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til-all-are-loved · 3 months ago

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{This Charming Man Part 5}

Summons

MTMTE Megatron x Reader | SFW

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4

Megatron’s commanding voice lingered in your ears even after you’d returned to your hab-suite. You replayed the memory of the day in your mind over and over wondering if you’d leave this job the same person that arrived at it. Wondering if there was anything you could have said or done today that would have put you on top of the situation instead of being at its mercy.

You were aware of how weak you are against the Cybertronians, numerous on the Lost Light, a crew 200 strong. The vessel itself was hard to navigate and get across as a human without a ride from a friend. Not to mention, they are massive and incredibly long lived. Your life simply blip in theirs. Rest assured you feel safe among them for now. There's no doubt they would come to your aid if you were in danger, but you would owe them so much with little to offer in return.

Your room was silent, aside from the constant fidgeting you were doing. Your laptop sat untouched on the desk. Reports, notes, logs—they all seemed unimportant compared to the datapad he had given you earlier.

Sliding into your chair, you picked up the device and powered it on. The file Megatron handed you glowed faintly on the screen, waiting. You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the icon. Whatever was in this file, it wasn’t just words.

Taking a deep breath, you opened it.

The weight of stars, a burden borne,

By hands once raised, by lives once torn.

In silence now, the echoes stay,

Of lives misled, of debts to pay.

The tides of time erode, persist,

Yet scars remain, unfair tryst.

To heal is toil, to mend is fraught,

But bridges rise where hope is sought.

The verses unraveled before you.Each line carried the weight of a being who had known unimaginable power, loss, and regret.

Reach outward light; shadows cling

A fragile spark in chaos kindled.

Though burdened deep, with hearts askew,

Even wilted roots may bloom anew.

This wasn’t just introspection; it was a confession. An admission of yearning, of some kind.

You whispered the final stanza aloud, the words catching in your throat:

And if the stars themselves

Should recoil from my reach,

Then from its tender flame,

Let humility teach.

You sat back, the datapad trembling slightly in your hands. Let humility teach.

As you read the poem, a tightness grips your chest, the words sinking deep. The intensity of it leaves you breathless. For a moment, it’s as though the poem isn’t something he’s sent to you, but something that’s looking into you—into your unspoken curiosities about him that have until now been dormant. . You shift uncomfortably in your seat, your fingers cold and temples sweat. Feeling both flustered and utterly put on the spot, despite the solitude of your quarters. Could this have been a mistake? You wonder, your mind racing. This wasn’t an accident. But then why does it feel so personal?

Another sleepless night. You cursed yourself for not having access to a hobby to distract yourself from the anxiety. When morning came, you shuffled into the hall, dark circles under your eyes and an unfinished report weighing on your mind.

“Whoa,” Swerve said, who was catching up beside you. “Ambassador, you look like you wrestled a turbofox and lost. Rough night?”

You grunted in response, gripping a mug of weak cold coffee.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “So, any juicy updates from the big guy? Or is he still doing the brooding-reformed-warlord thing?”

“Still brooding,” you muttered.

Swerve laughed. “Classic. Hey, don’t let him get in your head, alright? I mean, you’re doing great. Better than great.”

“Thanks, Swerve.” You smiled faintly, grateful for his relentless optimism, even if it didn’t quite reach you today.

The entire day was spent wandering the corridors with the datapad under your arm. You didn’t know where you were going. The datapad’s words still lingered in your mind as you moved through the corridors, their weight shifting into something sharper, clearer. Megatron had spent so much of his life as a destroyer; this—these words—were the opposite of that. A creation, a fragment of himself offered up to you.

This wasn’t just poetry, it was a gesture. An olive branch to you, to humanity, to everything he’d once sought to dominate.

The thought settled uneasily in your chest, carrying with it a strange mix of pity and respect. You’d seen the worst of him in the historical records, but now, you were seeing something else entirely: a man ( or mech?) clawing his way toward redemption, not with sweeping proclamations but with quiet, deliberate steps.

That’s why you weren’t surprised when a communication ping lit up your personal device.

“Ambassador, meet me at dock A3 . I’d like a word.”

The message was short and to the point, but your stomach still flipped as you read it. He hadn’t asked like this before, not directly, not outside the bounds of official meetings or briefings.

It was reckless to agree, but you did anyway.

Dock A3 was quiet when you arrived, the low hum of the Lost Light’s engines thrumming in the background. A maintenance shuttle idled nearby. You spotted Megatron standing beside it, his massive frame dwarfed only by the vast expanse of space beyond.

“Ambassador,” he greeted, his tone even, but there was something softer in it now— a welcoming intonation in every syllable. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Captain,” you replied, stepping closer. You stopped a few feet away, clutching the datapad against your side like a shield.

