Transformers Prime Imagines

Broken Machines Can't Be Repaired. (Human! Optimus X Human! Reader)

"It's okay, I won't hurt you." I assured him. Taking out a pair of clean scissors, some cloth and a stool, I made Mark sat down and started trimming his hair just a little, to make it look not so shabby. I worked through his hair quick before helping him with his beard.

"M-M'lady...the beard..." he said, grasping my hands lightly.

"You want to keep them?" I asked, stroking his face a little. He nodded.

"Okay, I won't trim them so much." I said, and tidied him up. Within moments, the dishevelled look of Mark was gone and he was much handsome than before.

Meaning, he was already fragging handsome way before I gave him a haircut!

Wiping off the excess hair from his back, I gave the cute honest man in front of me a smile.

"Well, aren't you so handsome, darling?" I said, keeping back all my stuff. Mark stood up, touching his face and hair while looking at the mirror. His eyes flashed so many emotions, but the most prominent ones were shocked and...sadness?

"Is this...me?" he breathed out, looking down at his bandaged hands.

"Yes, it is. Don't worry, whatever it is, we'll be together. I'm not leaving you." I assured the man. Mark gave me a look of disbelief before morphing into a look of gratitude.

"Thank you, M'lady."

---

That was ONE MONTH AGO.

Currently, Mark and I were at the library where I worked. The library was owned by a strange old man. Some said he was crazy while others said he was senile, but he was none of the above. I chose to believe that he was wise if anything, because he is.

His name was Albert Terrence. He had a long beard and a look of wisdom. He was always in the back office, writing and cataloguing something. There was one peculiar thing that stood out from the man. Mr. Albert would be frequently found writing something in this very large book, a quill in hand.

A feather quill, by the way. It was surprisingly white and had never changed colour even after being used for so long. His handwritings were as beautiful as his stories and poetries. I don't get to read them too often, but when I had the chance, I would take a copy and indulge myself in the beauty of his words.

When I came in to work one day, I found him already waiting for me. He quickly ushered me in his workspace and smiled, hands stroking his beard.

"Hello, (Y/N). It's been a while." He said, giving me a wistful smile. I poured the tea and handed him a cup. Bringing them close to his nose, he smiled and took a sip.

"Mhmm...lemon tea, my favourite. Thank you, dear." He said, smiling.

"Please, you were already waiting for me. Which brings me to the question, why?" I said, smirking back at the old man as I drank my warm tea. Albert chuckled, giving me a look of mischief.

"How's Mark?" he asked and I spitted out my tea.

"OKAY! HOW-"

"My dear, you should know better than to question my ways, sweetspark." He laughed; his wrinkles crinkled as he smiled brightly. Mr. Albert had this gift of clairvoyance, but everyone thinks he's senile. The people would come to lend books and he knows EXACTLY what they want. Heck, he even knows when they will come again at some point!

"That's so...creepy and cool at the same time, sir." I admitted, stirring my tea.

"Yet it did not drive you away from me, (Y/N). I'm an old man, you could have just taken my words as...someone senile and out of their mind." He said wistfully.