Optimus X Megatron - Blog Posts

gagged :o

Megatronus forgot to mute his mic again...

I'm sorry, I couldn't stop myself.

i posted this edit on tt and since its getting banned i thought people would enjoy it here!

It started out innocent.

Mostly.

After the war, when meetings between Autobots and Decepticons were tense but necessary, Optimus had quietly, very quietly, invented a system.

Whenever Megatron got that look — all smug, smugger-than-he-had-any-right-to-be — Optimus’ restraint thinned dangerously.

The solution? A secret code.

"Megatron, we need to debrief in private." Translation, 'I am about to lovingly drag you to the nearest berthframe before I short-circuit in front of everybody.''

And so far... It had worked flawlessly.

Every time Optimus said those words, Megatron would stiffen slightly, optics flickering wide—then immediately nod in that "I know exactly what you mean and I am absolutely not about to die of excitement, no sir" way.

Both of them would excuse themselves with utmost dignity...

...and ten kliks later, they'd be passionately tangled together behind a locked door somewhere.

Today was no different.

They were sitting in a joint peace council meeting, the chamber stiflingly hot, tension so thick it could have been used to patch hull breaches.

Megatron was lounging in his chair, sprawled, arrogant, looking far too pretty for Optimus’ nerves to endure.

Every smirk, every lazy stretch of his frame across the armrests... it was unbearable.

Optimus’ servo twitched against the datapad in his lap.

He cleared his intake quietly. Leaned over. And in a low, unbearably polite voice murmured, "Megatron, we need to debrief in private."

Megatron jolted like he’d been struck by lightning.

Starscream, halfway through a smug speech about Energon rations, barely glanced up.

"Of course," Megatron said stiffly, rising from his chair with textbook nonchalance.

Optimus followed, offering a tight nod to the others.

"Pardon us. Important discussion."

No one batted an optic. Business as usual.

The door slid shut behind them with a satisfying hiss.

Outside, in the empty hallway...

The second they were alone, Megatron whirled on him, optics bright.

"You unbelievable menace," he hissed, visibly fighting a grin. "You couldn’t wait until after the meeting?"

Optimus smiled sheepishly, venting slowly to calm himself.

"You were distracting," he said simply. "It felt... urgent."

Megatron opened his mouth—probably to say something scathing—and instead let out a tiny squeak when Optimus took his hand.

Not dragging. Not rough.

Just gently entwining their fingers, tugging Megatron along with soft, coaxing touches as they briskly, inconspicuously disappeared down the hall.

They passed a few low-ranked Vehicons and Autobots.

No one noticed anything strange. Just two leaders—walking quickly, whispering, looking very serious.

Totally normal.

Totally not two mechs about to find the nearest locked storage room and “debrief” so thoroughly the walls would need to be sanitized.

Megatron pressed his back to the closed door, vents already hitching.

Optimus stood in front of him, helm bowed shyly, huge hands resting hesitantly on Megatron’s hips.

"You’re sure this isn’t... disruptive?" Optimus murmured, cheeks heating with embarrassment. "We can stop if you—"

"If you stop now," Megatron rasped, gripping his arms tightly, "I will throw you onto the floor myself."

Optimus made a soft, pleased sound, venting warmly against Megatron’s neck cables.

"You’re very beautiful when you’re impatient," he mumbled sweetly.

Megatron’s vents hitched.

Then, with the gentlest possible touch for someone his size, Optimus scooped Megatron into his arms, cradling him like a treasure—like he weighed nothing—and carried him carefully to the makeshift berth stacked against the wall.

Megatron made a scandalized noise, half-heartedly pounding his fists against Optimus’ chest.

"Put me down properly, you ridiculous—"

"No," Optimus whispered against his audio, utterly earnest. "You’re precious."

Megatron’s whole frame shuddered, armor flushing a light purple at the edges.

And when Optimus laid him down and kissed him — slow, reverent, careful — Megatron forgot entirely about pouting.

He melted under every careful touch, every quiet, worshipful whisper against his plating. Leaning into the sugar sweet adoration with a joy he would not yet admit.

Back to the meeting a few hours later.

Optimus entered first, datapad in hand, helm dutifully bowed.

Megatron followed, looking absolutely glowing and a smirk tugging at his lips.

Starscream glanced up, suspicious.

"...You missed the entire second budget report," he sneered.

Megatron sniffed loftily. "We were discussing matters of critical importance."

Starscream narrowed his optics.

Meanwhile, Ratchet leaned toward Ironhide and muttered under his breath, "How much you wanna bet 'debriefing' means something completely inappropriate?"

Later, in their quarters.

Optimus shyly bumped their shoulders together, cheeks glowing with quiet pride.

"Did I do okay?" he mumbled bashfully.

Megatron grunted, pulling him down into a languid kiss.

"You’re perfect," he whispered.

And Optimus, relieved and delighted, immediately started plotting when he could "debrief" Megatron again.

Maybe tomorrow.

Or maybe right now.

--

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65052856/chapters/167277712

Codephrase Choices

MegOp Stories

The winner of the last AU poll was an arranged marriage AU. Info about winning au. https://www.tumblr.com/oblivious-prime-opmeg-au/781317548414205952/note?source=share

Scroll below the poll and it will explain each numbered option in a sentence or so.

- A post-war peace treaty requires Optimus and Megatron to live together for one whole month as a symbolic show of unity. They agree to live together for mutual benefits post war. (Both agree and claim it's for beneficial reasons such as being able to easily talk about serious faction matters quickly, conserves time, etc.. they really just both like each other.)

- During a Decepticon high council meeting, Starscream mocks Megatron for being single. In a fit of rage, Megatron blurts out that he does have a partner, a conjux—Optimus, and throws the table at the offending mech. Problem? They’re not even dating, let alone fragging married.

They're both "reluctant Cybertronian royalty" and are forced into an arranged marriage to save their houses. Megatron plans to murder his way out. Optimus plans to nobly suffer through it. Neither expects to be absurdly thirsty for each other after the first five minutes.

- A mishap in Shockwave’s lab flings Megatron into a possible future. Megatron accidentally time travels and sees a future where he's married to Optimus.

After an accident involving a malfunctioning Space Bridge, Optimus and Megatron switch bodies. They’re horrible at pretending to be each other. Starscream immediately knows something’s wrong when "Megatron" smiles and says "please." Meanwhile, the Autobots grow suspicious when "Optimus" threatens to punt a High-Caste into the sun.

Somehow Optimus and Megatron get temporarily sparkling-ified. Now they're tiny, adorablr, and clinging to each other. The Autobots and Decepticons have to form a truce to babysit them while baby Optimus aggressively headbutts anyone who touches baby Megatron. Surprisingly Megatron is the epitome of sweetness while Optimus is a gremlin sparkling.

A sparkling from the future shows up ...and calls Megatron and Optimus their parents. They're horrified. Everyone else is thrilled. Ratchet and Soundwave name themselves honorary uncles. Shockwave wants to study the sparkling. Bumblebee sets up a "Baby Watch" committee.

Cybertron’s new peace agreement includes a dating app to encourage unity. Optimus and Megatron both sign up under fake names. They match instantly. They keep flirting online anonymously...while absolutely hating each other in real life. Until they agree to meet up.

Draft: The Matrix Meddles

Chapter ?: “You Poor, Single Aft”

Peace was supposed to be quiet.

Not easy—but quiet.

Instead, Optimus stood in the center of the High Council chamber, optics dim with exhaustion, surrounded by squabbling diplomats and far too much polished stone. He kept his expression neutral, his shoulders squared.

The Matrix, nestled within his chest, pulsed.

Warmth spread through his spark—sudden, sharp, and intense.

He froze.

A powerful wave of longing rolled through his core, unfamiliar and dizzying. A vision bloomed behind his optics unbidden. —hands cupping a face —foreheads pressed together —a kiss that made the world still

Optimus inhaled sharply.

To his right, Ratchet gave him a concerned glance. “Headache?”

“…No,” he said quickly. “The Matrix is… active today.”

Ratchet stared. “Active as in ‘wisdom of the ancients’ or active as in… well—you’re blushing.”

“I am not—” Optimus stopped himself. Recalibrated. Lowered his voice. “I am simply… warm.”

Ratchet did not look convinced.

Across the chamber, the diplomats debated the stability of Kaon’s outer bridges. Optimus tried to listen—he truly did—but then another wave hit him. This time, it came not as heat but a heartbeat. Not his. Someone else’s. Deep, slow. A familiar rhythm.

His optics flicked up—unthinkingly—searching for the source.

And found Megatron.

The ex-warlord stood in the far corner, arms folded, posture stiff and proud, optics flicking over the chamber like a bored cat sizing up lesser beings. The light caught along the silver of his plating. His scowl was… elegant. Unmoving.

The Matrix surged.

Another image. —Megatron, laughing, hand resting on Optimus’ chest —Megatron asleep, curled beside him —Megatron in a flowing silver cape, walking down an aisle of light—toward him

Optimus’s field jolted. He staggered.

Megatron’s head turned sharply, optics narrowing.

“…Is something wrong, Prime?”

Optimus scrambled for composure. “No,” he managed, voice thick. “Everything is… functioning.”

Megatron looked him over with that intense gaze that made Optimus feel picked apart, examined down to his smallest screws.

“You were staring,” Megatron said slowly.

“Was I?” Optimus asked too quickly. “I wasn’t. I was looking—past you.”

“There’s no one behind me.”

