Hauuayays

4hrs de recorte e colagem usando prints de episódios de TFRB. Valeu a pena cada segundo durante isso kkkkk

Not Optimus

The piece you did of Megs and Oppy cuddling in bed gave me ideas. Fluffy, angsty ideas.

He’d been looking for paper.

That’s all Optimus wanted. He hadn’t meant to spend the night, but it had been so late and it had been raining outside and Megatron had been doing absolutely wicked things with his mouth.

Things that he had continued early the next morning. Optimus could feel heat pooling in his stomach at the memory of how Megatron had looked at him as the first rays of sunlight spilled into the bedroom, the intensity of his eyes rendering Optimus to putty in his hands.

Megatron had had a meeting later on that morning, and after much encouragement and bargaining, he slipped out of bed and dressed for the day. Optimus was falling back to sleep as Megatron pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, promising that he would be back as soon as he could.

When Optimus had woken up again later that day, he remembered that he was supposed to have gone home last night, and he had to work tonight at the club. So he’d made the bed, cleaned up, and borrowed a shirt and shorts to wear on the trip back to his apartment. He wasn’t looking forward to the lecture he’d no doubt get from Ratchet for staying out all night without any word.

Before he left, he decided to leave a note for Megatron, letting him know that Optimus had to head back to his place to get cleaned up and ready for his shift that night. He’d searched the bedroom and sitting room to no avail. That left Megatron’s office.

Optimus had only been in Megatron’s office once before. Megatron had left the door open one morning and Optimus had come in with a mug of coffee for him. Optimus felt himself smile at the memory of that morning. Megatron had been grateful for the coffee, looking up at Optimus like he’d been sent from Primus Himself. He’d gathered Optimus up in his lap and kissed him until he couldn’t speak.

It had been one of the best mornings of his life.

He tried to find where Megatron kept the paper in his desk. He pulled drawers open to shuffle through. He found plenty of pens and letters, but a quick skim told him they weren’t anything incriminating. He kept looking. It was quickly beginning to get frustrating. Was it really too much to ask for a simple notepad? He pulled open one of the bottom drawers and felt around. AS he reached the back, his fingers brushed against something soft but hard. Frowning, he grabbed the object and pulled it out.

It was a box. It was made of black velvet, and it fit in the palm of Optimus’ hand. Definitely not notepad paper.

He should put it back. Optimus told himself that he should put it back. It wasn’t what he was looking for.

But what if it was evidence of some kind, he asked himself. Or at least, that was the excuse he made up to himself to justify his curiosity. He gently opened the box. The inside was cushioned with a creamy gold silk, with the name of a high end jeweler stamped on the inside of the lid.

And nestled inside was a ring. Its silver shine seemed brighter in the morning light, but Optimus’ eye was immediately drawn to what looked to be an engraving on the inside. Without thinking, he gently plucked the ring out and read it.

Orion, my darling spark

Optimus’ breath caught. The ring trembled in his fingers and he had to grip it tighter to keep from dropping it. He could feel something spinning white hot inside of his chest, and his eyes began to sting. He knew he was smiling as he held the ring up to read the engraving over and over again. Every time, he felt his smile grow wider and wider, and his vision was blurring with emotion. A weak laugh escaped before he could stop it.

He paused.

Orion, my darling spark.

Orion.

Not Optimus. Orion. This ring was for Orion Pax. That was who Megatron had been holding so close, who he’d been taking to his bed. Orion Pax was the mech that Megatron wanted to marry. Orion Pax was the one that Megatron loved.

Not Optimus.

Optimus wasn’t a simple mech down on his luck who managed to snag a gig as a burlesque. Optimus was a dropout. Optimus was an undercover informant for the Elite Guard. Optimus was…

Optimus glanced down at himself - at the too-big shirt draped across his frame. At the hickey that was peeking out just under his collarbone. He looked around the office, it finally dawning just whose office this was.

He was in too deep.

Oh Primus, he was in far too deep.

What would Sentinel say if he saw how easily Optimus had fallen for his own facade? Optimus could practically see the smug, condescending grin as it split across the other mech’s face. He’d laugh and tell Optimus that he was pathetic. He’d tell Optimus that he really was an idiot if he actually believed that Megatron would want anything to do with him if he knew who he really was.

And the horrible truth of it was - he was right.

Optimus was only kidding himself if he thought that this… relationship with Megatron stood even an iota of a chance. What was he supposed to do - marry Megatron to keep up the charade? Stand there while Megatron made vows to a mech who didn’t actually exist? What about when Optimus finally managed to gather enough evidence to put Megatron away for who knew how long? What then?

By the time the tears began to spill down Optimus’ cheeks, they were no longer tears of joy.

Orion Pax wasn’t real. He never had been. But despite that, Optimus felt bile rising in the back of his throat at the thought of him.

An image flashed in his mind - Megatron, down on one knee, looking up at Optimus as if he held all the stars in the universe in his hands, and opening this box. He would look Optimus in the eye, and with a happy and hopeful voice, ask Orion Pax to marry him.

Optimus fumbled with the ring for a moment as he wedged it back into the box and snapped it shut. He had to force himself to open the drawer and carefully replace the box so that hopefully Megatron wouldn’t notice that it had been touched.

As soon as the box slipped out of his fingers, Optimus drew his hand back and quickly shut the drawer. He stumbled to his feet in his haste, and cursed as he bumped into a nearby bookcase. The tears were still coming, blurring his vision, but Optimus didn’t care.

Moving quickly, Optimus walked out of the office and back into the bedroom. He ripped the shirt and shorts off and slipped back into the remnants of the dress he’d been wearing the night before. His breathing was getting ragged, but he didn’t slow down as he ran out of the bedroom and into the sitting room. It took him a moment to find his shoes - a pair of mid-high pumps that Knock Out had insisted he pay for as a ‘welcoming gift’ when Optimus had first started at the club.

When Optimus had started working to get close to a mob boss in an effort to put him in prison.

His heavy breathing only made the tears come faster, along with an absolutely pathetic sounding whimper. Optimus squeezed his eyes shut in a vain effort to banish the tears. He didn’t bother putting his shoes back on as he grabbed his discarded clutch bag and ran out the door.

Optimus all but flew down the street, a deafening thumping throughout his whole body.

He didn’t know what exactly he was running from, but maybe - he thought - maybe if he ran fast enough, he wouldn’t have to face what would be coming next.

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