Chapter Text
-||[The Ceasefire ]||-
This was the end.
The end of war, the end of the constant sacrifice, the end of conflict between the two esteemed factions, the Autobots and the Decepticons. All can live with some serenity of peace.
Yes, this certainly is the end.
Some say a new beginning, rejoicing in praise and humility.
Most Cybertronians were ecstatic for the new changes of the era of ceasefire, though few still remain skeptical for the right reasons. Peace can never last long. During the war, the two leaders of said factions held meetings to try to find some common ground but they could never meet the high expectations and itinerary.
Until now that is.
They held on to some ounce of tranquility before it all went downhill.
Though for Megatron? It was already downhill. It was her personal hell.
The ball room was the size of the gladiator pit back in good ol Kaon, decorated with crimson red and deep shades of purple with the balance of white to commemorate the celebration. The rich crimson was bled through the room, with bouquets of roses displayed at the centre piece, to the soft napkins tied neatly on each plate. The pillars were braided with red ribbon and touches of orchids held it tightly at the centre of each one. A violet shade of table cloth laid neatly on each one, embroidered with deep stitches of lilac.
Megatron understood the theme, the union of bots and cons, represented at the wedding. It was…corny if she were to be honest but she never did have a say for this occasion. Here she was, staring out from the balcony, at guests scattered yet united as one under her celebration. Her wedding.
Their wedding.
She corrected herself mentally, rolling her maroon optics and growled under her breath. She sipped what seemed to be her fourth glass of champaign, optics scanning and calculating every move from each guest here. From her loyal Decepticons, ranging from her mightiest warriors, allies and few friends, then trailing to the Autobots. Many of the civilian frames chatted with her warframes, seemingly getting along quite well. Though there are those who are wary of the cons but others are having the time of their lives.
Everyone dressed formerly for the occasion, in dresses and tuxes no matter the frame type, dancing to cheesy earth pop music. There wasn’t an exact theme for guests to be dressed in but what does it matter? This isn’t the joining she imagined for herself—much less, ever imagining herself joining her spark with any bot. But here and now, Megatron is presently the wife and soon-to-be-conjunx to the Autobot leader, Ultra Magnus.
Ludicrous, isn’t it?
She can feel the hazy warmth within the air, scenting each alcoholic beverage being handed and shared amongst them, drinking as though it were their last night. Conversations of many kinds poured out, laughing and chatting as though they weren’t shooting each other’s faces cycles ago. Her scowl deepened, already hearing Magnus’ aggravating voice about using the human terminology to blend in. She could give less of a frag to blend in.
Humans.
Inhabiting such a primitive mudball of a planet. The softness, the endless seasons changing at such a rapid pace, not to mention living amongst the fleshies themselves and disguised as one. Disgusting. She had to live on this rock for hundreds of stellar cycles—years, honestly it’s ridiculous how their timeframe is so short.
Oh how she wishes she’d go back to simpler times. The smell of gun powder hitting her olfactory sensors, the fiery smoke imprinting on her sharped frame and the explosives that rang in your audials. The thought of energon blue-blood that ran down from her servos to her arm plating while viewing a life extinguishing with her eyes, all to fight for people’s cause.
Oh, such simpler times indeed.
It seemed like it was just hundreds of stellar cycles ago, which technically it was.
The 1950s, in earth's terminology, the cybertronian war continued to rage on. This poor mudball managed to get in the crossfire. Many lives were lost–whether it be mecha or mankind–there was no surrender till the AllSpark was recovered and placed right back in Cybertron’s core.
To restore life, it will be under the Decepticon’s rule.
That was the initial plan.
But Primus seemed to have other plans for his creations. It's almost as though he were mocking her for the unexpected stupidity that she still could not fathom, to this solar cycle—day—whatever.
The Allspark, the most powerful artifact and last piece of Cybertronian relics, known as the giver of life was in Magnus’ servos. His idiocy cost the lives of future generations of what they truly are. Mecha.
Techno-beings.
Cybertronians.
Ultra Magnus' grand-master plan ends with a spectacular and utter failure when he tossed the powerful gem into a spacebridge. With the raw power and synergy of the Allspark it managed to overload the spacebridge’s systems causing it to fracture then breaking it entirely.
Its shards dispersed across the planet.
And as expected…there was complete chaos.
To find these shards in the first place was a complete challenge. Ergo, stubbornness and pride was pushed aside to settle on an agreement. A ceasefire. Of sorts. Months turned to years of searching for each one.
During that decade was difficult, especially working with those Autobot snots.
But they all knew, without a doubt, their home planet in a few short cycles will be dying.
Without the Allspark to generate life–and supply energon flow–their people will go hungry and will cease to exist if they don’t do something. They could survive off other supplements, oil or other tech-nutrients–but their energon is their way of life.
Now that the ceasefire was set officially, summits were no doubt held almost every deca-cycle. During one of their meetings Megatron suggested to raid other planet’s supply of energon in the mines–drill till they reach the core but Ultra refused this. They’ll be sucking each planet dry and then what?
They needed a new way of life.
She thought that this was the coward’s way out–a load of slag in the scrap heap–they can’t just abandon the home they once knew.
Their culture, their one true home planet and their people. And to just turn their backs on it?
‘There has to be another way’ they said, ‘It’s what' s best’ they said.
She was in too deep with this war. So Megatron confided to Shockwave for his opinions on all this–if there is a way to restore their home. But all his options were either too gruesome, an immense amount of sacrifice from both armies–and other options she wished she’d forget.
She had her people to look after
A fight she is not ready to quit.
Megatron must stand for everything she fought for and sacrificed in the gladiator pits–in the battlefield of soot and fire– deep in the mines where she lost so many allies–she can’t fail her people.
So she agreed to Magnus’ terms under certain conditions.
All mecha–across different sectors of the universe were contacted and informed of the sudden changes of the war, whether they were a part of it or completely neutral. That they’ll be inhabiting a new planet now that the AllSpark has been reduced to shards.
Said shards on each continent and country were monitored and observed by the brightest scientists in both factions and guarded by the strongest and most resilient. Somehow–the fragments reacted to the organic material around them, creating Cybertronians of each culture on Earth.
Techno-organics was the scientific term, in which new beings emerged in organic skin yet still contained origins of Cybtertronian. Magnus was fascinated by these new developments and decided this just might be the way they need to survive.
Go in disguise–but not vehicle modes but as organics.
She wanted to summon her cannon and shoot the mech in the faceplate for even the suggestion. As much as she wants to survive off this planet, she’d rather be stuck in her chopper mode rather than be a mere fleshy. She’d be losing the very frame she was given. But what else is she supposed to do, agree with Shockwave and his inhumane experimentations?
