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formidxble · 4 years ago

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summary: you and chan follow a routine every night. tonight’s different.

pairing: bang chan x female reader

word count: 3.1k

genre: angst, like Extreme Angst™️, college!au, established relationship

warnings: a lot of swearing, toxic relationship, mentions of sex ( oh and btw, this is not beta read. we die like men)

note: omg? finally? i got to write something and now i’m posting it on here? confidently??? who is she, we don’t know her! enough jokes though, this is my first fic ever that’s going to be posted on this platform, so i’m excited! constructive criticism and feedback are welcome 👉🏻👈🏻.

tagged ❤️: @popisdead @hanflix

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

it’s become routine at this point.

when chan sees your room’s light turn off, it’s a signal that your roommates are now headed to bed and that you’re ready to come out and meet him. it’s been a busy few months for the both of you and the nights were the only time you two could meet. he’s a business major working on his business proposals for the semester and you’re a performing arts student, preparing for this semester’s art production. saying it was hard to make time to see each other was an understatement. nevertheless, you two made sure you still met, may it be only for a few minutes. some nights you were lucky, being able to meet for an hour or so. nights were reserved for chan and for chan only.

after putting on your coat, you reached out for the door knob as you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. “are you coming or not? i’m freezing” you sigh softly.

the first few nights were fun, you have to admit. impromptu grocery shopping for the both of your food supplies for rest of the week, a few make out sessions here and there, and sometimes, leading to even more if you both were lucky enough. it gave you a high you never thought you would ever come down from. whenever he kissed you after a long day, you felt as if the weight on your shoulders fell off, even for just a moment. whenever chan held you in his arms and told you it was going to be okay, your chest loosened, even for just a moment. chan was the calm in the chaos and when you were in his car, holding his hand and feeling his lips lingering on yours, he provided the needed break you longed for during the day.

but, as the days and weeks passed by, the nights became shorter and quieter. rides became quicker and the good conversations slowly turned into mere small talk. no longer would he give you soft touches, no longer would he ask how your day went, and no longer would chan look at you the way he did before. no more i love you’s, no more second glances when he dropped you off at your dorm during the early hours of the morning. you excused the change of behavior as the result of your fatigue in school. the change was expected, you always told yourself.

it’s become a mantra now, something you repeated to yourself as you lied in bed at night, a routine. a routine.

you close your eyes for a moment as you twist the doorknob to open the door. you focus on your phone again as soon as you got out of your dorm. “coming."

you spotted chan’s car a mile away. before, he would put the window down to greet you, a soft smile spreading across his face. now, you were faced with the car’s tinted windows, your reflection staring back at you as you wrapped your fingers around the handle of the car door. you heard the lock click.

“hey,” you mumbled. you heard a soft hum in response. you quietly put the seatbelt on, relaxing your back on the seat as you stared ahead. chan was on his phone, seatbelt off. light from his phone illuminated his features. the bags under his eyes were a little bit more prominent than the last time you noticed. you wonder if he’s been eating, getting enough sleep, but you weren’t in the position to ask now. not when frustration is starting to boil in your chest.

you didn’t know if you should call him out. it was his way to unwind as well, but then again, he was there to pick you up for a short date. this was the only time you both had for yourselves, yet here he was, texting away on his phone. this shouldn’t annoy you as much as it does now because chan does this whenever he was waiting.

“hey,” you repeat louder. chan looks up from his phone, an eyebrow raised.

“yes?” he asks, turning his phone off. the two of you are surrounded in darkness, with only the light from the lamp posts outside lighting the interior of the car.

“what do you mean, ‘yes?’ are you serious?” chan furrows his eyebrows at your words as he straps himself in. he turns to you, blinking. you suck in a breath.

“this is the only time we get to spend together and you’re on your phone? are you ser—“

“i’m sorry. there,” he breathes, “can we move past this? i’m not in the mood to fight.” he interrupts. you open your mouth to say something back, but you’re cut off by the movement of the car.

the air inside the car was heavy, heavier than usual. sure, you and chan had a couple of unresolved fights the other nights and sure, you spent you early mornings crying over him, but it should have been resolved with the few kisses he gives you, right? then why are you so upset now? chan makes amends, tells you he’s sorry for raising his voice, for ignoring you the whole day. he was busy, right? of course he’ll end up not texting you. he kisses the pain away, even though he’s the reason for said pain. he talks his way out and if he avoids the topic of the fight, you wouldn’t mind. that was the routine. but not tonight, apparently.

“you’re always not in the mood.” you whisper, crossing your arms in front of your chest. you watch the trees outside of the car starting to blur as chan’s driving sped up. this night will end as quick as it started, you thought. you hear a sigh beside you.

“i just—“ chan starts, “i can’t fight anymore, y/n. i’m tired.”

“and you think i’m not?” you answer back, looking at the man beside you, “god, we never talk anymore, chan. all we ever do is fuck the pain away and—“

you’re cut off by the sight of chan’s knuckles slowly turning white on the steering wheel. you almost don’t see the way he clenches his jaw. he pulls the car over at the side of the road and for a second, you think you two will be able to finally talk about your issues, the problems that were never muttered, but still plagued your relationship. god knows you wanted to hear from him, anything— fuck, just anything to finally resolve it, fix it. to finally end the routine you both had. but that hope shatters as soon as his mouth opens.

“what do you want me to say? we’ve been okay, we’ve been fin—“

you let out an exasperated sigh, eyes meeting his, “we aren’t fine, chan, we haven’t bee—“

“what do you mean?” chan questions. he removes his seatbelt to turn to you. a gentleman he still was, even though you knew he was avoiding the topic. again. “fuck, what do you want me to say? i was on the phone. how does that merit a full blown argu—“

“it’s not about the damn phone!” you exclaim, finally feeling the frustration in your chest blow over.

were you going crazy? why didn’t he see the changes? doesn’t he feel the frustration? were you the only one feeling this way, then? does he feel that everything was okay or were you that good at acting that everything was okay, that nothing was wrong? you run a hand down your face as you try to collect yourself. the car became quiet, as always. chan was never really vocal about things like this and let you do the talking. maybe this is why issues were never resolved.

“then, what is it about?” chan mumbles, eyes never leaving your form. you let out a soft scoff.

"what is it abou—are you kidding me? are you fucking with me?”chan raises an eyebrow in response, furrowing it afterwards. he lets out a sarcastic laugh after a few beats of silence. he shook his head as he turned to face the road again.

“is this fight going to last all night? if so, i’d rather just drop you off,” he starts to put his seatbelt on, "we can continue our date when you’re not this moody."

and at that moment, your world nearly stops. the silence in the car was loud and the tension, if you could see it, could be cut with a knife. his words echo in your mind as the car starts moving again, chan preparing to make a u-turn to go back in the direction of your dorm.

“not...this...moody?” you repeat to yourself. chan nonchalantly hums in response.

you couldn’t even look at this man anymore. it was as if you didn’t know him anymore. he carried the name of your boyfriend, but was he really the chan you knew? the chan you knew won’t be able to say these things to you, let alone treat you like this. you feel like a deer in headlights, shocked at how everything led up to this moment. and to think that the turning point of your relationship was something as simple as chan being on his phone. you closed your eyes as you tried to fight the lump forming in your throat.

“so, what am i supposed to do?” you ask. "just go home and think about what i did? what i said?”

chan shrugs. he shrugs. you couldn’t believe how he didn’t take this conversation seriously. was it because you’ve been in this exact same situation before? sure, fights have been frequent, but were they frequent to the point that chan just straight up ignored them? to the point that he never brought the topics up again? no effort to try and fix it?

was he that tired that he was willing to let everything pass? let you suffer in silence?

“stop the car,” you whisper shakily. chan doesn’t listen, though. he never does, he rarely does. he never listens anymore.

“chan, please stop the car,” you feel stupid begging, but that does it. he stops the car again, your dorm building in sight. his knuckles start to turn white again, but he closes his eyes this time. you hear him take a sharp inhale through his nose.

“i can’t fight anymore, y/n, please, just...we can fix it tomorrow, whatever it is.”

you let out a soft sob at his words. “chan, you always say that, god, you always say that.”

chan grips his steering wheel tighter. “yes, i do, but we always fix it. we always end up fixing it.”

“no, we fucking don’t!” you scream now, releasing the frustration that has been clawing to come out, “no, we don’t fix things, we fuck it away and we pray that things magically turn okay in the morning, but it never does! it never fucking does!”

chan stays quiet, eyes drifting to the car floor. you wish you could know what he was thinking. you wish he would talk to you, tell you what he really felt instead of just sitting there. god, were you tired. you were tired of pretending things were okay when they aren’t. you were tired of telling yourself it would be fixed, that the relationship would go back to normal, but it never does. and you just somehow have to live with it because that’s how it is with you and him. that’s the routine, right? and even though you hated it, you tolerated it because you loved him. but people will reach an end point, one way or the other. you can’t help but feel that this was yours.

“loving you is so exhausting, chan, i—“ your voice cracks, “i’m supposed to be content with this treatment? you and i not talking the whole day and then meeting at night just to make up for lost time, have sex, and pretend that everything’s okay, that the fights have not gotten out of hand, that we’re going to be ok—“

“we are going to be okay, fuck, it’s not that easy,” chan mumbles, “i’m trying, y/n, but i can’t give you everything you need, not anymore.”

silence fills the car and it engulfs the two of you.

"what changed?" you sob softly, tears now slowly flowing down your cheeks. it was okay, a few weeks ago. days became busier, tasks became heavier, but did that mean that your relationship had to deteriorate the way it has been?

“nothing changed, please, y/n,”chan breathes, not turning to look at you, “we just got busier and—"

“we weren’t like this, chan, we used to talk about things. w-we used to...talk. we can’t even do that now? am i asking for too much? i shouldn’t be begging for your time, chan, please—“you cry out softly. “why am i always second to you, chan? i try to be the best for you, chan, please.”

chan lets out a shaky breath as he tries to find the words to respond with. “y/n, it’s not y—“

“spare me the bullshit. spare me the "it’s not you, it’s me”. at least, be honest with me.” you say firmly, wiping away the tears on your cheeks harshly.

“i...i just don’t feel like i’m ready for this yet, okay? i want to fo—"

your feel something in your chest. a pain you’ve never felt before. chan’s words become a blur as you feel your back hit the seat.

you’re taken back to a time in your childhood when you were trying out the jump rope your friends had. being the idiot you were, you jumped in time with the rope and it tangled on your feet. you ended up falling on your chin, scraping it in the process. the pain rang through your skull and for a while, you couldn’t move, tears merely streaming down your cheeks. and to that that one time during one of the art productions in university, you ended up falling off of the stage. of course, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but maybe if they turned on the lights before lowering the stage, you wouldn’t have broken your ankle. you remember how worried chan was, but most importantly, you remember how much it hurt. you couldn’t walk and if you tried, it would shoot pain up your leg.

adding all the pain you’ve felt in all those moments, it wouldn’t amount to the pain you feel now.

not ready? not ready after 3 years? how could he say that? this was the man you saw your future with, someone who was supposed to be your soulmate. that was him, that was chan. the nights you shared, the words you uttered, were all those fake? were all those just to make everything feel okay?

not ready?

not ready.

the words echo in your mind like a broken record. were you supposed to beg him to stay? beg him to be ready when he just admitted that he wasn’t? as you turned to look at him, you didn’t see the chan who loved you. instead, it was the shell of the man who used to love you, care for you. fuck, was love supposed to hurt this bad? you feel your heart starting to crack even more.

if this was love, you didn’t want it. not anymore.

“drop me off,”you mumble after a deafening silence, voice shaking as a sob threatens to come out of your mouth. chan turns to look at you, finally. you don’t meet his eyes anymore. you, instead, just look straight ahead. if he wasn’t ready for a commitment, even after 3 long years, then you were not about to beg him to stay. chan opens his mouth to say something, but you notice that he just swallows his words. he turns to look in front of him as he pushes on the gas again to drive back to your dorm. if he wasn’t ready, then he wasn’t ready. there’s no point in trying to convince him he is. the next best thing is to leave and let him figure out what he needed to figure out. if he needed space, he could have told you. what bothered you the most is the fact that chan’s always been about communication, but somehow and somewhere along the journey, he changed. maybe that’s just how it goes.

when he pulls up in front of your dorm building, chan turns to look at you again, eyes scanning your features. “i’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

you shake your head, eyes closing as you tried to fight the urge to cry again. the question he asked has always confused you. it was always like this, that even after a fight, he expects to see you again, the same time, the same place. you were tired and it didn’t help that you now knew why he wasn’t acting the same— he wasn’t ready to commit to you, even after all this time.

“i’m ending it here, chan."

“ending what?”

ending the routine, ending the cycle, ending us. these words rang through your head and you didn’t know which to answer. was he acting aloof so that he could get off easily? that maybe you’ll let him off again because he somehow can’t understand what was happening? you swallowed.��

“us, chan, i—i can’t go on like this anymore,” you pause. was this what you really wanted or were you doing this to prove a point? you weren’t sure, but one thing’s clear, you had to do this, not only for him, but for you. you can’t subject yourself to this cycle anymore. you had to break it sooner or later. “when i get out of this car, we’re over."

chan’s car became a place of love and security in a world full of uncertainty and chaos. it was where you both spent time together when you needed a break, when you needed to be together. now, it was a place of loneliness and despair. it became a place full of resentment and unresolved issues and you can’t help but wonder how chan will be able to sit in his car again without thinking of this moment. before he could respond, you were out of the car.

in the back of your mind, you hoped that he would call you, run after you. beg you to stay, tell you that everything will be fixed if you just gave him time. you prayed in your head desperately. if he did so, you know you’ll come crawling back to him. if he showed some sort of care, some sort of longing, some sort of initiative that he wanted things to work out, that he wanted this as much as you do, then maybe you’ll come back to him again. that’s how it always was, right?

right?

behind you, you hear the car drive away.

