‧˚⭒ mtmte megatron x human fem reader
• across the divide — pt. 26 • 11.1k words
cw: 18+, explicit content near the start — minors dni.
this is a looong chapter, so please take your time reading! i will be thoroughly impressed if anyone actually manages it in one sitting LOL. i hope you all have a lovely week ahead ꨄ︎
Megatron carries you steadily, so still that it's almost as if you're stardust that he's afraid of spilling. You're not made of porcelain, but anyone watching him right now would believe that you were. You haven't said it to him, but he can tell that you're still startled. Your foundations have been rocked, and the terror from Tarn still lingers in your ribs. Dried tears run parallel down your cheeks, your eyes are wide and glassy, and your breath trembles from your reddened lips.
From now on, he'll take more care. This is a promise he's made with himself on the journey back to the Necrobot's fortress. You've slipped through his digits twice now, and that's two times too many.
Molten metal from the frames of his former Decepticons runs over the ground surrounding him, travelling in twisted patterns along the contours of the ground like ravines. Once again, he finds himself traversing through the gulf of death, of destruction. This time, though, for a much better cause.
Megatron keeps you shielded from the wind with a cupped servo behind you, holding you like a candle in a drafty corridor. He's also trying to protect you from the calamitous view that's painted over the vicinity. You don't need to see this, you've already seen enough.
Approaching the large doors to the Necrobot's home, he uses the servo previously shielding you to push it open. It creaks with the slow movement, revealing the populated main foyer of the palace. The handful of Lost Light members who came on this excursion are all in there, gathered around to celebrate their win.
Your lover walks in with you without saying anything, not even deigning to grace the crowd with a greeting. He walks straight to the entrance of the long corridor at the back right of this main room. As he paces, his doom and gloom casting heavily over him like a thundercloud, he catches the attention of Ratchet.
"Ah, Megatron!" The medic calls, "I'm glad to see you managed to rescue them."
The white and red bot leaves the group to join you, extending his servo out as he reaches you both before speaking again. "Let me take a look at them."
"Don't touch them," Megatron warns lowly, his optics hidden in the shadow of his helm. A raw, unstable dissonance manifests from him. It borders on frightening. It's enough to tell every 'Bot present to steer clear, but Ratchet is far more obstinate than anyone else here. He won't let Megatron stand in the way of his medical duties.
"Megatron, I need to check that they're okay," Ratchet says, trying to reason with the former warlord.
"I said, don't touch them," Megatron repeats, drawing you closer to him.
"Don't!" He roars protectively, "Leave us be. I'm going to take them away, somewhere safe."
Ratchet rescinds, pulling his servo sharply towards his chassis in reaction to Megatron's pointed temper. It's been a while since he's seen this side of Megatron, so unkempt and bristly. But, he has nothing else to say as Megatron continues with his journey, intent on taking you to a quiet and isolated back room.
He enters the hallway, letting the hustle and bustle of the group fade out to be replaced with the weighty echoes of his footsteps reverberating off the walls of the hallway. He doesn't say anything to you, and he barely even looks at you. His mind is elsewhere, somewhere you aren't able to pull him from in your current state. You're still too perturbed to say or do anything impactful, so you allow the silence to settle between you.
You feel your breath shudder in your lungs as you take a particularly shaky inhale through your nose, the tears in your eyes are now dried, but the aftershocks are still tremoring through you. You chew the inside of your lip as you feel that tingly sensation in your nose that tells you you're about to cry again.
Fortifying your spirits, you manage to bite back the urge to cry. You take another deep breath, trying to focus on the rule of pacing your breath to keep you calm. You are with the safest person you possibly could be, and this fact helps mollify you.
Nearing the end of the hallway, he stops to face the last door. His servo presses against the metal, letting it push open. He steps in with you, the atmosphere morphing from the bright hallway lights to the dim luminescence of a security room. The only thing providing any light in here is the blue monitors, their pale light emanating a small stretch to cast a hazy blue onto the walls. Apart from that, it's fairly dark in here.
He places you down gently on the floor, letting you slide off his servo to stand on your own two feet. Standing to his full height, he dips his servo into his chassis' subspace to grab the mass displacement device. You stand still as he clasps it around his wrist, looking up at the large screens placed at the back of the room. It shows all the different rooms of the palace, and only one of them has any activity. The foyer, of course, where all the others are.
Megatron shrinks to his more manageable height for you, your helm turning slowly to look at him. He still looks solemn, and the moody blue highlighting the features of his frame doesn't help portray him in a happier image. Still, without saying anything, he slips his servo into yours.
Leading you over to the wall with a delicate hold on your hand, he turns to place his spinal struts against it before sliding down to sit. He seems exhausted, emotionally and physically spent, so you go down with him.
He pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around your body protectively before placing his servo on the top of your head to tuck it against his chassis. You wrap your arms around him as best you can, being held in a slightly awkward position whilst trying to return his affections.
He doesn't say anything, nor does he move. He keeps you close, letting your body heat radiate onto his frame to remind him that you're alive. As long as you're warm, you're alive. He glides his servo to cup the back of your head, lowering his helm to press his derma against the top of it.
You hear his vents whir alongside the pulsing of his spark, your cheek pressed against the bright light of his Autobot insignia. The presence of his cannon engulfs the space around you, it almost tilts the room. It's not sentient, but it carries an aura that rehearses violence. Lightning coiling with nowhere to ground.
"Please," he says against your hair, "I just— I need to hold you. Please just let me hold you."
So, you do. He needs this, it's the kind of reassurance that words can't provide. The undeniable evidence of your presence, your breathing form, is what he seeks. It's the only thing that will pacify the unruly, unpleasant thoughts pinging through his processor.
He has you fully wrapped up in his form. If nothing else, the sturdiness of his large frame will protect you from any further misfortune. He hears the beating of your heart, his audials particularly sharp today. It's his favourite rhythm, one he could dance to until he collapsed. He'd recognise it anywhere, those palpitations that keep your love for him alive and well.
"Are you okay?" Megatron asks quietly.
You think about it for a moment. You don't want to lie to him, but you don't want to make him feel any worse than he already is. The remorse is corroding him, you can sense it in the weak courses of his spark.
"I am now," you reply, "I feel safe in your arms."
He pets the back of your head, memorising the strands of your hair against his servo. Primus, he was so terrified that he was going to lose you. He really did think that might've been the end of it all.