“Ah.” Optimus’s hands twitched. “So there isn’t.”

Ratchet leaned closer. “Do I need to drag you to medbay?”

“No,” Optimus said a little too fast.

The Matrix pulsed again, hotter this time—almost desperate. Longing coiled in his spark, visceral and aching. Not just his. It felt like someone else’s, too. Someone hollow. Waiting.

His optics drifted back to Megatron.

Megatron was staring again, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. Suspicion and… confusion?

Another image burst behind Optimus’s optics. —his own hand brushing the side of Megatron’s face —Megatron’s lips parting in surprise, leaning in —the feeling of something clicking into place, finally, completely—

Optimus forced a breath. “We should revisit the Kaon bridge plans later.”

One of the diplomats looked up in confusion. “But we haven’t finished—”

Megatron’s voice cut in, low and sharp. “Kaon is mine. You do not reroute anything without my explicit approval.”

The Matrix responded instantly.

A final image—this one hazy but heavy with feeling—Megatron curled against his side, breath soft, whispering something into his chest.

Optimus didn’t hear the words. But his spark clenched like it already knew them.

He blinked hard. “Meeting adjourned.”

And walked out—face calm, expression unreadable.

Even as his spark roared.

--

The matrix ships it and has begun actively trying to do something.

Amorvëael Pax A.U. Moments - Room Colors

These events occur a few months after Amorvëael's conception. A moment to the past before their mischievous sparkling was born. With a short slightly spicy scene in the draft.

---

“I’m telling you right now, Optimus—if you paint that wall beige, I will riot.”

“It’s champagne gold,” Optimus said diplomatically, holding up the swatch. “It’s calming. Neutral. Sophisticated.”

Megatron sneered at it. “It’s boring. Our child will exit as a protoform and assume he’s been sentenced to an eternal tax office.”

Optimus looked faintly offended. “Color psychology studies suggest softer tones promote—”

“I led a rebellion, Optimus,” Megatron snapped, yanking open a box of vivid paint samples. “I’m not raising a sparkling in a nursery that looks like the inside of Ultra Magnus’ dream filing cabinet.”

Optimus opened his mouth to retort—only to pause.

Because Megatron had stopped mid-rant.

“…Megatron?” he asked warily.

The warlord stood still for a second. His optics flickered. His vents hitched.

Then he whined.

Optimus immediately tensed. “Are you alright? Is something—?”

“I need it,” Megatron said lowly, voice rough.

“…Need what?”

“You know what,” Megatron muttered, optics glowing.

His hands reached out, slow and twitchy. One went to Optimus’ waist. The other pawed at the edge of his armor plating.

Optimus blinked. “Megatron, we were discussing paint.”

Megatron leaned in and growled, deep and rumbling. “I’ll paint the walls with whatever you want, just spike me first.”

Optimus short-circuited.

“…Are you serious—?”

“I can smell you,” Megatron hissed, dragging his claws lightly over Optimus’ armor, sparking tingles down his spinal strut. “You smell good.”

Optimus took one step back. Megatron followed.

“You said you didn’t want to frag while we were working,” Optimus said, holding a swatch up like a useless shield.

“That was before I started leaking just from arguing with you.” Megatron’s voice was a low growl now. “You’re here. I’m empty. My valve is pulsing. Do the math.”

Optimus flushed. “I am trying to focus on the nursery.”

“And I’m trying not to drag you onto the paint tarp and ride your spike until I’m too full to move.”

Optimus dropped the swatch.

Megatron pounced.

The two of them slammed into the far wall of the half-decorated nursery, knocking over a box of plush sparkling safe toys. A soft rattle hit Optimus in the helm and bounced away unnoticed.

He rolled his hips forward, valve already dripping and hot, grinding against Optimus’ spike housing with desperate need. “Get it out,” he snarled. “I need it—need to feel full—”

Optimus groaned as his panels snapped open.

“You’re insatiable,” he muttered.

“I’m carrying.” Megatron’s hands clenched his shoulders. “You did this. Fix it.”

Optimus didn’t need to be told twice.

Within seconds, he had Megatron pinned against the wall, spike sliding into that drenched, needy valve with a sharp, wet thrust.

Megatron moaned, head thrown back, optics fluttering. His valve calipers clenched around Optimus' spike, greedily, shuddering like it knew exactly what it wanted—and wanted every drop.

Optimus’ grip tightened on Megatron’s hips. “Is this how you win arguments now?” he hissed through his vents.

Megatron wrapped a leg around his waist and growled, “If it gets me filled, I’ll argue about every miniscule detail in this room.”

The nursery wall creaked behind them. Plush toys were scattered across the floor.

The champagne gold swatch was crumpled under Megatron’s foot.

No one cared.

---

Optimus stood at the door of the freshly painted nursery, arms crossed over his chassis as he admired their compromise.

It wasn’t perfect—but then, nothing ever was when it came to Megatron and his demands. Yet, as he gazed at the soft blue walls with the serene, subtle cloud designs, Optimus felt something like peace settle into his spark.

“Light blue, huh?” Megatron said, lounging on the floor in front of him, looking thoroughly sated. His optics flickered lazily as he traced idle circles on Optimus’ leg, the warlord's venting quiet but content.

Optimus smiles warmly. “Do you want me to finish the rest?”

Megatron’s mouth curled upward in a smirk. “I’ve been through enough wall colors today. Now, I’m enjoying the rewards of your compromise.” He yawned dramatically, stretching out like a contented predator in the sun. “You can finish the small paintings while I relax.”

Optimus shook his helm but gave in anyway, as he always did.

The walls were light blue, yes, but what made this room different were the tiny paintings Optimus had agreed to add as a compromise to Megatron’s “epic battle scenes” suggestion.

At the far side of the room, soft clouds swirled across the wall, with delicate constellations of tiny stars. But on the wall opposite, Optimus had painted a collage of himself and Megatron—not quite as dramatic as the "Bladewrath" suggestion, but still enough to make the warlord’s optics gleam with satisfaction. It was peaceful. And, of course, a tiny sparkling in the middle, holding both mechs hands, between them.

Megatron’s optics softened as he stared at the delicate details. He’d never admit it aloud, but there was a spark of something warm blooming inside him as he took in the image.

“Well,” Megatron said, his voice low and teasing as he slid into Optimus’ lap. “It’s... acceptable.”

Optimus chuckled softly, resting his hands around Megatron’s waist. “I’ll take ‘acceptable’ as a win. Especially after everything we’ve been through today.”

“Mm.” Megatron leaned back against Optimus’ chest, his servo rubbing the warmth of his abdomen, which now held their sparkling. “Just don’t ask me to paint anything. I’m done with decorating.”

Optimus smiled, his frame enveloping Megatron’s. “You know,” Optimus said, brushing his lips against the nape of Megatron’s neck, “I think we make a pretty good team when we compromise.”

Megatron’s optics glinted with quiet affection, but he didn’t look up. “Sure. But next time,” he said, voice filled with lazy mischief, “let’s just get a huge statue of me and call it ‘done.’”

Optimus laughed softly. “I’ll keep that in mind. But first…” He rubbed a hand along Megatron’s lower back, smirking. “How about a celebratory energon shake? You look like you could use something cold.”

Megatron shuddered slightly at the thought, his morning sickness protesting, but relaxed further into Optimus’ arms. “I think I’ll pass. But don’t let that stop you from finishing your other tasks. You’ve still got one more mural left.”

Optimus sighed dramatically, his optics softening. “Fine. One more mural. And then I’m taking you to bed. No more interruptions. That is a compromise.”

Megatron smirked knowingly, rubbing against Optimus with a satisfied hum. “That’s the only kind of ‘compromise’ I need right now.”

As the two settled into the warmth of the freshly painted nursery, with soft blue walls surrounding them, they were content in their love.

Megatron vs Roomba Part Two

I can't find part one.

---

The Roomba had returned.

Megatron stood in the middle of the living room, glaring down at the small cleaning bot with all the venom he could muster, as if it had personally insulted his ancestors. “You think you can return after I banished you?!”

The Roomba beeped innocently, as though it hadn’t even noticed the warlord’s glare.

Megatron’s optics narrowed, and he reached for his fusion cannon. “This time, you do not escape.”

Optimus leaned casually in the doorway, sipping from a mug labeled World’s #1 Peacekeeper (and Husband) with a relaxed, almost teasing grin. “You’re really going to obliterate a cleaning bot just because it tried to mop behind you?”

“It stalks me,” Megatron growled, stepping forward. “It knows too much.”

Optimus raised an eyebrow.

Megatron’s fists clenched at his sides. “It’s a spy—an agent of sabotage!”

The Roomba made a soft, innocent beeping noise, continuing its roundabout journey.

“Megatron, Soundwave's the one who programmed it to follow your movements,” Optimus said, his voice calm, as though explaining the facts to an impatient child.

“He would never—”

But before he could finish his sentence, Optimus strode forward, stepping quietly behind him. In an instant, he reached out and gave Megatron’s aft a playful squeeze.

Megatron let out a high-pitched, indignant yelp and lurched forward, nearly tripping over the Roomba in the process. “W-WHAT are you—!?”

Optimus’s hand lingered on his back, his voice low and soothing. “Distracting you,” he said calmly, giving Megatron a reassuring squeeze. “You were about to vaporize my cleaning budget.”

The fusion cannon sputtered in Megatron’s hand as he twisted around, trying to focus on Optimus and failing. “That’s... underhanded!”