#stray kids #bang chan au #bang chan x reader #skz #college!au #bang chan #the way i sobbed while writing this is criminal #kpop scenarios #kpop #skz imagines #bang chan angst #skz chan #skz angst #thanks for reading!!#kim tries to write #archive #stray kids imagines #skzstorynet

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snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales · 4 years ago

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Trial and Error (Derek x Reader)

A/N: This has been something living in my brain for a while, and I decided to get it out, along with 5 prompts.

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

Thank you to @xteenwolfwritingsx and @mymonandsymon for looking this over for me!

Warnings: Some language. As close to smut as I write, (If you squint.) Mostly just fluff, though.

Word count: 1,646

Anon said: “"I'd kill you on the spot if you weren't so nice to look at. Because, full offence, your personality needs a lot of work."”

Anon said: “Can you do 93 & 99 w/ derek hale pls :) thank you!”

(93. “Forget it. You fucking suck.”

99. “Don’t be an asshole. Asshole.”)

Anon said: “Hello! I was wondering if you would be willing to do numbers 8 and 101 with Derek Hale from the the most recent list you have posted? If not it’s okay, thank you ❤️”

(8. “You didn’t just wake me up at 2am because you were ‘in the mood’.”

101. “You got a cute butt.”)

Xxx

You’d barely made it into the loft before you were pinned up against the far wall, Derek holding your hands up on either side of your head at the wrists, his grip much tighter than it should be, but not as much as it could be.

“I thought I told you to stay on your side of the city,” he hissed out, face inches from yours, eyes glowing red, and a low growl rumbling in his chest.

His eyebrows knit in confusion at your smirk, his body pressing against yours as you made a halfhearted effort to push you both off the wall.

Rolling your eyes, you let out a breathy chuckle, which only made him cock one eyebrow up in either amusement or disbelief, you weren’t sure.

“What the hell is so funny?” He asked, both his tone and his weight easing up a bit.

His mistake.

“Oh, nothing,” you mused, looking up and away from him for a few seconds before flipping you both around, holding him pinned against the wall in the same position, your own eyes glowing their bright red as he let out an annoyed snarl. “Just thinking about how things can change in an instant….”

The breath was knocked out of you as you once again were pinned to the wall, this time his weight almost fully against you to keep you still. “What do you want?” He ground out through clenched teeth.

You couldn’t help thinking that the two of you would have been great friends if it weren’t for both of you being Alpha’s. Pack rivalry and whatnot overriding much of any chance at getting any closer than you were now, which given your position physically, was actually pretty damn close.

Baby steps.

“I have an idea,” you began after letting out a huff. Resigned to being stuck against the wall, you relaxed a bit, deciding to try and placate the Big Bad Sourwolf instead of poking him with a metaphorical stick, no matter how fun the latter was. “It would save both of our packs a lot of hassle, and probably save some innocent lives, too, come to think of it-”

“No,” he said firmly, his hold relaxing just a bit.

You looked at him in shock. “You haven’t even heard-”

“I said no!” His voice just as firm as before, he pushed off the wall for emphasis, your body relaxing just slightly, and you rubbed your wrists, despite the fact they were already pretty much healed.

“I’m just trying to be a good leader, Derek, offering you peace and my help for both our sakes and our packs, but because of whatever vendetta you have for me, you’re not willing to listen. Well, you know what? Forget it. You fucking suck.”

Stalking toward the loft door, Derek grabbed your elbow firmly and lightly tugged you to face him, making you roll your eyes again. “What, Hale?”

“I know. Look, I’m sorry. I really don’t know what it is I don’t like about you, I just don’t.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet as you fiddled them absently.

Grabbing your shoulders to make you stand still again, you straightened your back and looked him in the eye. It wasn’t the gesture that caught your attention, but the gentleness in it. A new side of Derek Hale had just showed itself, a side you always thought was there, but never got to see, except when he was interacting with his pack.

Very small baby steps.

“But,” he continued pointedly, “I’m willing to put that all aside to listen, for our packs and everyone involved.”

“You’ll really hear me out?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

“I’ll try my hardest.” He smiled a real, genuine smile, and you felt some of the ice crack between you two.

You returned the grin with a small one of your own, before finally saying, “Don’t be an asshole. Asshole.”

Derek laughed, and let go of your shoulders, walking back into the loft, and after a few seconds, you followed him. Looking over his shoulder, he smirked and said, “I’m just trying to be nice.”

You scoffed, then let out a chuckle. "I'd kill you on the spot if you weren't so nice to look at. Because, full offense, your personality needs a lot of work."

Sitting on the couch, he spread his arm out in gesture to the open spot beside him, his own smirk still firmly in place. “So I’ve been told.”

Xxx

Waking up to the wee hours of the morning and a silent loft, you looked around bleary eyed. Once you realized where you were, and who was with you, your eyes went wide.

Laying on the far end of the couch, his legs tangling with yours in the middle at some point while you were both asleep, was Derek, head propped up on the arm of the couch, mouth wide open as a snore escaped him.

You couldn’t contain the giggle from the completely uncharacteristic image of the big bad Hale Alpha, and turned into the couch cushion to smother the sound.

It was only a second later you looked back, but you still jumped as now Derek was looking at you with one eye barely cracked open, his mouth closed in a tight line, but his eyebrow raised in what you now understood was amusement.

Lightly swatting his leg with your own, he said a mock “ow”, but neither of you untangled your legs.

Propping your elbows on the arm of the couch behind you, you glared at him. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?”

You swatted at his legs again, and he did the same, both of you grinning lightly.

“Did the alarm go off or something?” He lazily looked to a box on the wall that must have been some sort of baddie alarm, his hand going to the back of his neck to scratch sleepily. Contented with what he saw, he looked back at you, stilling, hand still on his neck. “What?”

“Why do you assume I woke you on purpose? Why would I put myself in a position to endure even more of your company than I have already had today, which, by the way, is I think more than we have had at once ever?”

He grinned. “You didn’t just wake me up at 2am because you were ‘in the mood’.”

You shrugged, smirking right back at him. “You got a cute butt.”

“Why, thank you,” he said cheekily, his grin doing the same.

Batting his legs again lightly, you heard him mutter, “Okay, that’s it,” and you suddenly found yourself pulled toward him, until you were basically straddling him, your wrists once again tightly held in his hands.

“Stop doing that.” His voice was firm, but soft. His eyes searched your face, but for what, you didn’t know.

Digging your knees into his rib cage, just as some sort of retaliation, he groaned softly at the pressure. You leaned down close to his face and whispered, “Make me.”

Suddenly faster than you could blink, your positions had been flipped, him now straddling you, holding you down. “Okay.”

Trying to fight back, you quickly gave up, huffing, much like earlier in the day, looking up at him with a less than enthusiastic look.

Searching your face again with his eyes, he finally landed on your gaze with knit eyebrows.

Raising yours in question, he let go of your wrists, but you left them beside your head, and he sat back on his haunches, your legs still under him.

“I’m trying to figure out what it is about you that drives me so crazy.”

“I have that effect on lots of people,” you said smugly. “I’m awesome like that.”

“That! That’s it.” He pointed at you, and you sat up, elbows once again on the arm of the couch, eyebrows once again raised in confusion. “Yeah, you drive me crazy, but I’m starting to think it’s not because we hate each other or annoy each other-”

“Are you sure? Because you’re kinda driving me insane just a little bit right now-”

He leaned back over you on your perch on the armrest, face closer than it ever had been, and you found yourself staring at his lips. “Am I?”

If it hadn’t been the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice with those last two words did it. Your eyes drifted shut when he finally met you with a kiss, surprisingly soft and tentative given the tension between you two.

But that was just the first one.

Pulling back just enough to look at you one more time, something was exchanged between you without words and you both surged forward in a heated kiss.

Slowly laying back down all the way, your hands briefly in his hair to make sure this never stopped, pulling him with you, his hands grabbed your wrists putting them by your head like before, but this time trailing his fingers lightly from your elbows up to your hands, fingers tangling with yours as he held your hands.

Instead of restricting, his weight now felt warm, and inviting, and the more of it you felt, the more you wanted.

Turning your head to the side, you had a small grin on your face, but it soon turned into a soft gasp as you felt his lips ghosting ever so lightly over your skin, working from your collarbone, up your neck, and to your ear, where he bit the lobe gently.

When he released it after a second, you turned your head to look at him, lips barely touching one another’s, foreheads pressed together, and heavy breaths being shared, almost as if the breath one was breathing out was what the other required to live.

Xxx

Tags: @mayahart02 @palaiasaurus64 @shydinosaurcandy @lucyqueenofthestars @c-breanne1999 @l4life @ethereallysimple What’s this?

#derek hale #derek hale imagine #derek hale x reader #derek hale x reader imagine #derek hale x reader insert #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #tw imagine #teen wolf reader insert #teen wolf x reader insert #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fluff #tw fluff #fluff #tw #pack imagine #pack x reader #pack x reader insert #my mind spins stories

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eleanorbloom · 3 years ago

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Marry My Lover (Bryce x Eleanor Proposal Headcanon)

A/N: Well, I thought I wouldn't do it because I was too invested with this fic, but I've been thinking adult life is so fucking hard that maybe I'll never find the time and inspo to finish this fic, so... well, why not realease it to the world as headcanon/very-poorly-written-fic. If later I find the inspo, maybe I'll write it, maybe not, but I think posting this will lift a heavy weight off me.

Please forgive me my grammar mistakes and poor english, I mean, I know it's not poor, but I went really basic here, other way I would've never finished writing this lol

Tagging my WYR readers, in case you're interested in reading this @curiousconch @romereadingshop @utterlyinevitable @lahellacute @chocopeppermintcake

Also this is sumbission for @openheartfanfics Weekly Trope Challenge, week 2: Weddings & Proposals (@openheartheadcanons)

Marry My Lover

Bryce had wanted to propose to Eleanor for a while, considering both spontaneous and prepared ways to do it.

One of the first ideas was proposing on a visit to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, as it was the place of their first date. But none of their shifts let them assist for a couple of weeks, so he decided to look for something less complicated.

As he saw their annual meeting with the gang was coming, he decided he would propose on that occasion. Surrounded by friends, the people who helped them get together and supported them in the most difficult times both personally and as a couple.

So he would propose at Donahue’s. With a song, no less. Marry Me by Bruno Mars. A cheerful song, Eleanor loved Bruno Mars and simply matched with the tone he wanted to have on the proposal. Happy and spectacular. He wanted to make her feel the luckiest, most loved woman on earth.

So when he decided what he would do, he shared the news with Sienna so she could help him orchestrate the event. He would arrive a bit later than Eleanor, Sienna would keep her distracted, and then whoop, Bryce would appear at the center of the bar singing the song.

On the day of the meeting, Bryce was in the locker room when he received a text from Sienna: “All set, B! We’re waiting for you”. He breathed deeply, excited and a bit nervous at the same time.

They had talked about marriage, about a life together thousands of times, but it was different just taking the step and doing it, of proposing marriage. Marriage. Damn.

But at the same time, it was just a confirmation of the love they had for each other. Their love that had grown exponentially, to unknown highs and depths in the three years they had been together, and he was sure that their love would keep growing and getting stronger with each day.

After getting ready, he texted Keiki: “Hey Keiks, are you there already?” “Oh, yeah, hidden in the parking lot, super spy.” “Awesome, I’m coming out of the locker room I’ll be there in five” “Okay”

Bryce didn’t want her to miss it for the world. Keiki would kill him if he let that happen. Luckily for both Bryce and Keiki, she was studying close to home, more than close. Cambridge. BS in Physics at MIT, so as she was living just a few minutes away from Boston, they saw each other pretty regularly, once a week or once every two weeks depending on how busy the three were.

Keiki was excited about it, but there was just this strange smirk on her. Bryce thought it was just the fact that her brother would propose to Eleanor at last.

Once at the bar, he greeted their friends, Elijah, coming from Chicago, Jackie, from Baltimore, and Sienna coming from New York. Aurora was the only one living in Boston, working at Brigham and Women’s Hospital as attending and part of the new Diagnostic Team there.

Everyone was happy but at the same time with this strange smirk, like they were hiding something.

“And Elle?” he asked.

A few moments after the question was made, a guitar started to play. He looked at the center of the bar, and found Eleanor, on a yellow dress, and matched hatband playing guitar and singing: We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January And this is our place, we make the rules And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Bryce couldn’t believe his eyes. His ears. His skin. How a shiver ran down his spine, making tingle every inch of him; how his stomach fluttered at the sight of her there, beautiful and singing and… Surprising him.

It was Lover by Taylor Swift, because, how not, his girlfriend was a Swiftie since High School, so once a Swiftie, always a Swiftie.

Bryce knew almost every song of the last two albums she had released in the last couple of years because they had blasted the speakers of their home for weeks. Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close? Forever and ever, ah Take me out, and take me home You're my, my, my, my lover

After singing the chorus, Eleanor handed the guitar to Rafael, who continued with the melody, and took the mic in one hand, singing the second verse as she started walking slowly towards him. We could let our friends crash in the living room This is our place, we make the call She took his hand on hers and softly pulled him to the center of the bar

And when Eleanor sang “And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you”, both chuckled knowingly, because they knew how true that was, wherever he goes, he enchants.

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

It had been three summers indeed and nor he or she couldn’t imagine a summer without each other.

Eleanor kept singing, every word with meaning, it was like the song was written for them, especially “I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover” Because who else on this planet was a magnetic force but him?

Bryce was beaming the whole song, smiling, laughing, biting his lip, showing how happy, flattered, incredulous and in love he was.

He couldn’t believe his luck. To this day, after more than three years, sometimes he still couldn’t believe he had the chance to love so much and be so loved. So happy, so free, so understood. And he would probably live this luck, this love, forever and ever with her.

