Shameless Megatron Moment (Lap Gremlin)

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.

Remember this trend?

I got the video from @Zelvof

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

Just wanted to say my Tumblr is not a place for discrimination, have a wonderful day

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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.

i feel seen at this post, also I figured out how to reblog stuff, (I don't click any buttons randomly unless I research/find out what it is or risk accidently buying something again)

Some idiot: "Why are you reading your own fic, that's shallow and stupid"

All fanfic writers and writers everywhere: "Who the fuck do you think I wrote it for?!"

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.

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.

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

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