Optimus flashed a wicked grin. “You didn’t complain last night when I used both hands.”

Megatron’s processor nearly short-circuited at the thought. His spark rate spiked, and his optics flickered. He was no longer sure which task he was supposed to be focusing on. "Y-You—"

But before Megatron could muster a proper response, Optimus slid his other hand down his aft, moving dangerously close to his thighs. The warlord froze, his entire frame seizing up as Optimus’s touch grew bolder.

“Optimus...” Megatron’s voice was barely a whisper, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could focus.

The Roomba, unfazed by the tension in the air, gently bumped into Megatron’s foot again.

Megatron, red-faced, took an unsteady step back, but Optimus followed him, trailing his servo up the side of his frame, teasingly inching toward the delicate spot that made Megatron’s processors buzz.

“You—ngh—slagger!” Megatron’s voice cracked slightly. His servo shook slightly around the fusion cannon, and for a brief moment, he forgot what he was even doing.

Optimus’s face softened into a teasing smile, his voice low. “But Megatron, don’t you want me to help you out with your… stress?”

Optimus leaned in closer, his lips nearly grazing Megatron’s audios. “You seem awfully tense. Surely, a little distraction wouldn’t hurt.” Optimus’s servo slid along the side of Megatron’s hip, gently moving down to grip his thigh. The warlord froze, his entire body locking up. Optimus smiled warmly, "Say the word dearest, any time and I'll stop.”

Megatron’s mind spun with conflicting thoughts: the Roomba, the cannon, the incredibly distracting servos moving to exactly the wrong or right places. "Focus, Megatron," he muttered under his breath, but it was impossible to concentrate with Optimus so close.

Optimus, noticing the warlord’s faltering composure, smirked. “Do you want me to grope you again while you threaten it? That seemed to work so well last time.”

Megatron’s audios twitched, his circuits sparking in protest as he tried—and failed—to hold it together. “Slagger!” he hissed, but it came out more like a pained whimper. The Roomba, sensing its moment, bumped against his foot again.

Megatron looked down at the little bot, his optics narrowed with fire. “This is your last warning,” he growled, but the moment was lost. He couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his faceplates as Optimus’s hand slid closer, brushing against his valve panel.

Optimus smirked, watching his teasing touches make Megatron visibly squirm. “I see you've resorted to threatening the cleaner now,” he purred. “But it seems like you’ve lost focus. How about I help you regain some of it?”

With a swift motion, Optimus slid his hands between Megatron’s legs, spreading his thighs apart just enough to get his attention. “There we go,” he murmured, his voice sultry. “Let’s see if we can make you feel a little better, hm?”

Megatron’s frame jolted, his faceplates a deep shade of red. “Y-you dare—”

“Oh, but I do dare, Megatron,” Optimus teased, his hands moving dangerously close to Megatron’s most vulnerable spots. “Let’s see how long you can keep your composure.”

Megatron tried to stand tall, but his legs felt weak as Optimus gently spread them further, his thumbs tracing the sharp lines of Megatron’s plating. He could feel his own systems overheating with the growing pressure. “Optimus,” he panted, trying to resist, but the Decepticons own arousal was becoming undeniable.

“Shh,” Optimus whispered, his lips brushing the side of Megatron’s audios. “Just relax. I’ll take care of you.”

Megatron growled low in his throat, his fists trembling at his sides. “I’m not—I am NOT relaxing!”

Optimus didn’t let up, though. He moved his hands in teasing, slow circles around Megatron’s inner thighs, inching ever closer to the warlord’s most sensitive points. His teasing touches were just enough to leave Megatron breathless, frustrated, and—whether he liked it or not—needy.

“You’re making this much more difficult than it needs to be,” Optimus hummed, his voice dripping with amusement as his fingers continued to dance dangerously close to Megatron’s valve panel.

“Optimus, I swear,” Megatron warned, his optics flashing as he tried to retain some shred of dignity. “If you don’t, I will—”

“Don't what, Megatron?” Optimus leaned down, his lips brushing against Megatron’s neck. “Continue? Stop? Leave you alone?”

“I —!” Megatron growled, but his voice lacked conviction. His body was betraying him, and his voice came out as more of a desperate plea than an order.

The Roomba, ever the innocent observer, bumped into Megatron’s foot once more, adding to the ridiculousness of the situation.

With one final, teasing squeeze, Optimus stood up, leaving Megatron standing there, trembling with frustration and desire. “You should focus on your so called enemy, Megatron,” Optimus said, his voice laced with amusement. “Or, I’ll just keep distracting you.” He pressed a finger to Megatron's valve panel, eliciting a gasp. Then grinned, "Shall we continue in berth? Unless of course you want to stay here?"

Megatron, barely able to maintain any sort of dignity, growled, “You manipulative, infuriating—."

The Roomba, now completely undisturbed, beeped softly in victory.

But his voice cracked halfway through the threat, as Optimus’s thumb pressed in a slow, tantalizing circle right against his sealed valve panel. He hissed sharply through clenched denta, his knees nearly giving out. His free hand slammed against the wall beside him for balance, the other still pathetically gripping his useless cannon.

“I’ll have your badge revoked for this, Prime—”

Optimus tilted his head, oh-so-innocent. “For helping my Conjux unwind? You’re tense. Distracted. Aggressive.” He leaned in again, lips brushing the heated plating beneath Megatron’s jaw. “I’m just performing my spousal duties. Preventing another civil war."

Megatron’s vents stuttered, cycling rapidly. “By teasing me in front of a cleaning unit!?”

Optimus sighed, finally drawing his hands back—though not before ghosting his fingers over Megatron’s thighs one last time, dragging his touch down with deliberate slowness. “Fine, I’ll give you a moment alone to win your little war.”

He stepped back with a smirk, crossing his arms, mug still in hand. “Though I have to say… you were much more fun to tease when you were armed.”

Megatron glared at him with every ounce of dignity he had left, which wasn’t much considering the purple blooming across his faceplates and the slight tremble in his thighs. “When I finally destroy that thing, I will find retribution against you later.”

Optimus sipped his drink, unfazed and winked. “Why don't I have a taste of your aft instead?”

Megatron’s systems hiccuped.

His processor tried to register Optimus’s words—taste of your aft—and promptly gave up. Static crackled behind his optics as he froze, speechless for the first time in vorns. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as he glared at Optimus like the Prime had just declared war with a love poem.

“You—! You slag-slicked menace!” Megatron hissed, his voice cracking like old Energon lines. “That is not appropriate battle banter!”

Optimus only smirked deeper, the corners of his lips curling with smug satisfaction as he sipped from his mug again, voice slow and syrupy. “Oh, is it not? Forgive me—would you prefer me to be more specific? Such as what exactly I plan to do to your valve?”

Megatron’s cannon clanked to the floor.

He didn’t even notice it falling.

Instead, he lunged forward, servo wrapping around Optimus’s shoulder plating as he snarled low and furious. “You insufferable, undignified, irredeemable—”

“—attractive, charming, and deeply in love with you?” Optimus finished calmly, setting his mug down with maddening nonchalance.

Megatron's vocalizer gave a low, glitching pop. “That is not—”

But Optimus didn’t let him finish. His hands were suddenly there again—sliding around Megatron’s waist and down to his aft, gripping it boldly.

Megatron yelped, his entire frame jolting. “Stop touching me there!”

Optimus just hummed, leaning closer until their chassis brushed, frame heat humming in shared contact. “You don’t actually want me to stop.”

“I do,” Megatron lied, not very convincingly.

“Then push me away,” Optimus whispered against his audial. “Right now.”

Megatron’s servos twitched. One rested limply on Optimus’s chest, hovering, trembling.

He didn’t push.

He didn’t move.

Optimus’s mouth curved against his plating. “That’s what I thought.”

“You manipulative, spark-charming glitch,” Megatron rasped, his voice barely a growl.

“Your glitch,” Optimus said softly, voice dipped in heat and fondness. “Forever.”

A moment passed.

Then Megatron, cheeks still burning hotter than an overclocked cannon, snarled, “Fine. If you want my attention so badly, take it. But I swear, if that Roomba records anything—”

“Soundwave’ll delete it,” Optimus said without missing a beat, grabbing Megatron by the hips and spinning him around until his back hit the wall.

Megatron let out a stifled grunt as his plating struck the wall, but before he could snap out a protest, Optimus was on him—mouth at his neck, servos firm and steady as they slid up his inner thighs again.

Megatron gasped, optics flashing wide. “You—slagger—!”

“Shhh,” Optimus breathed, finally pressing his frame flush against Megatron’s. “Let your Conjux worship you properly.”

Megatron stood rigid, every inch of his frame bristling with tension—not from battle, but from the sheer audacity of his so-called Conjux.

Optimus leaned back on the doorway with that smug little smirk that had no right being so devastating. “Come now, darling,” he purred, voice dipped in honey and sin, “surely your vendetta against the vacuum can wait until after I’ve finished thoroughly appreciating you.”

Megatron’s vents hitched. “You—you are insufferable.”

“And you are incredibly grabbable,” Optimus replied smoothly, “It’s hardly my fault. I’m merely reacting to your—assets.”

He reached around and gave said assets another gentle squeeze, just to emphasize the point.

Megatron jolted again, his cannon sputtering pathetically in his grip. “Optimus, I swear on the Pit—”

“Mmhm.” Optimus buried his face against the side of Megatron’s neck, plating warm and lips curved. “I love when you make threats while glowering. It’s so hot.”