You were only gone for half a day or so, but every second of it was excruciatingly painful for him. Every second, he feared for your life, wondered if he'd find you dead once he managed his way onto the Peaceful Tyranny.
He knows that you've become privy to what the other you went through. You don't need to tell him, he could read it on your expression. Whatever it was must have been hell, and he'll do everything he can to heal you of that knowledge. He managed to save this version of you from that same fate, which he takes as a blessing. It's hard, but he's trying to remind himself of the good that's happened. It's just a pity it sits in the large shadow of the bad.
He kisses the top of your head softly in small bursts, smoothing his thumb over your hair to comfort you as best he can. "I've got you, you're safe."
"I know," you reply gently, pulling back against his hold to look up at him. He lets you, not fighting with you. You gaze up into his eyes, seeing the lingering woe still billowing inside them. You bring one servo to rest against the side of his helm, moving up to kiss him.
He returns the gesture in kind, moving his lips against you in a subtle fashion. His passion is still evident, but it's the tender kind. His arms loosen around you a tad, sliding his servos down to your waist.
The kiss is a shelter made of softness, vows spoken without words. Promises made that he intends to keep. Every kiss he gives you is so expressive, so informative. They speak a thousand words, and you never fail to hear him loud and clear. He gathers you from your less-than-pleasant day, bundling you up in the warmth of his derma.
You hear a dampened sound halfway through the kiss. Thump. Thump. Thump. Breaking the contact, you gaze down to where you suspect the source of the noise is, hearing the sound repeat as you look at his interface panel.
"S-Sorry," he mumbles abashedly, "This is probably not an appropriate time to be getting riled up."
"I'll help you with it," you utter, kissing him again as you trail your hands down to his array. You feel the knocking of his spike against the panels, one hand smooth over the front seam.
"Starlight, you don't need—"
You've learnt how to trigger the release of his interface panel, pressing against a certain weak point along the edge pops it right open. From the array, his pressurised spike emerges. Long, hard and thick, mouthwateringly tempting. Your hand wraps around it, tugging on it gently. You don't mind if this is an 'inappropriate' time, you're content to help him when the need calls him.
He sighs, his helm falling back against the wall. When you have his spike in your hand, you hold all the power. You could lead him around by it, and he'd go wherever you desired. Your fingers dance over him in a way that cannot be sufficiently described with words alone. Your hand could lead him to an overload much faster than his own could.
You lower yourself, moving down until your mouth is centimetres from his tip. A pulse of excitement bolts through him, knowing what comes next. You lick over his tip, collecting the tangy fluid that's wept from him.
Opening your mouth, you welcome him inside, sliding down his length as far as you can go on the first attempt.
"Starlight," he coos, the feeling of your warm mouth wrapped around him is nothing short of exceptional. He could spend the rest of his days like this, as long as he also got to return the favour.
You bob your head, sucking on every inch you can manage as one hand wraps around his base. You jerk the base in rotary motions, trying to stimulate the sensitive metal. He feels your throat muscles wrap around him, flexing under the strain.
Your free hand darts to find his, gripping onto a few of his digits before leading his palm up to your head. He takes the hint, threading his digits through the roots of your hair. He simply rests his servo on top, letting you take it at a pace you're comfortable with.
"It's always such a treat when you suck me," Megatron praises. In truth, he prefers being the one to go down on you, but he'll never reject you if you want his spike down your throat. He just believes you deserve to be pampered and treated, and he derives more than enough gratification from seeing you pleasured.
He forgets himself, he forgets where you are. His attention is no longer drawn to the reality outside of these four walls, not paying any mind to the conversations that are likely transpiring between the others in the foyer. The only thing he wants to think about is your sweet mouth working him, sucking his worries from him.
His optics shutter offline, his intake drops to ensure proper ventilation as he feels nearly his entire length vanish into your hot mouth. You've gotten so good at taking more and more of him, he's trained you so well. His servo grips your hair tighter, using a little more effort to help your movements. He drags you up and down his spike, making sure your throat accommodates him.
"Ah, keep going, don't stop," he vents airily, the sound of his tone like a lullaby meant just for you. "That feels so good, fuck."
Tears spring over your waterline as you feel him prodding against your gag reflex. You've done well in taming it, transforming your body into a vessel of pleasure for him without obstruction. He tries his best to match your ardour by grinding his hips up into your mouth, but you hold an advantage over him that he just can't match.
Despite the difficulties, he manages to buck his hips a little. Your hand pumps the bottom part of his spike, the triad of motions between the two of you leading to a sensational experience for Megatron, just as you intended.
Your free hand cups below his spike, ghosting your fingertips over his exposed valve. A trill rattles through him at the featherlight touch, but you have no intentions to teeter him on a teasing edge. You collect two fingers together, pushing into his entrance. He softens as soon as your fingers drag against his walls, even a small amount of pressure to his valve gets his spike twitching in your mouth.
Your fingers assume it's predicted yet tantalising motions, massaging his walls with a gentle rubbing that has steam gushing from the grates on his abdomen. You try to scissor your fingers, but he's too tight in here for you to succeed. His callipers are stronger than the strength you have in those two fingers.
Megatron can't help the airy noises that leave him, the cornucopia of stimulations he's currently receiving has his wires crossing and his processor lagging.
"Primus, have mercy," he maunders deeply. When he's needy like this, his voice guttural and growling, it's the hottest thing you've ever heard. He could probably get you off with his voice alone, as long as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear with that same tone.
Your mouth waters for him, the taste of his transfluid slipping to the back of your tongue. A pulse throbs between your thighs, your own need starting to materialise. You can wait, but Megatron needs a level of attention that only you can provide him right now. Your gravity is drawn to him, you orbit him with a pull of desire and longing.
Fluid leaks around your fingers, dribbling down into a growing puddle on the floor. It helps with the pumping of your fingers, making it easier to slide in and out of his tight valve. He's still a little guarded over his valve, but he relaxes to your touch after a couple of seconds. One day, in the distant future, you hope that you can work him up to letting you put something other than your fingers in there. Maybe a dildo, or maybe a strap. You don't think it likely, it just isn't within his nature. But, never say never.