She should've.
So, begrudgingly, Megatron agreed and ordered her war machines to take refuge and blend in with the humans—learn their primeval ways, their history and culture of this world.
At that time, the Autobots and Decepticon armies will go under these disguises and carry on their life cycles in a different way—not by metal but flesh.
As stellar cycles continued, new identities were forged, the people of Cybertron were known to themselves and them only. They can read one another’s life and energy signatures, EMFs—and so on. But to the humans they were just as regular as their species. They created their new names for themselves, walking by the streets heading to their day-to-day lives and blended in with the organics.
Megatron herself went by many human identities;
Menerva Davidson
Margret Dacre
Madonna Darley
Presently to the humans in the 22nd century she is referred to as Megara Dawson.
Megatron was successful in each era—a business woman running as CEO, creating a large profit improving the stock markets, since humans seem to have trouble with that. She also started running as mayor but Magnus was her runner up in another decade—there was blood shared on the podium—and a lot of yelling.
He won, that bastard.
But the true bastards are those who can’t accept a woman in charge.
Eventually after many corporations and successful enterprises, she handed some off to her well capable soldiers to be in charge of. True, she grew tired of some of them and craved for another thrill to keep herself occupied. With so many names to her face, the mistress had faked deaths, passing it on to herself claiming she was the relative of the deceased leaving her fortune all to herself. She even joined the military one time.
Good times.
Megatron even tried to frame Magnus just for kicks.
They believed it.
He stepped down with what little dignity he had—and somehow in his retirement from politics he decided to go into policing.
And became the fragging Director of the Michigan State Police.
Just around the time when she was in her prime as a crime Goddess.
She ran her crime syndicate, her loyal followers and supporters all under her command even taking in humans in her underground empire. She’s dealt with delivering illegal weapons—human and cybertronian—handled bounties, conducting fighting tournaments in the pits like in Kaon—betting rings, delivering abused substances and taking a few lives for good credit.
It’s all business, nothing personal.
And she’s damn good at it.
The mistress kept her soldiers tight, sharp and ready for whatever came. Things were going smoothly, running from the law was such a different thrill yet gave her the tingle she had in war. She gained profits by the second—forming a new era of her Decepticons. Lugnut and Blitzwing her former generals are now her bodyguards—close allies she has running certain operatives and tasks concerning the underground fighting matches.
Strika was dealing with her weaponry forces along with Cyclonus and Oil Slick as backup if things ever got ugly—like if Strika ever needed it.
On her person on each side, Starscream her SIC, a complete imbecile and has been trying to take her down for centuries honestly she should have killed the moment he tried to detonate her—but that annoying jet kept coming back—somehow. Besides, he makes good coffee and is well acquainted with business operations.
Megatron makes sure everything is all aligned within the necessary documents of all her operations across Detroit…well Soundwave does. Soundwave her TIC, from the younger generation on this mudball, she took under her wing. She kept him as her ward and he has been with her since the solar cycle she found him. He has climbed the Decepticon ranks all by himself and earned his position well.
Her underground institution was growing exemplary, she has been running Detroit like it’s her playground….until one particular day.
Sumdac.
That complete little rat.
Issac Sumdac was one of the many businesses she conducted and owned. It was her very first business when she met Issac, after leaving army life. The man had potential but needed an extra push. So she gave him some of her little cybernetic materials for him to tinker with and he managed to earn a well profited organization–top three in Detroit. Well, she was certainly happy for him—but she had every right take on half of his profits since she was the very person that got him where he was.
Sumdac thought her way of running operations was harsh but she disagreed. The mistress believed she was firm, fair and dominant when it came to the company. The man may have thick skin for his employers—but to her—he would shake like a leaf and crumble before her very feet.
Though it seems Issac couldn’t take the pressure any longer and decided to quit their alliance and run straight to Detroit's police department, and one of Magnus’ Primes took on the case.
Optronix?
Ophileon?
Or whatever the frag his name was she couldn’t remember or care to.
The officers in Detroit have been tracking down her region of terror for years, her crimes were known world-wide and everyone made speculation that Megara Dawson had a split personality. One with crimes no one could prove yet, and the other known as the successful entrepreneur in all of Michigan. But no one could ever get solid evidence. Thanks to her undercover scientist, Shockwave was presented as Inspector Longarm.
That was until one of Ultra Magnus’ boot licking officers managed to finally break the case and shut down all her operatives with Sumdac as evidence to end her career.
From what Shockwave presented to her, the officer Prime in question has been gathering evidence and trying to find a lead on her trail and her many corporations. He spoke of the Prime officer as he linked all her legal and illegal jobs together. Many officers mocked him—even Ultra Magnus said it was a waste of valuable time and left it to professionals—but he managed to catch her and place her under arrest.
Megatron should have smelted him and Sumdac when she had the damn chance.
During interrogation sessions, detained now, she was in the room with none other than Magnus himself. They exchanged quick witted comments, jabs and escalations into arguments. This fued—war—whatever they’re calling it now would end this ceasefire they held for centuries. Think about it, how would it look if Ultra Magnus imprisoned the Decepticon leader, it will just make a rise of another war once more.
So, they made a deal.
Megatron will have all her money, weapons and soldiers back along with most of her legal businesses serving some time in jail, only a year, and she’ll commemorate this ceasefire to further prove their bond by a political marriage.
The suggestion only made her optics blink-twice—a marriage? With Magnus?! Oh he was either being absurd or he’s finally reached the point where his CPU is scrambling. But she laid down her options, she’ll continue working, her people will be safe, and she’d keep her riches. Plus she can always pay the bailout if she ever got bored in that prison.
Plus— deep down, way in the depths of Megatron, she thought it’d be nice to reconnect with Magnus. Properly this time. In the old days on Cybertron before the war—they were mere nobodies. She fresh out the mines joining the gladiator pits, and he, an Elite Guard Prime. They started off as conversation but soon engrossed in sweet glyphs whispered to each other and fighting for a better world.
They couldn’t exactly be together—it was against protocol and Magnus was by the book kind of mech but now they can get a chance to be more than what they hoped. Magnus, however, was a coward eons ago—and just when she hoped that he’d finally take the initiative and engage with her in this marriage—he is very much still that same coward.
Now here she was, in the fall, late September in the ballroom of her after party. In her wedding.
She’d mingled and smiled for the press—then told Blitzwing and Lugnut to kick them out. Other guests she kept eyes on closely, some were Cybertronian others humans with empires in the state. All high class, posh and arrogant people who crumble at the sight of her alone.