“I am NOT glowering—” Megatron glowered as his faceplates heated up. His legs shifted awkwardly, bracing against the wall as Optimus’s servos began a slow, torturously confident massage along the back of his thighs. “Slagging—Prime”

Megatron tried to summon his anger. He really did. But it was difficult to maintain righteous fury when his spark was fluttering and his knees were moments away from giving up entirely. His cooling fans sputtered to life with a pained whrrr, and he swore vengeance on his own subroutines for allowing this betrayal.

“I should... exile you for treason,” Megatron managed weakly, as Optimus slid one hand around his waist to pull their hips together.

“Mm,” came the reply, a low hum against his neck. “You’d miss me too much.”

Then, slowly—torturously—Optimus’s other servo dipped down, slipping between Megatron’s thighs with all the confidence of a mech who knew exactly what buttons to push.

Megatron’s mouth fell open. A pitiful, high-pitched sound escaped him. He clamped it shut, optics flickering violently.

“I hate you,” he hissed, voice shaking.

“You love me,” Optimus corrected, pressing closer, his tone smug and affectionate in equal measure. “Unless, dearest, you truly wish for me to stop?”

“Pit take you,” Megatron growled.

Optimus smiled warmly.

Megatron let out a short, strangled noise—not quite a snarl, not quite a moan—as Optimus’s fingers made an especially devious pass along the paneling of his inner thigh.

And then, the Roomba bumped gently into his ankle again.

Both mechs froze.

Megatron slowly looked down at it. It beeped. Cheerfully.

Optimus, with zero shame, leaned closer and whispered, “Maybe we should take this elsewhere. Or are you into being watched now?”

Megatron's fusion cannon sparked and fell off his arm with a pathetic clunk.

“I’m going to kill that Roomba,” he rasped.

Optimus chuckled and pressed a kiss to his neck cables. “After you’re done letting me take you apart, one plate at a time.”

Megatron’s processor fuzzed.

“…Fine. But I still destroy it afterward.”

“Of course,” Optimus said sweetly. “Right after I destroy you—in the best way.”

And with that, he swept Megatron off his feet. Literally. Because nothing said “fearsome warlord” like being carried bridal-style while stammering curses and demanding vengeance on household appliances.

Codephrase Choices

A.U. Screenplay Drama

---

This is the premise of something im drafting.

In the newly unified Cybertron, tensions are slowly easing between former enemies. Peace is fragile but progressing—until an anonymous screenplay is leaked, and surfaces across every data feed, library terminal, and entertainment outlet. Its content? A steamy, dramatic romance depicting none other than Optimus Prime and Megatron as star-crossed lovers.

Lol I was cackling at this, @tldaydreamer, mentioned about writing fanfictions in screenplay format. Although this isn't technically what they mentioned it inspired this post.

Draft: Respite and Quiet Embraces

The Nemesis was quiet. Or at least, it was supposed to be. Outside, the storm raged on—wind howling, thunder cracking, lightning flashing in bursts that lit the sky and rattled the hull of the warship. But inside the commander’s quarters, Megatron lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling as if it had all the answers.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

He shifted restlessly in the berth, growling low in his throat. The storm should’ve been easy to ignore—he’d survived worse. But tonight, something gnawed at him from within, a quiet ache that the howling winds only seemed to sharpen. The berth felt too cold. The dark too empty.

He turned his head, optics flickering toward the space beside him. It had only recently begun to feel like it belonged to someone else—someone warm, steady, infuriatingly calm.

But that someone wasn’t here.

Clenching the sheets in frustration, Megatron tried again to relax. The sounds of the ship creaking beneath the storm only made it worse. He wasn’t used to needing things. Needing anyone.

But tonight, he felt it.

Loneliness. The kind that crept in when the armor cracked, when silence stretched too long. The kind that made him ache for something he didn’t know how to ask for.

"Slag it," he muttered, reaching for his comm link. His hand hovered. Pride screamed at him to stop. But his spark—traitorous thing—pushed him forward.

He hit the call.

“Optimus,” he said gruffly as the transmission opened.

Optimus' voice crackled through the link, a touch of confusion clear in his tone. “Megatron, is something wrong?”

"Just… come here. Now," Megatron snapped, unable to mask the irritation in his voice. He stood from the berth, pacing impatiently. "I can’t sleep. This fragging storm… it’s keeping me up. I need—" He paused, the words catching in his throat, not quite able to say what he wanted to. “Just get here.”

Another beat of silence. “I’ll be there shortly,” Optimus replied. His calm voice soothed the edges of Megatron's frustration.

Megatron ended the call and paced, restless. He didn’t know why he’d done it. They were dating now—whatever that meant between two old soldiers with battle-worn sparks and too many regrets—but he still didn’t know how to ask for this. For help. For company. For warmth.

When Optimus finally stepped into the room, he looked exactly as Megatron expected—calm, composed, his optics softening when they landed on him. The Prime's optics softened as they landed on Megatron, who was standing stiffly in the middle of the room.

“Megatron, what’s going on?” Optimus asked gently. “Why did you call me here?”

Megatron grunted, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “I can’t sleep. The storm’s making my circuits short out." He paused. "You’re… comfortable. I thought it would help.”

Optimus blinked. “Comfortable?”

“I thought it would help,” Megatron snapped, audials burning. “Just get over here and shut up”, though the sharpness in his voice was undermined by the way he fidgeted nervously.

Optimus’s lips twitched with the faintest of smiles. He raised an optic ridge, clearly trying to suppress any hint of a smile at the grumpy tone in Megatron's voice. But he said nothing, and with surprising warmth, Optimus sat beside Megatron, reaching out to gently pull him down onto the berth.

The storm raged outside, but within the warmth of the room, everything seemed a little quieter. Optimus lay down beside him, wrapping his arms around the Decepticon in a secure, comforting hold.

The contact was simple—an arm around shoulders, a quiet presence beside him. But it grounded him instantly.

Megatron stiffened at first, not used to such gentleness, but the tension quickly melted from his frame as Optimus gently nuzzled against him, offering a reassuring comfort and Megatron exhaled slowly at the warmth.

“You can sleep now,” Optimus murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe.”

Megatron let out a quiet sigh, his optics flickering as the peaceful sensation of Optimus' arms wrapped around him began to sink in. The storm outside felt far less threatening now. There was warmth, and security, and for the first time that night… peace.

He stared at the wall for a long moment, his vents slowing as the storm faded to background noise. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore—it was steady, filled with something quiet and whole.

“I suppose…” Megatron muttered reluctantly, “this is better.”

“Better than what?” Optimus teased softly, his breath warm against Megatron’s audials.

“Better than being awake… and alone,” Megatron confessed, his voice quieter now, the words almost feeling foreign coming from him.

Optimus smiled faintly and gave a soft chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chassis. “Then sleep, Megatron. Rest. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

As Megatron relaxed into the embrace, the storm outside faded to the background, the only sound in the room the steady hum of their processors and the soft beat of their sparks. The weight of the day’s tension finally left him, and his systems slowly powered down, drifting off into the most peaceful recharge he’d had in ages.

Optimus, feeling the rise and fall of Megatron's frame as he finally relaxed, smiled softly to himself. They had come a long way from enemies on the battlefield.

But tonight, that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the quiet, the comfort, and the fact that for once, Megatron didn’t have to face the storm alone.

And so, they slept.

Together.

----

They've begun dating in this au however Megatron still struggles with asking for support from his new partner.

A Poll on Possible Stories

Scroll below the poll and it will explain each numbered option in a sentence or so.

I’d be happy to hear more AU ideas if anyone wants to share ideas in the comments!

Note:

I will be posting about the winning au in the following blog.

Winning A.U. Blog Link - https://www.tumblr.com/oblivious-prime-opmeg-au?source=share

- A post-war peace treaty requires Optimus and Megatron to live together for one whole month as a symbolic show of unity.

- To solidify peace, a political marriage is proposed.

- They agree to live together for mutual benefits post war. (Both agree and claim it's for beneficial reasons such as being able to easily talk about serious faction matters quickly, conserves time, etc.. they really just both like each other.)

- A mishap in Shockwave’s lab flings Megatron into a possible future . Megatron accidentally time travels and sees a future where he's married to Optimus.

- Optimus pretends to flirt as a joke—Megatron thinks he’s serious.

- An artifact causes Optimus and Megatron to switch bodies for a week.

- Due to a glitch in Cybertronian bureaucracy, Optimus and Megatron are enrolled in mandatory bonding counseling. They go to prove they’re not together. They leave holding hands.

- Starscream, for reasons no one understands, wants them to date. Badly. Shenanigans ensue.

- The troops mistakenly believe Megatron and Optimus are together. They look so happy.

- During a Decepticon high council meeting, Starscream mocks Megatron for being single. In a fit of rage, Megatron blurts out that he does have a partner, a conjux—Optimus, and throws the table at the offending mech. Problem? They’re not even dating, let alone fragging married.

More Amorvëael Pax A.U. Moments

Megatron had not left the berth in three hours.

He lay sprawled across it dramatically, one arm slung over his optics, the other curled against a throw pillow as though it had wronged him.

“I can feel you moping,” Optimus said gently from the doorway.

“I’m not moping,” Megatron growled. “I’m brooding. There’s a difference.”

“Mmm.” Optimus walked in, setting down a warm energon cube. “So will you tell me why you're brooding, my love?”