An echo born of pure force booms through his frame as his release finds him, it sparks the wires in his frame as the current threads through his circuits. A heavy stream of transfluid shoots into your mouth, most of it going straight down your gullet. Your eyes widen, feeling the pressure of it spray against the muscles of your throat. It's a charged, trembling sensation that shakes him to his core. The moan that leaves him is not entirely intentional, the pent-up bliss forcing itself out as such a sound.
You pull up from him, releasing his spike with a pop. You gulp down the last few bits of his load, taking your fingers out of his valve before looking up at him. His optics meet you with a fiery gust, and he pulls you by your top to meet him in a fervid kiss. A noise of surprise is suppressed behind your pursed lips, quickly attempting to match his level of zeal.
"That mouth of yours does wonderful things," he utters between breaks of the kiss, "And now, I want to have you against the wall." You smile in response, more than happy to oblige. You climb to your feet, dragging him up with you. He grabs you by the shoulders, spinning you so that you're the one against the wall.
He trails his servos under your skirt, searching for the band of your tights. He tugs on it, shimmying them down your legs until you can kick them off yourself.
"We need to be quick," you say in the heat of the moment.
"I agree," Megatron replies, grabbing the underneath of your thighs to hoist you up the wall. "I reckon it might be best to keep most of your clothing on."
He wraps your legs around his waist, securing you with one servo as the other disappears under your skirt once again to clutch the seat of your underwear. He pulls it to one side, so you take it upon yourself to dive your hand between your bodies to worm your way to his spike.
You grab it, feeling the wetness of it from your saliva. You lead him straight to you, nestling him in the arch of your cunt, aligning him perfectly with your hole. You suck a sharp breath between your teeth as he pushes in, the stretch a little abrasive without any prep on your part.
You take your hand away, and he doesn't tease his length into you. He gives you inch after precious inch in a hasty movement, his patience non-existent. His hips hit against your pelvis with a harsh impact, a little umph tumbling from you.
Paying no heed to warming you up, he starts with a ferocity that rivals a rabid beast. Strike after strike, he bullies your poor cunt. You quite literally feel like he's fucking the life out of you, his hips unforgiving and unyielding. If you didn't know better, you'd think this was the last thing he'd ever do. This is far rougher than he's been with you in the past, even when you cried and begged for him to go harder. He could never truly unleash it all, his deep fear of hurting you swayed his actions even through your pleas. And now, you see why he held back.
He's moving in a way that tells you he's doing his very best to rearrange your guts, ruining you until you're nothing more than a mindless puddle of fucked out tears. You can't stop moaning, the feeling running through your abdomen has you getting higher and higher with each moment.
"If you were taken from me," Megatron huffs into your ear as he pumps his hips hard and fast, "I would have unleashed hell. It would've made the war seem like child's play."
"Megatron," you moan his name, arching your back to prevent the metal along your spine from clashing with the metal wall. The arching of your back is a positive sign to Megatron, it tells him how much you're enjoying this, despite the roughness.
"I would've killed everyone. Everything. I would've left nothing standing," he continues.
"I'm here," you answer breathily. "I'm here, I'm yours, and you have me."
He's fucking you as if he's possessed, overcome by something that leaves him as nothing but a rabid, horny beast. You're screaming as he ruins you, tears spilling over your waterline from the brutality. Your cunt flexes around him in all the right ways, a milking suction that demands he stay inside of you.
"Everything would have burned," he growls, his fury and hurt still palpable. It lashes against you, the blaze threatening to turn you to cinders.
"Megatron, please! I need you to— please! You're going too hard! I can't take it!"
He's rutting into you so hard that you wouldn't be surprised to see a dent in the wall behind you once you're finished. It's not a pace nor a roughness that you can withstand.
"Yes you can," he dismisses you, his lust too prominent to consider anything else.
At the shrill of your tone, Megatron snaps from his crazed haze. It centres him, brings him back to the moment at hand. His hips immediately soften, transitioning from barbarous to docile in a second. You sigh with relief at the change, your body immediately thanking him for it.
Now, he thrusts deep and slow as he tucks his helm into your neck, placing tender kisses over the ring of bruises formed there. Tarn deserved a worse death for what he did to you, and if he'd known of these bruises beforehand, he would have made sure the death was slow and torturous. He holds you tight by your thighs, the feel of your flesh spilling between his digits reminding him that you're right there with him. He hasn't lost you.
"That's it," you hush, "That's better."
He's so erratic today, flitting between extremes of emotions like a switch. You suppose he has reason to be, but that doesn't help the ache in your pelvis.
"I love you," he murmurs, "I love you so much. I love you. I love you. I love you."
You rest your hand against the back of his helm, encouraging his soft kisses that are being peppered over your neck.
"I love you, too," you reply, the vibrations of your words simmering against his derma.
He's so deep that you're sure you can feel him in your stomach, making sure to hit your softest parts with each thrust. The panels of his spike drag wonderfully against your hole, every inch accounted for.
You can't help but roll your hips, trying to work in tandem with him. Should the two of you be fucking right now? Probably not. There are likely more pressing matters going on outside of this room. But does he care? Do you care? Absolutely not. Right now, it's just the two of you. As it's always been, and as it always will be. No force in the universe could pry him from you in this moment. He'll be sure to drench you in his love and affection, his physical gestures to show you how glad he is to have you back.
"Please kiss me," you hush into the air. The kisses on your neck are lovely, but you want to feel more connected to him. You want his presence to swallow you whole.
His derma pull from your neck, leaving a gusty chill to replace the warmth. He slides to kiss against your lips, taking you in for an immediate, deep, hot kiss that leaves you breathless. Your essence is devoted to him, the very thing that allows your heart to beat flows into his intake to merge with his spark.
You are simply two halves of one whole. He is your other half, in every meaning of the word. You live and breathe for him, as he functions for you.
Placing both hands on his helm, you keep him close whilst your lips move against his. You'll never tire of kissing him, will never grow weary of the love he laves you with. You are his in body, mind and soul until your last breath, and you'd never dream of having it any other way.
There was never any possibility of you going back to Earth, to take up a new life or to continue with your old one. Nothing could compare to him, and you'd have lived the rest of your days forever missing him. This is where you're meant to be, in the throes of passion as you give him your all.
"I'm close, Megatron," you mewl into his intake.
"You can let go, Starlight. I've got you," he utters lowly, "Lose yourself to the pleasure."
He'll catch you when you fall from your ascension, and he'll let you writhe in the bliss that follows the orgasm. The transcendent, out-of-body experience that you share with him in those moments.