She drank down the rest of her champagne taking in a good few gulps quenching her dry throat and slamming the glass down on the concrete railing.
The lady took sights on Ultra Magnus, talking with his officers and close allies of the high class—laughing haughty and smiling. She wanted to spit in his face—putting on a fake smile for her, but his own employees make him laugh like he’s running out of air? She’s his wife for Primus sake!
They’ve barely interacted with one another since the wedding started—it was their wedding and he only did it for a damn show. Vows were exchanged, hands were clasped and a kiss to seal the bond but it was cold.
Even their dancing just seemed so stiff.
Maybe one more glass can keep her spirits lighter since Magnus is having such a grand ol’ time at the wedding interacting with anyone but her.
Stupendous.
“Megatron.”
The woman jumped at her name—she peered over to see TIC, Soundwave.
“Ugh child,” she grumbles, “I oughta put a bell on you some day, honestly, what have I told you about that?”
Soundwave straightens his posture, “Remembers: Megatron doesn’t like being snuck up on.”
“No,” she drawls out, dipping her head down and shaking it, “I told you to announce your presence to me but give everyone else a spark attack.”
“Noted.” He deadpans, turning towards the crowd.
She stiffened the snicker erupting in her throat. Megatron dusted off his sharp suit, and straightened his red visors—well shades. Why did he choose to keep them on at the wedding? Well she’s not going to fight him now.
“Subject Feeling. Query: Megatron enjoying herself?” Soundwave turned at her and she fixed his hair, seeing the black fur caught in it. Most likely from his pet cat Ravage.
“Hah, enjoying?” She sneered, plucking another fur strand, “Oh Soundwave I’m bored out of my mind. I’ve never felt so utterly miserable.”
“Second Statement: Untrue. Megatron: Known to exaggerate.”
She pursed her lips and furrowed her brows, “Frag you Soundwave. Respectfully.”
“Statement: Mutual.”
“It’s just,” She fiddled with his tie, straightening her posture. She sat the glass down, and properly adjusted his tie. Nothing was wrong with it but it's a habit she picked. She’s not one for showing feelings but Soundwave has this effect on her. To spill at least some milliliters of her truth, “I thought after my early bail, Magnus and I were going to be closer—but instead that stuck up has been distant and dry.”
Soundwave hummed and took her hands away from his tie, “The tie: fine. Megatron’s feelings: Unfortunate but acknowledged. Ultra Magnus: Unfair.”
“Right?” She hissed, slamming her fists down, making the concrete crack under her servo, as she growled irritably. Flaring her nostrils, taking a breath, the goddess dusted herself off like she didn’t break the city’s property.
“Query: If Megatron is unhappy with this reunion, why not break it? Soundwave: has all the skills and accessibilities to cease—”
“No.” Megatron's tone was sharp and low but not harsh. She peered down once more to stare at Ultra Magnus, “This union, my dear, is the only sense of peace our people can have. Truly live in peace. Leaders have to make tough decisions and sacrifices. You will learn that eventually when you take over one of my institutions. I can’t have my people walking down on the street and Autobots trailing behind them as though walking on the sidewalk is a crime. This war has lasted for millions of years. It's time for a new era.”
“Query: Even if you’re unhappy?”
“As I said,” Megatron murmured, “Sacrifices. It’s for the best.”
Soundwave’s head lowered, field responding in confusion but reluctantly accepting this.
“Come now, little frequency,” she hooked her arm around his, “Would you be so kind as to walk me down, like the gentleman I raised?”
Soundwave of course bows his head in respect and acceptance. Guiding her every step.
They both descended the stairs, chatter got louder through every step, the glare of the bright chandelier shimmering on the crowd, and the mingling of guests with drinks clinking and pastries chewed.
She swept her maroon optics, at the posh crowd, putting on faces behind the mask of deceit. Each one is as predictable as the other. She turned to see Soundwave still standing tall, posture straight and eyes locked onto the crowd, arms steady locked on hers, guiding her down the stairs, “You know dear, you don’t have to make me look like I’m drunk. I can walk just fine, no need for firm hands.”
“Query: Megatron is not tipsy? Speculation: Haven’t you had four champagne glasses?”
“Oh please, I can handle my drinks, just fine thank you. Maybe you should get a little something in your system. You’ve always been so down at work, why don’t you relax tonight?”
“Parties: Not for Soundwave. Priority: Monitor Decepticons. Decepticon allies in question: Intoxicated.”
She snickered, turning her helm seeing that he was correct. Lugnut was dousing in liquor with Blitzwing as though they were deep in competition. Starscream already with his seekers, and was leaning on the table for support.
Megatron sighed, turning back to Soundwave. She did tower of him—well she towered most bots at this union.
“Do you remember the day I found you?”
Soundwave stiffened a bit, visor flicking away but nodded.
“You were a runaway from the AllSpark shard as it created more life that stellar cycle for the Decepticons—from the northeastern coast of this country. You somehow wound up here in Detroit.”
Soundwave stayed silent but still listened as Lady Megatron went on.
“I was running late to a meeting—another one of Starscream’s sabotage—you were on the subway when I found you and picked your energy readings. You were Cybertronian.” She tapped her chin in thought, “From your human profile, you had no identity, merely your age in earth terms, 10 years, yes?”
“Affirmative.” Soundwave nodded.
“I took you in as my own along with your pets, you insisted on not leaving them behind. You became my ward, my protege, my soldier, my third in command.” Her face softened a bit, “You are outstanding in our cause and climbed the ranks faster than any con I’ve met. You’ve made me proud over the years, and I’m glad I found you.”
Soundwave looked at her, really looked at her, and deadpans, “Query: Maybe Megatron is more tipsy than Soundwave anticipated.”
Megatron tapped the back of his neck, not hard but a warning, she still smiled though, “Must you sass me even when I poured my spark out to you.”
Yes, nine years ago. Shockwave at the time, reported that there were missing mecha from emergence, young sparks running free and unchecked. It took them a while to find most but few were not retrieved. Soundwave being one of those young sparks.
How he ended up in Michigan, Megatron doesn’t know but he was scruffy, smudges of oil and dirt on his chubby cheeks and clothes—quivering in the cold and holding on to a wet box with a black kitten and a small bird. She was surprised the cat hadn’t made the bird its meal yet. Megatron can tell the nameless boy was suffering. His EMF was fluctuating, unable to control it, yet he showed a stoic face hiding his emotions
It was adorable, she thought.
