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spikezonebby · 1 year ago

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Hi again, sorry i mess it i hope it is right now ^^, a request for song fics could you with tfp optimus prime with the song Shawn Mendes, Camila Cabello - Señorita with a fem!human!reader, genre to Romance?

Senorita - TFP!Optimus Prime/Fem!Human!Reader

Word count: 1,672

Your first meeting had actually been entirely an accident. Optimus knew some humans had an affinity for vehicles, and you were one of them. Even a Prime can only take so much fawning over his grill, rims, or decals before he gets flustered and ends up blowing his cover.

That set the tone pretty well for how your entire relationship with Optimus was going to go. The other Autobots treated their leader with all the grace and dignity deserved of a Prime, but you never let the great title dictate how you treated Optimus. You weren’t ever afraid to speak your mind or ask questions. You questioned his commands, not to undermine him but to genuinely understand and clarify.

You seemed to find everything Optimus said fascinating, and when he’d watch you he could see the inner gears of your mind chugging along. Picking apart his words and always seeming to know exactly what was on his mind, even when he himself wasn’t entirely sure. You were the probing sort, someone Ratchet often found meddlesome and too-like Miko, but there was a grace to your inquiries.

Optimus was, perhaps, somewhat shy to admit that he liked it when you asked about his past. Especially when you would ask about the moments that weren’t so great or grave, like his walk home in the evenings from the Hall of Records or his favorite small pleasures. There was something warm, familiar, even humbling to the idea that your two lives weren’t too different.

You used to work at a bookstore and did its inventory, spending hours organizing piles upon piles of books. He would spend cycles listening and sorting through videos and audio files to archive them in their appropriate places. You’d stop on your way home and get a donut and coffee. He’d occasionally indulge and get himself a slice of chrome-alloy cake.

Optimus did not consider himself a poet, nor any other kind of lyrical savant, but he would describe the closeness he felt to you as… magnetic. He found his gaze drawn to you in the room, your laugh made his spark skip in his chassis, and even the persistent hum of the matrix seemed more at ease around you.

He wondered if, maybe, you knew what you did to him. It certainly seemed like you knew when you’d come close to him and lay on the lower portion of his chassis, just beneath his windshield. It seemed like you knee when you’d find a quiet moment to rest with him in his seldom-used quarters, your whole tiny body level with his face. For someone who could fit in the palm of his servo, you liked to make your physical presence known and tangible.

He couldn’t say he minded. In fact, that was a thing that brought quite a bit of distress to the poor Prime’s mind in the moments that should be peaceful. The longer he knew you, the more enthralling the pull became. He found himself wondering if you’d hate it if he curled his servo around you, cupping you between his digits like a treasure. He thinks about the scent of your skin and the warmth of your body, should you finally close the distance between them.

You were human. You were fragile. Leaders weren’t built to have fragile things, but protect them regardless.

But he still wanted you. Enough to forgo the logical sense he had to distance himself and instead, let you keep invading his space and his mind. He couldn’t bring himself to stop this.

Not when you invited yourself into his quarters, shimmied your way up to the space on his berth right beside his neck cables and jaw, and built your own little nest of blankets and pillows there. Not when you had so much faith in him, and talked to him about all of the soft things he thought they’d killed in this war.

“That’s Neocybex, right?” You ask, snuggled up beside his audial as he laid on his back, both of you looking on up at the data pad he had in his servos. He pauses in his scrolling through, balancing the stylus in his grip as he tilts the data pad further for you to read.

“Some of it is. Other parts, like here,” He scrolls down, “Are Primal Vernacular.”

“A different dialect or a different language wholly?”

“Neither. Primal Vernacular was the predecessor of the Neocybex all Cybertronians came to speak in modern times. When I was given the Matrix of Leadership and all of its knowledge, I was also gifted the ability to speak and read this ancient Cybertronian language. I find it easier, sometimes, to take notes in.”

You sit up a little, bracing yourself with a hand on his cheek vent. “So you’re the only one that knows how to speak it?”

“Most likely.” Optimus admits, somewhat sullen, “Even before the war, it was considered a dead language on Cybertron. Transcriptions existed of people speaking the language but as Neocybex became more common, it simply was lost to time.”

You hum, and leaning this close to them, he can feel the way the small sound rumbles up through your chest.

