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therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 29 days ago

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One shot IDW Megatron x Reader where they are a medic back in the mines before the war happens and some way some how they meet again at the Lost Light, pls?

♡ "KNOWING YOUR PAST" — Megatron [IDW]

im not sure if i have written the very well but i tried my best! i love IDW megs so i get nervous when writing him. i literally love him so much its not even funny-

scenario: a medic and ex-warlord thrown into a room because the captain sensed tension. cue awkward catching up.

setting: aboard the Lost Light, Rodimus locked you in a room with your ex-crush

Being on the Lost Light after Megatron opted to make the war shattering decision to become an Autobot, he's been retrospecting. Especially with the time he's had on the ship. While most of the crew weren't exactly friendly with him, he wouldn't really blame them. If someone started a war which killed off most of everyone you know and ruined your entire planet and Megatron had to share a ship with that individual? He wouldn't be pleased either.

But Megatron is learning. Empathy, introspection. It's a “journey to find himself”, just like how that Deadlock, now known as Drift put it.

Back then, he never really bothered to retrospect. His ego claimed he was far too high for such a thing but now, the weight of his actions have been crushing him with unmistakable and unspeakable regret. That much is true. And so, it's almost like he hesitates to think of the past. Not that he doesn't want to retrospect— It's a part of growth, he's come to recognize that.

But then… there's you.

And by Primus, does he want to avoid you…

He has been. Wonderfully. So far at least. And you seem to understand that, walking away from his general direction the moment he's in your periphery. You're pretty much avoiding him too. Quite simple to do given how he's dark and brooding, you definitely don't seem to be interested in mingling with those types. Or really, anyone at all. You are quiet here. Almost as forgettable as Rung to the others. But of course, not to Megatron.

You're like a relic from his past in every sense. You were there from the start as a miner, then briefly as a medic in the gladiatorial pits of Kaon, then a short while in service of the Decepticons as a field medic before becoming a neutral and then shifting to a full time Autobot Medical Officer. It's quite the story— you've seen him from every perspective and watched him grow from every angle. A quiet observer. And somehow, he's managed to encounter you every single time when you're in a new phase of your life— He doesn't understand how. It's like the universe was playing some sparkdamn prank on him. You've managed to encounter him enough times to know him well enough.

Yet he doesn't know a single thing about you.

And so, it is painfully awkward to be here with you, again. It's like the two of you were destined to meet only ever in the most awkward pretense possible and Megatron would've wanted to personally crush Rodimus’ helm open for that had he been his younger, ruthless self but he keeps telling himself that he's a better mech now. He isn't sure how many “I'm a better bot now” he has left in him as the you and him are now stuck in this room together. Rodimus said something about the ‘awkward tension’ between the two of you creating ‘disharmony in the balance and the crew dynamic’ but before Megatron could ask what fragging balance the speedster was yapping on about, he was promptly thrown into this room with you. He suspects Rodimus somehow brought either Ultra Magnus or Fortress Maximus onboard with this idea and that baffles him.

He knows you probably feel the same way the rest of the crew feels, the silence between the two of you is deafening. Megatron’s black digits gently tap the surface of the seat he's sitting on while you seem to be busy fidgeting with your own digits, looking down away from him, as if you were dragged in here against your will as well. He empathises with you.

The bench you two sit on is connected to the wall. Megatron looks down at your seated figure, almost coy. But it's the sheer awkwardness of this situation that's weighing on him. You… really haven't changed a bit from your time at the mines. He can almost remember it fondly.

You were a young miner like him but fortunate enough to stumble upon thrown away medical datapads, using them to train yourself to be an unofficial medic of sorts. It's not like you could afford to take the license to be an official medical practitioner but it was admirable nonetheless; working double shifts but still teaching yourself the fundamentals of Cybertronian anatomy— especially for frames of the lower classes like the two of you were. Perhaps it was your determination he admired or maybe your kindness— you were willing to use what you learnt to help others down there, including himself. Even gave him pointers, enough to take care of minor injuries by himself and he did always want to be a medic.

Primus, the way he used to look at you back then. It's embarrassing, Megatron's opinion. The two of you are much, much older than then now so it's not like those feelings linger. You probably didn't even know his designation was back then, too awkward to say anything to you and he remembers how spark-crushing it felt when you first addressed him as ‘Impactor's friend’.

