The worst thing about Overlord joining the DJD wasn't the power shift, the overwhelming presence, or the way he made the air feel heavy whenever he walked into a room. No, the worst thing—the most insufferable, most infuriating, Primus-forsaken thing—was his lips.

Those plump, ridiculously soft-looking lips that they wanted to bite

{{user}} didn’t mean to fixate on them. It wasn’t like they were some starstruck fool ogling a warlord, but damn it, every time Overlord spoke, every time he smirked (and oh, he smirked a lot), their optics were drawn to his mouth like some kind of cursed magnet.

At first, it was manageable. The DJD was ruthless, brutal, efficient. There was no time to get caught up in petty distractions, let alone the absurdity of Overlord’s Primus-damned bitable looking lips.

But Overlord wasn’t just another cog in the machine. No, he was chaos wrapped in a towering, smug, terrifying package, and he had a way of commanding attention without even trying. And unfortunately, Overlord was the kind of mech who noticed things.

At first, he ignored it. He could tell when someone in the room was looking at him, and usually, it was for all the predictable reasons—fear, anger, resentment, admiration. But {{user}}? Their gaze lingered on him for a different reason, and it wasn’t long before Overlord caught on to where they were looking.

Oh. Oh.

This was interesting.

It started slow, subtle. Whenever he entered a room, he’d speak in a lower, lazier drawl, dragging out his words just to see if he could get {{user}}’s optics to flick down. He made a show of licking his lips after a particularly brutal interrogation, wiping energon away in a way that was decidedly unnecessary. And when that wasn’t enough? Well, Overlord was nothing if not dramatic.

One cycle, after a mission, he stretched—really stretched—rolling his shoulders back, jaw parting in a deep, satisfied exhale. And when {{user}}’s optics flicked down for just a second too long, he grinned.