“Teach me. At least a word or two. Something I can remember.”

“You wish to learn Neocybex? I do not know if your organic vocalizer can reproduce the sound.”

“No, no! Primal Vernacular! The letters almost remind me of… Arabic. That’s a human language so, surely I can wrap my head around some of that.”

His spark warms at that, your enthusiasm contagious. It couldn’t hurt to attempt it, it would be a good excuse to brush up on his own pronunciation.

“Ṣdyq,” He begins. “It means ‘friend.’ And if you begin it with Rjl, it becomes ‘brother.’”

“Oh so it has different rules than Earth’s version of Arabic.”

“Yes. It is fascinating, is it not? That humans have taken such an old language and made it their own?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of nice in a way. Makes things feel less…” You fish around in your thoughts for the proper word, then hum. “Lonely. Yeah. So… Rjl… Ṣdyq… means ‘brother.’ How do you say ‘sister,’ then?”

Optimus’ lip plates quirk into the shallow shape of a smile, spark warmed by your botched attempt to match his pronunciation.

“The translations of the words are different based on their cultural meanings. Cybertronians are very rarely forged with siblings, so ‘brother’ means something closer to ‘ally.’ A feminine version of the word didn’t appear until very late, when femmes started to become more prominent. It was very rarely used though, mostly due to the… intimate implications of the word. I once listened to an interview with a linguist on the matter and he theorized that it was coined initially by Megatronus Prime of the Thirteen, as a term of endearment Solus Prime. It’s ‘Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq.’”

Now that has you fascinated. Optimus often chose his words carefully, using them as a tool for peace and command just as often as he used his own two servos. With you, conversation came easier. Optimus only had a select few people whom he knew and trusted to allow him to talk so easily.

You stood up, keeping one hand against his jaw as you walked around him. He could feel you use him to steady your steps as you hoisted yourself up onto his neck cables. You were so light he hardly felt the pressure at all. Instinctively his servo came down to gently cup behind your back, fearing you might fall off.

“What are you doing?” He asks, but he doesn’t sound irritated. Worried maybe, curious mostly.

“I want to see the way your mouth moves when you say those words.”

It’s an innocent goal, he insists it is. A request to turn on his first level of cooling fans pops up on his HUD view. He almost denies it, then worries that he might grow too warm for you to touch. In the end he does allow them to kick on and wholly misses the way it makes you smirk.

“Come on, boss. Say ‘em.” You coax, resting your folded arms against his chin, “Please?”

Optimus looks down past his nose, examining your face as his fans cycle a little faster. Right, it would be rude to refuse you whatever small teaching aid he could offer. Even if it was unorthodox.

“Ṣdyq.” He says. You lean forward a bit, watching the way his lips move with every sound. “‘Friend.’”

“Uh-huh.”

“Rjl Ṣdyq.” You reach out and trail your tiny fingers across his bottom lip. Optimus loses his train of thought.

“Which means?” You prompt him, feigning forgetfulness.

“Ah, ‘ally.’” He can see the way you bounce a little when he swallows the thick lump forming in the back of his intake.

“Cool, cool.” When had you gotten so close to him? And it didn’t seem like you minded at all as you even used his servo balancing you from behind to boost yourself up and lay across the flat plane of his chin.

He says your name softly. His data pad is forgotten in favor of clutching onto the tarp and padding on the berth beneath him.

“And what’s the last one?”

“Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq,” When had he started to feel so breathless? Like his fans weren’t cycling enough air.

“Mmmhm… I like that one. There’s something about the way you say it. Say it again, please?”

“Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq,” He says again, just so he can hear the joy on your voice when you giggle, “Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq. And it means– mhm?”

Before he can even finish his statement, your small, warm lips press to his bottom lip, silencing him quicker and easier than even the sound of blaster fire. His servo cups closer behind you and he knows he should stop this, he knows he doesn’t deserve this, but you make it so, so clear you want to give it to him.

And in the end… who was he to deny his Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq?

#transformers #request fill #transformers prime #tfp optimus prime #tfp optimus x reader #thank you for requesting!!#song fic #tfp x reader #reader insert #yes the words are arabic i dont speak it but its an alien dialect in this case so plz believe me i mean no offense #WOO actually wrote a kiss this time #optimus prime #optimus prime x reader

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