When the song ended, Eleanor took out something from the pocket of her yellow dress. A velvet box. When she opened it, a silver ring with a diamond at the center shined under the multicolor lights of the bar. Eleanor took his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles softly before asking: “Bryce Lahela, mi amor, we both know we want to spend the rest of our lives together. In these three years you have made me nothing but happy. The happiest luckiest woman alive. I want that for the rest of our lives. Would you marry me?”

“Yes,” he said, eyes sparkling, shining so bright with emotions, with love, with adoration, with happiness, “Yes, babe, yes! The only thing I want is to spend the rest of my life with you!”

Everyone cheered, Sienna was crying, Kyra too, and even Keiki had shed a tear.

Eleanor put a ring on his finger and both kissed sweetly in the middle of the bar.

After a few moments, Bryce kissed her hand and chuckled, “Well, now it’s my turn.”

Eleanor stared confused at him, and when she heard him shouting “Música maestro!” she understood.

Eleanor couldn't believe it either. When the notes of Marry Me by Bruno Mars started playing, she covered her mouth with her hands just like Cecilia Bolocco when she won Miss Universe in 1986. “No way, love!” she squealed.

After a few verses, Bryce took her hand and turned her to the wall, where a video was playing. Videos of colleagues, nurses, even patients, with thumbs up singing along “Don't say no, no, no, no, no, Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah” Then, her parents showed up in the video, beaming as they sang along too. Even her grandparents from Chile, Ricardo and Ofelia, appeared in the video asking the same.” “Oh my god,” Eleanor couldn't hold it anymore and simply let the tears fall. Tears of joy, of happiness.

Then Bryce started to walk around the bar, singing with a persuasive tone, asking the patrons to join him in his singing, as if he had to convince her to marry him. Friendly patrons would nod and show their thumbs up and sing along for a couple of seconds.

Once the song ended, Bryce bend on one knee and took the velvet box out of the pocket of his pants, where a beautiful rose gold ring was there, with a round diamond at the center and smaller at the sides. “Well, you won me. This was my idea too, but you were faster, or maybe you had friends who took your side and decided to help you instead of me.” Everyone chuckled. “Or maybe she just asked before you did,” Jackie teased. “Either way, I’m honored and flattered, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity to propose to you. I mean, I’ve dreamed about this day practically since I met you.” “Awww, mi amor.” “I want all summers with you and all winters, especially winters so you can keep me warm on snowy nights.” Eleanor giggled, her eyes full of tenderness, “Of course, my love. Summer, fall, winter, spring, all of the seasons and all of the years I have left on this planet.” “Good. And you, Eleanor Andrea Bloom, would you marry me?” “Yes, my love, mi amor, sí, sí, yes!” Bryce put the ring on her finger, and again, people cheered and clapped. Keiki and Jackie whistled.

When Bryce and Eleanor got off the stage, the gang approached them, filling them with congratulations and hugs, and just love for the happy, recently-engaged couple. they disclosed how everything had happened -Eleanor indeed had asked help first, she had been practicing guitar for more than a month with the help of Rafael.

After a while, Bryce took Eleanor’s hand and led her to a quiet place so they could have a moment for themselves. They smiled and laughed without saying anything, still processing what had happened and trying to understand the happiness they were feeling. their hearts were simply overflowing with happiness and love. “You know? I can say people, mostly women, have asked me a lot of things in my life, some of them shocking, some of them rather cute, but never had a woman proposing to me, so this is a first. You're definitely a keeper.” “Oh, that's why you're agreeing to marry me?” she asked, feigning offense. “One of the four hundred million reasons, babe.” Eleanor smiled pensively, earnest, “You deserve everything, my love, everything. And that includes being proposed, because, damn, we’re too far from gender stereotypes and toxic masculinity.” “I agree.” “And because I really wanted you to know that I wanna marry you, and spend the rest of my life with you, just as much as you do.”

Completely spellbound by the sincerity of her love, now and always, Bryce simply bit his lip and leaned to plant a sweet kiss on her lips.

There was nothing else to do but be happy.

____

Ps: Here pics of Bryce and Eleanor engagement rings. I had the idea of a collage, but it would've also taken me a day to finish it, lol sorry

Thank you for reading! ❤

#bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #bryce x mc #open heart #playchoices

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nyctolovian · 4 years ago

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Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Religious Discussion, Forgiveness, Guilt, Religious Guilt, Fallen Angels, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), (sort of?), Self-Hatred, Self-Esteem Issues, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Post-Canon, Post not-pocalypse, Canon Compliant, Coping, Warning: somewhat critical of god

Summary: When Aziraphale and Crowley's wings turn the same grey, Aziraphale does not take it well and begins to fear that he might be Falling with a capital F. Crowley finds his angel in a crushing spiral into immense self-blame and guilt, desperately seeking God's forgiveness.

"Heya, angel!” Crowley announced as he swung the door to the bookshop open. “I’ve got some really important stuff to discuss. Urgently. So could you maybe, um, close shop early today?”

Aziraphale, who was shelving some books, twirled round to face Crowley, already lighting up with glee at the sound of his voice. “Well, of course!” he said, placing the books down on the stool beside himself. He’d always liked having an excuse for closing early so it was lovely to have his favourite one walking right through the doors on a Monday afternoon. “What exactly would you like to discuss?”

With a snap of Crowley’s fingers, the door was miraculously locked and the open/close card was flipped. “Here’s not good,” he replied, extra fidgety today as he eased his weight on one leg and then the other. “Upstairs maybe?”

The smile on Aziraphale’s face slowly slipped as he was ushered up the stairs to his living quarters. “Oh dear… Is something the matter?”

Crowley audibly winced. “Upstairs first, alright?”

Aziraphale let out a noise of confusion but allowed himself to be guided upstairs. Crowley pushed him to sit on the bed that miraculously appeared just a couple weeks after the Almost-pocalypse. He set his fists atop his knees and looked up at Crowley, who removed his sunglasses.

“I need you to take out your wings,” he said.

“Pardon?”

Of course, Crowley caught the tension in the angel’s voice and said calmly, “Your wings. I’d like to check something.”

Aziraphale nodded. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Slowly, he drew his wings out into their dimensional plane. He felt his back grow heavy with a comfortable weight and his wings, slightly stiff from disuse, stretched the aches out of itself.

When he opened his eyes again, Crowley was looking at his wings. His eyebrows raised as he muttered, “Yup. I figured.”

Aziraphale frowned as he curled his wings forward. His jaw fell when instead of the pure white wings he was used to, mottled grey wings came into view. “Wh-What is this?” he cried. Then, his mind did a twist and he looked at Crowley anxiously. “What about yours?” he said, standing up and holding Crowley’s arms.

“Calm down,” he said, gently pulling Aziraphale’s hands away. Then, he took his own wings out as well, and they were no longer pitch black either, and were instead the same mottled grey as Aziraphale’s. “A bit of a shame, honestly. I’ve always liked black,” Crowley joked. “We’re really on our own side, aren’t we?” Like a gentleman asking for a dance, he held a hand out towards Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, however, flinched away. “I’ve clearly done something wrong.”

Crowley frowned. “What could you have possibly done wrong, angel?”

“I-I don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted as he paced around the bedroom. “But I must have done something that warranted this change.”

“I changed too, didn’t I?” Crowley said, stretching his own grey wing out. “We have the same wings.”

“Yes, but it’s different, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, frustration building. “If my wings are turning grey, then it must mean I’m…” A shiver ran down his spine as he looked up at Crowley with imploring blue eyes. “Could it be… that I am Falling?”

“What?!”

Aziraphale wrung his hands and his gaze fell to the wooden flooring. “That’s the only reasonable explanation, isn’t it? This is… a sign that I’m Falling. F-For going against one of God’s plans, perhaps.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “And I’m getting back in heaven’s favour. I’m being forgiven. Lovely.” He sighed. "Listen, you're not Falling. I know what that's like and this isn't it. God's a lot crueler than this."

"M-maybe She's giving me a second chance."

Crowley pulled a face of doubt. "Are we really talking about the same God?" He sighed. "Besides, even if you really are falling—which you aren't—it ain't that bad honestly. I quite like being a demon sometimes. For one, black wings are much cooler than white ones."

"But I don't want to fall! I like being an angel!" Aziraphale exclaimed. He took a deep breath as he clenched and unclenched his hands. “I… I need to do something. Seek forgiveness. Make up for my mistake. My wings are only turning grey so I’m clearly being given a chance to redeem myself, right?”

Worry set into Crowley’s features firmly now. “Since when do we care about what heaven thinks anyway? They tried to murder you with hellfire!”

“That was just Gabriel and those angels,” Aziraphale argued. “I just… I want to do right by the Lord.”

“You saw how She didn’t care about Earth, didn’t you? Whole bloody apocalypse just for the stupid war.”

“It probably was within God’s ineffable plan for the apocalypse to be stopped.”

Crowley threw his hands up. “God,” he said, “didn’t stop anything. We did!” He sighed, trying to reign in the rage that he knew was trickling into his voice. He lowered his voice into something gentle again as he reached for Aziraphale. “Angel–”

“Don’t!” Aziraphale said, snatching his hand back. “Don’t call me that!” His anger instantaneously melted, however, upon seeing hurt flashing across Crowley’s golden eyes. “I need some time by myself,” he said. “Can you give me that?”

Crowley’s eyes wobbled with hesitation. Finally, he said, “Sure, angel.”

***

Crowley gave Aziraphale a full day before popping by again to check on him. The first worrying sign had been how the shop was closed, despite it being only barely noon. As much as Aziraphale liked closing early, he usually stayed open till at least 2pm just so he could say that the shop had been open.

Crowley had also noticed that the books Aziraphale had left on the stool were still sitting there, untouched. He cursed under his breath and dashed up the stairs to the living quarters. He was somewhat relieved to see the angel at his worktable. Too busy muttering to himself, he hadn’t noticed Crowley enter at all.

Cautiously, Crowley walked to his side. Atop the table were copious amounts of notes and several different volumes of the Bible. Concerned, Crowley placed a hand on his shoulder, and Aziraphale jerked back.

“Ah,” he exhaled. He flusteredly smiled at Crowley as he adjusted his reading glasses. “You’ve come just in time, my dear. It seems that I need your opinion on this matter.” He picked up a notebook from under a pile of papers, flipped to a bookmarked page and continued, “Do you think it’s that time I used that miracle to reserve that last remaining pancake two days ago? It was really quite a frivolous miracle, and perhaps that was the last straw.”

“Wait,” Crowley said, his hand returning to Aziraphale’s shoulder, this time firm. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Why my wings turned grey of course!”

Crowley gestured to the mess of a table. “And what does all this have anything to do with it?”

“I’m trying to figure out what exactly I did wrong that upset God and turned my wings grey.” Aziraphale sighed and dug up another notebook, which he opened to a dog-eared page. “I was also thinking perhaps… Well, maybe the punishment was only just issued yesterday and it wasn’t actually for something recent. I’m also thinking maybe it was about that time in 1367 when I poured–”

“1367?!” Crowley exclaimed. He grabbed one of the papers off the table and read it. “578 AD?! Wh-” He looked at Aziraphale, brimming with concern. “Why are you going so far back?”

“Because I’ve been doing so much wrong!” Aziraphale cried, twisting the ring on his pinky. “They… My indiscretions. They began since God knows when. I’ve been doing so much wrong since… since the beginning of time, I believe. I don’t even know if giving away that flaming sword had actually been the right thing.” His hands were shaking with torment. "I'm such a terrible angel."

The demon's heart damn near broke in two at the sight of his angel in this state. He looked at the mess of paper and books in disbelief. He shook his head. "This is just too much, angel," he pleaded. "You shouldn't be made to list down every single thing you did in the past six thousand years and made to… to analyse it all."

"I didn't want to entertain the possibility but…" Aziraphale's voice was soft, distraught, vulnerable, like a child asking their parents to check under the bed for monsters. "But… what if it's everything, Crowley? How could I seek forgiveness from God if it's just… everything?" He squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know how I…"

Crowley leaned in closer. There was a vice around his chest, clamping down and hurting him. Why must his angel suffer like this? What has he ever done to deserve this pain? This crushing guilt? “They’re mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes, all sorts of them. We just do better next time, right?”

"But I shouldn't be making mistakes! I'm an angel. I'm meant to do good." Aziraphale pushed Crowley away and picked up his pen and notebook again. "I need to find out what it was that I've done wrong. Otherwise, it'd be terribly insincere to apologise without even knowing what I'm apologising for, isn't it?"

Crowley ripped the pen and notebook out of Aziraphale's hand. "If the Almighty wants an apology, She'd better get down here and explain what She's so bloody upset about!"

Aziraphale slammed the table. "She shouldn't have to! I'm an angel. I ought to know."

"No! It's just unfair. God and Her ineffable plans, moving in mysterious ways and playing ridiculous card games we don't know the rules to in the dark.” He walked in a tight circle, running a hand through his hair, before turning to face Aziraphale again. “How could we be expected to know? Even now, I still don't even know why I got tossed down into a pool of hot boiling sulfur because She never bothered to explain anything! Six thousand years and still no explanation whatsoever!"

Aziraphale flinched, and Crowley felt a pang of guilt.

Lowering his voice, he said, “Look, God hasn’t explained anything then, and She isn’t starting anytime soon. Okay?”

Plucking his reading glasses from his face and closing his eyes to massage his nose bridge, Aziraphale said, “I want to do right by Her. Why is that so hard?”

Crowley sagged. It hurt him terribly to see his angel so distraught, so frantic, so helpless.

“Perhaps…” Aziraphale breathed. “Perhaps, I’m not worthy of it.”

A beat.

"I forgive you," the demon whispered.

Aziraphale's eyes flew open and he stared at Crowley, eyebrows tightly knitted. "You forgive me?" he bit out. At the silence, his brow furrowed further with fury. "You can't do that. Take that back."

"I forgive you," he repeated.

"What are you forgiving me for?" Aziraphale yelled.

"All the wrongs you did. Everything. I forgive you."

"You can’t!" he insisted.

“Why not?”

Aziraphale glared in silence.