Megatron huffed, made a noncommittal grunt, and turned away dramatically. Despite his field brightening at Optimus endearing terms.

Then came the pitter-patter of tiny peds.

Amorvëael entered the room, face covered in pink and orange finger-paint (for reasons unknown, as they had evidently not used those colors), proudly clutching a large piece of canvas.

They climbed up the berth using Megatron’s leg as leverage and plopped the painting onto his chest.

“LOOK WHAT I MADE!” they squeaked.

Megatron blinked down.

The painting was a wild, adorable mess. Two big figures—one with squarish shoulders and a red crest, the other with a cannon arm and flared helm—stood holding hands, surrounded by tiny sparkles. Next to them was a smaller blob with wings and stars for eyes.

Underneath, in messy but legible glyphs, it said:

“Carrier and Sire 4EVER.”

Megatron’s systems shorted for a moment.

Amorvëael beamed proudly. “I didn’t let anyone help me. I made it ALL myself.”

Optimus made a soft noise. “You knew he was upset?”

“He was glarey,” Amorvëael said, nodding solemnly. “So I made him smile again.”

Megatron’s voice was hoarse. “...You did, beloved treasure.”

He pulled Amorvëael into his arms and hugged them fiercely, paint and all.

Optimus kissed both of them and said, “I’ll frame it. Front and center.”

Megatron didn’t answer—just held his sparkling tighter, his spark warm with happiness and affection.

---

Amorvëael Pax

Pronounced: Ah-MOR-vee-EL P-axe

Amor (Latin): Love

Vëa (from Quenya, Tolkien Elvish): Life, being, essence

-ael / -el (Hebrew/angelic suffix): Of or belonging to, often implying divine or sacred

Pax - Peace / period of peace

Meaning/idea: “The life born of our love in a time of peace” or “Most treasured existence of our love in a time of peace.”

From time to time they affectionately call their sparkling beloved treasure for short.

---

Another addition explaining why Megatron was grumpy will be added later. Along with some mischief their sparkling was up too.

Frequency of Two Sparks

I imagine if soundwave made a song it would somewhat sound like this.

I realized far too late that I forgot to title the song name here, so I labeled the post title with the name.

Idk why but I couldn't attach the video, so here's the link instead. (Edit: issue fixed)

Cover Options for Work In Progress

My friend B is helping by making a cover for my new fanfic, I haven't posted / completed chapter one yet tho 😅. But I can't figure out which one is a better version.

Idk, if anyone responds I would like to hear ur opinions.

parts of the images got cut off, idk why, but if you click on it you can see the whole picture

The Planner Hidden Away

Title: The Wedding Files: Confidential. Do Not Read, Seriously. Stop.

Part One: Journalistic Crimes and Conjux Chaos

Elita One wasn’t snooping.

She happened to be organizing files in Optimus’ quarters—because he sure as Pit wasn’t going to do it himself—and a misplaced datapad just happened to fall into her hands. The bold red words across the front were… “TOP SECRET WEDDING PLANS – DO NOT OPEN – PRIVATE – MEGATRON DO NOT READ (unless you said yes?)”

Which immediately made her open it.

“Elita, we are not violating Prime’s privacy,” Ratchet said, wobbling in with arms full of medical logs and an expression like a mech who desperately wanted plausible deniability. “Put it back.”

“But Ratchet,” she said sweetly, flipping the datapad open, “he labeled it.”

“…With instructions not to open it.”

“Right. That’s like hanging a sign saying ‘No cookies inside, definitely don’t eat.’”

“…You would eat the cookies.”

She grinned. “And look—look at this!”

Ratchet, a medic and war veteran, had seen many horrifying things in his life. Never had he been more stunned than when Elita rotated the datapad toward him and he saw an entire file titled:

"Bridal Veil Options for Megatron (He’ll Pretend to Hate These But Secretly Love Them)"

Ratchet’s face slowly turned a tired grey. “No. Absolutely not. This is—this is romance. I’m out. I’m too old for this slag. I fought in four wars. No.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Elita grabbed his shoulder and forced him back down onto Optimus’ berth. “You’re in this now.”

Entry 17: Veil Option C - Soft white mesh, long cathedral length, attached to a silver head-plate crown (not too gaudy, subtle Decepticon sigil etched beneath). He’ll roll his optics, but I know he’ll smile later when he thinks no one’s looking. Note: ask Knockout to help design.

Entry 42: Vow Draft (Optimus to Megatron): "I once thought you were my enemy. But you are my other half—every fierce word I shouted into the void, you returned tenfold. And through the static and war, I heard you. I still hear you. Even now, I kneel, not in surrender—but in devotion. To you. My fiercest love. My hope, my endless...." It goes on for several pages.

Elita covered her mouth. “He wrote vows. He wrote Megatron wedding vows.”

Ratchet blinked. “He wrote thirty-seven versions.”

“Oh my Primus,” Elita whispered reverently. “He has a color palette for the reception.”

There was an entire spreadsheet labeled “Which shade of blue brings out his fusion cannon best?” with comments like “lavender is too romantic too soon?” and “is navy blue too ‘war criminal chic’?”

They didn’t stop reading until two hours had passed, both of them crying from silent laughter, and Elita desperately trying not to scream “HE PICKED OUT THE FLOWERS BASED ON WHAT HE THINKS WILL MATCH MEGATRON’S EYES.”

—

Part Two: Two Years Later (and One Toddler)

“—and then the handsome, wise hero raised his sword,” Megatron said, seated beside their young sparkling who sat in a soft, reinforced berth, swaddled comfortably, “and he struck down the evil warlord with one mighty swoop—”

“Carierrrr,” the sparkling (named Amorvëael Pax, because “Warcry” was vetoed by Optimus. Aaaand maybe also because Megatron was intensely partial to the name Optimus suggested, not that Megatron would admit), said, squinting up at him. “But what happened to the warlord?”

Megatron grinned—teeth, fangs, and menaces. “Oh, he exploded, obviously.”

“Megatron,” came a low voice from the doorway. “You know the warlord wasn’t evil.”

Megatron groaned, leaning his helm back against the armchair. “Optimus, I am telling a bedtime story. This is a dramatic tale for developmental benefit.”

Optimus stepped into the room like he hadn’t just been doing peace negotiations all day, still looking like every romantic ideal Megatron would never admit he had. He bent over, kissed Megatron’s cheek, then his mouth, and murmured, “The warlord was a victim of their circumstance, of their society’s broken system of repression, and also very pretty.”

The sparkling blinked. “Carrier, were you the warlord?”

Megatron stared. “No.”

Optimus grinned. “Yes.”

Megatron side-eyed him, scowling. “That’s false information. Your sire has no idea what he is talking about.”

Optimus kissed him again, this time longer, and added softly, to both his Conjux and sparkling “Also, I loved him very much. Still do.”

Their sparkling giggled and groaned. “Ew.”

“Someday,” Optimus said cheerfully, ruffling Amorvëael's helm, “you’ll be grateful your parent's are romantic.”

“Someday,” Megatron grunted, dragging Optimus down to sit beside him, then shifting to sit atop the Prime’s lap, “you’ll learn how to properly villainize your spouse for bedtime entertainment purposes.”

Optimus leaned in closer, letting his hands slide to Megatron’s waist. His voice dropped to a mumur, a whisper. “Do you know what I was thinking about all through that meeting?”

Megatron narrowed his optics, suspicious. “…What?”

“You, wearing that wedding gift I picked.” Optimus’ hands squeezed just slightly. “On our first night together. You remember what we did after you took it off?”

Megatron made a small, choked noise that sounded like pure denial and deeply repressed enthusiasm.

“Because I do,” Optimus continued, lips brushing against the tip of Megatron’s audio receptor. “I remember how soft you were. How vocal. And how many hinges we broke off that berth.”

Megatron growled—growled—low in his throat. “We are in front of the sparkling.”

“Hmm.” Optimus grinned, completely unapologetic. “Then you’d better save it for tonight. Besides, they can't hear us, sweetspark.”

The sparkling blinked up at them innocently. “Why is carrier’s face red?”

Optimus stood, lifting Megatron in one arm like it was nothing, and turned toward the hall. “Because we’re going to talk about love and its many expressions, Amorvëael. Bedtime for you.”

"Don't sneak out and eat cookies in the night again! It's bad for your health!” Megatron chastised over his shoulder as he was carried bridal-style down the corridor. He then turned to falsely argue with the Prime. “I am a warlord! I had a feared name! Put me down!”

“You’re my beloved warlord,” Optimus said, lovingly, “and you’re very cuddly when flustered.”

Later that night, Megatron did wear the gift again. Luckily they had long invested in soundproofing.

—

Meanwhile, in their quarters—hidden in the deepest drawer—was a datapad still carefully preserved with labels like:

“Bouquet arrangements for a very stubborn, secretly romantic tyrant.” “Megatron Vows – Final Draft (don’t cry reading these again, idiot).” “Honeymoon suggestions (some of these are just excuses to see him blush).” “Intimate gift plans – do not open until date night (Megatron Edition).”

And at the very bottom: “Wedding File – Complete. Conjux Endurae status: Happily ever after, and then some.”

---

I definitely put way more than necessary thought into their sparkling's name.