Your body tenses, your toes curl, and your breath is robbed straight from your lungs as the moment takes you. The pressure in your ears grows, muffling any sound as the fireworks spark through your body in a white-hot burst. You're swallowed by a living blaze, and you're entirely infatuated with the burn. You struggle to voice a moan, the sound coming out more of a squeak.
Megatron sighs deeply at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him, enticing him to follow you. Your hot walls wring him dry every time. It won't take much longer, he thinks to himself. A few more thrusts, a few more moans from your lips will propel him to his pinnacle.
Your legs tighten around his waist, your way of begging him to release inside. And how could he say no to you? Your expression begs him just as much as your body does, everything that defines you is petitioning for his overload to be delivered straight into your womb.
"Megatron," you moan sweetly, and it causes him to cave. No one has ever spoken his name quite like how you do, it's made him believe that you alone should be the only one to ever refer to him by his name again. It was meant for your lips, it sounds so right coming from you.
He bottoms out inside of you, making sure you've taken every inch before he releases. His vents sputter as ropes of the thick fluid shoots from his tip, emptying inside of you.
Holding you steady, he allows a few moments for you both to come down from your highs. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, embracing him loosely as you rest your cheek against the top of his chassis.
Your lover rubs soothing circles with his thumbs over the meat of your thighs, giving you a small dose of aftercare.
"We should probably join the others," you mumble. You don't want to, you want to stay right here with him, but you know that wouldn't be sensible considering everything going on right now.
"You're right," he answers, moving his hips to pull his spike out of you. He lowers you slowly to the floor, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead once you're set.
"Have I ever told you that you're the only person who's ever made me finish without touching my clit?" You grin at him, reeling him in to steal another kiss.
"I'm also the only person to make you squirt," he reminds you with a wide grin.
"You're just that good," you tease.
Megatron kisses you again, holding your waist tight as he feels himself getting lost against your lips. He knows there are bigger issues right now that need his attention, but in a moment of selfishness, he decided he needed you more.
"Come on, let's get you cleaned up and your tights back on."
You walk out of the surveillance room, dragging your fingers through your hair in hopes to tame it. Not that there's any real point in trying to disguise what you and Megatron just did, considering the others have probably already figured it out. They just expect it from the two of you at this point.
There's a dull throb between your thighs from how hard he took you, but you can't say you mind too much.
"Okay, Starlight, let's go meet with the others," he says to you, closing the door behind him.
"Are we going back to the Lost Light?" You ask as the two of you start walking, his steps extra slow to make sure he doesn't outpace you.
"Hm," Megatron hums, looking straight down the length of the hallway. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but the ship is lost."
"You heard about the mutiny that Getaway staged?" He asks, looking down at you.
You nod your head, peering up at him with a little 'uh-huh'.
"He had the backing of a lot of the crew, more than the amount we have with us now. He's taken control of the vessel, and we won't be able to reclaim that power. We'll have to find another home."
"Oh," you voice, a tinge of sadness breathed into it.
That's disappointing, you think. There are so many memories on that ship, the place you called your home. Everything you and Megatron built lives on that ship, and all of his grand gestures of affection still remain there. The greenhouse, the art gallery, your shared habsuite. It seems disheartening to think all of that has been lost due to Getaway's selfish betrayal.
Megatron senses these thoughts on your mind, knowing you so well that you don't even need to voice how you feel. He can read it from your energy alone.
"Don't worry, Little Light, we will rebuild. It'll be even better this time around," he promises fondly.
You nod a couple of times, trying to let that thought dissipate your dismay. The main thing is that you still have Megatron, and you suppose that's what's important. The rest of everything else can be reimagined. New memories can be made, new plants can be harboured.
"It's okay to feel disappointed," he says, trying to reassure you, "I'm disappointed, too. But we'll make the best of it, I promise."
You think on his words for a moment, turning them over in the folds of your mind. Sometimes it can be hard to acknowledge that the way you feel is justified, but also recognising that good things can still come from the situation.
"As long as I have you, that's all I need," you smile up at him.
Besides, it's not like everything is lost. You still have your bracelet and your ring, which are of great significance to you. The logistics of this might be a little complicated, but you'll persevere. Anywhere the two of you, alongside the rest of the crew, migrate to will likely not be built for human habitation. No bathroom, no cooking facilities, likely no suitable food. No clothes, no water. It'll be the same as when you first spawned on the Lost Light.
Granted, most of the mechs that made your life comfortable when you first joined are here with you on the Necroworld. Notably, Brainstorm and Ratchet. And now that you have Megatron, too, you do not doubt that things will work out. They'll help you, as they always have.
You both reach the rowdy atmosphere that curls around the walls of the foyer, all the mechs still somewhat on a high from their victory over the DJD and Deathsaurus' crew. There's an unexplainable kind of buzz that comes with it, one that they haven't experienced since the war.
"Feeling better, Megatron?" Ratchet voices gruffly, "Less territorial?"
Megatron nods meekly, a tad embarrassed over his previous behaviour. He had no right to lash out at Ratchet like that, and he should know better. He's trying to be better, but sometimes the old him still shows its scales.
"I apologise for that, Ratchet," Megatron says as you both walk to the gathered crowd, "I shouldn't have dismissed your attempts to check on their well-being. However, I do assure you that they are in perfect health." Your lover peers down at you, watching as your head turns in a particular direction in the crowd. "Maybe a bit bruised, a bit spooked, but they're fine."
"Good, I'm glad to hear it," Ratchet says.
Ratchet's internal monologue says something along the lines of Megatron just needing to get his spike wet to stabilise his mood, but he doesn't dare voice it aloud.
"Brainstorm," Megatron calls. "Please, take my cannon and use it as you see fit," he says whilst lifting his arm strut to present the spent cannon to the engineer.
Your best friend perks up at that, skittering along the floor quickly as if he's been offered a prized possession. Brainstorm doesn't look at Megatron, doesn't even acknowledge him, before he wraps his arms around the barrel to shimmy the attachment that has kept it fixed to Megatron's arm.
"Perfect!" Brainstorm exclaims with joy, "I'll be able to turn this back into a teleporter in no time!"
He turnt… A teleporter… Into a cannon? And now he's going to turn it back into a teleporter? You suppose he isn't the self-proclaimed ship genius for nothing after all.
