It Started Out Innocent.

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

Megatron - Vogue

I got bored while editing a poster. Does anyone know good advice to draw?

How do you draw eyes, and arms, and legs, and a torso, etc?

Is there like a beginners tutorial because I would love that idea.

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.

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.

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

Remember this trend?

I got the video from @Zelvof

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

#Found my people