ra, original character, uses all pronouns but for the sake of clarity in this fic I only use they/them.
synopsis: with the pressures of the war mounting high ra is unable to regulate, so megatron aids his lovely conjunx only to come upon an unexpected result.
timeline note: post-sentinel ruling Iacon. the autobots and decepticons have been established.
cw(s): mdni [18+]β hurt/comfort, anxiety and overthinking (ra), valveplug: megatron eating out ra and jerking them off, seizure (ra), subordinate abuse (megatron taking his anger out on tarn)
"You're pacing again," Megatron murmurs, rolling over on the recharge slab. His optics boot up and he gets a better look at his conjunx: pedes dragging across the floor with their tail leaving indents, wings and finials flexing in that same succinct motion they do every time they're stressed. Their EM field is sporadic. All of their tightly coiled pressure is fizzling out in small waves as he coaxes them with his own field.
"Optimus is gaining crucial tactical points. The Autobots are overwhelming our dwindling forces. My kind fears another genocide at Optimus's servos, and I can barely keep their trust with half of the Matrix in me. Unicron is using his influence to aid Optimus and twist his processor, and I can feel every moment of it." Their servos reach up to clutch at their helm, as if it would stop the unceasing, torturous connection.
Megatron can feel his faceplate contort into something unlovingβbitter and wrathful. One servo curls inward as he slides off the berth and stalks toward them.
"Stop," he commands.
He doesn't realize that he's shaking until he embraces Ra from behind, resting his helm on their back between their splayed wings. They vent, stalling their frenzied movements. Their tail wraps firmly around his pedes. His servos press firmly against their frameβbare of armor for once, if only until they leave the habsuite againβmoving up to their chassis with the intent of paint transferring.
"Good."
A short yet audible purr escapes Ra at his praise. His servos settle over their spark chamber, where the Matrix has intertwined itself with them, and he forces those acerbic memories out of his main thought processes. Now isn't the time for his own turmoil.
"If I could take this all and make it my own burden, I would," he whispers, like an orison.
Their tail tightens around his pedes as he nuzzles into their spinal strut.
"That is what you always seek. We are conjunxes," their vocalizer wavers, "Our burdens are shared so the weight of them alone doesn't crush us."
Their servos settle over his. He feels optic lubricant meet his servos and it makes his spark ache dolefully.
"As long as I function you will not fall," he urges. More tears meet his servos. He swears they are staining them.
"I will." The finality in their words stupefies him. Their tail uncurls and they forcibly remove themself from him, only to turn around and cup his faceplate. They lean down. Their chasses are nearly touching. "I can feel it. I urge you to not become the chaotic force Unicron wishes you to be after my offlining."
Megatron scoffs as his own optics water.
Now it's his turn to settle his servos over theirs.
Their wings flex, finials tilting to the sides.
"Don't be a fool." His vocalizer nearly wavers but he manages to keep it strong.
"I know it hurts, having everything taken from you again and again and again." Their grip on his faceplate grows firmer as he attempts to shake his helm. His optics flicker with that deep shade of red, taking over his natural yellow hue. That Megatron-kind of intransigence ripples through his EM field.
"The war isn't over. You are still by my side and I intend to make the most of it." One of his servos rests against their interface panel, pressing it once. "If you'll let me."
Their plating bristles, field transitioning from slightly trepidatious and melancholy to avid interest.
Ra responds with forethought, "Tarn is guarding our chambers. He will hear us and get jealous." Ra's servos loosen their grip on him. Megatron grabs one of their wrists and leads them toward the berth.
"Don't spur me on," he grumbles.
"Merely a reminder of his true nature, Megatron."
He vents heavily and leads Ra onto the berth, having them vertically spread out. He climbs onto the slab, slotting himself between Ra's thighs. His knees rest against their thighs in case they get shy.
"Open for me."
Their interface panel retracts, revealing their inviting array components. Their ridged corkscrew spike is fully pressurized. The biolights in no small amount dot their spike, flashing in a familiar pattern. Need. It'd be a shame not to admire their plush valve, which is already leaking lubricant onto the berth. Their rows of calipers flex and squeeze in on themselves. The biolights in their valve flash eagerly, ready to breed.
What a sight to behold.
And it's all his.
He leans down until his chassis presses flat against the berth. His optics don't leave theirs as his glossa licks a quick stripe up their slit. Their helm falls back against the slab and a high-pitched noise hits his audials: their wings are leaving faint scratch marks on the slab. He smirks but reserves the taunt so intent on leaving his vocalizer.
Instead, he uses two digits to fully part their valve lips and rests his intake in between them, setting a steady pace at feasting on them. One of his servos grabs their thigh plating and kneads it while the other firmly wraps around their spike. He gives it a squeeze and they moan.