Don't even get him started on the embarrassing amount of poetry—

“You… You still into poetry?” You ask and in turn break the suffocating silence, finding the strength to look up at him despite the sheer awkwardness from this entire confrontation. You probably expected to spend more time at the medbay with Ratchet instead of being cooped up in a room with the ex-Warlord himself. It seems you're still kind & generous, generous enough to spare him from having to think of something to say. Megatron shifts in his seat uncomfortably, your Tarnian accent, the informality of it, it reminds him of the mines; it's nostalgic in a way.

“You… know of my poetry?” He replies, somewhat surprised you'd remember. But keeping his composure. Megatron didn't really share any of his works to his fellow miners, only ever publishing them under his pen-name. You just blink at him confused, you backstruts straightening a little as you sit with proper posture, almost as if you're alert.

“Of course, I do! Remember when you got off that rocket fuel Impactor smuggled and—”

“Please. Do not. Don't… Don't remind me of that.” The moment you mentioned rocket fuel and Impactor smuggling, the memory hit him like a flash bang. His tone is quiet, not dangerously quiet but the sort of quiet you have when your mother embarrasses you in front of her friends. Megatron felt oddly.. small at that moment, in a way he's never felt. You still remember that!? Oh Primus. It's nostalgic but it wasn't one of his proudest moments. Drunk off his aft from cheap smuggled fuel and proceeded to recite poetry to a small audience, he must've been too intoxicated to realize you were there that day.

Megatron fails to realize that he's accidentally shut down your attempt at conversation and you go quiet. Looking back down at your servos, you're back to fidgeting your digits.

More awkward silence ensues.

Every astrocycle feels like vorns.

Megatron sighs. It's his turn. He needs to get a grip of himself. He's cold and calculative but it seems he can't control what he feels as if he's some sparkdamn newly-built fresh off the assembly. He takes in a vent, just to prepare himself. Conversation has never felt so frustrating before.

Megatron feels nothing for you. He knows that. It's been eons since he's seen you the last time, the way your frame looks slightly worn is proof of that. To be blunt, the two of you are relics of the past. Whatever happened in those mines, stays in those mines was what he always told himself. But that might not be what you tell yourself. Megatron has to remind himself of that, the nostalgia weighs in on his old spark— He feels younger somehow, sitting next to you. Too conscious about himself to really say a word to you despite his subtle interest you were oblivious to.

“Did you.. like my poetry?” He asks, his optics slowly moving to look over at you. Megatron's helm unmoving as his servos are crossed over his chassis, he looks as disinterested as ever despite his internal conflict on what to say. A naturally cold face which took a lot of effort for him to keep.

“Well…” You take a moment to recall his drunken words. “I think an opinion would've been possible if you weren't slurring over your words.” You smile a bit, it's a fond smile. You don't seem to have the same… sadness Megatron has when recalling the mines.

“Hm. Shame I don't have the original copy then.” He mumbles out, trying not to feel anything from that smile. No. No, you deserve so much better than him. You were just a silly crush to him, nothing more. Most of his poetry was unfortunately destroyed by the functionists after his relocation to Messatine.

Megatron remembers so well— How your rough digits would fix his faceplates with such soft gentleness that only a lover could replicate or how your servos would tenderly hold onto his dislocated stabilizing servo after a cave in, before the sharp pain shooting up his frame when you give it a rough but precise yank. You've saved his life more times than he can count, really.

“What was I even reciting about? It's astonishing how you can even remember that.” He asks, filling in the silence. His helm turned over to look at as you hum, trying to recall.

“Something about a lover's caress and sparks that heal.” You say as you think. His frame stiffens and goes thankfully unnoticed by you.

Megatron wrote that one about you.

“Ah. Well.. hm.. That wasn't my proudest work.” He says, taking a sharp in-vent before he hums, almost flustered. Almost. The stone-faced facade was easy to keep up, years after commanding a war made it appear natural.

“Oh, I thought it was beautiful. Really… spark touching.” You reassure and it somehow makes the odd flustered-ness arise in his spark, it's foreign. He hasn't felt this way in millennia. Your response is earnest but you seem to struggle to find the exact words, much like himself. A relief. It's not just him that's struggling with Rodimus’ idiocy. “Even if you were slurring them out. I just wish more of it was actually intelligible.” You add on.