She didn’t bother with the meeting that day, and told Starscream to reschedule. Her priorities seemed to have shifted at the sight of him.
With persuasion and hope in her eyes she led the boy to her home–to her empire. Offering sanctuary, food, the history of his people and true home, Cybertron, and of course finding him a spot to work beside her for her cause, Megatron saw potential in that boy–even when others seemed skeptical.
And now standing tall, 19 years of age under earth terms, he walked her down with precision, leading her back to the celebration. Her little frequency murmured, “Soundwave: accepts the sentiment of the past. Query: Why did Megatron bring it up?”
Megatron and Soundwave finally reached the ground floor, looking at all her subordinates finally…untroubled, “I suppose I’ll miss this, even when my generals drive me to madness at times, you all are the closest thing to family I have over the eons. Even if it’s for two weeks in Italy, I wish I can stuff you in a suitcase and carry you along.”
She rubbed her forehead, chuckling “Maybe the drinks had gotten to me.”
“Soundwave: Understands. Honeymoon: Will fly by fast. Decepticons: will be waiting.” He reassured letting her go.
“Perhaps you’re right. And who knows maybe Magnus might surprise me.”
Soundwave nods, “Megatron’s appearance: Beautiful.”
For the first time since the wedding, she smiled, “I always am dear, but thank you. You just might be the first man to compliment me today—well Lugnut did but you know how over the top he always is.”
The lady patted his shoulder, “That’s how I know I raised you right.” A small smile appeared on her face, Soundwave shied away from the praise but his field accepted it nonetheless, “Now off you pop—go mingle and enjoy yourself in your own way. I’ll comm you when I’m leaving.”
Soundwave stood there a little longer before retreating back to the crowd giving Megatron a silent nod before leaving her.
|[...]|
The warmth of the room flourished, bouncing off the wall. Scents of pastries of salts and sweets would make anyone’s tanks growl. Guests continued to prattle and gossip, some making business deals during the celebration, others indulging in drinks past their limit, the dance floor was lively through every step–sway–and dip all music hosted by none other than Jazz and Blaster.
But there were those who weren’t exactly indulging in the festivities.
“Primus this collar is killing me.”
Optimus sighed, “Just a couple more hours Bee, trust me, we all want to get out of these tuxedos.” He itched his own collar, adjusting it slightly as he cleared his throat.
Standing at attention, all members of his unit, Bulkhead, Bee and Prowl were in their positions around the room. Each one standing against each wall.
Most officers in Detroit were called into the celebration as guards and not to be a part of the party. Though as hours went by, it seemed as though most officers were already deep in the commeration—some dancing, others laughing and clinking their glasses. Some were even chopping up with Magnus at his table.
And one of them who laughed the loudest was Sentinel. Optimus rolls his optics, honestly he can’t tell if the man was suck up or just looking for another bonus in his pay. Sure they were friends way back in the academy—but people change. Optimus changed—and saw Sentinel’s true colors. People grow up but Sentinel seemed like he was never going to.
Optimus looked over at his team, Bumblebee tapping his foot—too fidgety—Bulkhead occasionally snuck glances at dance floor and the fresh pastries, Prowl seemed to be in focus but he is own glances at Jazz who was working up the crowd at the DJ booth.
The deputy gazed at his watch—just a few more hours—he thought. His stomach was grumbling once more and those pigs in a blanket looked too good not to devour..
Optimus bit his lip, “I suppose a five minute break—”
He didn't even finish his sentence before everyone split up.
Bee went over to Sari who was already dancing on the dance floor, both of them were inseparable when Optimus was mere security and personal guard for Sari.
Back then, in his first year on the force, Ultra Magnus assigned him to be Issac’s personal guard. He was more than happy to assist at the time and the time spent there could get him some insight about Sumdac himself and his employer. The Mistress. However, what he didn’t expect was that Issac already had an assignment for him—and that was watching his adopted daughter, Sari Sumdac.
Though yes, he wasn’t exactly on board being a babysitter, his time with Sai was always a delight–she’d get into some mischief but nothing he couldn’t handle. Plus on some days, Optimus brought over Bee, which the yellow spark protested he’s not hanging out with a two year old kid. But years went, and Optimus' intuition was right, the two were inseparable. They were joined by the hip, either playing video games, dance parties or staying up late at sleepovers. And presently, they owned the dance floor with their moves.
Optimus looked over at Bee a little longer, smiling and shaking his head at his energetic spark.
The Prime was his legal guardian after losing his human parents. They passed on from an arson incident because of the Decepticon raids on the streets.
They said it was a warning to the rivals of the faction but there were several casualties. Bee was only four years old, a Cybertronian and had nowhere to go.
So Optimus took him as his own.
And after eleven years, he grew to be this lively, funny kid determined to get and achieve some glory as a hero. Bee had always dreamed of being a Prime officer just like him–and of course Optimus was determined to make his dream come true. So he asked Magnus to initiate a junior officer programme for young sparks, kids and teens to scrub in and get a taste of the field life.
A sort of unpaid internship.
And surprisingly Ultra Magnus agreed.
It’s always a challenge to keep Bee focused and dial down to do a task–even when he gets it done, it’s either late or a mess. But Optimus doesn’t give up–he never did. And he never will.
Bumblebee invited Bulkhead to join the program as well, they’ve been friends since middle school even though Bulkhead was two years older than him that didn’t stop them from hanging out.
“Here you go bossbot!” Bulkhead snapped him out of his thoughts holding a paper plate of cheese puffs, sausage rolls and a croissant, “You looked like you needed some fuelin’.”
“Thanks Bulkhead, you have no idea.” The young man smiled and went off his way–most likely to meet Sari and Bee.
He made sure to ease into the gooey cheeses and not look like a starving mech. He savored every bite, still keeping his eye on everyone and the scenery before him. Factions actually joining together, after so many, many years of conflict–everyone was getting along.
He felt every flicker, every field of happiness–laughter and everyone at ease. Even Ultra Magnus seemed to be at his best.
He was never born on Cybertron–but the stories and history he’s learned so much about, he knew it was something beautiful. Cybertronians who were born from the core of the planet were, of course, home sick but Earth seemed like a second home to them as time past.
Everyone got comfortable, maybe too comfortable as in these human forms, but they never forgot where they came from. Life here on earth is all he’s ever known, like most bots of the later generations, this was their first home but they never slipped away from the metal inside them.
Cybertronians have been improving life here on earth, guiding humans into a more structured world. They're a young species. The economy is stable, pollution goes down by the year, the cold poles are forever at the correct temperatures thanks to scientists like Perceptor and Brainstorm but to the humans they know them as Dr. Percy and Dr. Bradbury.