"M-Megatron!"
Their servos come up to grab ahold of his helm as he slowly strokes them. Their tail flicks impatiently against his interface panel. He takes that as his cue to suck on their primary node, sharpened denta barely grazing it. Their hips shift down onto Megatron's intake sloppily as more whines emanate from them. Their tail goes from groping his panel to thumping against his thigh. That specific sound of metal meeting metal conjures up an erotic memory instead of a battle one.
He begins to taste the sweetness of their transfluid but decides to remove his intake from their valve. Not before giving their primary node one more lick. He can feel their calipers squeezing his glossa and intake as he pulls out. He shifts his hips against the slab post in an attempt to ease some of the ache in his pressurized spike that is pressing so urgently against his modesty plating.
He refuses to pull back his panel yet.
They hiss at the removal of not only his intake from their valve but his servos from them as well. He rises to his pedes and looks at their stiffening frame. He's pleased for a moment. Then he gets that odious throe in his spark. The one he always feels when it comes to dealing with Prime.
Ra's entire frame begins convulsing, limbs rhythmically jerking in the way a Cybertronian does when their processor is failing them. Their EM field is transforming into something concerningβalmost translucent.
"R-Ra!"
He presses his frame against theirs in a panicked attempt to halt their movements.
"Ra!"
His servos grasp at their helm, attempting to keep it elevated and straight so they don't snap their neckstrut.
"Ra, Ra, Ra," he murmurs continuously, frame shaking as he stares at them helplessly. His grip on their helm tightens as they continue to lash out. Their wings push against his chassis, their tail yanking at his waist to force him off. "You aren't going to hurt yourself. I can't let you go."
Their optics have shut off. Energon is leaking from their joints.
"You bastardβOptimusβwhy are you doing this? Why are you doing this!? Was Arch not enough...?"
He bites into his bottom lipplate so hard that he draws his own energon. He won't allow himself to shed tears. Their seizure will pass. It has to pass.
"Lord Megatron."
His helm snaps up, plating bristling. He's about to bark orders at the soldier, but he realizes it's Knock-Out. Close behind him is Tarn, EM field tainted with anxious impatience.
"Your lovely guard dog here sent me a comm the same time the Nemesis pinged me that you required assistance." Knock-Out looks at Ra. "Perhaps more accurately, that your conjunx requires assistance."
Before he has a chance to respond, Tarn is touching their chassis, right over where half the Matrix of Leadership lies within them. Megatron snarls. His talons latch onto Tarn's wrist and yank him away from their plating.
"Out. Both of you."
"My Lord," Knock-Out begins, only to be swiftly cut off by Tarn.
"No."
"No?" Megatron's grip on Tarn's wrist becomes crushing. Knock-Out takes that as his cue to leave, but not before casting a pitying, perhaps even slightly worried, glance at Ra.
"I promised my loyalty to Ra far before I met you, Lord Megatron. I respect the both of you the utmost, which is why I cannot leave."
Why doesn't anyone understand!? They're his.
His. His. His.
Tarn doesn't make a move against Megatron, defensive or otherwise, when his lord breaks his wrist. He starkens when Megatron rises off of Ra but stays stationary as he sees that their writhing has tapered off. Tarn takes the multiple hits to his battle mask and armored frame with quiet pride. He makes as little noise as possible from them. It's as if even his armor wants to please Megatron.
Tarn collides with the floor; there is no reprieve.
"I could offline you, and you wouldn't do a thing," Megatron sneers, pede firmly planted on the side of Tarn's helm.
He responds unflinchingly, "Is that such a bad thing, my lord?"
He gets no answer.
The pressure on Tarn's helm eases as Megatron's pede returns to the floor of the Nemesis. Tarn sits upright and looks up at Megatron. Ra has managed to stagger over to him. They're trembling like a sparkling, freshly forged. Megatron is holding them firmly tucked against his chassis, fury forgotten.
Yan. Sunder being nearly destroyed beyond repair. He's dead. One with the Allspark. Well, very few believed he actually had a spark to begin with. The Tetrahex Ripper is no more.
So how did his "lifeless" corpse end up on Earth? Turns out a sadistic serial killer always kept a back-up plan in his processors and a few favors he'd be able to wield if worse came to worse.
In comes you.
Very long story short. Bots are flaky. Things didn't exactly go as planned. So while he did end up on Earth with just a hint of his spark, he had no one to repair him. It was more likely that he'd rust or get scrapped by local flora or fauna.
