it dropped to loom over you more closely, his face glitching to at times flash muted gray patches of where his normally warm skin tone would be. The whites of his eyes flickered an to an empty-black, leaving flaring neon irises, unnatural on something that was supposed to look human, to bore into your skull.
Optimus was never one to argue, not really, you’ve never heard him raise his voice in a dispute nor drag on a fight because either by then it's been settled or he, in his Optimus, diplomatic way, finds some angle to bring the energy back to civil and calm.
Or, in some instances, like this one, he makes it a point that it would do you best to listen and only listen. Even primes could have emotionally taxing days, and for a while now, Optimus has silently endured many. If you weren’t so clouded by your own anger, then maybe you would have wisely recognized you hadn’t been the only one putting up with, for the lack of a better word, shit.
You could feel the tingle from his holo, hearing the faint fizzle and pop every time it glitched from his eons worth of self-composure just giving the faintest of something less than a hairline fracture.
You felt a tightness in your throat, anger wanting to encourage more outbursts, but there was a primal instinct telling you to stay small, stay quiet beneath a being beyond your escape. Optimus would never harm you, you weren’t fearful for your life, but being under his scrutiny never ceased to trigger alarm bells.
The thoughts were starting to get there, curating in your head and trying to convince yourself to be reasonable. But your other part struggled to just accept that as reason enough to be treated as you were, hell, as they all were!
Optimus, catching onto your submitting silence, continued only after the fact. “How dare I?” he repeated your earlier accusation, slowly, his voice like gravel. “I have long recognized your disdain for any hierarchy of power when an abuse of one's position is so perpetually prevalent, and as much as such blatant iniquity would never be tolerated among my own, it is as equally unacceptable to display such an immature act of unchecked, childish behavior.”
The sting of his words dug into your gut and twisted your insides. Similar regrets had already begun to appear in your mind, but it was hard to just ignore them when Optimus Prime was scolding you for the exact same reasons. You tried to turn your cheek, but when his engine revved, you quickly obeyed the silent command and forced your attention back on him.
“You are free to harbor and voice your own opinions appropriately, but you are to always properly conduct yourself when you are in the presence of an audience.”
“So I am just supposed to accept that bullshit ultimatum they slapped in my face?!” You shouted.
Unexpectedly, Optimus shouted back. “You are supposed to control yourself! Regardless of who or what it is. Especially when the fate of the discussion at hand will have a direct consequence to your wellbeing.”
“And leaving my entire life behind to be babysat by the men in black until the day I die or go to prison is definitely signing me up for a life of lavish happiness, sure thing Optimus, you’re so very, very right.” You mocked him, mean and harsh, then barked a humorless laugh. “And all becaussse what?” You stuck your neck out, gawking wide-eyed at him with an expectant look to fill in the blank with anything that made sense. “They’re afraid I’m going to spill some super big secret? The world already knows you exist!”
“They are intimidated by the nature of your relationship to us - they’ve reasoned it suspicious.”
“‘Suspicious’.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, shaking your head before letting it rest against the metal ridge curving into the hood of the truck. “Like there is anything special about me to be suspicious of.”
For a brief moment, silence fell over the desert, nature being given a break from the emotional dispute of the unlikely couple.
You tried to relax your face, but no matter how hard you tried to smooth the creases between your brows, they always pinched back together.
The release of your right hand felt cold, and you made no effort to move your arm. The warmth of fingertips as they grabbed your face was a stark contrast to the now chill of your skin, and as Optimus directed you to look back into those celestial eyes, you found yourself feeling captured beneath his attention.
Optimus gazed into you with severity, his deep voice gentle but words weighted with the gravitas of a long-lived powerful being who has built a sobering view on reality.
“To have garnered my deepest, most intimate notice so entirely is no common acquisition.”
The pressure between your thighs suddenly became notably hot, which was irritating because you wanted to be mad and only mad. And your breath caught in your chest as Optimus hovered inches from your face. His half-lidded eyes gave your face a once over, flicking down to your plush, parted lips, before dragging to meet your gaze.
“How you managed that,” he continued, a long pause following as his eyes seemed to search your soul, a mix between fascination and awe, "...suspicious falls awfully short."
Optimus felt your thighs twitch, he could sense your blooming arousal, and just as you tilted your chin for a kiss, the grip he had around your jaw tightened. It brought any movement you engaged to an immediate halt.
“I do not think you are even aware of it,” he stated, eyes narrowed in his own musing. While his body pulled away from you, yours remained pinned.
You pouted at his retreat, your only free hand coming down to grab the wrist to the hand holding your jaw. “Optimus,” you whined. Yes, ok, you were just arguing, yelling, those feelings didn’t immediately just vanish but now you just wanted him. The ‘fuck it philosophy’ was coming into play, you didn’t want to think about it anymore, you didn’t want to deal with any of it. “Optimus, can we just,” your hand reached further down his arm, trying to gather more of his attention to your new wants.