The silver-blue almond eyes turned over to the DJ booth where Jazz and Prowl were chatting–he’s surprised Prowl is there for so long considering he’s not a fan of loud noises. But seeing the way his dermas quirked a tiny smile when conversing with Jazz–it was nice seeing him relaxed.
“Prime.” someone gruff called out to him–a voice he’s well too familiar with.
“Ratchet.” He turns to the old man, all grey, scarred eye that've been out of service for years, but the other one functioned fine. In fact it’d been piercing his soul when Optimus caught his gaze, “Is everything alright?”
“No,” he shook his helm, drinking another swig of his warm scotch. His jacket was off, and buttons loose and tie disappeared to who knows where, “You’ve been at your station the entire party–go get your aft some drinks and loosen up.”
“Ratchet we’ve been over this–I don’t drink-”
“Don’t you have cheap beer in your fridge in that crummy apartment you have.”
“First off–why are you in my fridge? How do you know that–and third, rent is hard these days.”
“For the Chief of Detroit?” Ratchet squints.
“I-” he looked down at his now empty plate, and sighed, “I didn’t get it.”
Ratchet chokes on his drink, “What do you mean you didn’t get it?! Weren’t you the officer who arrested Megatron and had solid proof on her? You couldn’t stop talking about her–or her crimes! Your living room is practically a mess with those damn red strings and–”
“Ratchet-! Be quiet.” His eyes widened, ushering his friend before he sold out his own life story, “Yes, they didn’t put me as Chief–but I’m the Deputy. I’m next in line–eventually.”
“And who in slag’s name would they give that job to–” As if on cue, another boisterous laugh erupted near the main table where the bride and groom were supposed to sit but instead it was merely the groom with his associates, officers, politicians of Michigan and few friends.
The owner of that boisterous laugh was none other than Sentinel. Ratchet slowly turns back to Optimus, facing the young man as he pinched his brow, “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.” Optimus murmured, “Magnus gave him the promotion–he thought of him before I arrested Lady Megatron.”
“Has Magnus lost it? You managed to stop her underground operations and a feud that lasted for years–and he gave it to that buffoon?!” Ratchet slammed his glass down on a random guests table making them jump and get up from their seats.
Optimus closed his eyes, covering his freckled cheeks, dragging his hands down, “Look, I got promoted, I got an okay-bonus and I am content where I am. I’m saving enough to afford a nice house for me and Bee. He’s growing up–he needs a more comfortable environment.”
Ratchet cooled down a bit, taking the flask from his pants pocket and poured it into the glass. Optimus squints, “You know you’re not supposed to bring in your own drinks to the wedding, right?”
“What are you gonna do,” He drinks his hard liquor, “Arrest me?”
Optimus stifles a laugh from escaping only brushing back his raven hair, “I’m fine Ratchet, honest. I am a bit–stung by it, I put in my hard work but I guess it’s my own fault for being too optimistic huh? I’m happy where I stand–I’m making this work.”
“And I’m saying–you deserved that position more than anyone in that damn precinct. Everyone here would agree-! You took on and arrested Lady Megatron, destroyer of worlds and merciless mistress on the battlefield.”
Optimus sighed, unsure how else he’s supposed to convince the man that he’s ‘fine’ but then she appeared. “Speak of the devil herself,” he murmured, turning towards the stairs, seeing the bride and her ward walking down the stairs.
Her entrance was so silent that only true eyes are to look upon her beauty–him being one of them.
He studied her every movement, her stoic yet hidden malice in those maroon eyes–with a dangerous smirk that held too much power. Her dress was white as snow, hugging her curves nicely and bosom voluptuous yet not crass– there’s so much class with every inch of her.
The lady’s dress was off the shoulder, with a high cut stopping midway her upper thigh. There were lace fabrics along her arms as her sleeves and between the cut, showing various flora patterns.
Her silver blowout hair was dolled in various diamond stones, with gorgeous matching earrings and her silky brown skin shimmered in a glow that couldn’t be unkept. Makeup on point, plush lips glossy, and for a second that smirk turns to soft laughter at her ward. She’s…beautiful.
Optimus hadn’t realized he was staring–he turned back to Ratchet who was still ranting about Magnus’ incompetence. When he turned back to see her once more–she'd already disappeared into the crowd.
“Prime–are you even listening?” Ratchet hissed, only for Optimus to still drift off back to the crowd.
He didn’t get it. Whatever spell she had on him–it never went away.
Optimus, was known as a nerd amongst his peers. Of course it is protocol for techno-organic Cybertronians to learn their history, but he took it a step further.
As always.
He’d always had a knack for reading, whether it be mystery book series, or dabbling in horror and a few fantasy as a bypass but history? It always pulled him to learn more, to ask questions, to keep pushing till his laptop crashed of overheating. It was in fact, factual stories pulling out of the page allowing him to live through the past in his imagination. And he loved it. Because it was real-and he wanted to relish in it.
And when he came across the topic of the ‘Great War’, the texts he read leading up to the Mistress was worth the wait.
He has been drawn to her battle days on Cybertron. The Lady spreads her terror and made the universe tremble when anyone said her name. Megatron is a femme of deceit, a warmonger whose might is unbelievable–her craftiness and persuasion has led armies to victory. Even when losses should’ve stooped her low, she overcame each one, not letting defeat get to her.
But she didn’t start off as a tyrant.
She was a gladiator in Kaon’s pits. Though texts barely wrote much on the jagged city, he could imagine it was just as scenic as Iacon. Megatron made her name in those fights, taking down mecha and organic beasts that should’ve snuffed out her spark—but her strength was undeniable and her cunning was as sharp as glass and just as dangerous to the touch. Her crimes however? They were the most popular world wide–raising havoc and running her profits to the max. He’s researched her glory days–read her stories and articles of her past lives. She was an inspiration–a crimegoddess–a powerful woman to all.
She may have been a complete criminal–but she was a business woman.
He’s even watched holovoids of her glory days in the pits. Her frame was dark silvers, and deep maroons that was completely armored with sharp edges, and quite large—exceptionally large. Her hot gaze caused fear upon her opponents rattling under their plating–she was an unstoppable force. Her speeches inspired so many with her persistence to fight for warframes' rights, and the sheer will to strive for an equal Cybertron though tyranny.
And now here she was, wedding dress on and looking completely exceptional.
Optimus hasn’t seen her since her trial.
A year, he remembered.
A year she was supposed to remain in her cell.
