This Has Inspired Me To Begin Writing A Draft Of A New Fic, Thank You Petal Covered Cat

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

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.

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.

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.

Some important information on online safety that should be shared.

Farewell online privacy

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.

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.

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.

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.