(TFP x Slime reader) A different kind of transformer

Breakout and Breakdown

*3rd Pov*

It's been a couple more days.

Optimus said nothing more, his fingers moving slowly over the keys as faint digital readouts flickered across the screen. The base was quiet. Even Ratchet had left them alone for once, giving space in the way only someone who understood could. Because what sat in that glass wasn’t just a being made of energon.

It was someone unraveling.

Someone rebuilding.

Y/n's eye remained on him. No longer the playful, feral gleam of mischief, nor the cold flicker of hunger unchecked. Just a quiet, watchful glow. Exhausted. But still alive.

The ache inside them hadn’t vanished. The hunger still pulsed with every flicker of movement. But now… there was a weight pressing against it. A hand, unseen, holding the gnawing tide back just enough to think.

Not peace. Not forgiveness.

But pause.

Their fingertips scraped gently against the glass, tracing nothing in particular. Not to flirt. Not to manipulate.

Just to feel something.

Optimus glanced toward the container now and then, but didn’t speak. He didn’t ask them to perform. Didn’t demand confessions. Didn’t pretend he could fix them.

He just stayed.

The monitor cast a soft blue glow across the room, painting his armor in gentle hues. And Y/n, for the first time in a long, long while, allowed themselves to watch him without hiding behind teeth or charm.

He wasn’t afraid.

Not of them.

And that… that confused them more than anything.

Because if he wasn’t afraid, if he wasn’t trying to control them or cage them like a holy artifact or monster....

Then maybe… maybe they didn’t have to be those things anymore.

Maybe they could become something else.

However, then something happened, something that made Y/n twitch a bit.

Rachet: I need to do a couple tests Optimus.

Optimus: That is not necessary Rachet.

Rachet: Optimus, we have to figure what they are.

Y/n flinched, their body tensing in the glass as Ratchet's voice cut through the quiet. Not loud, but sharp. Clinical. Cold.

The moment the medic took a step closer, something shifted in Optimus.

The low hum of the base's lights seemed to flicker as the Prime turned, slow and deliberate. He stepped between Ratchet and the containment unit, not aggressive, but final. A wall of blue and steel.

Optimus: They are recovering. That is all you need to know for now.

Ratchet blinked, pausing in the doorway with his scanner still in hand. His optics narrowed just slightly.

Ratchet: You're letting sentiment cloud your judgment. We need more data what they’re made of, how their physiology reacts under stress, how,

Optimus: They are not a specimen, Ratchet.

His voice was low, but heavy. Final. The kind of tone that carried centuries of command behind it.

Y/n blinked, curling slightly where they floated. They weren’t sure what they were hearing, but it echoed differently than before. Deeper. More… possessive.