But she left early since she can afford to pay to bail out. When the press asked her why–she said she was bored. Optimus needed to stay away from her by all means necessary, he had a feeling she was still out for him after arresting her. And he wasn’t scared, Primus no, but he didn't want to start a fight ruining the celebration. He needed some air—and maybe more of those pigs in a blanket. The deputy, somewhere deep down, wanted her story—her endgame for all this. He wanted to understand—maybe for clarity or perhaps some semblance of peace. He’s done more research on her—actually took her crimes seriously and accounted for.
He wanted to know why;
All these years, was havoc really worth it?
Is this your way of apologizing for everything you’ve done? Or is this just the easy way out?
Do you regret anything?
There had to be some kind of angle she’s trying to pull—Optimus just doesn’t believe that after all these years she agrees for a union? A marriage? Not even putting up some kind of fight?
Maybe he’s way in over his head, maybe he really did need to get some air. He surfed through the crowd trying to find the nearest balcony before he passed out.
The music and lights were not helping him focus—like water he managed to seep through any slim pathway to find his way out of this party. Somehow the universe thought it’d be hilarious for him to suffer this far into his near break out.
Nearly a few more steps to the balcony door, he accidentally collided into someone, tripping him on to the dance floor. But he wasn't on the ground–in fact his back was held securely around him. The faint smell of hot spice cinnamon and cherry vanilla tickled his nose–the hands wrapped around him may have been strong to hold his weight but compared to his–they were–small.
He looked above him and his pupils dilated, “You.” he whispered, staring above at those piercing ruby optics.
“You.” she hissed
Megatron's cat-eyes scanned him, olive-tan skin, face in complete panic and yet laced with confusion of anger and awe. His suit was wrinkled, his tie slightly loose and hair looked almost untamed, “Well don’t you clean up nicely–Prime.”
The deputy managed to gain some composure and stood up, gazing up at her, “Optimus. It’s Optimus Prime. Or have you forgotten the name of the officer who took you downtown?” he glared.
She lets out a breathy laugh, grabbing his cheeks, almond nails digging into his skin making him quietly hiss, “I never forget your name little officer–in fact–I just didn’t seem to bother remembering you. I didn’t care to–but deep down,” Megatron didn’t let him go, her plush lips were almost too close to his ear, “I’ve wanted to snap your helm off for disrupting my operations.”
Optimus growled lowly “You needed to be stopped–the way you were heading–it was going to doom everyone here in this city.”
“A paranoid one aren’t you? No wonder you’ve obsessed with my work. You just didn’t know when to stop. Tell me, little officer,” She smiled dangerously, “Do I intrigue you?”
“What you are, Lady Megatron, is a tick I can't get rid off. I suggest you let me go before your husband notices you're too handsy with his subordinate.” He grumbles under his breath. Seconds later she did release him, and he began to rub his cheek, eyes not leaving hers and she never left his.
“Husband..” she turned away first, shimmering stones blinded him from her silver hair, “Yes–well he seemed occupied at the moment, won’t you say?”
Optimus teared his gaze from the silver vixen, to the table where drinks were poured, laughter was shared and strong bonds were strong. She was right–he hasn’t seen much of Ultra Magnus interacting or bonding with Megatron during the reception. Both of them seemed to part ways after their dance.
Normally–in recent customs–the wedding is always the second to last step before officially bonding in the Cybertronian tradition of conjunx endurae. He’s only ever attended one–that being Arcee and Ratchet’s–but at their wedding they sat together, drank and ate–danced until Ratchet complained about his back–but he still slowly danced with his wife.
But this marriage is political
Not love…
So why does it sting his spark–seeing Megatron looking over at Ultra Magnus who seemed to be smiling ear to ear–but not with his partner. She stood alone–she saw her fists tightened, and a diamond ring was pressed on her thumb.
He looked down, facing away from the crime goddess, “I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to join them?”
“Right because every bride's dream is to sit down next to her husband’s associates and not her husband alone.” she deadpans.
Optimus cleared his throat, quietly apologizing, “Right—sorry I suppose that’s unfair.” Optimus looks over to the table, “I apologize for my commander, he means well, but he doesn’t get out much.”
She chuckled, "Apologizing for your commander, little deputy? Trust me I know Magnus. He’s always been an uptight, down by the book kind of man.” She sucked her teeth, “Let’s just hope he has enough of that energy when we leave for our honeymoon.”
Optimus straightened his tie, looking wide eyed and red shade covered his freckled cheeks, “Right. That’s a mental image I didn’t want in my processor.”
And another chuckle pulled from her—biting her lip and smirking at the younger man. “I don’t like being ignored, little Prime.”
“You’d say anything but my name huh?” Optimus murmured before sighing, “I doubt there’s anyone here who likes being ignored by their significant other.”
She hummed, turning back to Optimus, eyeing him down slowly, “Glad we’re on the same page, little deputy,” The deputy squints at her–just a bit in suspicion because what he felt around his field was prickling with mischief, “Now–come dance with me.”
Optimus blinked.
Then blinked again.
The whole room seemed to pause around him but she just gazed at him like that was completely normal. He literally arrested her not too long ago–he’s the reason she’s not continuing her crime spree across the city–she should lead him out to the rose garden and snuff out his spark–maybe even have one of her soldiers snipe him–but to dance–?! “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me–come dance with me.” She said again, as though he wasn’t at his commander’s wedding.
“I-I can’t.” He slowly backed away–but she only came closer, snaking her arm around his back.
“Do you have two left feet, little officer? If so then I’ll guide you no problem.”
“Lady Megatron–you just got married two hours ago.” he hissed quietly.
“And yet, my ‘loving’ Magnus is preoccupied. And I’m in the mood to dance–now will you indulge me or will you be a fowl about it.”
“You mean chicken?” He tilts his head, raising a brow.
She cycled those rubies of hers and huffs, “Ugh Americans.”
“I’m Puerto Rican.” he deadpans.
She hummed tapping into her comm line. Whenever Cybertronians are near by one another’s radar–they can tap into their HUD to view the mecha’s profile, “Ah yes it says here on your profile–Orion Perez—”
Megatron almost looked taken aback for a second, “You’re thirty-five years?”
“Human terms, yes.” He scratched the back of his neck, failed to notice if there’s a problem—and he also failed to notice that they were sauntering to the dance floor.
“Lady Megatron—! I already told you—” Optimus scowled at the bride who still seemed to be reading his profile and her hands positioning on him.
One firmly on his shoulder
The other fit so perfectly in his
He took her waist—almost shakily as he felt eyes on him—Primus he’s gonna get fired
“Now listen Prime, I know you’ve been staring at me.” She said plainly, as Optimus flinched his nose, furrowing his brows.