"You're not made to carry six thousand years worth of self-blame and guilt. You're a good angel, even if God doesn't recognise that."

"But I want to do right by Her," Aziraphale said, tears welling up in his eyes. "I just… I want Her to forgive me. If I knew what exactly I did wrong, maybe…" His breath hitched, words stuck upon his throat.

Crowley knelt down and held his angel's face. He was trembling so hard Crowley feared that if he let go, he'd simply shatter and crumble apart.

"I just want to do the right thing," Aziraphale said. "It used to be so straightforward. If it was as God intended, what I was doing couldn’t possibly be wrong. But now…" He looked up at the ceiling, as though willing the wetness of his eyes to disappear, but a tear had already spilled out and rolled down his cheek, damping Crowley's fingers. Then, a couple more followed, like beads of a snapped bracelet. He relented and sagged in his seat. “I don’t know.”

Crowley used his thumb to wipe the tears away but they continued to fall uncontrollably and he couldn't catch them all.

Aziraphale's voice was thick with tears when he spoke and his bottom lip wobbled with grief. "I don't know what's the right thing anymore. I don't know if I've ever done anything right," he said, placing his hands over Crowley’s and pulling them away from his face. “I feel like I've done everything wrong but I don't know who to seek forgiveness from.”

Crowley turned his hands slowly to grasp Aziraphale’s. “You haven’t done everything wrong, I promise. Maybe some things. But we all mess up sometimes. We don't have it all figured out most of the time and that's okay," he said. "We're trying our best to correct what we can, and that's enough."

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, clinging to his words like a lifeline. Gently, Crowley squeezed his hands.

"Forgive yourself, angel. You don’t need to carry this six-thousand-year weight. And I can't bear to see you hating and hurting yourself like this, please."

When Aziraphale leaned forward, Crowley let go and allowed him to fall slowly into his arms. Aziraphale pressed his face to Crowley's shoulder, just as silent sobs began to shake his being. He pulled their hands close to his chest and squeezed. Crowley squeezed back.

Pressing closer still, Aziraphale muttered into Crowley's shirt, "I’m never going to get anything else from upstairs anymore, am I? We only have what we give ourselves now. We’ll have to figure things out by ourselves."

Crowley hummed.

“We really are on our own, aren't we? Just the two of us.”

"Yeah. Us two, on the same side. Grey wings on both our backs. Could be fun.”

That got a short laugh from Aziraphale, and tension trickled out of him. "If you say so, my dear."

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable partners #good omens fic #fanfic #aziracrow #my writing

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fangirl-ramblings · 4 years ago

Note

Soft asks number 3 for john and Abigail

Pairing: John Marston x Abigail Marston

Words: 1040

Summary: John thinks back on what a terrible husband and father he's been over the years… only to realise something very important

Prompt Requested: "You're comfier than my pillow"

Notes: Fluff, Post Epilogue, Possible Spoilers for key points in the game [CW: mentions of pregnancy]

I'm so sorry this request has been sitting in my askbox for over a year 👀🙈 But your constant support and inspiration motivated me to finally finish this. So much so, what was originally planned to be around 100 word drabble turned into over 1k words. (This is also a giant thank you for putting up with my radio silences these last few weeks 😘)

Requested tags for: @redeadepression a.k.a. John and Abigail's biggest fan and defender.

~* Tumblr Masterlist | Stories on AO3 *~

Finally Found What I've Been Looking For

1908, Beecher's Hope

A thudding sound filled the air of the master bedroom in Beecher's Hope as Abigail punched her pillow in frustration. It was the third time this week that sleep had eluded her.

"What's the matter, darlin'?" John asked, half asleep, moving his arm out towards her in an open invitation for her to come closer to him.

"What's the matter? What's… the… matter?" She growled, emphasising every word he had just said to her back to him through gritted teeth. "I can't sleep because I'm so damn uncomfortable. And there's your damn snoring, John Marston… all of this is your fault, you know." Throwing his arm back towards him, she flopped back down in the empty space next to him.

"So you keep tellin' me," he chuckled lightly, ignoring her earlier protests, and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her towards him. "And while I may have played a small part in makin' you feel this way, I think you'll find that it's this one here who is causin' all the trouble," he grinned, placing a protective hand on Abigail's ever-growing baby bump.

Not being able to resist a chance to swipe at her husband she muttered, "Small part indeed," under her breath, causing John to shoot her a pretend hurt look. Taking a second to steady her thoughts, Abigail apologised, placing a hand on John's chest. "I'm sorry. I'm just fed up of bein' pregnant now. I just wanna meet our daughter."

"Daughter?" John raised a quizzical eyebrow towards her. "How can you be certain it's a girl?"

"I'm not, but this time feels completely different to when I was carryin' Jack… so I've just got it into my head it's a girl this time."

John kissed the top of his wife's head, feeling her instantly relax into his body. "Well, I can't wait to meet them either, no matter if they're a boy or a girl, but you need to get some rest before they get here. You're cranky enough as it is without sleep; throw in a newborn awake all hours of the night, and I reckon you'll kill us all," he teased, rubbing her back.

Abigail nodded with heavy eyes, "I know… I know. But I think I might be able to sleep now - you're far comfier than my pillow is… even if you are still quite boney."

John playfully rolled his eyes at her insistence to always get a dig in at him. He knew that while her barbed comments may seem uncaring to an outsider; he used to think the same thing himself when she'd make comments whilst living in camp together, he came to realise that her callous words were just a way of hiding how scared she was of saying how she really felt about him out loud. While John might have appreciated Abigail telling him that she loved him out loud, he already knew that she did and would smile to himself when she tried to hide the fact once more under an insult to his face.

Brushing a loose hair from her angelic like features, trying not to laugh as she swatted his hand away, John grinned, watching her finally fall asleep. He couldn't help but internally kick himself that he never wanted to do any of this all that time ago when she was carrying Jack and was never really around for them both in the years following his birth.

He'd always held a soft spot for Abigail, ever since she first walked into camp all those years ago, the sting of her sharp witted tongue dulled by her outstanding beauty. But within a few months of meeting her, she'd fallen pregnant and told him he was the father and it suddenly felt it was like someone had placed a giant millstone around his neck. Back then John just wanted to drink and be merry with his campmates and had thought his life was to have a greater meaning than being a sole provider to two of his campmates. He even ran away from his responsibilities for a whole year to try and find out what it was he really wanted from life, but that hadn't helped him find what it was that he was looking for. No, it had just left him with a feeling of guilt and regret he'd left his chance of having a proper family behind. He'd come back with his tail between his legs, but still couldn’t summon the courage to be a proper father to little Jack, let alone be a good partner to Abigail.

He had tried though, in the years that followed, especially after they finally got Jack back from the clutches of Angelo Bronte, and later on in the aftermath of the gang's demise, John had tried to give Abigail and Jack what they needed from him; but it never seemed enough. They'd rent a room somewhere while they both looked for good, honest work… and within a few weeks, or months if they were lucky, they'd be moving on again. Abigail nagging once more at him that it was because John couldn’t help but get himself in trouble for trying to protect them.

But watching his wife sleep soundly carrying their second child and knowing their eldest was safe in a bed of his own, with a roof over his head, it suddenly dawned on John that this right here was what he'd been looking for for all that time; stability and safety for his family. He'd spent years looking over his shoulder making sure no-one could hurt the two things he loved most in this life, and only now with Arthur's death avenged and Micah laying dead up on that mountain, the unbearable weight had been lifted from John's shoulders. For the first time in a long time, it felt like they could live the life Arthur had sacrificed himself for and John could finally breathe again.

Closing his own eyes he started to dream of all the good things that could be waiting for his ever growing family in this new chapter of their lives… only to be rudely awoken by Abigail sleeply hitting his chest.

"Damnit John, quit with the snorin' will ya?"

#rdr2 fanfic #fangirl writes #john marston x abigail marston #fluff #they may not have the most healthy of relationships #but they do care for each other #you can fight me on that 😎

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greyhavensking · 4 years ago

Text

100 Followers Celebration!

God, I’m late with this, but I finally passed the 100 follower milestone and I wanted to do something for it to show my appreciation. That something turned out to be almost 3000 words of emotional hurt/comfort and dumb boys in love, so I hope someone enjoys it.

I can’t even express how grateful I am to have (over!!!) 100 people think I’m worthy of following when mostly I just reblog other people’s posts and scream in the tags, but this is me trying to get the point across. Thank you, thank you, thank you to the people who continue to tolerate my bullshit and occasionally encourage my sad stucky edits and my angsty fluff fanfics. You’re all amazing and wonderful people!

Also cross-posted on Ao3 here.

you left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

“Buck, you awake?”

It’s sort of a moot point, seeing as Bucky — light sleeper that he is — would have woken up the second Steve stepped across the threshold of the living room, but he feels compelled to ask nonetheless. His ma was a stickler for courtesy, especially when it didn’t cost anyone a dime, and while he can’t quite manage to defer to politeness when it comes to aggravating superiors, it comes easy as breathing with most everyone else.

Bucky isn’t everyone else, and half the time Steve doesn’t bother filtering himself around him, but tonight—

Tonight’s a bad night.

But it’s not Bucky’s night for a change.

As Steve pauses at the back of the couch, arms crossed and head ducked, he sees Bucky smoothly push himself up into a sitting position from where he was stretched across the cushions, rolling his shoulders back as he scrubs his flesh and blood hand over his face. He was awake, judging by the dog-eared book he lets slide to the floor; Steve can’t make out the cover from this angle, but he’d bet anything it’s one of those YA novels Sam recommended to him that he refuses to thank Sam for. Something about Greek gods and terribly unlucky teenagers. Steve doesn’t go for fantasy often, but he knows Bucky’s been plowing through the series for the last few weeks.

“I’m always awake,” Bucky says once he’s gotten a good look at Steve, despite Steve’s best efforts to tuck all the visible hurt away behind an admittedly shaky smile. He’s joking, mostly — when Bucky first came home, he rarely got more than an hour or two of sleep before some imagined threat had him prowling the confines of the apartment, checking and rechecking the locks and the security system. Nowadays his sleepless nights are still disturbingly frequent, but not every night, and he can usually pass them by reading or watching whatever he finds most interesting on TV.

Bucky quirks a brow when Steve remains silent, tilting his head. Assessing. “You, though,” he continues as if he hadn’t paused at all, “you should be dead to the world, Rogers. Sawing logs, or whatever it is they say when you snore louder than a damn foghorn.”

“I don’t — I don’t snore,” Steve bites out, reflexive, which just gets Bucky’s other brow jumping up to join the first.

“So it’s one of those nights, huh.” Bucky nods to himself, twisting around on the couch to lean back against the armrest, legs spread invitingly. He pats the space between his thighs. “Good thing I’m a certified Steve Rogers expert and know exactly what you need.”

Steve considers refuting that claim, but he can’t bring himself to bother with it. A flare of indignation does pulse under his skin (he hates the idea that he needs to be managed), though it peters out just as quickly as it came, taking with it the last shred of warmth Steve’s been clinging to since he slipped out from beneath his bed covers. Bucky’s right, anyway; this is what Steve needs, something they’ve pieced together in the months after Bucky felt safe enough to put himself back into Steve’s orbit.

Rubbing briskly at his upper arms, more for something to do with his hands than any hope of warming himself up, Steve hesitates another moment before he sighs and climbs over the back of the couch to crawl in between Bucky’s legs. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist instantly, tugging him until his back is flush with Bucky’s chest. He noses at the nape of Steve’s neck, presses a kiss there that has a delightful shiver rippling down Steve’s spine, then wedges his chin into the space between neck and shoulder.

“What’s the threat level with this one?” Bucky asks quietly. Threat level is their established short-hand for how bad a nightmare was, what kind of toll it took on them. It’s easier getting that out than something like I woke up crying reaching for you can’t get my heart to calm down can’t breathe woke up alone and had to bite back a scream, and Steve can admit that Bucky’s nothing short of a goddamn genius for giving Steve a way to explain without explaining.

“‘Bout a seven,” Steve says, which means it’s closer to a nine than he’d like. He can still feel the phantom chill of wind and snow on his face, the ice-clogged water in his lungs, arms outstretched but grasping at nothing nothing nothing. Bucky’s face, frozen over and glassy-eyed. No air, no breath, no life in either of them — but Steve, undead, trapped below the ice, forced to watch it all play out on repeat—

“Uh-huh. Seven. Sure, I’ll go with that for now.” Bucky’s voice is right against his ear, his breath warm, the solid weight of him so very real that Steve shudders again, leaning into him even though there’s hardly space left between them to close. “You need me to do anything extra special?”

Steve shakes his head, then pauses, reconsiders. “Keep talking?”

His nightmares are — strange. They’re quiet, mostly, unless they involve the train, and then it’s the clack-clack-clack of the tracks, the high-pitched whistling of the wind, his own desperate screams. But when it’s the ice… it’s almost silent. Like an old film, the reels spinning on soundlessly around him. Colors are muted, too, shades of gray and blue and the occasional vibrant streak of red that could be blood, could be his suit, could be the afterimage of staring too long into a bright light.

Bucky huffs a laugh and tightens his arms around Steve, and in return Steve shifts to lay his hands over Bucky’s skin, one sliding along his forearm, the other reaching down to slip under the hem of Bucky’s shorts. He’d grab the metal arm (it doesn’t bother him, and it’s body temperature from being tucked under Bucky on the couch) but he needs skin right now, and he knows Bucky doesn’t begrudge him it.

“Talking,” Bucky murmurs. “You gotta pick the one thing I’m no good at anymore, don’t ya. No, no, don’t start,” he says, reading the tensing of Steve’s body all too well, and Steve slumps back into his hold, caught out. “I’m not sayin’ I won’t do it, and I’m not gettin’ all self-deprecating on you, either. Words are hard, sweetheart, you know that.”

“Sorry, Buck. We can just put the TV on, or—”

“I said it’s fine, Rogers. Relax. I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to these days, even for you, which is a goddamn miracle considering all the shit I put up with for your benefit when we were kids. Christ.”

