#transformers 2007

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Bayverse!Megatron Headcannons. (loose writing)

he may not seem like it, but Megatron is so incredibly broken on the inside.

once a proud and highly regarded enforcer on Cybertron, now fallen into a tyrannical warlord. all due to his jealousy of how Sentinel Prime chose his brother, Orion Pax, over him.

he lost himself. once he claimed authority over an artifact discovered by the science division, he brought it to his own quarters; thoughts and whispers began, festering his processor. "turn on him, turn on your people. they betrayed you, you are a ruler, it should've been you. not him."

the voices told, and megatron listened. he rose to power, rallied those that were loyal to him and him alone. he'll show those that defied him what it's like. to be denied something that was supposed to be his by birthright.

you were the only one who was worthy enough to stand by his side in his great crusade, the great purge. you stood high and mighty, towering above those megatron deemed weak and pathetic. but you knew this was wrong. you weren't supposed to be placed upon a pedestal, you weren't supposed to be a ruler. you didn't want to be feared when a single soldier gazed at you for too long, you didn't want your beloved to snag the soldier's neck within his digits and ruthlessly tear apart his helm from his shoulders.

it was the artifact, you knew. he kept that cursed thing too close for too long. it drove him mad — you wanted nothing more than to shatter it into a thousand stones and grind it into sand beneath your foot.

but you couldn't. he'd stop you. the damn thing was priceless to him, an addiction. the voices and their damn poison, so alluring and decadent. he drank all of it down without a hint of hesitation, like he was nothing without their sweet nothings.

once, you made an attempt to coax him out of his delirium. you tried to tell him how the artifact was nothing but a vile influence upon his psyche. this wasn't the megatron you knew; before, he'd never entertain the thought of a blood-filled rebellion against his own brother or his mentor. it was foreign to him and it would've remained foreign.

he made you regret even asking such a question.

it hurt, the first time he raised his hand against you; thats when you knew the megatron you fell in love with was long since dead. terror coiled around your vocal cords and swarmed your optics, you tried to plead with him to stop. it hurt, it hurt. you screamed and cried, even as his digits tore into your armored and scratched markings into your paint. make it stop.

it was a long night... or day. it was impossible to tell as you drifted in and out of consciousness on the barren medical table. a doctor was tending to your wounds wordlessly, optics never meeting yours. you tried to resist the tears that threatened to pour, but every waiting moment, you grew tired. the doctor made no mention of how you were a quiet, sobbing mess to megatron as he treated your wounds.

you became terrified of your sparkmate after the incident. it was common to find your frame quivering in fear when he grew close, as if your body was anticipating the next upon many beatings. even when he did simple motions such as tilting his head towards you, it set you off. primus, please have mercy on you.

despite what he has done, megatron always makes and effort to flaunt you like a trophy. always present within the sights of his underlings, ragged digits drifting over muted colors; his inner cords let out a guttural growl, denta close to exposed cables on your neck. crimson jewels swept across the room and brushed over those that dared cast you a pitiful glance. they were filled with anger, with rage. but all the while, it taunted them. try him.

when megatron goes out to lead his armies against the autobots, you're thrown into his personal quarters to rot. guards posted outside the heavy doors, wills unwavering as you banged against the pristine metal of your prison. they could care less about your woes or your sob story, they cared more about their own armor being attached to their sparks. and so you wailed. thrashing. screaming. anything to rattle their attentions and force them to address you; even them telling you to shut up would suffice. but they never did. you were left alone.

when he comes home he demands you and drinks in your attention like it was a potent drug. he doesn't care about how you're scared or trying to claw away from him like a rabid animal. he forces you to obey him. he grabs you by the leg and drags you to him, never minding how you cried for him that it hurts, and rips you from the floor to wrap his energon-coated arms around you. you have no choice, you never had a choice.

then, there will be occasions where maybe he remembers the way he was before he fell. moments of clarity, perhaps.

the voices dulled to a murmur, memories began to bleed from the ravines of his mind. you. you were the first among them, even before the likes of orion. you were so gentle with him then, despite his reputation as a rather ruthless enforcer. through all of the suffering he had put you through (really, he was just giving you a hard time for believing you were of a weak spirit), you remained stubborn yet devoted. his words never bothered you, if anything, you were quite the quippy sort. fast and cheeky. primus, he hated you. he'd do anything for you.

it's painful then when he summons you to his quarters. hesitancy was laced with every step you took when approaching his room; you quelled the shaking beneath your armor, and entered.

it was a blur, and part of you believes it to be a hallucination. that look in his optics... you know in your spark that it wasn't anger, nor bloodlust.

since the day you lost him to the insanity that swept him from his home, you wanted to believe you saw remorse coating those crimson jewels. he—

metal caresses your cheeks. slow, methodical. he whispers your name like it was a prayer upon his lips and primus, somewhere in your spark it was yearning to return his touch. how you longed for this side of him for so long, please don't go...

megatron allows himself to linger within the confines of his room, shared with you. hours trickled by, and neither you or your lover allowed anyone to disturb the moment you never wanted to let go.

but both of you knew that it must pass. time never froze for any soul, not even for the likes of lost lovers attempting to rekindle their spark. eventually, you both were torn from each other's grasp, destined to once again be thrown into the void of the relentless and unknown. megatron never spoke of the moment, not to you, not to anyone within his circle. it was a secret he keeps to his grave.

despite him swearing to never fall to those lows again, to show his emotion, at times he couldn't stop his spark from melting. he needed this, he needed you. just... let him be soft again. let him be the mech you fell in love with. even if it's for a short amount of time.

the voices always tore into him. they gnawed at his mind, yelling, screaming. they tell him to stop. stop. being. weak. cast them out. you were meant to be feared.

megatron ignores it, for however briefly he can.

even for when he is slain in battle, the voices quiet for a moment.

he thinks of you.