Amorvëael Pax

Pronounced: Ah-MOR-vee-EL P-axe

Amor (Latin): Love

Vëa (from Quenya, Tolkien Elvish): Life, being, essence

-ael / -el (Hebrew/angelic suffix): Of or belonging to, often implying divine or sacred

Pax - Peace / period of peace

Meaning/idea: “The life born of our love in a time of peace” or “Most treasured existence of our love in a time of peace.”

From time to time they affectionately call their sparkling beloved treasure for short.

Cover: Love, War, and High-Grade

I have begun adding my story into Wattpad, so I gave it a cover.

Idk, I may change it.

An Argument's Resolution

I didn't burn a simple dish I was attempting. But while I was waiting for it to bake a funny conversation arrived in my mind.

Optimus and Megatron marry Post War. The following occurs after misunderstanding after misunderstanding. A resolution to their foolish angst and false assumptions.

---

Optimus: “I thought you didn’t like me.”

Megatron: “What?! I’ve been leaving you energon! I made you tea!”

Optimus: “You made it black with no sweetener!”

Megatron: “I thought you liked bitter things! You MARRIED ME!”

They stared at each other.

Optimus whispered, “Do you want to hug me?”

Megatron: “…Yes.”

They awkwardly leaned toward each other, paused, leaned back, then both reached again and collided with a painful clank.

But once arms were around waists, frames pressed together, they didn’t let go.

Megatron buried his helm in Optimus’s neck.

Megatron: “I thought you hated me.”

Optimus: “I thought I was too needy.”

Megatron: “…You are needy.”

Optimus: “You hissed when I touched your shoulder once.”

Megatron: “I was startled! What did you expect!”

Optimus chuckled, rough and joyful. “We’re very stupid.”

Megatron: “Yes. Hug me tighter.”

Shameless Megatron Moment (Lap Gremlin)

Post War A.U. Moment

The council chamber was in chaos.

Councilor Crackhead was red-faced and stammering. Councilor Flatline had her helm in her hands. Starscream looked like he’d combust from sheer secondhand embarrassment. Ratchet had long since given up and was just slumped in his seat, mumbling about resignation letters.

And Megatron… Megatron was purring.

In Optimus’s lap.

And not just sitting there innocently—oh no.

He was grinding, subtle but unmistakable, the smooth curves of his interface panels rubbing slow, deliberate circles against Optimus’s thighs. His hands lazily cupped the Prime’s shoulders, thumbs brushing teasing arcs along the seams of his plating.

Optimus sat bolt upright, stiff as a board, his optics locked on some invisible point on the far wall like it would save him from the situation. It wouldn’t.

Megatron leaned in, lips brushing his audial.

“Do you remember the sound I made when you fragged me over the console last week?” he purred, just loud enough for Optimus to hear.

Optimus didn’t move.

Megatron rocked his hips just so, sending a flicker of heat straight through the Prime’s lap. “The one where I begged you to overload while you were still deep in me?”

Optimus’s vents stuttered.

“And how I whimpered when you called me your pretty thing. You growled it like you meant it.”

“Megatron,” Optimus said tightly, still facing forward.

“Yes, dear?”

Another slow grind. This time, Optimus’s servos twitched where they rested on the arm of the chair, as if fighting a torturous urge to grab Megatron by the hips and make him stay still.

“Last night,” Megatron whispered, mouth curved into a smug grin, “when you took me apart with your fingers and made me say your name like a prayer—how long do you think I’ll last if you do it again? In this chair. With them watching.”

Optimus made a strangled noise. Across the table, Starscream audibly choked.

“You’re impossible,” Optimus muttered under his breath.

“And you’re hard,” Megatron said smugly, arching his back slightly to rub down again. “So I’d say we’re even.”

Optimus was two seconds from transforming and driving into a wall.

“I am going to throw you.”

Megatron curled closer, optics lidded. “You’re going to frag me.”

Councilor Crackhead finally slammed a servo down. “I—! This is a diplomatic hearing! Not your personal berth!”

Megatron tilted his helm innocently. “I’m just engaging in some peaceful bonding.”

“You’re rubbing your aft on the Prime’s lap!”

Soundwave raised one digit in agreement.

“Confirmed.”

Flatline threw down her datapad. “Banned. Banned until further notice. Both of you.”

Optimus stood—with Megatron still in his arms—and nodded solemnly.

“I understand.”

Megatron just smirked. “Don’t worry. He’ll keep me restrained. Eventually.”

—

They didn’t make it five steps down the hall before Megatron resumed whispering filth into Optimus’s audials.

“I want you to tie my wrists again. Press me into the wall. Frag me until I cry.”

Optimus groaned. “You’re going to get us arrested.”

“Then you’ll have to visit me in prison,” Megatron purred. “Bring cuffs. Leave the key behind, we won't need it.”

On Ao3 to read - https://archiveofourown.org/works/64716754

Love, War, and High-Grade

New chapter up!

Also thanks to the readers for the lovely words you have left at tumblr. Idk how to reply privately to messages left at inbox so I left my reply in a post without mentioning names in case of privacy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64323400/chapters/165120823

Confident Megatron

Chapter Three: Unexpected Quarters (Draft of something I'm currently working on)

Diplomatic missions were supposed to be peaceful.

Which was why Optimus had specifically—firmly—requested separate quarters at the neutral Iaconian outpost. And why Megatron, of course, had very charmingly and deliberately talked the diplomat into giving them one.

“For trust-building,” Megatron had said smoothly, slinging an arm over Optimus’s shoulder. “After all, there’s no greater symbol of peace than two once-rival leaders sharing recharge space.”

Now they were in a single, sleek guest suite, with one berth, one wash station, and one Megatron already sprawled across 80% of the sleeping surface.

“This is ridiculous,” Optimus muttered, arms folded as he surveyed the lack of personal space. “I am not sharing a berth with you.”

Megatron reclined lazily, optics half-lidded in victory. “Why not? It’s not as if you didn’t already fold me in half the last time.”

Optimus paused mid-step. “Megatron—”

“I was gutturally moaning,” Megatron continued smoothly, voice rich with smug satisfaction. “You pinned me to the berth, fragged me so deep my spinal relays misfired. I believe your exact words were, ‘I’m going to break you open until you forget your own name.’”

“Megatron!”

Megatron didn’t even blink. “You did. I walked funny for a cycle and a half. I had to bite a pillow to stop screaming your designation, remember?”

Optimus covered his face with one hand and groaned. “This is a diplomatic summit.”

“Which you’ll be attending after sleeping beside the mech you wrecked last week,” Megatron purred, scooting over with zero shame. “Now come to bed, Prime.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Megatron smirked, “You like that.”

Optimus inhaled sharply through his vents… and finally sat beside him, grumbling as Megatron made room.

“…You’re impossible.”

“You’re the one who made me scream like a corrupted comm file. I’m still recovering.” Megatron falsely pouted.

Optimus rolled his optics, grumbled softly, and pressed closer—mostly to shut him up.

But Megatron didn’t smirk this time. Not entirely.

Instead, his hand found Optimus’s in the dark. Their fingers entwined slowly.

“…I like this,” Megatron murmured, voice softer than before. “Lying here beside you. You’re warm.”

Optimus exhaled slowly and rested his helm back against the berth’s edge, his grip tightening on Megatron’s. “You’re still an aft.”

“I know.”

“But I like this too.”

The silence that followed was quiet. Warm. Something for them and them alone to share.

Peace, for once, wrapped around them like a cloak.

And if Megatron leaned in closer during recharge, if Optimus didn’t pull away—well.

The diplomatic crisis could wait until morning.

---

Shy Optimus x Confident Megatron never fails to make me laugh.

I love your oblivious op!! Stories!!

-Mod

In that case, here's a peek of a short writing (draft) I'm currently working on, of more oblivious Optimus, for the moderator! 😁 (It's mostly a flustered warlord after an oblivious prime tho.)

---

Optimus Prime was in one of his more relaxed moods today, something that Megatron found simultaneously irritating and, well… fascinating. The mech seemed to float through the halls with a kind of effortless confidence, a spark of optimism in his optics that made it impossible for anyone to stay upset around him for long.

Megatron, on the other hand, was in no mood to appreciate such things, he was just trying to get through the day without throwing something at someone’s face. His temper was at a slow simmer, not exactly anger but rather frustration, a strange irritation that cropped up whenever everything around him seemed calm. It made no sense to him, but that didn’t stop it from happening. Somehow if anything, it was worse when people weren’t angry at him.

"You're in a strange mood," Megatron muttered, crossing his arms as Optimus approached, a rare soft smile on his face.

Optimus turned to him with that familiar, unbothered air about him, his expression softened into something that resembled contentment. "I am? Well, I guess I’ve just been thinking," he said, offhandedly.

That was never a good sign. Megatron frowned and raised an optic ridge, bracing himself for whatever ridiculous statement was about to spill from Optimus’ lips. He had learned by now that no words ever came from the Prime without some level of deep, often profound sincerity. Optimus never seemed to realize how utterly... loving his words could sound. “Thinking about what?”

Optimus hesitated for a moment, gaze drifting toward one of the windows as if searching the stars for words. “About... us. Everything we’ve been through. What we’ve become.”

Megatron narrowed his optics, ready to scoff, but Optimus didn’t stop.

“I know we don’t always see eye to eye,” Optimus said, voice low now, the tone gentler than usual. “And the past between us is... complicated. But no matter the distance—no matter the miles, or cycles, or shadows—we’ve always found each other again. I suppose I’ve come to realize… I don’t want that to ever stop.”

The former warlord stiffened slightly, unsure how to respond, but Optimus continued—his voice quiet, but unwavering.