He'd come to know when he was able to function on his lowest level that you found him. Appearently there was a very large government cover up, but all the agents kept dying when trying to interact with his frame. Hmm. It seems that his security measures were a bit off in the long run but still worked pretty well. Eventually the place was blocked off with guards 24/7. Time went on and it was essentially abandoned except for security cameras. You know how budget cuts are.
You ended up in that area with no intentions on stumbling on not only him, but the rotted dead bodies that weren't even taken off site. It looked like a strange mass grave. Something out of a horror movie. Definitely all the more reason to turn around and never come back.
But you heard something. A nearly mute hiss. It continued but died out. You could see the faint glow but no longer hear that hiss. You fell into his trap. Human curiosity, ever the ender of many souls.
Fix up, er- attempt to fix this thing up? Impossible. Only a minicon popped from him and scrambled towards you frantically.
You gain one minicon friend and an entire data pad filled with, essentially, a dummy's guide on how to rebuild him.
Curiosity got the human stuck in the mnemosurgeon's grasp.
Hmm. Why didn't you question the minicon's fear? Why didn't you turn both bots into the government? Why did you risk so much for an alien you didn't even know? Whyβdid you trust him?
He owes you his life, so he'll take yours and keep you with him, forever.
πΌ β Listen, itβs a hard life, this world, for anyone born without means. Any as judges those who find it hard, is a fool. Iβm a lot of things, Iβm not quite a fool. β
cw(s): alluded to that Micah wanted to rape Karen (it doesn't happen), misogyny (if you squint), Karen saying she'd commit suicide via alcohol poisoning if reader died
β i'm more than a drunk or an outlaw β
She thought she could con you, but she was wrong. Then you became part of the gang, and that further muddied the waters. She avoided you, embarrassed that a slip-up let a stranger into their camp. At the very least, you're useful to them now.
She didn't start seeking you out until one night you stopped her from drinking too much. Originally she was mad, madder than Dutch when a plan goes sideways. Then she realized the eyes of that filthy rat Micah were on her. Her face became flushed from more than the alcohol. You sat by her as she slept to make sure she wasn't taken advantage of.
No one has ever really looked out for her like that. It felt different than going on a job and having the gang cover for her. It felt real.
You had no reason to help her. In fact, you had more reason to leave her there than most in camp.
You see something in her worth saving.
She decides she needs to prove herself to you.
β see me β
She isn't sure how to impress you, quite frankly. She doesn't know the first thing about, you so she asks around. She adapts like she's always had to.
She steals things that remind her of you and things she knows you need. She always chucks them at you and doesn't let you say thank you before she's already walking off. She rebuffs your thankfulness, although you can tell she appreciates it. Her heart is beating faster than a hummingbird any time she approaches you. She throws the things at you or sets them down near you because her hands are shaking. It's a fool's reaction, but she can't change it.
She tries to change how she looks for you. She tries to be subtle in her questioning of your preferences, but it's pretty obvious. If you tell her to knock off her nonsense about changing herself, she's floored. What do you mean you want her as herself? You see her? You actually see the woman behind the wit and gruff attitude? She'll stop trying to change how she looks, but she won't stop trying to look pretty for you. Your compliments make her feel good.
β home β
In her mind, she belongs to you. Not because you took her heart, but because you won her over. You're practically a saint. Well, perhaps a saint of scoundrels, but a saint nonetheless. That means she'll start to follow you. She'll snap when other members interrupt her time with you or interact with you in general. She's thrown more than a few bottles at a few heads because of it, mostly at Sean.
She makes it very clear she isn't interested in anyone else and is hesitant to even play the role of seductress when schmoozing people. She's gotten violent before. So violent that the other members tend to stay away from you now. They fear the instability of a woman like Karen. Your hands are the only ones she wants on her. The others feel so lifeless. She can't go back to feeling lifeless.
She doesn't believe you'll stay, so she doesn't dream of a future. She takes care of you now. She'll take care of you until you die. She doesn't want to think about that. If you died, she'd probably drink herself to death.
As much as the two of us are different, we're quite alike. You struggle to fit in, often unable to make the right faces. You don't understand social cues, sometimes needing things like sarcasm or innuendo explained to you. You struggle with things most people don't and hardly ever verbalize it. You have special needs like I do.
They aren't hard to accommodate. I don't understand why everyone always feels the need to make a big deal out of it. Letting you borrow a fidget toy I have or excusing you when everyone is being more difficult than normal is easy. It's like what my father did for me. It's almost... instinctual.
Sure, I'm not helping you out of the goodness of my heart. I studied your preferences and bought fidgets that fit your needs to get closer to you and learn how you work. By excusing you when you're overstimulated, I am earning your trust. I am establishing myself as a safe person for you.