Steve rolls his eyes, which he knows is the exact reaction Bucky was going for. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d I talk you into that was so bad?”

“God, Steve, Snow White? How many times d’we see that in theaters?”

“What? You loved that movie!”

“No, you loved that movie, despite being fuckin’ colorblind. I went because I’m a goddamn sap and I couldn’t get enough of the wide-eyed baby deer act you pulled every time you got to see all that animation in action. You sparkled, Steve, it was addicting.”

“What?”

“Whaddya mean, what? Can’t a guy get all sentimental over how cute his best guy looked staring adoringly at a cartoon?”

“No, I mean— you went for me? We weren’t even…”

“First of all, jackass, I don’t gotta be in love with someone to wanna see them happy. Second, I honestly can’t tell you if I realized that I was in love with you back then. It’s all mixed up with how I definitely felt during the war, and then with everything that came with thawing out here.”

Hold on—

“Bucky. Bucky. The war?”

Steve’s half-twisted around in Bucky’s arms now, staring at him, slack-jawed, because they’ve never had this conversation before. Nothing even close to this has ever come up between them. When they got together this century, they only acknowledged that they’d never considered doing so back in the thirties, that their feelings only really surfaced now because they finally had a moment to rest without the fear of discovery hanging over their heads. Bucky has never breathed a word of loving Steve at any point before that.

But Bucky doesn’t seem to understand what’s running through Steve’s head, because his brows furrow as he stares right back at Steve. “Why are you acting so surprised? You think I curled up with you every night just ‘cause I was cold?” He pauses. “I mean, alright, yes, I was freezing and you were a goddamn furnace all of a sudden, but—”

“You have never said shit about this, Barnes, what the fuck?”

And there’s Bucky rising to the challenge in Steve’s voice, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes. Refusing to let go of Steve, though, for which he’s grateful; he needs the grounding weight of him all the more in this moment.

“I ain’t exactly proud of it, Steve. You and Carter? Fuck, you made my blood boil with her.”

Steve blinks. Blinks again, shakes his head like that’ll make Bucky’s words fall into a neat little line he can actually understand. He feels Bucky’s chest expand as he breathes in deep, feels it deflate as he lets it out in a heavy sigh. His eyes are nearly silver in this light, and so sheepish that Steve just wants to set this aside and kiss on him until he’s smiling again. But — he wants to know, fuck, he doesn’t like secrets between them anymore, and he knows Bucky’s the same way. It’s not the best time to get into this, but really, in the grand scheme of things… it’s as good a time as they’ll get.

“God, alright. I was jealous, okay? Whether or not I knew what you were to me while we were still in Brooklyn, I sure as hell knew it then when I was watching you two dance around each other for months. The way you’d stare after her, the way she tucked herself right into your side whenever you were in the same room… I was sick with it, hatin’ her and hatin’ myself for feeling that way when I didn’t have a fuckin’ claim to you. When you were happy with her and I couldn’t make myself be happy for you. You think I like admitting I couldn’t put my best friend’s happiness above my own bruised ego?”

“Buck…”

“Aw, don’t look like that, sweetheart. Was my own fault for never saying anything. And, well, for all I knew back then you were straight as an arrow. You thought you were pretty straight, as I recall. Maybe it woulda just driven a wedge between us if I’d said something.”

“Fuck that.” The words are whispered, but they get Steve’s point across just fine — it’s Bucky’s turn to blink, leaning away from Steve slightly like he needs a better look at him to process what he’s just heard. Steve just follows him, getting his knees under him so he can cup Bucky’s face in both palms, holding him close. “Fuck that. I always loved you, Bucky Barnes. Platonic, romantic, doesn’t fucking matter. If you think for one second I woulda left you over something like that—”

Bucky laughs again, a quick, sharp little thing that barely interrupts Steve’s vehement protests, but the kiss Bucky plants on his lips does the job of getting his attention.

“What a stubborn asshole you are, sweetheart.”

Scowling, Steve kisses Bucky again, harder this time but still achingly sweet. “You think I’m lyin’?”

“Do I look like an idiot? No, I don’t think you’re lying, but that’s what you’re saying now, with the glorious gift of hindsight. You can’t say for sure that’s how you would have reacted, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for it.”

“One more time, Barnes, ‘cause I do think you’re a little slow on the uptake tonight. Fuck that. You got my ass through every fuckin’ illness that so much as looked at our borough, got me through ma’s death… you think you catchin’ feelings was gonna scare me away? I was afraid of you leaving, god, I woulda clung to you forever if you let me, even if you got married, had kids, whatever. I probably wouldn’t have believed you could like me, but I wouldn’t have been mad at you over it.”

It’s quiet between them once Steve’s gotten it all out of his system, save for his heart thudding in his chest and their quickened breathing, the tick-tick-tick of the ceiling fan above them. Steve refuses to look away from Bucky’s searching gaze, and god, yes, he’s a stubborn asshole, but he’s also right! He’s right and he’s going to prove that to Bucky, one way or another, because this is too important to let go. He doesn’t want Bucky thinking even for a second that there is a scenario where Steve would throw him over for someone else. Anyone Steve loved — anyone who loved Steve — would have had to accept that Bucky came first, always.

In hindsight, Steve maybe should’ve figured out his own damn feelings long before he reached the 21st century, but that wasn’t exactly his point right now.

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there like that, holding one another without saying a word, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky’s for a single moment of it, willing him to understand that he’s always been Steve’s anchor, his touchstone — that absolutely nothing short of death could ever come between them, and fuck, even that didn’t stick. And he thinks Bucky might be getting there, the way a slow, tremulous smile spreads across his face, a flush high on his cheeks that does things to Steve’s heart.

“I love you.”

Steve’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, automatic, ducking his head down to press into Bucky’s neck, the fabric of his worn t-shirt soft against Steve’s cheek. It’s far from the first time either of them have said it, but Steve still gets so giddy over it, knowing he gets to have this, have Bucky, to hold and kiss and adore this man in his arms for as long as they’re both alive… it’s heady, and something Steve doesn’t want to take for granted, not even for a second. The road they took to get here was too brutal for Steve not to be damn grateful for every moment they have together.

Which means he doesn’t mind the teasing they get from the rest of the team, the not-so-sly remarks and gratuitous eye rolls that Sam and Natasha are so fond of, the downright lewd shit that gets thrown right back in Tony’s face when Bucky reminds them all that neither of them are innocent grandpas.

It’s all part of getting to love Bucky the way he deserves, the way he’s always and will always deserve, and if there’s one thing about the future that Steve unequivocally loves, it’s that he can be as open as he wants about just how much he loves Bucky. And, if people do have a problem with it, Steve can kick their asses — mostly over Twitter, but still. He’s a fan.

“Love you too, Buck.”

Bucky hums, content, and readjusts so that Steve is mostly laying flat on top of him, the both of them stretched out across the couch. He snags the blanket from where it’s half-spilled onto the floor, draping it over Steve enough that it covers the majority of their bodies. Steve snuggles in, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s back, giving him a gentle squeeze to show his appreciation.

He’s all but forgotten the phantom cold that drove him out here in the first place.

“Wanna try going back to sleep?” Bucky murmurs, rubbing circles into Steve’s back.

“Nah. You’re still gonna be here, don’t wanna sleep alone.”

“Mm, fair point. You just gonna lay here, then?”

He could, Bucky won’t protest his weight or the company. “Yeah. Right where I wanna be. You could read to me, though?”

“I’m in the middle of the book, Rogers, you won’t have any clue what’s going on.”

“Just like the sound of your voice, Buck. It’s soothing,” Steve argues, and he’s slurring his words a little, he knows, but he doesn’t care and Bucky doesn’t call him out on it. “Read to me?”

He feels the rumble of Bucky’s laughter in his own chest, pressed right up against him, then the shift of the couch as Bucky grabs his book from the floor and braces it against the dip in Steve’s spine so he can read.

And yeah, Bucky’s right — Steve couldn’t tell you a thing about what’s happening in the book right now (there are gods and monsters and quippy teenagers, but none of it settles quite right in his brain, none of it takes any recognizable shape) but he couldn’t be happier regardless.

Turns out it’s not so bad of a night after all.

#stucky #stevebucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky fanfic #fanfic #my fic

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kukukape · 4 years ago

Text

Richard Malik x Operative: The Whistleblower

This the first time I've posted a fic in a while, but I'm excited! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist 😊

Tags: @simping-for-sandayu-oda @luciewarrenx3

•••

Richard had to admit, he'd come up with more... enjoyable plans than this one. He grunted as the Albion thug's knee collided with his stomach, again. Wanker was enjoying this way too much.

His eyes flicked to the camera ever so subtly. Not that the bastard would've noticed, he was too busy trying to decide which way to assault Richard Malik next. But he could see it moving around a bit sporadically, as if its operator were trying to get his attention.

And even in the midst of great pain, he had to fight a smirk. Things were already going accordingly.

"U-ugh!" He grunted as the Albion guard pulled him up by his hair and punched him in the face.

Welp, time to fall back into character.

"I-I'm not who you think I am, I-I swear!"

A slap across the face. Backhanded. Richard had to admit, that hurt his pride more than it did his face.

"You're Malik! A SIRS officer and a leaky fucking twat!" Richard, with his forehead resting against the cold concrete, found himself wanting to smile at his own notoriety.

Malik. That name carried weight in SIRS. In London's infrastructure of justice and security. This scared, begging persona wasn't him. This was a choice.

He was a spy. Slippery, and willing to relinquish his true character for his mission.

His breathing quickened with faux fear as the Albion officer picked him up by the collar, bunching up his silken silver tie amidst the action. "That's not me, I s-swear to god, please- PLEASE-"

---

Angel's heart nearly stopped when Bagley cut the feed. "Fuck…" she whispered. She had half a mind to curl up on the curb and let a grey gloom consume her, but Bagley was too much of a dick to allow that.

"Fuck is right! And fucking dead is what he'll be if you don't hurry," he said in his not-so-robotic deadpan.

Dead. Murdered. Killed?

All words and possibilities that resonated with Angel. She took a deep shaky breath, squeezing the steering wheel of her Atterley. "Drop a pin please, Bags," she said.

"I already did, while you were having a little panic attack."

Instead of meeting his snark with her own, Angel kicked the car into gear, speeding towards the construction site. From first gear to third, then sixth... and she was skidding to a stop by the sidewalk before she knew it.

Her optik buzzed as someone got onto comm. It was Brian, the team's most senior hitman. "Scope the place out before you go in. This could be a trap for all we know, so-"

The soft patters of a silenced P9, followed by two separate cries cut Brian off.

"Angel! Bagley, what's she-"

"She's storming the place like the baboon cousin she is!" Bagley exclaimed, "You know for a spy, she's rather uncovert." Which only said the absolute least.

The bodies were shrouded before the spy moved on, picking off another soldier just as they were turning the corner. A bullet between his eyes before he even knew he was in danger, and cloaked to make his death even less apparent.

Pressed against a corner wall, Angel took her phone out and let the news drone above become her eyes. "Bagley, help me find him," she said urgently.

"There's a closed off room in the back. Try there," he said. Angel jumped from camera to camera, her heart squeezing a bit every time she didn't see Richard.

Just when she was about to crack her phone in her grip, she saw him. Wrists tied, on his knees, gaze trained on the floor as he tried to catch his breath.

Angel knew this picture of him. Years ago, in a dirt-floored cell where they huddled together for just an inch of warmth. The image made her shudder, so forcefully mentally that she did so physically too.

She flinched again when Brian came over the comm. "Alright, there he is. I suggest you take out the rest of the guards before you go in," he said.

From soldier, to spy, and now to soldier again. Angel nodded as she squeezed the hilt of her gun. "I'll get right on it."

---

Richard chewed the inside of his cheek as he stared at the floor. He could feel a pair of eyes on him once again, staring through that same metal lense. He didn't dare turn to look, didn't dare break character.

Until he heard the camera screech, as if it wanted him to turn. And, flinching in surprise, he did.

He looked at the camera, wondering why the DedSec operative who'd come for him wanted to make their presence so known. Richard eyed the camera for a moment, searching for something deeper beyond the blank, metallic lense.

Of course, he found nothing. But just the notion of the operative- who he was all too sure was finally here- trying to communicate you're safe, it's okay, made him want to chuckle.

He gave the camera an acknowleding smirk, and ever so slight tilt of his head.

"AHH!" A soldier just outside screamed.

Richard's head whipped around again, and he heard some indecipherable yelling, along with the heavy footsteps of Albion-approved military boots. Somebody was obviously getting their ass kicked outside, because he only heard one person grunting in pain as limbs connected with their target.

Then silence.

He never really liked the quiet. It meant that nothing was happening, and for Richard, something always had to be happening. He couldn't predict quiet. Couldn't scheme it, outsmart it.

Thank god it didn't last long, before the metal door squealed open and quiet footsteps pittered in.

Richard kept his gaze down, as would a man currently fearing for his life. He'd been that enough times to know how to imitate it.

The 'fwoop' of a knife unsheathing made him flinch genuinely. But a steady, smooth... familiar voice eased him.

"Easy. It's just me," she said. Just me, she said. As if he were supposed to know her.

And he did. Oh lord, he did. And the mixture of fear, anger, regret, and happiness in him was too genuine for somebody so used to lying in the face of everyone short of his mother and father's graves.

The fearful part of him was scared to turn around and look at her as she cut through his restraints easily. But he didn't have a choice really, as she walked around and kneeled in front of him, cupping his face with both hands and searching for any injuries to his visage.

Richard was a confident man. Strong, assured, and decorated from head to toe in awards that highlighted his ingenius.

But he looked like a dumb fish in that moment, his mouth slightly ajar and eyes wide.

"…Angel?" He asked softly as her calloused fingertips subconsciously brushed across his brow, stretching down to touch his jaw.