“I trust you’ve had time to consider the file I sent you,”

“I have,” you said, and you meant it. There was no hesitation in your voice now, only curiosity. “I think... I understand what you’re trying to do. With humanity, with... everything.”

Megatron regarded you for a long moment, his optics narrowing slightly. “And what do you think I’m trying to do, Ambassador?”

You hesitated, but only briefly. “To approach the idea of starting to make amends,” you said. “Not just for humanity’s sake, but for your own. You’re trying to find... balance. A way to live with what you’ve done.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for the first time, Megatron’s expression shifted. There was no pride in his features, no satisfaction at your answer—only a faint, weary acknowledgment.

“Perhaps you’re not as far from understanding as I thought,” he said quietly.

You felt a small swell of vindication, but it was tempered by the vulnerability in his voice. He wasn’t testing you, not this time.

“Why did you call me here?” you asked, daring to step closer.

Instead of answering immediately, he turned toward the shuttle and gestured toward the open cockpit. “Come,” he said. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

“A circuit around this planetary system,” he said, stepping toward the shuttle and pausing to glance down at you. “Unless you’re afraid.”

With unexpected grace he stooped low and offered a massive hand to climb up onto. Without thinking you stepped onto his palm. You gasped watching the floor disappear beneath you, He lifted you steadily but not slowly. You reached for his thumb to keep yourself from falling. You were delicately hovered over the ship’s stairs that would have probably taken you a minute to clamber over. His courtesy saved you the embarrassment, however much it probably twisted him up to be handling an organic even for a moment.

Your pulse quickened as you stared at the shuttle, your mind racing with possibilities. It wasn’t like him to be this... inviting.

The flight was brief, the shuttle cutting smoothly through the vast emptiness of space. Megatron piloted in silence, his massive hands steady on the controls. You watched him from your seat, the datapad resting forgotten in your lap.

For all his power and size, there was something in the way he moved—calculated, as if every action was a careful negotiation with himself.

From the primary viewport you watched as the colossal spaceship you were currently calling home pass. For the first time you realized you had not actually seen the exterior of the Lost Light with your own eyes. It was grand, and beautiful. Light from a nearby star that the ship was currently within orbit of danced across her hull. Flashes of vibrant yellow and magenta light twinkled from reflections from her many viewports as you tried to take it all in. Craning your neck you tried to follow her before she disappeared behind the shuttle.

The flight was brief, the shuttle cutting smoothly through the emptiness of space.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “I’ve spent millennia convincing myself that the ends justified the means,” he said, his voice low. “That the destruction I wrought was necessary, even noble.”

You turned to him, surprised by the sudden admission.

“And now?” you asked carefully.

“Now I see the flaws in that ideology,” he said. “But recognition isn’t absolution. It’s not enough to simply see the damage. One must repair it.”

The shuttle slowed, docking gently against a small, empty platform on the ship’s exterior. Megatron powered down the controls and turned to you, his optics glowing faintly in the dim light.

“That’s what this is,” he said, gesturing to the datapad in your hands. “An attempt to repair.”

You swallowed hard. “I think you're on the way to making that true,” you said quietly. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and Megatron’s optics glowed ever so slightly. For a moment, he simply stared at you, and you felt a rush of heat climb up your neck.

His gaze settled on you and softened, just a fraction. Soft clicks and puffs of hydraulics emanated from his joints as his shoulders dropped.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But... even when surrounded by others, I’ve never felt more alone.”

The weight of his words hung heavy between you, and for a moment, the hum of the ship seemed to fade into nothingness. Megatron, the conqueror, the warlord, the leader—admitting something so raw, the honesty was so human.

"You might not think this, but I know the feeling,” you spoke slowly and intentionally before succumbing to the awkward tension. “ I- I mean.. My experience in this lifetime is nothing compared to your kind—I can’t begin to fathom what you’ve lived through. But you offered me a look inside, and despite everything you’ve done, I respect that deeply."

"I hope you know that."

The shift in his expression was subtle, but you could see it—something in the set of his jaw loosened just a little. Megatron vented slowly, his optics flicking away before settling back on you. For the briefest moment, he looked younger— almost boyish.

“I don’t know if that’s something I’ve earned,” he admitted, his voice quieter. He shifted in his seat, one massive hand running over the edge of the controls as if searching for something to occupy it.

"And yet," he continued, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary, "I think... I’d like to find my way back."

A brief, barely perceptible nod followed, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as he was telling you. He cleared his throat softly and looked ahead.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said at last.

The words were simple, but there was a weight to them—the kind of decisiveness that never left him, even now. He still spoke like a leader.

“We should return.”

You nodded, clutching the datapad as you slid off of the massive chair you had been placed on. The silence that followed was no longer heavy or strained; it felt like the beginning of an understanding, tenuous but real.

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