“At least it wasn't as embarrassing as I thought it must've been.” Megatron mumbles as he leans against the wall with a sigh. He remembers when Impactor told him what happened, Megatron never put his servos on rocket fuel ever again.

“Do you still write?” You ask, looking at him with curiosity. Refusing to allow the awkward silence creep into the conversation again.

“Last time I wrote something, it triggered a civil war.” Megatron's gruff voice sounds somewhat tired— He loved writing. Megatron managed to write a few poems here and there as a gladiator even but once the war started, he had almost no time at all for his forgotten hobby. Four million years out of practice until recently.

You just laugh a bit at his dry humor.

“I meant poetry, not philosophy or politics.”

Megatron pauses for a moment. He did have some poems. Considering has quite literally no one to converse with on this ship means he has his free time despite his co-captainly duties.

“Well,” He starts off with a somewhat softer tone. “I have been.. practicing as of late. A lot more free time than I'm accustomed to.” He admits, Megatron is really not used to having nothing to do— which is both relieving and frustrating. Megatron has so many questions to ask you but he doesn't know how to. How did you end up being a medic at the gladiatorial pits he was in? Why did you become a Decepticon? Why did you become neutral for a short while? What turned you to the Autobots?

“Yes, that's a good way to keep yourself occupied. I usually just… sculpt things.”

Oh. You sculpt? Megatron didn't know that. He's going to take a mental note of that. His helm turns towards you, crimson optics narrowing curiously at you. There's so much he doesn't know.

“You sculpt?”

You nod. “Yes, I wanted to be a sculptor. I like making things.” You add on. You're quiet and well-mannered. Probably because the two of you are much older now, of course you'd be more mature. At least it makes it easier for him to converse with you. Megatron finds an odd sense of irony in your words.

“Hm. I wanted to be a medic.” Megatron mutters out, looking at your face sends a rush of somber nostalgia.

“I remember. You told me when I was fixing your face after–”

“The cave-in at sector Delta 12.” Megatron finishes your sentence, he didn't mean to interrupt but you just seemed to remember everything. It surprises him. You gave him some pointers on how to fix himself after that incident. That was the first time he met you, Impactor said he knew someone that could give Megatron a quick fix— Megatron didn't really have the financial situation to pay for any of the medics, not to mention how atrocious their prices were so he hesitantly agreed.

“How do you remember all of that?” Megatron asks with a surprising amount of sincerity. You keep digging up old memories the war had washed away with its tides, memories beneath layers of sand.

“Hm. I'm actually not sure. I just do.” You shrug. Perhaps this was a reminder as to how far from his path he had deviated, to a point where even the fonder memories he had as a miner were buried. They were surviving under the Senate but not living, so the younger Megatron threw away all he knew from the mines. Everything other than hate and anger.

“I suppose my memories of you stuck with me because I… uhm…” He notices your hesitance and quirks up an optical ridge, you're struggling to find the words just like him. There is a subtle heat from your faceplates as you're sitting there.

“I had a liking of sorts.. towards you.”

For a moment, Megatron’s world stopped spinning and his crimson optics widened a bit— Had he been that young miner from Tarn, he would have rejoiced on the inside and been a clueless mess on the outside. Maybe even wrote a poem about it when he got to his excuse of a living space.

“You.. You did?” Megatron is not sure what else to ask.

You once again nod but slower, almost like you're embarrassed. It's sort of hilarious to think about, a four million year old delayed confession.

“I'd rather not talk about it but I liked how soft-spoken and polite you were. Smart and real poetic. I thought that was attractive.” Your admission might've made him smile a bit. A bit.

The universe has a strange sense of humor. That was the only conclusion Megatron could draw because his spark was back to its fluttering like it used to when he saw you back then and he had to physically stop himself from thinking about punching his chassis to make it stop.

He still barely knew you.

Megatron is not a young miner anymore.

But again, Primus knows how long Rodimus intends to keep the two of you here.

Ah. To the Pit with it. He's getting the chance he never got back then. Might as well use it to get to know you better. You don't seem to be as hesitant as conversing with him as compared to the rest.

awkward moments with an ex-warlord because your captain wants to drive Megs insane

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