The Autobot ignored your pouting and watched you squirm beneath him, your pawing doing nothing to alleviate his hold or likewise encourage anything further. Primus, for as much as he loved you, you could seriously act like you were a creature wanting to be tamed. You would explode, to the detriment of not just yourself but for all you have associated with (that included himself and his team), you would make a show of your hurt ego and then fight him when he knew you were entirely capable of a better self, and then, in the aftermath of it all, you’d want him to fix it for you. Expect him to make you feel good, to take away your nasty thoughts by giving you something worthy of distraction. You didn’t understand what the words he had just spoken meant, didn’t understand the sheer gravity of what you have done to him, how indeed special you are to have so thoroughly encapsulated his spark for him to tolerate this cycle for so long. To anyone else, your surmounting redeeming qualities that caused his fall for you could have been seen as a curse, but Optimus, if nothing else, was confident in his optimism that your destructive habits were capable of being shed.
Optimus was never one to flaunt his primehood, it was a grave and at times somber responsibility, the meaning and status he had among his people wasn’t one he ever enforced, and while he was a humble bot, the Matrix of Leadership was an encapsulated entity of the power and the knowledge of the Primes before him - a sacred relic that deserved the respect for its people, his people. Its vessel could never be anything short of worthy and immense. Optimus conducted himself modestly, but he was never tentative to that fact. To falter or question his own confidence was to falter and question the belief of his people, a grave disrespect.
To him, it sounded like you had convinced yourself he wasn’t capable of taking proper care of you, that you hadn’t enough reason to have faith in his decisions. That left him feeling - wrong. Perhaps, in this way, he has failed to show you what it meant to be someone he so deeply cared about.
“If you honestly believed I would ever be bullied into agreeing to such a ridiculous proposition for my own inamorata, then perhaps it is time I have taught you that when you speak my designation, it is far for flare.”
A cocky, dismissive smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth before you could even think about it, your eyes of course looking off to the side in contempt as the cherry on top. Or maybe it was the scoff. "Sure thing, Prime. And I’m sure you just expect me to waltz back to that prison of a base and apologize for my behavior like a good little girl.”
And then, a gesture easily expected from you but all but so from Optimus Prime, a smirk of his own quirked at the edge of his lips.
The double take you gave nearly pulled a muscle in your neck.
“Optimus,” you warned, “I won’t.”
He leaned in close to your ear, speaking with bravado confidence. He wasn’t just letting you know, he was telling you. “You will.” And it was nearly a warning. “Eagerly, even.”
As he pulled away, you watched him with wide eyes, shocked and even a tad anxious at whatever in the world that meant. “I’m not kidding, if you think for a second that- h-hey! No! Don’t you—!”
You fought against him as he pulled you off the grill and around toward the passenger door of his alt, which had popped open only moments before. You dug your heels into the ground, snarling and thrashing about. Optimus’ hands moved to grab you by the waist and hoisted you up and into the cab.
Before you could find purchase against the leather seats, you found yourself hugged, restrained by the seatbelts maneuvering themselves to snake around your figure and secure your back flat against the bottom seats before you could kick him and do more damage to yourself than anything.
This wasn’t his first rodeo with his fiery, human partner.
Your chest heaved in heavy breaths, feeling your temper once again on a rise as you hardly were able to shimmy your shoulders. With teeth clench and wild eyes, you glared up at the holofigure looming over in the doorway.
“We are equals in our personal relationship, my status holds no more word than yours when it comes to what happens between us. However, when the nature and well-being of my people, that includes you, and lives are at stake, you would be wise to learn when it is appropriate to fall in line and mind yourself.”
Your reaction was to grumble, a tall-tale sign you weren’t really listening. “Fine!” You shouted, splaying your hands as much as they could from where they were so tightly bound against your sides. “I get it, you’re the bossbot, I should just keep my trap shut and let you do all the talking.”
The Prime disguised as human just stared at you, amused in only the sense that you have so deeply refused to allow yourself to listen, not just to him, but more infuriatingly to yourself. The words you were speaking were nothing more than hollow, angry excuses to use your voice - to burn through the fuel of your bad mood.
He watched as your body went limp, an exasperated, frustrated exhale deflating from your chest. “Optimus,” you whined his name in that familiar wanton tone that usually occurred at this stage of your grief, “I’m just… ugh, can we just…” Your so frustratedly exhausted look, desperate for either some sort of release or change of subject, had sometimes won him over in the past. Not that it was ever necessarily deliberate.
Only after a painstaking silent moment did his holo fizzle out of existence, the passenger door snapping shut while his engine kicked up a few notches before he began his turn around. He didn’t give you a single word after that, only turned on the heater to blow warm air against your chilled skin.
You couldn’t find yourself being comfortable in the silence, because as you laid there, body still tense with the will of wanting to say more, wanting to be angry, you couldn’t help but to recognize the monumental mess that was this entire evening.
Whatever.
…right?