The absurdity of his statement is almost enough to tear your gaze away from the direction you're looking in. You have to remind yourself that these kinds of eccentricities are your new normal.
Your eyes are glued to an individual whom you haven't met before. He has a towering frame, reaching far above Swerve and Tailgate that are stood beside him, painted silver that almost shifts with a blue hue in the light. There are hazard strips embedded into his armour over his helm and shoulders, and from first glance, you aren't entirely sure what his alt-form is. Considering the treads that make up his thigh struts, you'd assume some kind of tank. Regardless, you are not sure who this is or where they came from.
Megatron looks up to see what's caught your attention, and then it hits him. In his fury and his rush to get you to a safe place, he completely forgot to make the necessary introductions.
You give the stranger an inquisitive look, still assessing if he's friend or foe. Unfamiliar, but he does not appear to be a threat. You highly doubt he'd be standing here if he weren't a friend, but you're a bit on edge since Tarn.
"Oh, hello!" The silver bot greets cheerily as he meanders over to you with a pep in his step. He's very chipper, especially considering the circumstances. Something tells you that he wasn't just involved in that tireless battle.
"Terminus, this is—" Megatron starts, gesturing down to you, but the bot named Terminus cuts him off. If Megatron took offence to the interruption, he doesn't show it. If anything, it looks like he was expecting it.
"You must be Megatron's sparkmate!" He chirps, crouching down and offering a warm smile.
"That's the old term for Conjunx Endura," Megatron explains to you as you eye up the newcomer warily. "This is Terimus, one of my oldest friends. I knew him from my mining days."
"It's nice to meet you," you welcome kindly, letting your expression shift upon hearing an explanation.
"The others were telling me about you whilst you and Megatron were talking back there," the clearly older bot says.
Yeah, talking. You'll let him believe that.
"Anyway, speaking of talking," Megatron announces before putting a firm hand on Terminus' shoulder. "We have much to catch up on. Come on, we'll go take a scenic walk whilst we're waiting for Brainstorm to work his magic."
"Good idea, my friend," Terminus replies, standing to reach his full height. He's just shy of Megatron's height, and you're starting to see the similarities between the two. You're certain that Megatron has mentioned Terminus before, perhaps just in passing, but the name rings a bell.
"You'll be okay here?" Megatron asks you.
"Yeah, of course!" You reply, "Go, go have your chat! I'll see if Brainstorm needs any help."
"Okay, I love you," he says softly.
"I love you, too," you reply with a smile.
"Look at you little lovesick sparklings," Terminus titters. If Megatron's optics could roll, then they would be. He gives a shallow shake of his helm before tutting his glossa, ushering his old friend out of the foyer of the Necrobot's fortress.
You watch them leave, Megatron's servo planted firmly on Terminus' shoulder to prevent him from making a last attempt to turn around and talk to you more. The last thing Megatron wants is for Terminus to get your attention and start spinning some embarrassing yarns, whispering gossip to you to tease the younger mech.
Making your way to Brainstorm, you walk up beside him as he's already dismantling Megatron's cannon on the work surface.
"Need a hand?" You ask, pulling him away from his focus for a moment. He gazes down at you before nodding enthusiastically.
"Absolutely I do!" He says before leaning down to grab you. His servo wraps around your middle before he raises you to the work surface, setting you down gently just to the side of the weapon. The engineer sets his tool in the other servo down before he reaches over for a red box that's behind you.
"I actually have a couple things for you," he tells you before unclasping the metal clips on the box, flipping the lid up to reveal a trove of goodies. You wouldn't be able to identify a single one, but you're sure it's a plethora of weird and wonderful creations.
"Ooo," you vocalise, peering over as best you can on your tiptoes to look inside.
Over your head, he picks out two things. The first is a small, disc-shaped device. The only defining feature of it is a yellow button directly in the middle of it. The second is a tube, probably no longer than your forearm. It has a small funnel on one end, and the other end has a tapered tip. You're not at all sure what either of these things are, but if Brainstorm has made them for you, they likely have practical uses.
"This," he says as he offers the first item that balances on the tip of his pointer digit. It's so tiny in comparison to him that it's laughable, but it takes up the whole area of your palm once you take it from him. "This is a teleportation device. If you ever find yourself in a similar situation like you did with Tarn, just think of the place you want to travel to and press that button in the middle."
You feel small volts skittering along your palm the longer you hold it, your brows creasing with confusion. "It tingles."
"It should," Brainstorm answers, "It's currently mapping the electrical impulses that transmit through your brain, which only works when you're holding it. Think of it like your brain is constantly providing it with new coordinates. Wherever you think of, the device reads and recalibrates."
"That sounds complicated," you hum.
"Not for me," Brainstorm retorts smugly, his grin wide beneath his mask. You breathe a short laugh as you look up at him.
"Thank you, I'll make sure to keep it closeby at all times," you smile, popping the device in your pocket.
"And this," he presents his other creation, the tube-like instrument pinched between two digits. "This will convert energon into food suitable for you and water. Considering we're all now wanderers of the universe without a place to call home, I still need to make sure that you can eat and drink whilst we're stranded on mechanical planets."
"I was literally just thinking about that!" You say, reaching up to pluck the tool from his digits. "You really do think of everything, huh?"
"I'll work on creating other bits for you that Megatron can store in his subspace. Like means to clean yourself, ways to make spare clothes. That kind of thing."
"Stormy, you really don't need to go to those lengths for me," you say. Your tone is clearly grateful, but maybe with a hint of guilt? As though you do not believe this kind of effort is warranted.
"You are my best friend," Brainstorm replies incisively, as if he's telling you off, "I will do everything in my power to ensure you live a comfortable life."
"You are the best best friend I could have ever asked for," you sigh happily, "Thank you, I really appreciate it."
"Don't mention it," Brainstorm dismisses with a wave of his servo, "You can pay me back by getting inside the barrel of this gun and dislodging the core reactor. And don't worry, I've already disabled its firepower."
"Yes sir," you say with a salute to your forehead, ever willing to be his little soldier helper.
Time passes while you're assisting Brainstorm, dismantling the most finicky parts of the teleporter-turned-cannon-turned-back-into-a-teleporter. You chat idly, as you always do when you're doing manual labour for him. The others share stories with each other, some of them raiding the most hidden compartments of the Necrobot's lair in hopes of finding a stash of the highest grade engex. They're unsuccessful, of course. The Necrbot did not appear to be the type that conducted himself in such a manner. Ever noble and sophisticated, and far too busy to be indulging in any borrowed joy from a bottle.
