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Summary
Don't let the suit fool you, Megatron is still 100% a Platinum champion of the Koan pit.
Story
Megatron hated galas. He’d hated them since the novelty wore off — the novelty of being rich enough, important enough, required to attend them.
Once, the invitation alone would’ve meant he’d won. Now? It just meant another evening of political theatre, lukewarm high‑grade champagne, and watching Optimus Prime flirt with unity while the humans fawned over their war trophies.
The only real highlight? Watching what Starscream wore. That — and the high‑grade champagne. Even that had started to taste watered down.
Still, as the leader of the Decepticons, he was required to attend these “Unity Events” with his second‑in‑command. For appearances. For balance. Balance — as Prime liked to preach.
So when a massive cake was wheeled in, with “Autobots” spelled wrong in red icing… Megatron assumed it was strippers.
He was only half wrong. Terrorists. Wannabe revolutionaries, playing at rebellion with shaky hands and 3D‑printed weapons.
It took everything in his power not to laugh — his arm around a shaking Starscream. But his Seeker wasn’t afraid. She was laughing.
A red‑tipped claw brushed the center of Megatron’s chest — a silent cue. He looked down. Starscream was watching him. Locked optics. Just them.
A snicker slipped from his vents. A wide grin spread across his face — all fangs and fondness, mirrored by Starscream’s own.
He turned, walked past the appointed chair — and chose his own. And sat. Clunk. His full resting weight landed like a gavel.
Then — the soft click of heels on marble. Starscream followed, calm as a queen, as if the ballroom hadn’t just turned into a hostage crisis.
She paused, about to say more. Tilted her head. Then waved it off with a smirk.
She sat. Right in Megatron’s lap. Exactly the way the terrorist had wanted.
A young mech stepped forward with a chain, hands trembling. He began to wrap the chains around them — gingerly, carefully.
Megatron laughed with her. The livestream drones twirled about the gala, giving the Neonet one hell of a show.
Livestream Chat
- 🟢 ChairNotChosen: HE SAT IN THE WRONG CHAIR. THE DISRESPECT IS COSMIC.
- 🔵 ScreamQueenSupreme: She just—SHE JUST WALKED PAST THE GUY LIKE HE WAS FURNITURE. My skin cleared.
- 🟣 Megatronics69: Bro said “so?” and the terrorist folded like laundry. I’m wheezing.
- 🟡 HighGradeAndHighFashion: custom. heels. during. a. hostage. situation. Starscream is the moment.
- 🔴 HotBotHysteria: THE LAP. SHE SAT IN HIS LAP. I AM NOT WELL.
- 🟢 TerroristTearsLive: “That’s not the chair I assigned you!” bro you think you have assigning power over MEGATRON?
- 🟣 AestheticAggression: She paused. Looked at him. Said “Nah.” And sat in her man’s lap like a THRONE.
- 🔵 IronChainShame: NOT THE BABY MECH TRYING TO WRAP THE CHAINS. He’s so brave. So doomed.
Prime finally threw a damn good party — complete with explosives, armed revolutionaries, and Megatron tied to a chair like a bored god at brunch. At least, according to Megatron.
The pathetic terrorists with their 3D‑printed guns had swarmed the Cybertronian Unity… whatever… gala.
Honestly, Megatron hated these things. They were just lovely excuses for Prime to preach and glad‑hand with the humans — all on livestream, of course. Optimus Prime was passionate about an open‑door policy with the public.
Megatron had never been so entertained at a gala.
He was tied to a chair with weak little iron chains, arms straight down, resting on his knees.
Click. Latch.
The sound of Megatron’s platinum chain being latched to Starscream’s ruby pendant. A feeling of love — of comfort — ran between them.
He almost shuddered.
Megatron looked down at the purring creature chained to his lap. Chest to chest. Her legs folded neatly over his thigh. The dress, which he happened to like, clung to her like spilled ink.
Sweetheart neckline, off‑the‑shoulder bell sleeves — hugging her frame like a glove in deep midnight black. Starscream’s cheek was pressed to his chest, the ruby choker fused to her neck cables latched firmly to Megatron’s platinum chain.
Which, frankly, had put both warlords in a very lovely mood.
Megatron captured Starscream’s lips in a good, long kiss — completely forgetting about the livestream drones.
Normally, Megatron and Starscream were very private about their relationship. So this simple act of stealing a kiss, thinking no one was watching?
Neonet‑breaking.
Livestream Chat
- 🟢 VibingDuringCrisis: THEY’RE FLIRTING??? we are in the middle of an ARMED STANDOFF
- 🟣 ConFessionsLive: this is softcore foreplay and I’m not okay
- 🔵 BondageLoreLives: “THE LATCH CLICKED. THE CHAIN SYNCED. I NEED HOLY WATER"
- 🟡 SecurityIntern17: “THEY’RE ACTIVATING COUPLE PROTOCOLS I THOUGHT THAT WAS BANNED?!”
Behind her, Megatron stood. The chains broke. His armor locked into gladiator form — echoing clicks like sacred gunfire.
His optics flared red.
Starscream joined him — armor reshaping to elegance, wings wide.
The terrorist fainted.
- 🟣 StarscreamStansUnite: “WHAT’S A KING TO A GOD” — I’m deceased.
- 🔵 UnityPDAUpdate: please confirm if this was scripted because it felt scripted.
- 🟡 IStanChains: the way the choker tugged when she walked off? I need therapy.
A younger terrorist by the buffet lowered his weapon. “I… I think he peed himself.”
Another raised a hand. “Uh — do I surrender? To the cuddly ones? Or the angry blue one?”
He sat down, locking his hands behind his head. Elita groaned. “I hate this century.”
- 🟣 DeceptiCoreAfterDark: not him lighting a cigar while Prime mops up 😭
- 🔵 ConeheadCrisisWatch: if the Seekers show up this turns into an execution livestream
- 🟡 WarCrimesAndWings: “stretch their wings on a few soft targets” — is that a threat or a promise
Prime stood amid the wreckage, face twitching. Elita muttered something that might’ve been a prayer.
Across the ballroom, Megatron — cigar between his fangs — helped Starscream into her jacket.
Behind them, the ballroom still smoldered. Ahead, the press drones were already circling.
🗎 Council Summary Briefing — Internal Memo
From: Cybertronian Unity Oversight Council
To: Global Humanitarian Commission
Date: November 12, 2025
Subject: Incident Report – Unity Gala Hostage Crisis
No casualties. No demands. No press conference. Just… chaos.
They walked out arm‑in‑arm while we’re still running damage control.
This is the third incident in six months.
They don’t even make statements.
They just do things. And then leave. Like nothing happened.
And you want me to explain that to the Global Humanitarian Commission?
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