---

"That's my name," she said dryly as she searched his face, looking anywhere but his eyes. Her hand reached into the pocket on his shirt, where she knew he kept a handkerchief. "Hold still, you look horrible," she said. Not that a handkerchief was gonna fix that, but whatever.

She wiped blood from his jaw, and the bits that had gotten onto his cheek. She chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep more words than necessary from escaping her.

I missed you.

Are you okay?

I know this is a farce, so what are you playing?

All reasonable, but Angel couldn't utter any of them. Because Richard Malik, her friend for all of their youth, her partner in war, her lover for that one night back in college, was right in front of her.

She raked a hand through his hair, which was as close to saying I'm glad you're okay as she was gonna get. And he grabbed her wrist gently.

Brown eyes met a lighter shade. Both of them soft, affectionate, and untrusting.

"You're Dedsec," he said it firmly but quietly. Looking for confirmation. Hoping she'd say no, she just happened to be walking down the street and decided to shoot up a restricted Albion area for shits and giggles.

But she nodded. And a pride she never had while working at SIRS shined in her eyes.

Angel helped him to his feet and cleared her throat. They clearly weren't gonna do the whole "So what've you been up to the past six years?" thing, so she spoke first, "We got the call from you. What was that all about?"

A look of shock passed over Richard's eyes. And Angel could tell what he was thinking. Probably wondering where that smile she always used to greet him with had gone.

But he remembered himself quicklyc straightening his tie with a nervous hand. "I'll upload the intelligence onto an anonymous FTP. You can sort through it-"

"No, I want to hear it from you," Angel cut him off rigidly.

Richard inhaled as his whole "My name is Richard Malik, herdyderdyder," speech was thrown out the window. "I believe I've discovered who Zero-Day really is; rogue SIRS officers from the CT unit who then framed Dedsec for the TOAN bombings."

"Men working under you?" Angel raised one elegant brow. "I always got the impression the CT unit was always fiercely loyal," she commented.

And back to the games they went. This time, for the first time, against each other.

He let out a humorless laugh. "You know how good I am at making enemies," he said, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait, Richard," she said quickly. Angel's hand shot out to grab his arm. He looked down at her in surprise.

…Down at her.

Since when was he so damn tall? And handsome…

No, no, stop it, monkey brain.

"I…" Angel's jaw moved uselessly for a moment, before she simply yanked him into am embrace. Richard made a surprised sound. Way too many surprises for one day for him.

But this one, he could tolerate.

Hesitantly, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders while hers linked around his neck tightly. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and he could smell the shampoo drifting from her hair. "It's… good to see you again, Angel," he said quietly.

Angel chuckled once, before inhaling sharply and slowly pulling away. Out of his reach once again.

"We'll, uh... check out the info," she said, nodding before moving to step by him. But she paused by the door, then reached back over to him. Richard watched dumbly as she fixed his silver tie, straightening it back up and patting his chest twice. And she smiled.

"You grew up nicely, Richard," she said, before slipping out the door.

Richard stood there dumbly for a moment, a thousand different things racing through his head.

But the one thing that stood out the most was the fact that his plans had definitely just been shaken.

~end~

#richard malik #watchdogs #watch dogs legion #wdl #give this man a GOLD STAR #for being HOT #richard malik x oc

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talpup · 4 years ago

Note

I just found read your crossroads fic over on Ao3, and damn sweetheart, I am in LOVE with this classy mob styled version of Overhaul you have going on. The smut in that last chapter was abso-fucking-lutely to die for! But I really need to know something about his character in this story. He was obviously a virgin, but r there any specific kinks he’s been thinking about or planning on trying with her?

*blush* THANK YOU!!! You can blame my good friend and favorite Kai fanfic author @inorganicone2230 They’re the one that spurred me into having the idea for this fic and then (like they’ve done with all my bnha fics) encouraged me to write it and brainstormed with me.

Yes, Kai was a virgin. Though his skill level might test some folks suspension of disbelief (something I try not to do too much in my fics, even though I write mostly fantasy).

Kai’s kinks in this fic might be fairly tame by our standards. But it is a 1920′s era au fic. Don’t really know if they’re kinks; but Kai would love to spank Maya then bend her over his desk and…

...so I don’t know if you saw my post. But I decided to do a short smutty scenario thanks/inspired by this ask. So here you go. Sorry it’s so short. Between having my ‘poison juice’ (aka infusion) last Friday and unexpected visitors yesterday and the day before I’ve been kinda wiped.

FYI this little scene would take place after things settled a bit from the last and (eventual) upcoming chapter.

WARNINGS: spanking, non-con, creampie, cockwarming; Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Promised Pleasure

Removing his dust mask as Maya entered his office, Kai frowned at her attire. “That’s not what I told you to wear today.”

Maya’s shoulders tensed. She foolishly hadn’t expected her choice of clothes to be an issue. She should've known better. Still, her pride wouldn’t let her apologize. And she knew Kai would sniff out any lie.

Deciding a gently put truth was best, she stepped further in his office. “I felt like wearing this.”

Kai’s golden eyes narrowed. She was testing boundaries again. And her testing was trying his temper. “Close the door please, my Dear.”

Despite the politeness of the ask, a shiver ran up Maya’s spine. Mouth suddenly dry, she turned and closed the door with a shaky hand.

“Lock it.” Kai ordered, voice taking on a twinge of sharpness. He had called her in here hoping for a nice diversion. But with his beautiful girl acting so spiteful he would have to resign himself to giving her a lesson.

Maya’s hand paused on the door. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

“Maya. Lock the door, Darling. You know how I dislike repeating myself.”

The slow scrape of the lock setting in place deafened Maya to everything but her ragged breathing and thundering heart. She didn’t hear Kai’s next words. So when she turned back around, it was to find him looking more annoyed then ever.

Smothering her nerves, Maya met Kai’s piercing gaze head on. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

Unlacing his fingers, Kai sat back. “I told you to come here. This is the second time I’ve had to repeat myself. I won’t do so again.”

Maya shuffled hesitantly toward Kai’s desk.

Kai pushed back and slightly turned the chair he was sitting in. “This side. Come around near me.”

She moved around the desk, stopping a couple paces from his spread legs. Skin prickling under the caress of his roving gaze, her breath caught glimpsing the bulge in his pants.

At least Kai always brought her pleasure. Unlike the disgusting landlord who had used her and left without care or glance after. Kai always made her feel special. Beautiful. Loved. In those moments of heated bliss she lost herself and forgot she was doing this solely for justice for her brother. Basking in Kai’s twisted affection and the delightful pleasure he gave she’d start to believe she truly cared for him in return. That they could make something of this. Possibly enter a real relationship that wouldn’t end when he did as he promised and saw those who killed her brother put down.

Maya stared at the tailored suit jacket hanging over the back of Kai’s chair. Anything to avoid seeing the twitching cock in his pants.

“Why don’t you serve me some water and unbutton my vest for me, Sweetheart.”

It wasn’t a question, or even a suggestion. Maya knew well enough it was an order. But with Kai’s honeyed tone and adoring gaze it was easy to trick her mind into believing there would be no consequences for disobedience.

Turning over a heavy tumbler that sat on a silver tray at the end of his desk, she took up the crystal carafe and poured. Setting the glass in front of him, her fidgeting hands fell to her side, smoothing her skirt.

Her delay in following his second commend had Kai rising to his feet. Maya stepped back even as she hurriedly reached for his vest, seeking to rectify the offense. Kai grabbed her wrist before she touched him.

Maya grimaced at the too tight grip. “I’m sorry. I--”

Kai pulled her roughly against him. Maya stumbled, heels catching on the plush area rug. She fell against his chest. His expensive cologne assaulted her nose. She loved the smell but hated smelling it as she only got a whiff when Kai had her in his space.

Suddenly gentle, Kai’s strong arms steadied her. “Careful, Sweetheart. We don’t want you hurting yourself.” He caressed her cheek, brushing the hair out of her face with a tenderness that didn’t match the blazing fire in his amber eyes.

Maya held perfectly still, struggling not to flinch. The way Kai flipped from loving and sweet to caustic and hurtful on a penny dime was what frightened her most about him.

Smiling, Kai’s head dipped. “You’re so beautiful, Darling. So soft and beautiful.”

His tender lips graced hers in a chaste kiss. Maya’s lashes fluttered closed accepting the kiss, thinking she had escaped his anger. Her body jerked at a sudden tug. The sound of something ripping rang out in the room. A sudden cold strike of air hit her front torso pebbling her nipples.

Maya’s eyes shot open with a gasping cry. Kai had rent her blouse and camisole open.

“If you refuse to wear what I tell you to. Maybe you should be left with nothing to wear at all.”

“Kai… I’m--”

Kai cupped her cheek. “I don’t want to hear it, Sweetheart. You apologize and apologize but keep on going astray from the clear, defined rules I’ve set. My love for you has seen me be more than patient. But I’m afraid my patience has come to an end.”

Maya stumbled again, her world spinning as she was quickly turned and shoved down against the desk. The glass of water she served slid off the surface and fell to the floor. It’s crash accentuated Maya’s surprised cry. Mind reeling, she didn’t feel the splash of water soak her hose.

“Ka—ah!” She broke off with a scream, senses assaulted by the sound of her tearing skirt. The cold hard desk against her breast and torso and Kai’s painful grip on the back of her neck. Her nose burned, eyes watering from the lingering smell cleaner that clung to the polished surface.

Hand still holding her down, Kai dropped her ruined skirt. His freed hand slid over the silky slip she worn. So soft, he mused. But not anywhere as soft as the flesh beneath. That covering was pulled down along with her panties.

“Kai! What are you--” Maya broke off with another shouted cry.

The crack of his hand hitting her ass echoed about the room. Maya’s back arched at the blooming fire but was roughly pushed back down against the desk.

“Stay, my Love. You wouldn’t want to upset me further and earn yourself another lesson after this.”

Wiping tears from her eyes, Maya tried to look back at him. For a moment she swore she saw a horrid bird-like beast in place of her handsome tormentor. But the monstrous vision was gone quicker than she could blink.

“Le—le—lesson?” She stammered.

“For continually testing your bounds.” Kai leaned forward, low rasp tickling her ear. “I’m afraid this will hurt, my Dear. But know, that it will hurt me to do it more than it’ll hurt you.”

Ass still stinging from the first spank Maya doubted that. By the third strike she was certain Kai enjoyed it and was glad for the chance to discipline her supposed disobedience. Confirmation of his delight came when he paused after the fourth hit and ran a hand over her blazing butt-cheeks.

Kai’s fingers traced the red marks, trailing over the rising welts. He loved Maya’s perfect, soft skin. But there was a possessive pride in seeing her flesh temporarily marred by the work of his hand. It sparked something primal in him, turning his tender caress into a rough, digging grope. She was beautiful, his beloved. A perfect little darling that would fit so well beside him in the new wholesome world he was working to usher in. Or at least she would be once she learned to listen and obey without hesitance or question.

No one but him could touch her. Certainly no one else was allowed to see her in such a weakened and debauched state. Kai growled at the thought, fingers digging into the meat of her ass. He would gouge the persons eyes out. Cut out their tongue, and break their knees and fingers. Then grant them a slow, painful death for having seen his darling like this. Because this… His other hand loosened and trailed down her neck, slinking around her side to cup her breast, reveling in the weight as she lifted a bit thinking they were done. ...this was for him, and him alone. His throbbing dick ground against her raw ass.

Maya’s lips pressed together between clenched teeth, biting back a cry at the burning pain. Halfway into righting herself her back bumped Kai’s chest.

Weight rested on his hand planted to her side on the desk, Kai’s chin hooked over her shoulder. “Think you’ve learned your lesson, Beautiful?”

Breast heaving with a shuddering breath, Maya nodded.

“Doesn’t appear so. You know how I prefer worded responses.”

“Yes!” Maya expelled. “Yes. I’ve learned my lesson. Please, Kai. I’m sorry. So very sorry. It won’t ever happen again.”

Kai’s knuckles glided down her back. Other hand gripping her hip he pulled her blistered ass against his leaking erection. “Why don’t we test that? Bend over, Sweetheart.” Annoyed as he was by her hesitance, he smiled lightly. “Either you haven’t learned your lesson. Or liked it so much you want another.”

Before Maya could respond she was pushed and held down on the desk. Her eyes shot wide at the resounding spank. Fresh tears sprang from her eyes as they squeezed shut at the sharp boiling pain. “Kai! Please! I’m--”

Another hit landed. Then another.

Kai stopped after the tenth. Staring down at her trembling frame he had a moments regret. He should have made her count. Next time, he told himself.

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his vest. Amber eyes skimmed over his handy work. Just when he thought she couldn’t be more beautiful… Even her mix of drool and tears puddled on the desk were lovely.

Lost in the consuming tumble of dull thudding pain accentuated by sharp stinging bursts, Maya didn’t hear the jangle of Kai’s belt being undone. She jolted at his hand slipping between her legs. Whimpering as his prodding fingers dragging through her folds.

Kai frowned at the minimal moisture. Usually Maya got so wet for him. It wounded and upset him. But before those emotions could take root his eyes drifted back to the pool of saliva on his desk. His heart lightened. Even with her punishment his darling had thought of him and his needs. Proving she loved him as much as he loved her.

He leaned over her and kissed her tear-stained cheek. “Thank you, my Dear. You’re so sweet and good for me.”

Maya’s lashes fluttered. She watched Kai’s hand trail through her drool, gathering it.

Bringing his wet hand to his freed length, Kai slathered her saliva over his shaft. He grimaced, skin prickling with the beginnings of a inch. But soothed himself that was Maya. She was clean. Worthy. His.

It’s like indirect oral, he thought with a steadying breath. The prickling itch diminished then fully disappeared as he focused on Maya, pumping his fist to fully wet his cock.

Lining up his cock he leaned back over her and kissed her shoulder. “You’ve had you’re punishment, Darling. And you took it so well. Now, let me remind you of my love and the pleasure I can give.”