Megatron and Terminus sit outside, basking in the green pastures as Megatron recounts the past 4-million-years, albeit in an abridged version. He doesn't go into minute details, and he doesn't recollect specific events. He paints the picture of two opposing sides, two conflicting values. How, perhaps to start, Optimus and Megatron were not all that different. In truth, at the core, they wanted the same thing. The difference was that Optimus wanted reformation, and Megatron wanted abolishment. But the goals became skewed after so many years, and Megatron doesn't leave out this detail to his former mentor. He does make it clear that, if there was a side to blame, it would be him.
Terminus plays off Megatron's remarks as being overly self-critical. How he knew that Megatron was always a humble poet, and often took accountability for things that were not necessarily his to bear. Terminus believes it is highly unlikely that Megatron would be capable of the corruption being depicted to him, and tells Megatron that he's biased against himself in his retrospection. Your lover is not proud of what he's done, and he does not want to flaunt his atrocities to one he looks up to, so his explanations become more euphemistic as more crushing memories flood back.
Brainstorm doesn't ask about Tarn, but you sense he wants to. He glanced at your bruises, thinking you wouldn't notice. But the way his words hitched mid-sentence, it was clear. He has no pupils for you to follow, but you can still tell. You don't want to draw further attention to it, so you carry on your conversation about mindless nonsense. Words for the sake of words. The blue 'Bot accepts that, he reads your reluctance to talk about it, and he doesn't pry. If you ever want to talk to him about it, you will. In your own time, he's sure.
You're nervous for what's to come, what future awaits you now that you've all been kicked off the Lost Light. You're woefully unaware of any kind of procedures that would happen in this event. You haven't a clue as to whether or not there are emergency funds, a contingency plan, anything of the sort. You try not to let it eat away too much at you, you focus on your handiwork in assisting Brainstorm. All you know, from your conversation with Brainstorm, is that he's going to attempt to get you all back to Cybertron. From there, they'll have a better standing and better means to form a new plan.
Brainstorm hauls the newly reverted teleporter off the workstation, placing it on the floor with a loud thud and a heavy grunt. It looks more like a hut now, a Frankenstein of scrap metal and welded-together parts of the former cannon. Some aesthetic liberties had to be taken after converting it back and forth a couple of times. Fortunately, aesthetics are negligible qualities for this machine. The main thing is that it works, and Brainstorm is double— triple checking the inputted coordinates as we speak.
The eminent, arched double doors pry open, spilling in threads of light before they're consumed by the shadows of Megatron and Terminus. Megatron leads, drawing over to the group upon the notification that Brainstorm has completed the restoration of the teleportation device.
"Are we ready to go?" Megatron asks Brainstorm.
"Almost! Just doing some last checks," your friend replies.
The robust, grey mech approaches you, offering you a warm smile upon arrival. You peer up at him from the worktop, returning his smile.
"Had fun?" Megatron questions.
"Sure did, I got to climb into the barrel of a fusion cannon and everything," you say lightly, clearly trying to tease him.
A momentary panic casts over Megatron's optics, but it soon dispels after he registers that, firstly, you're completely unharmed and secondly, you're pulling on his leg on purpose. You do it for your own entertainment. He vents with a small laugh, brushing off your attempt at a joke.
"Could you keep hold of this, please?" You ask, leaning down to grab the tube from the surface of the desk before offering it up to him.
"What is it?" He asks, taking it from you between two digits before turning it to inspect it further.
"Brainstorm made it. It'll convert energon into food and water for me," you repeat what your best friend explained to you.
Megatron nods, a flash of acknowledgement lighting up his features before he pops it in the subspace in his chassis. "That's one concern dealt with."
"And he's been making some other things, too. I'll soon have something that can create new clothing and something that can help me bathe."
"All that, and to think I was barely gone a groon," Megatron marvels, impressed by Brainstorm's dedication to your well-being. Megatron, of course, was not there in your early days on the Lost Light. He did not see the routines and facilities created for you the first time around. You mentioned previously that Brainstorm did most of the work for making the ship habitable for you, which is how the two of you got so close to begin with.
"Alright, everyone going to Cybertron, ready up!" Brainstorm announces, content with his checks to ensure the travel will go as smoothly as possible.
Megatron looks over, seeing a few of the group already forming an orderly line. Not everyone here is going to Cybertron, a few are staying on the Necroworld and will reconvene later.
"Starlight, I'm going to put you in my subspace whilst we teleport," Megatron tells you, offering his servo out to you.
You whine, the noise stretching through your throat. "I don't like it in there."
"And I'm sorry, my love, but I have to keep you safe."
"But it's dark in there! And there's nothing to do but sit in the dark or sleep."
"Please," Megatron stresses a little firmer, his patience seemingly already waning, "We're teleporting onto Cybertron, and I want to make sure you're going to be safe. Once we're there, and I know you will be, I'll take you out."
You huff through your nose as a disgruntled expression etches onto your face. You won't attempt to press him further, and if this is the only way he feels comfortable travelling with you, then so be it.
"Fine, put me in the subspace."
Megatron's large servo wraps around your middle, startling you from your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, still met with the pitch-black nothingness of his subspace. You groan as you feel yourself being pulled upwards, finally being granted freedom from this dark hollowness.
When you're pulled out entirely, your eyes adjust to the new light. Wherever you are, you assume it must be nighttime, as the only thing illuminating the planet is its three moons. Megatron levels you in front of him, your eyes blinking the sleep from them.
"I'm sorry I left you in there for so long, Little Light," Megatron says, "You would not believe the events that have transpired today. It was too dangerous to bring you out."
"It's okay, I slept for most of it," you answer, stretching your arms before he pops you on his shoulder. You settle quickly, dangling your legs off the edge.
"We're going back to the Necroworld. I'll explain more later. But Terminus has decided to stay behind, I thought you might want to say goodbye," Megatron voices, gesturing to his old friend, who is standing in front of you.
"Goodbye? But I only just met you," you say to Terminus, "Come with us!"
The older mech laughs lightly at your tone, flattered that you'd extend such a generous invitation to him. It's a sweet sentiment, but he's too old for all the adventure and space travel your group get up to. He'd like to stay behind and settle.
