Transformers Imagines

Worthy - Optimus Prime X Reader (Sparkmerging)

 You sigh in frustration as you watch Arcee from across the battlefield. There’s nothing you have against her, just….that’s just it! There’s nothing to have against her, and it’s tearing you apart.

  Arcee….she’s pretty, flirtatious, and she’s such a badaft! You think about yourself: plain features, stuttering and stumbling around with your swords all the time!

  And, it’s not just Arcee. Everybody seems to outdo you in some way, and you’ve been trying not to think too much of it lately, because nobody has the time to baby you like that.

  You glance at Optimus, your boyfriend, next. He’s a Prime, a masterpiece, so handsome and worthy of so much more than a femme like yourself. Worthy of someone like Arcee, or Ratchet. Someone that won’t disappoint.

  Your so lucky to have him, and you love him so much, more than even he knows, but it just makes you upset that he’s not getting someone that he deserves. Someone who deserves him.

 You ungracefully stab a Vehicon with your blade, your eyes locked on Arcee the whole time, who spins and leaps casually across the battlefield all while gaining a higher kill count and progressing more than you ever will.

  It’s all you can do to try not to cry.

  You walk through the GroundBridge beside Optimus, finally retracting your battle mask and pushing your cart of Energon through the portal.

  While the rest of the team regroups and celebrates their success, Optimus walks over to you. He puts a large servo gently on your shoulder.

  You stiffen and turn quickly, making his servo drop from your shoulder. He doesn’t make an expression, but his EM field nudges yours with surprise.

  “Are you alright, my love?” He asks gently.

  Why? Why is he so concerned about you? You were just so unworthy of him…

  “Yes, Optimus. I’m fine,” you smile up at him.

  He gives you a small smile back, one he only ever presents to you.

  Oh, how you loved him….

   A few days after your assessment, and after a few more days of plunging yourself into a pit of despair, Optimus began noticing more and more the distance you put between yourself and him.

  When you kiss, they are short and restrained. When he puts his hand on your shoulder or arm, you jerk away. When he smiles, ever so rarely, at you, you smile back in a way Optimus knew was fake. You keep your conversations with him short, and he finds you staring in the mirror a lot more often than usual.

 Optimus can understand that you might need a little space. But this is different. There is something else going on here.

 When Optimus finally decides to approach you about it, in your shared berthroom, he hears quiet sobbing behind the door. Alarmed, he opens the door to find you on the edge of the bed, crying softly.

  “(Y/N)?” He asks, his tone again gentle. You look up at him, immediately wiping the lubricants from your eyes and smiling weakly at him.

  “Optimus?”

  “Why were you crying? Who has made you upset?” He puts a servo on your back, the other cradling your face, fingers following the trail of wet lubricant down your cheeks.

  “Nobody!” You say quickly, “it was nobody Optimus, I’m fine now.”

  “It is obvious you are not fine-”

  “Optimus!” You say, pushing his hands away. “I’m okay!”

  His back straightens, but his optics soften. “I must discuss something with you.”