“I still believe in you, Megatron. Even when you don’t believe in yourself. Your strength, your conviction—those aren’t just relics of war. They’re part of who you are, and they’ve shaped more than just battlefields. They’ve shaped me. And... I’ll always stand by you. Even if you don’t always understand why.”

There was a pause. A heavy silence.

Optimus continued, unfazed by the way Megatron was glaring at him. He sighed, his voice a soft murmur, his words were meant for only one. "No matter the shadows of our past, I will never stop caring for you, Megatron. I will always believe in you, even when you cannot see your own worth. Your strength, your conviction—those are not just remnants of war, but the very essence of who you are. And I—I will stand by you for as long as the stars burn bright, never wavering in my belief that there is more to you than what the universe has tried to define. You are someone worth fighting for, always."

Megatron stood frozen, every system in his body locking up in slow, stunned succession. His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again.

Did—did he just—? Megatron blinked rapidly, heat flooding his faceplate. Was that... was that a confession?!

No. It couldn’t be. Optimus couldn’t possibly be aware of what he’d just said, right? He was always saying things like that—deep, philosophical, Prime-like things—without thinking about how romantic they sounded. That had to be it.

Except…

His spark was fluttering. Fluttering.

Optimus smiled brightly, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just poured out what sounded like a confession that could melt even the coldest of sparks. "So yeah. That’s all I wanted to say. I’ll see you around, Megatron. Hope you have a good day!"

And with that, Optimus gave a casual wave, turning away to continue on his calm and fragging unfairly collected way as if nothing unusual had just occurred. As though he hadn’t just cracked open his spark and handed it to Megatron on a silver platter.

Megatron stood frozen in place, his systems suddenly on overload. His faceplate flushed—was that even possible for him? His spark fluttered uncomfortably, and his thoughts spiraled. Had he... had he just been romanced? No. No, that couldn't be right.

Optimus didn’t even know what he was saying half the time, did he? The Prime had just confessed how much he cared for him, and for some reason, it sounded like the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to Megatron. But the problem was—did Optimus even know he was being romantic! He was just so cheerfully oblivious!

"Ugh," Megatron muttered, feeling the heat in his faceplate intensify. He gritted his teeth, desperate to collect himself. How was it possible that a mech like Optimus could make such an epic love declaration with the risk of still being oblivious? "Of all the slagging... Prime... you—" he muttered to himself, rubbing his temples in frustration.

The Prime had turned to wave, his smile so genuine, and somehow... Megatron couldn’t stop the flicker of something far deeper in his chest.

“Frag,” Megatron hissed, pressing the heel of his palm to his helm. “Any cryptic nonsense he could choose to spout and he chose this! He—he can’t just say that and walk away!”

Yet Optimus had. Without flair, without any intention of cruelty. Without realizing, apparently, that he had just unraveled Megatron’s entire processor with one gentle, impossibly sincere statement.

Megatron glanced back, only to find the Prime already gone, the echo of his words still heavy in the air.

He scowled. Or tried to. It came out more like a grimace.

For now, he was left in the wake of Optimus’s (most likely unintentional) romantic confession, caught somewhere between bewilderment, irritation, and—well—something else. Something far more complicated.

And as the moments stretched on, Megatron only had one thought echoing in his mind:

“I really need to have a conversation with that bot.”

---

Three Days Later

Megatron had not, in fact, had a conversation with that bot.

He had planned to. Several times. He’d even rehearsed it—well, muttered angrily to himself in a mirror until Knockout walked by and asked if he was finally cracking.

But every time he so much as caught a glimpse of Optimus in the hallway, all words abandoned him. His mouth would go dry, his optics would flicker, and instead of storming up to demand clarity—to ask, What the frag was that supposed to mean, Prime?!—he would… turn around and leave.

Quickly.

Maybe too quickly.

“I am not avoiding him,” he snapped at Soundwave, who had cocked his helm at him in absolute silence for a full twenty seconds after Megatron took the long way around to avoid the conference room Optimus was in. “I’m simply taking the more tactically sound route. Which just so happens to be in the complete opposite direction.”

Soundwave said nothing. But Megatron could feel the judgment.

He wasn’t hiding. He was observing. Gathering intel. Strategizing.

Which apparently involved watching Optimus from behind corners, ducking behind pillars like a coward, and absolutely not admitting to anyone that every time the Prime smiled at someone else, Megatron’s spark did something complicated and gross in his chest.

He even went so far as to try spying on the Autobot lounge once—Soundwave’s advice, surprisingly. Or perhaps just Soundwave being petty. Either way, Megatron found himself crouched beside a ventilation duct like a glitch-infected fool, watching as Optimus laughed softly with Ratchet over datapads.

It was unbearable.

Unbearably endearing.

“Why is he like this,” Megatron hissed under his breath, gripping the edge of the duct. “Why does he say things like I’ll stand by you for as long as the stars burn bright and then just... carry on like he didn’t just wreck my entire spark chamber?!”

He groaned, thunking his head against the metal.

He couldn’t take much more of this. His pride was suffering, his logic processors were overloaded, and worst of all—he’d started imagining conversations with Optimus in his head. Flirtatious ones. Gentle ones.

Disgusting.

“Primus,” he muttered, dragging his claws down his face. “I’m pining. I’m actually fragging pining.”

That was it. This had to end.

Tomorrow.

Definitely tomorrow.

Probably.

---

Day Four

“You’re staring again,” Knockout said without even looking up from his datapad.

“I am not,” Megatron snapped, all too quickly.

“You are,” Soundwave added, voice bland but with the faintest undertone of judgment.

“I’m monitoring potential threats!” Megatron growled. “That’s strategic.”

“You’ve been monitoring Optimus Prime for twenty minutes,” Knockout pointed out dryly. “He’s just reading.”

“He could be plotting.”

“He’s highlighting passages in a poetry anthology.”

Megatron narrowed his optics at the lounge window where Optimus sat, bathed in the gentle lighting of the rec room, a cup of energon in his hand and a contemplative look on his face.

It was unbearable.

No one had any right to look that serene. Or that handsome. Or that good in lighting.

“I’ll stand by you for as long as the stars burn bright—”

Megatron’s claws clenched involuntarily.

“Ugh.”

He turned away before he could get soft about it again and nearly walked face-first into a grinning, smug, and far-too-amused Starscream.

“Well, well,” the seeker purred. “This is new.”

“What is.” Megatron’s tone was sharp, a warning wrapped in steel.

Starscream was not deterred. “You, getting all dreamy-eyed over our favorite Prime. Are we finally owning up to that long-standing mutual obsession? Because frankly, it’s been killing the morale of everyone who has to witness your romantic incompetence.”

“I am not—!”

“Oh, you are.” Starscream leaned in close, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “It’s delicious. You’ve been skulking around corners like a glitch-ridden creeperbot, sighing whenever he walks by, and groaning into your servos like some kind of pre-war drama star.”

“I am not groaning—!”

“You literally did yesterday. In the middle of a tactics briefing. You sighed and said ‘Primus, he’s unbearable.’”

“That was abou—about you bring a general pain!”

“No it wasn’t,” Knockout chimed in from across the room, without looking up.

Megatron looked to Soundwave for backup. The spymaster tilted his helm ever so slightly.

Traitor.

Starscream grinned wider, smug satisfaction oozing from every polished strut. “So. Are you going to actually talk to him, or should I just forward him the recording of your latest muttered meltdown in the corridor outside his quarters?”

Megatron froze. “You… recorded me?”

Starscream wiggled his claws mockingly. “Soundwave did. I just watched it. Twice.”

Megatron inhaled slowly through his vents, his expression going perfectly still.

“Starscream.”

“Yes, Lord Megatron?”

“I will melt you into a decorative wall sconce.”

Starscream beamed. “You’ll have to catch me first. I’m light on my peds these days—love does that to a mech, I hear!”

The shriek of rage Megatron let out was entirely unbefitting a warlord.

From the far corner, Soundwave quietly played a three-second clip of Megatron muttering, “How does he sound like he's proposing marriage with every third sentence?”

Starscream cackled as Megatron stormed out, trailing smoke and wounded pride behind him.

Another possible OpMeg Story (basically canon anyway)

Picture from @charolyn, in her videos she posts possible ideas.

I definitely want to write something like this.

To be edited.

Remember this trend?

I got the video from @Zelvof

Maybe I should write a version where Optimus does this to Megatron 😂😈

Draft of More Oblivious Optimus Moments

Optimus casually recalls teasing Megatron about marriage, unknowingly triggering Megatron’s long-buried crush—leading to flustered punches, dramatic exits, and a room full of exasperated friends finally explaining to Optimus that Megatron likes him, you glorious idiot.

The following is a very, very short/incomplete draft.

---

“Okay,” she said, arms crossed. “We’re doing this now.”

“Doing what?” Optimus asked.

“The conversation,” Ratchet added, rubbing his optics with one hand. “The one we should have had years ago but didn’t because your processor runs on honor and dense titanium.”

“I—thank you?” Optimus said uncertainly.

Ultra Magnus cleared his throat, which meant he was about to say something uncomfortable. “Optimus… Megatron was not enraged. Not truly. That—was not anger.”

Bumblebee leaned over and helpfully translated: “He was blushing. And flailing. And screaming. You don’t do that when you’re mad. You do that when someone tells you they want to marry you and your internal fans fail trying to keep up.”