"It was lovely meeting you, truly, but I'm better off here," he responds.
"Well, we'll always be here if you change your mind."
"Yes," Megatron adds, "We will. Please, never hesitate to reach out to us."
Terminus smiles at you both, enamoured by your kindness and hospitality. Nothing you say will change his mind, he intends to stay here. His mind has already been made up, and he's a stubborn one. That isn't even mentioning the fact that communication across parallel dimensions is virtually impossible, anyway.
"Wait, hold on, I'm getting a message!" Terminus says, shooting his gaze off to the side as he brings two digits to his audial. You and Megatron stand patiently, letting Terminus listen to his comms with short 'uh-huh's every few seconds. He nods a couple of times, too.
"Okay, we need to go!" Terminus tells you both, "That was Roller, he said they're about to jump. He gave me their coordinates, quick!"
Terminus turns on his pedes, starting up a brisk walk. Megatron follows suit, urgency in every step. You hold onto the edge of his chassis for stability as you look at the floor in front of you. You must be on some kind of mechanical planet, you can tell from the flooring. Wires and cables spark from holes that have been carved into the metal panels of the ground, and the rest of the surroundings don't look much better. There are tall buildings, again made of metal, that have scraps missing and pillars of metal blown. It looks like a bomb went off here. Maybe you are on Cybertron, if Megatron's stories of it are anything to go by.
"Where is everyone?" You ask Megatron.
"They went on without us," he answers. "Rodimus allowed me a minute alone with Terminus so that I could say goodbye."
"We're on Cybertron. But not… The Cybertron we were expecting."
"The Necroworld jumped into a parallel universe as we entered the teleporter. We're on an alternate Cybertron. One where the Functionist Council took power," he continues to explain as quickly and simply as he can.
"The Functionist Council?"
"Yes, they're a council with the philosophy that a Cybertronian's class and job should be determined by their alt mode. They've ran rings around us all day, it got a bit too perilous at one point."
Those words ring deeply with you. They take you all the way back to the beginning of your friendship with Megatron, where he shared some of his poems with you. He didn't directly open up, but his poems were powerful. They painted vivid images of what society was like before his uprising. You remember one of them almost verbatim.
The machine churns evermore,
feeding on the energon from the downtrodden.
it will function in spite of itself if left undisturbed.
Our sacrifice keeps the cogs turning,
we are little more than self-destructing mechanisms,
taught to destroy ourselves for the higher power.
see that we are being deceived.
"That's the very thing you fought against," you speak, your statement clearly an obvious truth that doesn't need to be voiced, but you can't believe that Megatron has wound up on a planet like this.
"Yes, this is a planet where there are no Autobots, no Decepticons. Just the senate and their corrupt values," Megatron spits, disgust woven into each word. He's still passionate for the cause, but he just believes in doing it differently this time. To do it the right way.
Terminus comes to a stop, leaving you standing in front of a dilapidated mid-rise building. The windows are blown and cracked, and the decorative blue foil wrapped on the exterior is peeling and flaking.
"This is the place," the older 'Bot says.
Megatron looks up the scale of the building, thinking to himself that this seems like a bit of an unstable place to outpour so much unbridled and raw energy, but he supposes it's desperate times.
"Thank you, Terminus," Megatron says. "Goodbye, old friend."
"Goodbye!" You follow on, waving him farewell as your lover sets off with you into the building. Terminus stands and smiles, waving back.
Megatron pushes aside a metal slab that's slanted ajar in the space where the door used to be, freeing the space to enter.
The entire first floor is barren, not a soul nor spark in sight. A wide ray of pale blue light cascades into the room from the detonated North-side wall. Megatron's optical ridges drop with confusion, rebounding that confusion onto you. Specks of dust carry through the space of the room, a whistling noise sounding from small holes formed in the other walls.
"I think Terminus must've gotten the coordinates wrong," Megatron says, walking over to the gaping hole in the wall.
Terminus is still stood in the same spot, though now gazing up to the sky. Rather than simply watching, it seems he's actively looking at something.
"Terminus!" Megatron calls as he clambers through the jagged metal, tubes and fuses sticking out in haphazard positions. The call of his name causes Terminus to snap his optics to Megatron.
"Terminus, they aren't here!" Megatron shouts as he paces quickly.
Before the other mech can give a response, a blinding, spherical light illuminates a large portion of the sky. You shield your eyes from the brightness, feeling it overstimulate your retina. The area warps with noise, a dull trilling noise pulling from the light.
As the light fades, all three of you look up at it in shock. Even you know there's only one thing that could have been, and only one thing this can mean.
"They left," Megatron says, utterly astounded, "They've left without us."
"They've given you another chance," Terminus says, placing a consoling servo on Megatron's back.
"They already did that," Megatron whispers, unable to look away from where the explosion of light just happened.
Megatron is sitting on top of a rock in a low cave, surrounded by some Cybertronians who have been advocating for change in the way their society is run. This is his chance to restart the movement, but to make the right choices this time. A dozen mechs sit before him like disciples, listening to his soliloquy, absorbing the words he's preaching.
You're sitting with Terminus along the wall, perched on his shoulder as a warm, orange light flickers over the low ceiling. Megatron says that you're at Nova Point, but that means very little to you. Whether or not that has some kind of cultural or historical significance is beyond you. Your eyes draw to an orange bot, sitting in the front row. He only has one optic, one servo, and one pincer, similar to Whirl.
When he walked into the cave, Megatron seemed startled, like he'd seen a ghost. He muttered to you that this particular individual is called Damus. In your own dimension, this is who became Tarn. Damus' entrance signified something to Megatron, as if the universe had granted him another chance to do things over. No matter how unwarranted that chance might be.
"We are more than tools," Megatron announces, his voice steadfast and confident, "We are more than a means to an end. We are the future!"
A wave of nods ripples through the crowd, every one of them acutely interested in what he has to say. He speaks as a leader would, his words inspired the little people to form together to make something bigger. He incites the courage to unionise, to band as one and coordinate. He will act as their shield, willing to be the first to step forward. He symbolises the kind of strength that makes others stand taller.
"We must face the truth, we must reject the false facts that the council feed us. They manipulate the information we receive to keep us obedient, to prevent a revolution that they know will dismantle them."