The mistress continues, “So I got back down to the crowd and you’ve been itching to be close to me.” She whispered, almost snickering as Optimus sputtered out an excuse.
“I want to dance,” she continued lowly, “And you want answers. I say we both can get a win tonight.”
Optimus stared at both their joint hands, and the tension radiating from the feud of each Cybertronian—and any human with a device locked in on the scene. He looked back at her who was still smirking down at him, a sharp gaze, almost softened.
“I’m not gonna get out of this am I?” He looked over tiredly.
“Nope.” she replied, making sure to pop the ‘p’, “And do hold me properly. I’m not made of glass, little Prime–I’m anything but fragile.”
“Yes, my lady.” He rolled his optics, holding her more firm, not letting her slip away. She’ll get her dance and he’ll get his answers.
As the lights shimmered from the chandelier above, crystals beating off the light into a beautiful display out on the dancefloor. Jazz peered down on the dance floor, and smugly smiled. Time to stir the pot. He transitions the music to something soft–something leaning to seductive but enough to feel rather than sink into it.
A tease–a feeling–Smoothe Operator by Sade.
A classic
Yet held just enough spice to erupt young and old couples to join.
Optimus and Megatron moved effortlessly, each step–each glide–every spin and turn. He held her tight–she moved with grace yet holding such power through every move. Her hands pressed on his chest, sliding up to his shoulders, and leaning too forward for a woman that was just married.
He glared as her smile was almost taunting him–swiftly from her waist moved to her unbelievably soft hands–unraveling her and twirling to stretch out. Both panting, apart but still came colliding back, “So little officer, what exactly do you want to know?”
The deputy made sure to keep the rhythm steady, “You can’t go back on our deal, got it? Whatever I ask–you have to answer me truthfully.”
“Well well look at you mister assertive,” she grinned wickedly, but slightly gasped when he spun her and dipped her holding her lower back. He looked sternly guiding her back up to his hands matching the tempo of the song.
“You. will. Answer. Truthfully. Understood?” Optimus rose a brow.
She tsked, “Please, dear, I’m a business woman. I don't hold back on my word.”
“Alright then,” he twirled with her, “You’ve been a universal wide threat for eons–I’ve studied–I’ve read and researched all your doings–”
“Oh, well aren’t you obsessed?”
“I’d prefer, trying to learn more about your opponent.” he replied smoothly.
“ ‘Your opponent’? You see yourself as my equal?” She never left his eyes, almost searching for any hint of shame for uttering such a bold statement in front of her with no nerves spiking, but his tone was clear–his movements were confident and his eyes never left hers.
“I see myself as someone who will do anything to protect innocent lives–and if it means spending most of my career trying to stop and predict your every move–then yes. You’ve always been my opponent.”
The silver vixen’s shoulders nearly slipped from her stride, “I never knew you. Not until you arrested me. You just seemed like another lackey.”
“Then,” he smirked, “I’m glad I caught you off your guard, my lady.”
She smiled faintly, no venom threaded when she spoke, “Then keep surprising me, little officer. I do love a challenge.”
As the music slowly came to an end, soft breaths lingered in their atmosphere. Optimus didn’t notice the stares of his colleagues, his team and friends wide eyed and jaw dropped. Megatron didn’t notice her soldiers and investors either–even Soundwave phased through the crowd looking like he might get a drink.
“You didn’t ask your question, little officer.”
They were inched apart, brows still furrowed but their eyes couldn’t leave one another, and their touch lingered further when they parted.
“Why? Why stop now? You aren’t one to oblige so easily.” he presses his lips thin, unnervingly being content at such a close perimeter to the bride of his commander.
“Because, to put it simply, a little officer,” she murmured, nose brushing against his, “Our people need a better, equal world that I’ve hoped for–and if it’s to marry Ultra Magnus…”
She slipped away from his arms, but still kept close, “Then so be it.”
The crime goddess tucked in her silver soft hair, turning to Optimus for one last time for the night, leaving him on the dance floor. She got exactly what she wanted.
A dance..
And
Magnus’ attention.
Staring just as wide eyed as the rest of the crowd, a red hue covered his faceplate not from fluster but the audacity of her to embarrass him. Good…
Megatron doesn’t like being ignored.
|[...]|
Italy
It was beautiful when they arrived in the morning sun peaked just above the horizon. Magnus and her settled down in their rented villa–a beautiful one story house, near the beach–with such a gorgeous view– with a lovely large pool. She took a dip by the pool–she finished reading her novel–she explored the village and chatted with the locals getting some groceries. She’s thinking of a classic dish, chicken-shrimp alfredo with red wine. Magnus and her barely talked–merely business wise but other than that, their trip was completely silent.
You know when she danced with Ultra Magnus’ deputy–he expected some kind of fire–some kind of fury–emotion for crying out loud! Snatch her and whisk her out of the wedding and finally do something. But he didn’t.
They left the party with masked smiles but when the car door closed to carry them to the airport on their way to the honeymoon. Nothing.
No arguing.
No long boring speeches.
No rough–passion claiming her behind the seats.
He just kept his optics focused on his datapad murmuring next meetings with his subordinates and officers–not daring to look at Megatron.
Fine. She’ll have her way even if she has to pry it out of her servos herself
When he arrived that evening for dinner after a little jog–she presented him with dinner, and it seemed like things were getting back to some kind of peace. They chatted about their next conferences, their alliance now that there are very many advantages with a new era of peace.
Their coalition will bring future and present sparks the life they deserve and not choose the side of either Autobot or Decepticon.
They laughed, they drank wine and watched the sunset and the balcony, they weren’t close but their hands did touch. He made her chuckle and he smiled. He seemed so much better, and for once she hoped–she really hoped that maybe this marriage wasn’t so bad.
That maybe she and him could make it through.
Until night came.
Ultra Magnus was already wearing his matching light and pale blue matching pajamas. Long pants and long sleeved button up, cozy in bed and reading the latest report from Sentinel. Honestly the mech needed some penmanship work–he could barely understand this chicken scratch of hand writing.
He adjusted his glasses squinting–trying to make out the first word in the conclusion but the bedroom’s bathroom door creaked open, “Oh Magnus,”
“Yes dear?”
“Look up, old timer.” she rolled her optics. As he pulled his blue eyes from the datapad–he swore he had a stroke from the moment he saw her.
The comfortable softness of villa’s robe, cream and fur embroidered on it–hugged her frame quite nicely and it was only tied loosely around her waist and hung off her shoulder revealing that melted brown sugar skin.