Optimus blinked. “He punched me.”

“Because he didn’t know how to handle it!” Elita said, exasperated. “Primus, he probably dreamt about that moment for a megacycle afterward and screamed into his berth-pillow about it!”

Soundwave made a soft clicking noise. When everyone turned to him, he shrugged—a clear “She’s right.”

Optimus frowned. “But his face turned red from rage—”

“Nope,” Ratchet cut in. “That was embarrassment. Full energon-flushed facial plating. Textbook flustered warlord.”

“I—what?” Optimus looked genuinely baffled. “But… I joked about marrying him. That’s—surely that’s not something that would make him—”

“Elita,” Ratchet said dryly. “Please tell your noble idiot what flirting is.”

Elita said. “You basically fake-proposed to your secret crush and flirted without knowing it.”

“He’s not my crush!” Optimus blurted.

The entire room fell silent.

Even Soundwave tilted his head, as if questioning the very fabric of reality.

Optimus cleared his throat. “I mean—I didn’t think he’d take it seriously.”

Bee clutched his helm. “Optimus. He punched you twice and ran away screaming both times. That is the universal Cybertronian symbol for ‘I can’t handle how much I like you.’”

Elita sighed, stepping forward and placing both hands on Optimus’s shoulders. “You are the smartest mech I know. You’ve led armies. Taken down tyrants. Been chosen by the Matrix itself. But for the love of Primus, you are the densest mech on Cybertron when it comes to love.”

Optimus opened his mouth.

Then slowly closed it.

And very quietly said, “...He likes me?”

Soundwave made a series of chirps, translated loosely as, "He has liked you since before the war, you chrome-plated romance novel."

Optimus staggered back half a step and sat down heavily in his chair.

A beat of silence passed.

Then:

“...Should I apologize for not realizing sooner?”

“No,” Elita said. “You should go find him before he explodes from mutual pining and throws a chair through a window.”

Bumblebee grinned. “And maybe bring flowers.”

Ratchet muttered, “And wear extra armor. Just in case punch number three’s a knockout.”

Optimus buried his face in his hands.

“Primus help me.”

“No,” Elita said, already pushing him toward the door. “Go help yourself. Preferably by knocking on his door and asking if the proposal still stands.”

“Or if he wants to propose this time,” Bumblebee added.

Ratchet snorted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Soundwave hummed a quiet tone that sounded suspiciously like a wedding song. "Here Comes The Bride", Richard Wagner's opera Lohengrin.

Draft A Possible Optimus x Megatron Story

NOTE: This will be made into a full work.

This is a potential idea. The short portion below would probably be somewhere near the ending of this story after a lot of ✨ feelings, drama, and pining✨.

----

During yet another painfully familiar attempt at a peace treaty—one of countless efforts that had all ended in spectacular failure—Optimus Prime finds himself exhausted. Worn down not just by war, but by the endless cycle of hope and disappointment. Still, he persists. He has to. For Cybertron.

But when words fail once again, and negotiations spiral into the usual shouting and threats, Optimus tries something… different.

He proposes.

To Megatron.

Megatron, caught off guard, turns a shade of blue no Decepticon has ever achieved, screams a storm of profanities and obscenities, and promptly flees the scene by punching through a wall and making his tactical retreat.

What follows is an agonizing stretch of silence, longing, and entirely too many feelings. Until—finally—

----

Title: Peace Through Passion: Article I

--The Proposal That Ended the War--

Peace talks had never been pleasant, but this one was particularly wretched.

Megatron was lounging sideways across his chair like he owned the building (he did not), Soundwave had hacked the holoscreens to loop footage of Optimus getting hit by debris (again), and Starscream had already said, “Maybe we should just assassinate the Prime,” at least twice.

Optimus, trying to remain diplomatic: “We cannot kill our way into a future, Starscream.”

Starscream: “That sounds like weak Autobot talk.”

Meanwhile, Bumblebee was stress-eating energon cubes, Ultra Magnus was shifting albeit minimally , and Arcee was sharpening a blade with a look that said she wasn’t opposed to ending someone.

And then—it happened.

Megatron leaned back with that insufferable smirk, voice like smoke: “You’ll never get what you want, Prime. You never do.”

And something in Optimus just… broke.

Tired. Lonely. Overwhelmed. Drenched in the sound of decades of war and Megatron’s voice echoing in his head.

So he said: "Then marry me, and we can stop fighting forever."

The room froze.

Soundwave’s optic flared. Starscream gasped like he’d won a drama award. Arcee whispered “What the actual frag.” Ultra Magnus fainted.

Megatron? Megatron turned blue. The deepest, most mortified, short-circuiting shade of blue.

He made a strangled noise.

Pointed at Optimus with the most accusatory servo Cybertron had ever seen.

And then screamed: "YOU—YOU—INSUFFERABLE, SELF-RIGHTEOUS—ROMANTIC FRAGGER!"

Then he ran. Literally ran, punching straight through the hundreds of pounds of steel, and dashing out. Shouting obscenities. Down the hall. Out the building.

Post / The Fallout- Oblivious Prime Strikes Again (the mech not my username, lol)

Optimus: “…Was it something I said?”

Ratchet stared at his very foolish friend:

“... Optimus...You proposed to the Megatron.’”

Bumblebee excitedly witnessing the whole situation: “This is the best day of my life.”

And from that moment on, everything changed.

--The Pining--

Optimus sent flowers.

Daily.

Soundwave kept posting “updates” that were really just edited footage of Megatron brooding on cliffs with dramatic music.

Ultra Magnus locked himself in a closet again. Occasionally screamed into the void.

The treaty was unofficially renamed The Accord of Romantic Intentions.

Ratchet accepted the situation and created an entire seating for potential wedding guests.

Starscream wrote several thinly veiled fanfics and tried to sell them to Knockout.

Optimus tried to be noble. Patient. Dignified.

But secretly?

He missed Megatron so much it hurt.

He missed their fights. Their arguments. The way Megatron’s optics flared when he got mad. That arrogant smirk. The fury.

The fire.

He loved him. Stupidly, endlessly, hopelessly loved him.

And now Megatron was a avoiding him.

--The Return--

Lightning split the sky. Thunder cracked. Dramatically.

And the door to the lounge exploded open.

Megatron stood there, drenched, furious, glowing with righteous rage.

He kicked the door aside and yelled:

“YOU CAN’T JUST LOVE ME, I’M TERRIBLE AT EMOTIONS AND ABSOLUTELY A WAR CRIMINAL!”

Then he hurled the bouquet, yet another one of the Prime's courting gifts, at Optimus.

It was Heliotropes, Forget-me-nots, Red Asters, Hyacinths, and Edelweiss.

Optimus caught it. Smiled.

“Then we’re both disasters. Let’s be terrible together.”

Silence. Crackling lightning. And a flustered warlord.

Megatron stomped forward, grabbed his pauldron, dragged him down, and snarled:

“If you’re going to marry me, you better mean it.”

Optimus, voice soft: “I have a cape picked out.”

Megatron, flushing cobalt: “I HATE YOU.”

Optimus, dreamily: “You will look radiant.”

Starscream sobbed in laughter in the background. Ultra Magnus fainted. Soundwave projected doves and sparkles.

Miko eavesdropping: “NO ONE TELL ME WHAT’S HAPPENING!”

----

Idk if I should make it a full story. But here's a draft of Soundwave's editions to the peace treaty document.

----

Official Treaty Document

THE ACCORD OF ROMANTIC INTENTIONS Ratified on the 20th Cycle of Awkward Love Confessions.

PARTIES INVOLVED:

Optimus Prime, Commander of the Autobots.

Megatron of Kaon, Commander of the Decepticons.

PURPOSE: To formally transition from time of War to marriage proposal as the primary form of Peace.

ARTICLES OF AGREEMENT:

Article I: Public Displays of Affection Shall be mandatory at diplomatic functions, including but not limited to:

War memorial dedications

Annual Peace Summits

Starscream’s sentencing hearings

Article II: Excessive Flower-Gifting Clause Optimus Prime is required to send one (1) bouquet per solar cycle. Failure to comply will result in Megatron throwing a chair. Again.

Article III: Emotional Availability Addendum Megatron will attend weekly sessions with Ratchet titled “Learning to Accept Compliments Without Hissing.”

Article IV: Starscream Gag Order Starscream is not allowed to comment on “the optics of this unholy alliance.” Violation punishable by being seated next to Ultra Magnus at the wedding. For dinner. For eternity.

Article V: The Wedding Shall be a public affair. Dress code: Formal Regalia Theme: “Explosion of Feelings.” Reception music provided by Soundwave. Catering by Knockout. Security by Ironhide, who disapproves.

SIGNATORIES:

Ratchet Soundwave Miko

Megatron

Optimus Prime

----

Optimus put extra thought into the bouquets:

Heliotropes: Devotion and eternal love.

Forget-me-nots: True love and remembrance, a symbol of enduring connection.

Red Asters: Undying devotion and deep emotional love, often symbolizing powerful affection.

Hyacinths: Sincerity and heartfelt emotion, with different colors carrying specific meanings (e.g., blue for constancy, purple for sorrow or asking forgiveness).

Edelweiss: Courage, noble purity, and love, especially in the face of hardship or sacrifice.

Title: Love, War, and High-Grade

Oblivious_Prime

Summary:

Optimus drunk calls the Nemesis, resulting in the most embarrassing day of Megatron's life.

Chapters 1-7 on Ao3