Maya’s shining eyes flicked to Kai’s. Her brow furrowed. Was it the light? Or was there a dim otherworldly glow in those honeyed depths? The image of the demon Dabi’s bright burning eyes flashed through her mind. But it vanished in an instant from the breach of Kai’s fat cock head. She would've cried out at the burning stretch if her breath hadn’t seized in her lungs.

Kai hissed at the pull of his sensitive skin. Maya’s drool helped. But it didn’t provide the smooth silky glide her delicious arousal did. Wanting the discomfort over with he snapped his hips flush against her, driving his length in her tight hole.

Fully sheathed, Kai slowly exhaled. His eyes closed, head rolling back. Taking a moment to simply feel, he basked in her velvety embrace. This would never get old. Slipping his aching cock into Maya’s perfect, tight pussy. Feeling her walls stretch to make room for him then flutter as they adjusted to his penetrating presence was something that consumed his thoughts; just like everything else about her.

Maya mewled the most pitiful whine beneath him and Kai lost it. His darling was just so sweet. So beautiful. So helpless.

His hips pulled back and slammed right back against her.

If asked, Maya wouldn’t have been able to say if her scream was from the hard thrust or Kai’s pelvis pounding into her blazing red backside.

Her back arched, lifting her off the desk.

One hand gripping her hip, Kai’s other hand grabbed the back of Maya’s neck and shoved her back down. Never once did his ramming thrusts stop.

The once dulling pain of Maya’s welted ass sharpened again. Fresh tears seeped from her eyes. Kai had lied. He had said she had her punishment. The pain was suppose to be over. But every thrust was just another spank. Until…

Kai’s feet shifted. Angling his hips he hit that spot in her that had her seeing stars.

Pleasure mixed with the pain. The rough scrape of his trousers zipper didn’t hurt as badly. Even the occasional jab of his belts buckle didn’t make her want to crawl up and die.

Kai almost reached around to finger her clit. But an idea struck him. It was scandalous. But so was fucking his darling over his desk. He groaned, cock twitching at the thought. His pace sped seeking his own release without a care for hers.

Maya rocked against the desk. Her hips started to push back against him despite the blazing pain to her ass. A different kind of heat pooled in her belly. But just as the coil started to tighten another warmth filled her.

Kai thrust deep inside Maya, cock coming alive. He grunted, pushing his hips firmly against her, driving her against the desk, seeking to get even deeper as hot ropes of cum spit from his pulsing cock.

Building orgasm lost, Maya deflated atop the desk. Her nails clawed at the polished surface, hands balling into weak fists. Though grateful it was over, she couldn’t help but be bit bitter about Kai’s second lie. ‘...let me remind you of my love and the pleasure I can give.’ Yes, she had felt some pleasure. But she hadn’t gotten her full pleasure.

She waited for Kai to pull out. When he didn’t she looked back at him.

Kai greeted her with a smug smile. “You didn’t cum. Did you?”

Maya’s mouth fell open.

Before she could respond, her torso was pulled up off the desk. Heated as his skin was through his button-up shirt, Maya shivered the instant her back touched his chest.

Kai’s arms wrapped around her. He held her firmly against him, keeping his cock snugly inside her. His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Did you think I forgot about my promise, Sweetheart? I said I was going to remind you of the pleasure I can give.”

Keeping her glued against him, Kai retook his seat. Head a whirl of confusion, Maya barely grimaced at the discomfort of his softening cock shifting inside her. The heated pain of her abused butt numbed by her racing mind trying to figure out what Kai was doing.

Soon enough she got her answer and wished she never had.

“I’m a man of man word, my Love. What do you say you keep me warm while I do some work? Then I can give you that promised pleasure.”

After this, Kai might develop a breeding kink to go with spanking, rough office sex, and cokwarming.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

Thank you all for being so patient with me and the posting of this fic. Special thanks to Anon for the ask and inspiring this one shot. And as always, an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230 for being the best fellow writer friend (and friend in general) and encouraging and brainstorming with me. I mean it when I say I would’ve given up posting long ago if it wasn’t for your support.

#kai chisaki #yandere kai #bnha #1920s #one shots #crossroads #Anonymous Ask #asks #inspired by anon ask

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heysoup · 4 years ago

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Fluffy February Day 1 - Fishing

Howdy folks! I’m taking part in the Fallout Fluffy February prompt list this month, hosted by @fluffyfebruary

Every day of this month I’ll be posting my finished prompts under the community tag #fluffyfebruary and on my own blog as #fluffyfeb. I’ll also be cross posting to Ao3, which I’ll link to in each post - so feel free to follow me over there, too!

Chapter 1: A Fisher of Men

Pairing: Butch/Male Lone Wanderer

Summary: Jamie takes Butch out on the Potomac for a fishing trip in the same spot his father had taken him a year prior. What seems to be an uneventful few hours turns into anything but when they find a monster on the other end of their line. Takes place after the events of Broken Steel.

Ao3 Link

“This is fucking boring.”

Jamie shoots Butch an irritated look from where he’s sitting across from the other man in the canoe, his brows drawn together as he tries his damnedest to untangle his fishing line from the third piece of driftwood he’s ‘caught’ that day.

“No shit,” he grumbles, spitting out some mud as he tries to break the line off the wood with his teeth. He lets out a frustrated huff, gripping his rod in both hands as he raises it up and fights the urge to just chuck the whole damn thing into the Potomac. He hears Butch snicker, and he whips his head up.

“You’re like a goddamn feral,” Butch teases with a laugh, reaching over and snatching the rod from Jamie’s grip. He digs in the pocket of his jeans and pulls out his switchblade, flicking it open and carefully beginning to cut the line away from where it’s tangled in the driftwood to try and save as much of it as he can.

He kicks his boots playfully against Jamie’s sneakers, noticing how the canvas high-tops are completely soaked through from the puddle of water they’d managed to slosh into the canoe earlier as they tried ungracefully to board it from the shore. He just shakes his head, a smile on his face, knowing that if he brings up the topic of appropriate footwear to the younger man it’ll just earn him a bruised shoulder.

“This was supposed to be like… meditative or some shit,” Jamie says with a sigh. He rubs his hands over his freckled face and ruffles some of the dust out of his sun-warmed hair. Butch just gives him an incredulous look.

“Where the hell did you get that idea from?” He finishes cutting the driftwood free and tosses it behind him into their small pile of ‘catches’ – which is really just a collection of junk at this point – before reattaching the hook and bobber and handing the rod back to the other man. He leans over and grabs his own fishing pole, squinting against the reflective ripples in the water to check on his bobber. Still absolutely no bites.

Jamie shrugs, suddenly looking a little bashful. “I dunno,” he admits. He reaches back into the salvaged can of cram they were using as bait, tears a chunk out, and works on preparing his hook again. Not like it matters much, he tells himself. He can continue to go through the motions perfectly and not catch a single thing. A little bit like everything else in his life, he thinks bitterly. His fucking bad luck.

After a moment of silence, Jamie continues. “Apparently my family came from a long line of fishermen on my dad’s side. He passed down some stories about it. Told me they were tradition or something.” Jamie shrugs. “Anyway, he taught me that you were s’posed to reflect on yourself out here. Get some peace and quiet.” Jamie finally says. He sucks the excess cram off his fingers, his tongue burning at the sudden saltiness, and casts his line out again, his bobber floating a few feet from Butch’s. Butch looks up at him, snapped out of his own thoughts.

“Huh… like, Wasteland fisherman?” Butch asks, deliberately choosing not to tell him how he thinks the whole ‘peace and quiet’ schtick is a load of brahmin shit and instead focusing on the first part of what he said. He’s always intrigued whenever Jamie tells him about his family, at least after they’d learned that he wasn’t born in the vault. The idea of generations of Arroyo’s managing to survive out here long enough to pop out the rascally kid he sits across from kind of amazes him. He sets his fishing pole back down against the side of the canoe, sure that it would be fine – he hasn’t gotten a single nibble in the past three hours.

“Nah. I’m sure some of them might’ve been, but we don’t really know much about closer generations of my family. We only really knew about some of my prewar family – something about some records my dad’s dad had kept on his terminals after searching our surname through databases in some place that used to process immigrations, or some shit. The occupation listed there was fisherman, apparently.” Jamie finishes and Butch hums thoughtfully, trying to imagine what Jamie’s granddad might have looked like.

Jamie winces when he thinks of his dad and has to shake the thoughts from his head. As if his face reflecting back at him from the clear surface of the clean water isn’t enough of a reminder of what he’s lost of his family and himself to of Project Purity – he looks like his own father’s ghost and even carries his name.

Butch’s fishing pole snapping against the side of the boat brings him back out of his thoughts, and he flinches back away from the canoe’s edge, the quick motion causing him to almost tumble out the other side as the boat sways dangerously.

“I got one!” Butch practically shouts and lunges for the pole, straddling the seat of the canoe and bracing his legs against the floor as he begins an awkward tug-of-war match with whatever is on the other end of his line. Jamie perks up with a huge grin on his face, all thoughts of his troubles momentarily forgotten, and hovers over Butch nervously.

“Make sure you don’t reel in when he’s pulling on the line! And try to give it some slack!” Jamie parrots what his father had taught him on their one and only fishing trip in the Wastes months back and digs around in their mess of a canoe for the rickety net they brought with them. Butch just gives an annoyed grunt, his face crinkled in concentration as he pulls on the line.

“This bastard is fuckin’ heavy!” He complains, giving the rod a yank that rocks their canoe again. Whatever they have hooked is pulling them ever so slightly to the opposite shore and splashing like crazy beneath the water.

“Scoot,” Jamie orders. He tosses the net aside – it’s obvious that whatever’s on the other side of the line won’t fit in it now - and moves on unsteady legs to sit behind Butch, reaching his arms around the other man’s waist and grabbing the fishing pole to help him pull. What the hell are they dealing with here?

By the time they begin to make some progress in reeling the fish in, they’re about halfway to the shore and completely out of breath. Butch laughs hysterically between pulls, his eyes squeezed shut in glee, and Jamie can’t help but laugh in return. His palms are sweaty, his white-knuckle grip on the fishing pole beginning to slip.

“Is it trying to pull us out of the water?!” Butch says suddenly, elbowing Jamie to look at the swiftly approaching shore. They’re hauling ass at this point, almost as if… whatever they hooked had suddenly caught some footing in the shallower water. Jamie’s eyes widen and he immediately lets go of the pole to root around in their bags. As he does, Butch careens forward from the sudden lack of support and just barely catches himself with his elbows against the edge of the canoe. He curses, “CHRIST, Nosebleed! Some warning next time!”

Jamie has only just gotten his hands on Butch’s shotgun when they finally catch a glimpse of their ‘fish’ as it breaks the surface of the water. At this point, they’ve reeled it in pretty close and the wake left behind the huge creature emerging from the stagnant part of the river capsizes their canoe just as they crash into the sandy shore.

With a chorus of yells both men topple over into the shallows. Jamie squeezes his eyes shut and lands on his back with a thud, his arms stretched up over his head holding the shotgun out of the river. The water feels like a cold slap to his face, and he comes back up gasping for air. He looks over to where Butch has landed hard on his ass, noting that the fishing pole is being tugged out of his hands and quickly away from him. He looks and sees the fruits of their labor – an albino Mirelurk with the fishing line wrapped around one claw.

“MIRELURK!” Butch yells, scrambling to his feet and running over to Jamie. He pulls the other man up and grabs the shotgun from him just as the Mirelurk turns toward them and begins clambering over the old canoe that groans and splinters beneath its weight.

“Shoot it! Shoot it!” Jamie practically shrieks and pushes against Butch’s arm, urging him to hurry when the Mirelurk picks up speed and barrels toward them. Butch nods and fights the urge to run, taking a breath and bracing for the recoil as he lines up his shot. Jamie flinches when he hears the crack! of the rounds exploding from the gun and shattering the vulnerable part of the Mirelurk’s fragile front shell. His ears ring from the close proximity of the shot and he grimaces, about to cover them until he realizes the monster is still running full speed toward them. Shit!

He grabs Butch and tackles him to the ground, shoving them out of the way as the huge, mutated crab stumbles past them at an alarming speed and crashes hard into the shore. It lies there face-first in a mound in the sand and they watch it with wild eyes from their position on the ground, ready to book it at any hint of movement, but it’s motionless and quiet – dead.

Jamie rolls off of Butch and flops down next to him, both of them looking up at the endless expanse of bright blue sky as they struggle to catch their breaths.

“Still think fishing is boring?” Jamie snaps and Butch begins to laugh again, the sound starting as a snort and bubbling slowly from his chest before he’s full-on wheezing with laughter. Jamie sits up and looks down at him like he’s insane.

“What about this was funny?!” He asks, shaking Butch’s shoulder. He can’t help but return the grin, though. Seeing Butch happy always manages to make him smile. Butch wipes his hand down his face as he sits up, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder and hopping to his feet. He reaches down to pull Jamie up with him, a huge shit-eating grin on his face.

Jamie’s ears suddenly feel hot as he watches Butch, noticing the endearing gap between his two front teeth and the splash of sun freckles over his now sand-dusted face. He swallows, his heart racing. “What?” He repeats again, his throat dry.

“I caught a motherfucking fish.” Butch beams even more and looks incredibly proud of himself as they turn and walk over to his ‘catch.’ He kicks it with the toe of his boot a few times just to ease his own worries of it springing back to life.

“It’s not a fish! It’s a crab, they’re different.” Jamie argues and crouches down, grabbing the edge of the Mirelurk’s shell with Butch as they flip it over with a heave. Jamie doesn’t mention that technically he did catch it with a fishing pole, and that technically they are going to have it for dinner. He doesn’t want to give Butch the satisfaction, especially considering the only thing he got out of this trip is his collection of stones and driftwood that was currently crushed under their broken canoe.

“It counts.” Butch says, the grin still plastered on his face. He pulls a combat knife out of a holster on his belt and settles down on his knees in the sand, tapping the sharp edge of it against the shell. “Look at this bad boy. You ever see a white one before?”