He glances around the group, forming optic-contact with all of them to tell them all that he is standing with them. He won't be there to command or to send troops to do his bidding, but he will be alongside them.
"But we must do more than that. We must forge alliances, we must convert people to our cause. The more of us there is, the stronger we become. We will speak to them until they are ready to listen, until they learn. Together, we will overthrow the council and live as we see fit."
The awe amongst the audience is tangible, it clings to the frames of all of them. Their spirits seem to lift higher and higher with each word, and you can't help but smile. He truly was meant to be a leader.
"I struggle to watch him and still believe that he committed the war crimes he eluded to when I spoke to him earlier," Terminus mumbles quietly to you.
You hum before replying, "I think he's just changed. Though in truth, I'm probably not the best person to ask about what he did. My whole species didn't even exist for most of it."
"A pity," Terminus says, "He told me to talk to the others about it if I wanted to know more. He told me he wasn't the most reliable narrator."
"Well," you huff, "I suppose that'll be a little difficult now, considering they up and left without us."
Terminus doesn't answer that straight away, he falls into a contemplative silence before speaking a few moments later.
"Can you keep a secret?" Terminus hushes to you, still looking at Megatron.
"I can," you nod, also keeping your eyes on your lover.
"I lied to him," he says, his voice a note quieter than before. Your brows bunch into a frown, tearing your sight from Megatron to look at Terminus instead.
"With the coordinates. Roller told me the coordinates, but I lead you both to somewhere else."
You look at him for a moment, trying to read if this is a dry attempt at humour. His expression doesn't shift, nothing crosses over his optics to tell you that he's not being serious.
"Why would you do that?" You ask, but not in anger. Out of curiosity, out of confusion. What possible motive would he have for something like that?
"A couple of reasons," he answers before nodding at Megatron, who is still preaching, "Just look at him. He was meant for this, I knew he deserved this opportunity."
You look back at Megatron, watching his servos animate with his words, conveying his passion for the things he has to say. Terminus is right, he was meant for this. In truth, you're grateful. Megatron still fights many demons regarding his history, and now he's been afforded the opportunity to right them. Right now, he's a compass whose needle doesn't tremble, he's a voice that turns chaos and disarray into direction.
"But," Terminus continues, "My main motivation was doing it for the two of you."
"He's so in love with you, and I can tell how in love you are with him. He spoke a lot about you when we went for our chat on the Necroworld, and it just didn't sit right with me that your future was so unknown. Neither of you knew when your last day together would be. I wanted to do something for the two of you to make sure you could live the rest of your lives together."
"Terminus, you big softy," you jest lightly, a smile beaming on your face. He had good intentions, even if it has made the short-term a little difficult. But he's right, this is the best thing for the two of you. The others will be going back to their own dimension, and the two of you will be left in this one. For all intents and purposes, his trial will either be dropped or severely delayed. You were living on borrowed time, but it feels a little less borrowed now.
"Don't tell him, please?" Terminus implores, knowing Megatron will likely be less than impressed.
"My lips are sealed. Thank you, you've managed to accomplish a dream that I thought could only be a fantasy."
"You make him happy, and that's important to me."
Megatron's rumblings quieten, closing out his speech. He looks around the crowd, seeing a bunch of enthused individuals who have finally been given their first shred of hope since they all came online. Stood proudly before them is a lighthouse that will guide them home, a ray of light that makes those here believe in sunlight once again.
He sends them on their way, encourages them to band with others and to reconvene here at the same time in two days' time. Each time they all meet, they will grow stronger, until they have enough might to take on the forces that oppose them.
They file out one by one, discussing amongst themselves. You hear praises of Megatron bouncing around between them, speaking about him in a way that you've heard people speak about Optimus Prime. They weren't so different at the beginning, this much you understand.
Terminus stands with you as Megatron approaches, offering a kind smile to you both. You shoot him one right back, and he extends his servo out to collect you from Terminus. You slide off of Terminus' shoulder, hopping into Megatron's palm.
"How did I do?" He asks you.
You lift yourself up onto Megatron's shoulder to sit cross-legged. "You did great, everyone really loved you."
Megatron smiles at that, glad to hear he did well. For all the confidence he portrayed, he was actually incredibly nervous. It had been a long time since he'd done a speech that was intended to inspire, rather than to strike fear into the sparks of everyone in earshot.
"It was nice getting to see you lead," Terminus says as Megatron starts to lead you all out of the cave, "You've come so far from that reserved miner-poet I used to know."
"Megatron? Reserved?" You ask, surprised. You can't imagine him as the introverted, stuck to the wall type.
"Oh, I could tell you many stories," Terminus shoots you a devious look as you all exit the cave, spat out just on the outskirts of Iacon city. A rich yellow hue pollutes the sky and surrounding atmosphere, designed to provoke the feelings of warmth and comfort.
"I think we've all heard enough," Megatron interjects, trying to guide the conversation away from him as gently as he can. Keeping Terminus from telling you old stories about him might be a bit more difficult than he thought.
You giggle in response before hushing in a not-so-secretive way, "Tell me later."
Terminus nods, "You bet."
You all walk through the pristine and well-preserved streets of Iacon. This place is different to the derelict sector that you were in earlier, there isn't a single inch out of place. The buildings soar high, all built with golden materials that define this place as opulent and orderly. The streets are paved in a paler gold, not a speck on them.
Large screens hang on nearly every building, plastered with the propaganda which the Functionist Council have pedalled for millennia.
It all seems terribly bleak, and you're beginning to see firsthand why Megatron was so opposed to this kind of governing body. To be forced into a role over factors that were not yours to control is unjust, and you feel sorry for those here who have had to live under these conditions.
The lavishness of the central part of the city doesn't seem to extend any further than the few streets they use to churn out their doctrines. As you move through the end of the street, the light pollution falls off nearly immediately. The night sky reclaims its space, and through the clarity, you can finally see some stars hanging in the sky.
Just as you're about to ask Megatron where you're headed to and what the plan is from here, your eye catches on a large, beige structure. Your head follows the direction, seeing a behemothian ship amongst the barren wasteland that stretches in that direction.
"Is that… The Lost Light?" You say, almost shocked to see it. You could be mistaken, but it's the spitting image of the place you called home for the past couple of years. Megatron stops, turning in the direction you're looking.
"It is," Megatron says, just as surprised as you are to see it.