The worst part isn't that I am manipulating you. It's that my manipulation comes across as more genuine than the people you interact with on the daily. In a way it is. From one outcast to another.
Perhaps that's why I'm so fascinated with you.
We're both outsiders looking in; I'm just better at hiding it.
Hello bro!! This is my first time requesting and is it okay if I'm π¦ anon?? I dont care what pronouns are used
Is it okay to ask for evil polycule(mgsV) deals with how huey treats teen darling gigles, like they start fuming at the thought of creepy uncle Huey complimenting how much darling has grown, thanks you!!
Yep, that's fine.
πΉ
cw(s): predatory behavior (Huey to teenage darling), mentions of teenage darling possibly getting sexually assaulted
Huey's being chained to a chair with cement bricks tied to it and thrown into the ocean. Only half kidding. The evil polycule has openly fantasized about doing that.
Huey won't cross that invisible social line but he'll walk on it like a tightrope all day.
Weird, off-putting comments and greedy stares are creepy but not something the evil polycule can get rid of him over. They do their damndest to keep him away from their teen darling. That's basically their child, whether biological or not is up to interpretation, and they don't play when it comes to their child's safety. That's why I can't see it being a very big problem. They simply isolate Huey and make him off-limits.
The only problem is if darling decides to talk more with Huey to spite the evil polycule in a rebellious way, or if they genuinely haven't caught onto his weird behavior and think the evil polycule is being unfairly strict and paranoid. That's when something could happen.
Darling will most likely get caught before they even step foot near Huey but if they don't he takes advantage of the situation. He'll tell them how evil the evil polycule is and how much of a victim he is. He only wants to help them. He wants to teach darling how to be an adult in the world instead of being coddled. [ He promises that he'll teach them how to be an adult and do adult things. He'll touch you but not in any way that you don't like. You've never been touched like that before but it isn't like it's anything bad. It's a secret you two get to keep to yourselves. ]
The bracketed scenario is what the evil polycule is terrified of, although they'll never admit it. They all have lost their autonomy in many ways and thinking of not only them failing darling, but darling being victimized on their watch is something none of them could live with.
Huey is so lucky that he's useful to the evil polycule and currently needs all his appendages.
I never know what to do in these situations. It's been happening more since I first saw you. I didn't know you'd become my fascination. I didn't know I'd end up exchanging nights working on bodies for meticulously memorizing everything about you. And here's another I don't know: tears or more aptly, sadness in this case.
I've never cried, honestly, or felt sad either. But here you are in a bad part of Miami, in the middle of the night, sobbing on a bus bench. It wouldn't be socially acceptable to approach you. What would I even say? 'Hi, I'm Dexter Morgan, serial killer extraordinaire and your future husband.'
You most likely would never marry someone like me. You deserve better. If I ever get caught, then it'd be unfair to drag you down with me. But I'm a selfish man with needs and desires of his own. And I won't get caught as long as I'm smart.
I put on a smile and reached the bus stop, acting as if my car weren't parked feet away, as if I handn't watched you walk out of that building and down the street to here where you promptly began crying. I attempt to put my hand on your shoulder to get your attention, but you quickly retreat, hands working overtime to make your face appear normal.
You rebuff my advances, and I end up standing in the cold with you in complete silence. Most people would find this awkward. I find that it's a perfect time to learn more about you and spend time with you. Perhaps you're getting more comfortable by the second because I've seen you in such a vulnerable position and shown that I'm not a threat. Or maybe you're busy scolding yourself for being so weak in front of an almost stranger. It's probably a bit of both. You put up a front, much like my sister.
Still, I haven't seen anything more eye-catching than you, wherever you are. I seem to always find you like a moth to a flame. I can't help but want to get closer.
That's why I end up stepping onto the bus and paying the fare to keep my cover. I sit far enough to where it isn't suspicious but close enough to where I can still see you well. You're quiet during the ride, shoulders hunched, eyes glued to your phone like it's the only thing keeping you alive. It takes an hour and forty minutes to get to your stop. You had fallen asleep by then, so I tap the edge of your seat, careful to give you enough space this time, and leave without saying a word.
Now I am far from my car but near your house. I may as well make sure you get into your home safe. I've already gone this far.
Ngl I need more of Dexter's Dark Passenger's writes, they're amazing and damn, you captured his personality so deliciously well ππππ
There will be four more parts to Dexter's Dark Passenger's writes as of now plus two smaller things in the Dexter fandom.
I definitely am proud of them.
I rarely write in the first person but first person is truly the best way to write Dexter, in my opinion, considering the fact that he lives inside his head so often.
Next part of Dexter's Dark Passenger's writes will be out tomorrow.