Her hair dolled up nicely, curls falling from her shoulders, and blocking half her face–but her eyes grew hungry–danerous–untaimed. She sauntered slowly from her bed, she took off her robe, dropping it to the floor, crawling on the bed wearing only her navy blue v-cut lingerie nightwear. Magnus was red hot–buring steam coming out his ears.
“I thought the color looked good on me–won’t you say, Ultra,” she purred closing in on him, trying to land a kiss on his cheek to start the mood but–
He dodged her.
She landed on his side of the bed, on his pillows. Magnus stood up gripping the datapad for dear life. Megatron blinked in confusion, smoothening out her hair and gaining some composure for his misdirection, “Magnus?”
He said nothing
Oh no. No, no, no no–not again.
“Ultra Magnus I am speaking to you and you better show some ounce of damn respect–”
“I can’t.” He murmured.
She paused her ranting, cold fury easing bit by bit but still kept her glare on him, “What do you mean you can’t.”
“Exactly what I said, Megatron,” he fully turned to her, still flush, “I can’t.”
“Well elaborate, Primus damnit! Are you not in the mood? Are you having issues–?”
He shook his head hurriedly, “No-no of course not.”
Megatron crossed her arms sitting on the bed, “Then what is it? Magnus just talk to me.”
“You’re not the same.” He clutched the datapad like it’s the only thing from sinking too deep.
“What do you mean I’m not the same?” Megatron growled, “Out with it.”
Ultra Magnus huffed, carefully placing the pad down on the nightstand, “It feels all too real when you’re like this–vulnerable with me again after so many stellar cycles before the war. It just reminded me too much of the old days.”
“You’ve thought of them too?” she whispered, like she’s not ready to confess she too had moments of longing and reminiscing, “But that doesn’t mean you could shut off, Magnus. When something is too real–it just means you want this to work.” She holds his hand, squeezing it in reassurance–but the bond isn’t reciprocated.
“You aren’t the same femme I met in the pits–you changed. And not for the better.” He turned away, almost prepping himself for the oncoming fight.
“You’re acting as though eons haven't passed– are you blind to the fact that you’ve changed too?”
His voice boomed through the villas’ walls, “I had people to protect."
“So. did. I.” She extended her index finger in his face, “Are you forgetting you are one who betrayed me? My people? Didn’t bother fighting for warframes–but went ahead to banish all us alike from Cybertron–because why? The Magnus title. A title. Leaving an entire race vulnerable from their home-!”
He didn’t look her in the eye, “It was my duty. I was already in line for the position.”
“Did it mean nothing to you? Our late night talks–did I bore you with my revelations of the fractured system?” She hissed.
“I thought…I honestly,” Megatron darkly chuckled, taking a deep breath and brushing back her hair, “I really thought that perhaps this marriage–can finally reconnect us before the war–the banishment. To simpler times…but you’re still the same. You’re still stuck up the exhaust port–rule–kisser–stubborn–aft.”
“Please,” he sneered, “You didn’t dare think back on those memories when you were dancing with my Prime.”
She growled, bringing her fists to hard squeeze, “Don’t you dare play that card with me Magnus–don’t you dare. I wasn’t the one who decided to drink and laugh with their friends rather than spend time with my spouse! You didn’t even touch me when we were engage–when I left prison. You wanted this marriage–and yet you can’t even look at me.”
“It is strictly political, Megatron!" Ultra Magnus pinched his brow, waving his arms animatedly.
“And so what?! We just stick together–force this bond and we can’t even be comfortable around each other anymore? Is this all just some charade?!”
The silence hung over them, Megatron eyes dilated in pure shock reading Magnus’ face, “That’s it.” she cracked, “That’s all you see it. Completely political. A charade of a true bond…You–you don’t even want to try? At least tonight? I gave you the wedding to organize–I gave you honeymoon–just give me this night the benefit of the doubt that you’ve hoped for this too–that we could still…try.”
“No.” He looked at her, holding her shoulders steady, “I can’t. Because it reminds me too much of what we were–and how those years of war tore us apart. The lives we lost–the things we’ve done. I can’t look at you and feel what I felt before. You’re not the love I once knew.”
She slammed her fists on her chest, seething, “I was a fool. A fool for actually hoping you’d give us another chance. Put out differences aside–but you can’t. You're not the mech I hoped to see in you again.”
“Megatron,” Ultra Magnus murmured, “I’ll try to make this comfortable for the both of us. But I-”
“Save it.” Megatron snapped, “This is my duty as a leader. To give warframes a chance to an equal world–and if it truly means just tolerating you then so it shall be.” She pushed him out of their room with his pillow, “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“Megatro-”
She slammed the door on him
Then she reopened it, took the pillow and glared, “You don’t deserve to sleep comfortably.”
Megatron slammed the door harder letting it rattle the dwelling.
She threw the pillow on his side and dragged her nails in her hair. The silver vixen rolled her optics and groaned–regaining some kind of peace of mind.
She looked down on her bedside table, getting a wine glass and the rest of red wine, poured a generous amount and drank it down like scotch on the rocks.
Megatron felt completely and utterly stupid. Ridiculous. And perhaps–frighteningly–hopeless. She filled her glass once more, gulping down not caring if some run down her chin dripping on to her lingerie nightgown–that she purchased for him.
Why–Primus why did she think they could try to patch things up–to at least give a chance.
But he shuts it down the moment she tries to kiss him.
You’re an utter fool.
She wiped her wine stained lips, sauntering over to her suitcase to find something more comfortable to wear–since Magnus isn’t tearing into this outfit.
Megatron then stopped her movements when she landed on a gift.
That she somehow forgot she packed? Where did this-?
There was a note attached to the rectangular box, wrapped in lavender and an indigo bow,
I know you said not to worry. But we both know Magnus can’t keep up with your stamina dear or the old fool’s not interested in the Goddess that you are. Enjoy my personal wedding gift dear, have fun, you deserve it my Lady.
-Strika
She untied the ribbon and opened the box out of curiosity–and somehow those burning hot tears–vaporized under her dangerous smirk seeing what her lovely Strika got her.
Megatron’s servo picked up the large spike mode. Fitting snuggly in its package. Nice ridges gleaming in red bio lights, beautiful nodes to tickle her calipars–and a lovely wide base for a nice painful breach and a vibration setting up to many speeds.
Oh Strika, how I hate when you’re right.
She sniffed, flicking away a tear and smiled wickedly. Megatron dressed up nicely and she needed some fireworks to start brewing on her honeymoon night. She was going to make this trip worth every moment–with or without her dear husband.