The Autobot base had fallen into a somewhat peaceful rhythm, with everyone working diligently to make sure you were safe, warm, and well-cared for. But even amid the hustle, there was an undeniable emptiness. No one could find you. Ratchet, Wheeljack, Jetfire—they all searched the halls, asking each other where you were, feeling the increasing unease with each passing minute.

Then, the answer came quietly.

Inside, Optimus sat in his chair, his massive frame completely still as he cradled you close to him. You were curled against his chest, your little frame tucked in as though you were a precious piece of delicate glass, resting peacefully in his arms.

His optics were fixed on you, soft and caring, his usual commanding presence replaced with a quiet, protective warmth. He couldn’t explain it, not fully. But when you’d murmured those sleepy words—“wuv you Optimwus”—something inside him had shifted.

Optimus had never been one to admit vulnerability. He had led countless battles, made impossible decisions, and carried the weight of the entire Autobot cause on his shoulders. But in this moment, holding you so gently, he felt a connection that went deeper than leadership.

He was no longer just the Autobot leader. He was someone who had a family to protect—you.

He couldn’t bring himself to put you down. And, for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to feel a soft pull in his spark, an attachment to something more than just the war.

He closed his optics for a moment, savoring the quiet. The weight of everything—the responsibility, the battles, the loss—seemed to fade away, if only for this brief time.

When he spoke, his voice was a low murmur, as if to not disturb the fragile peace between you both.

“Wuv you too, little one…” he whispered, his deep, resonant voice barely a breath.

Outside, the sounds of frantic searching continued, but inside his office, there was nothing but the soft sound of your breathing and the quiet hum of Optimus’s spark.