“It’s an albino, I guess.” Jamie says, leaning close to inspect it. He lifts the claw that’s tangled in their fishing line. “What a mess, we aren’t salvaging this.” He drops it back into the sand with a thud.

“The fuck’s an albino?” Butch asks as he cuts into their prize, grimacing and holding back a gag as he begins to butcher it. Mirelurk is good meat, but it reeks when it’s fresh.

“You know, like that one story Brotch made us read in like 8th grade, Moby Dick? It was about that sea captain and the giant albino whale.” Jamie snickers and walks the few paces back to their canoe. He flips it right-side-up with some effort and drags their valuables out of the muddy water, clicking his tongue in disappointment when he notices their bags are completely soaked through. “You’re lucky he didn’t eat your leg.” He teases.

Butch looks back at him and pouts, blowing a messy curl of his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, I never read anything ol’ Brotch assigned. Waste of time. Like it would’ve taught me anything useful out here.” He grumbles.

Jamie laughs and drops their stuff next to a rock outcropping near their canoe. It looks like it would provide some decent shelter against the wind and by the looks of their soaking clothes and supplies, they’ll have to stay the night unless they want to catch hypothermia. “Maybe it could’ve taught ya how to catch a real fish.”

“It still counts as a catch!” Butch whines.

“It’s not a fish.” Jamie shoots back in a sing-song voice, biting his tongue to hold back the huge grin that threatens to break through. Butch jumps up from what he’s doing and turns to him, his face red, but mirroring the same smile that Jamie is trying so hard to hold back.

“It. Counts.” Butch grits between clenched teeth puts his combat knife away, buttoning the sheathe into place against his hip. They stare at each other for a moment, their eyes locked in a staring match. Jamie’s grin finally breaks free.

“Does no-“he cuts himself off with a yelp as Butch lunges for him playfully. He laughs so hard he thinks his chest might burst as he takes off in a run down the beach, Butch hot on his heels as he begins to chase him.

He knows Butch’s legs are much longer than his, but he can hold his own – at least for a little while. And even though the inevitable ending is Butch catching him in a tackle, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it. It’s something they’ve done since they were boys stumbling around in the grey fluorescence of the vault, constantly finding their way back to each other like it was fate, and it feels like home.

#fluffyfebruary #fallout #fallout 3 #butch deloria #butch/m!lw #fanfiction #jay writes #fluffyfeb

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dabis-azure-songstress · 5 years ago

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Dabi x SelfHarm!/Depressed Reader

Alright, Love Bugs...here’s the one I have been working extremely hard on. I’m a recovering self harmer and I just wanted to give other people like me and how I used to be some extra love. I hope this helps just one person and I will feel like posting this was worth it. Dabi is himself one this, but he’s actually trying to comfort the reader. When I was cutting, sometimes all I wanted was just someone to talk to and a friend. I’ve had people get mad at me for going to them and literally voicing how ashamed they were. This creation stems from that and I hope it helps. If you really need help, please reach out for it. @kericacathouse I hope you don’t mind me tagging you, I know you wanted to read it. And please let me know as a fellow person that has had trouble.

Pairing: Dabi x SelfHarm!/Depressed Reader

TRIGGERS: Self harm in the form of cutting is described explicitly and the feelings I have felt related to it are described. This may seriously trigger you and I don’t want anyone to have a relapse, please. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! I’m trying to help, not make it worse!

WARNING: Self-Harm, Depression, somewhat soft Dabi

The cold metal of a razor blade shakes in your hand as you stare at it. An extreme concoction of buried feelings, long stifled, is bubbling up and you can’t bear to swallow them down anymore. Embarrassment, shame, anger, hatred, disgust, sadness, loneliness, wanting to be alone/wanting someone to just be with you, wanting to end it, and just wanting to live your best. Your inner voice ranges from bitter “failure”s, “stupid”s, “no one cares”, “they’ll be happy you’re gone, you’re nothing” to “just one more cut...then I’ll stop” and “it’ll feel so good”. You can feel the bile rising into your throat slightly. Your hand slowly moves and the cold metal is biting into the delicate skin of your thigh or wrist with precise force behind it. You suddenly jerk it quickly and finish the new addition (and rapidly a few more, it never seems to stop with just one), breath shakily leaving your lips and head slightly falling back. Shame, relief, pleasure, and the familiar stinging floods up along with the crimson liquid rising to the newborn slices. Questions also begin to infiltrate through the haziness of your mind. Why did I do that? Why do I hurt myself? Why does it feel so damn good every single time I possibly might just kill myself? It’s such a thrill and utterly relieving simultaneously. People could have their alcohol, crack, heroine. This was your drug of choice. Your sweet, yet utterly terrifying addiction.

You’re still slightly rolling on endorphins when the door to the bathroom pushes open and familiar beautiful and glowing turquoise eyes fall on you. Your partner had needed to relieve himself and was about to tell you to “piss off” before he put two and two together. “What are you doing?” Heat floods up your spine and then freezes ice cold. You hadn’t thought of being caught, only thought of your medicine for dealing with the world. You thought he was mad at first, but the expression on his face was relaxed and he was just normal/usual Dabi, though his eyes seemed to hold a softer gleam.

He moves and plops down against the wall beside you, head tilted back against it with one knee pulled up and his arm resting on it while the other leg stretches out in front of him. Dabi grabs the razor from the floor and glances at you and the metal languidly. “You shouldn’t do this.” His tone still isn’t angry and he’s not freaking out an ounce. “I know...Aren’t you mad at me?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad? Why would I make your pain any worse? You probably feel upset and ashamed enough for the both of us.” You felt the tears well up in your eyes and shook under the weight of your heaving sobs. He actually understands? Dabi frowns and carefully drapes an arm around you. “Don’t cry, baby doll. I don’t like the water works.” He’s not being mean and his tone stays quite soft.

You try to reel yourself in and it’s quiet for a moment before he finally speaks up again. “I’m sorry your pain runs this deep. Someone like you should never feel like this is the only answer. I get it though. Once you get started it’s hard to stop and you cling to the relief it gives you.”

“Y-you...”

Dabi releases a long sigh before he’s using the arm not around you to point carefully to certain scars under his large ones that you can still see if you look closely enough. “I get it. I really do. But...please don’t do this to yourself anymore. A doll face like you should be smiling all the time. You deserve to be happy. And these feelings you feel now are valid too. I get you can’t be happy and smiling all the time. This place can be super fucked up, but...if you need someone to rely on and talk to, if you feel like you have no one, I am standing right beside you.”

You glance at him to see he’s already looking at you and staring directly into your eyes. “D-Dabi...”

“C’mon, don’t get all gushy on me now,” he teases. “I’m serious though, doll. If you feel like this again, come find me. Call me. Anything. You will never bother me. Fight those demons and live for me. It’d be a hell of a lot more dull without someone as bright as you around. So, fight it. If you slip up every once in a while, that’s ok too. It happens. You can tell me that too. I’m not going to tear into you for it. It’s absolutely okay to not be okay. You’ll get there. You can recover. Promise me.”

“I...I promise...” It felt as if some heavy weight had been completely pushed off your shoulders. “Good. Now let’s get those cleaned up and get some bandages on you. Then you’re really going to have to get out of here because I have really got to pee. You can go wait in my room or something.” You chuckled softly as he grabbed a few things from the medicine cabinet. He cleaned you up and got you all set before he finally ushered you out of the bathroom and pointed to his room.

There you went and waited. You never thought you’d ever have a best friend like you did in Dabi. He was extremely easy to talk to and always listened to what you had to say. He had even managed to give you a few tight hugs to let you cry it out to him. He always acknowledged how you felt, no matter how fucked up you thought you were for it. He made you feel completely normal and like nothing was wrong. You didn’t feel alone. And you actually fit in somewhere. You weren’t some freak just because of how you were feeling. And slowly with him, you started to get better and conquer yourself. Sometimes it really is okay to not be okay.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #warningthisistriggering #depressedreader #itgetsbetter #itsokaytonotbeokay #dabi imagines

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name-me-regret · 4 years ago

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If The World Was Ending 4/?

If The World Was Ending Chapter Four: Los Angeles, I’m Yours

Read on AO3.

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“There is a city by the sea A gentle company I don't suppose you want to?

And as it tells its sorry tale In harrowing detail Its hollowness will haunt you

Its streets and boulevards Orphans and oligarchs A plaintive melody Truncated symphony. An ocean's garbled vomit on the shore Los Angeles, I'm yours...”

~ Los Angeles, I'm Yours - The Decemberists

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

‘Hey, Buck, it’s me. I just want you to tell Christopher I’ll be a little late picking him up, got our hands full here. It’s a good thing you’re missing it. Hope you guys are having fun.’

Buck was exhausted and lightheaded, but constantly looking for the boy with curls and a smile bright enough to light up a room. “Hey! There’s a kid under here!” a woman yelled.

“Christopher?” he exclaims, desperately clinging to any hope that it’s the little boy he’s looking for. “Hey! Hey, guys!” He hurries over, water sloshing around his legs and the Chris’s glasses hanging around his neck. “Hey, hey, big guy! Me and you, come on!” A man that’s almost four inches taller than him (which is impressive since he’s 6’2, hurries to help him. “All right, three, two, one. Go!”

They lift the heavy sign off the child, and as the others cheer and help them stand up, his hope is crushed when he sees it’s a twelve year old girl, not Christopher. The woman consoles the crying girl and Buck sighs in deep seeded exhaustion.

When someone says they might have seen Christopher at a Cupcakery on Strand, he forgets his fatigue and is moving again. He’s so wrapped up in wanting to find Chris and already numb, that he doesn’t notice that the edge of the sign has cut his arm pretty deeply.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Tony landed at a gas station, the water having receded, but the debris has done damage to the pumps and some were leaking. After pushing the emergency shut off button, he called it in and put up caution tape he’d snagged from a Home Depot store blocking off the driveway. Hopefully people would stay away, since there was a lot of spilled gas.

“Iron Man, there’s a fire at a Shell Gas Station on West Century Blvd,” he heard a woman’s voice from dispatch. He had just gotten back in the air as the call came in, heading toward the areas still heavily flooded with water. He was about to go put that fire out but saw a little boy in a yellow t-shirt sitting on top a car. “J, put out that fire out, I have eyes on a child in need of rescuing.”

He swooped down as the boy lifted his eyes to the sky, his small face covered in mud but looking relatively unharmed. Tony landed next to the car, making sure not to land too hard and risk upsetting the water and possibly knocking him over. “Hey, buddy,” he said, the faceplate lifting up.

“You’re Iron Man,” he said with a bright smile that made Tony smile as well.

“I sure am, what’s your name?”

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” he told him, making Tony grin again. He had an adorable lisp, and it made his heart melt. Despite what they said about him, he liked kids. It’s just that he feared turning out like Howard and messing up the life of an innocent child that made him never want to become a dad.

“That’s true and your mom and dad are smart for having taught you that.” He could tell he was having a hard time keeping his head up, and he didn’t think it was from fatigue. Maybe a disability.

“My mom... she’s gone,” he told Tony with a sad, quiet voice.

“Well, my mom is gone too, and my dad.” He sat on the front of the car, and besides shifting a bit, it didn’t move too much under the weight of the armor. “It’s okay to be sad, you know?” The kid nodded, squinting at his face. “How about this, my name is Tony. Now you know my name, besides being Iron Man. Is it okay to give me your name now? Or your dad‘s name?”

“I’m Chris,” he finally said.

“Alright, well, let’s get you to the nearest hospital, Chris. The nice people there will make sure you’re not hurt and get you home, okay?” He reached out and gently picked him up, the kid gripping his shoulders a bit clumsily.

When Tony took to the air, he made sure not to go too fast. If he did, he might hurt Chris and that’s the last thing he wanted. That meant it was slow going, but it also allowed him to hear Chris as he cried out joyfully at flying.

Tony smiled at his resilience, and was sure Chris was going to be alright.

The man took him to the field hospital they’d set up at the decommissioned VA hospital on Sawtelle, handing him over to a nurse, who was in charge of the kids; getting their names and the names of their family to reunite them later. “Stay strong, kid,” he told him. “I’m sure your dad will find you soon.”

“Bye, Tony,” Chris said as he waved at him as he was carried away.

“Cute kid,” he hummed, before blasting back into the air despite his tiredness to continue helping more people.

That’s how he spent the rest of the day, putting out fires and rescuing anyone that was trapped or stranded, and unfortunately finding a lot of corpses in the water. He hated to move on after tagging them, but there were other, living people that needed him. Tony nearly lost it when he found a drowned infant and he couldn’t just leave her, cradling the tiny body in his arms and carrying her to the nearest hospital.

He had to take a break then before he fell apart completely, stepping out of the suit for the first time in several hours. There were several relief workers also taking a break and he sat with them as they welcomed him and tried to hand him some rations. “I uh...” he hesitated, fighting back a full body shudder that went through him as memories of being poisoned as a child filled his head. He’d taught himself never to take anything that was handed to him ever again. “I don’t... like to be handed things,” he finally managed to say.

The woman, a few years older than him, smiled and nodded, setting the rations down on the seat next to him. Tony was grateful, since he usually got derisive looks or sneers from people that thought Tony was just a stuck up rich person. The woman’s eyes were kind, and maybe she saw that it was from a trauma, or maybe she didn’t. He was just grateful when she made no comment.

After a moment, he grabbed the rations and the bottle of lukewarm water. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d eaten, so he scarfed down the dry protein bar and chugged the bottle of water. The sun was starting to sink as they shot the breeze, Tony making a note to set up a relief fund for not only the people affected by the tsunami, but also the ones working tirelessly to help those in need.

It was almost half an hour after sunset that he stood and bade them farewell, stepping into his suit and going off to help once again. He was sore and exhausted, but there were so many people still out there that needed someone. If he had to, he’d be that someone. Although, he figured after an hour or two he’d take a longer break, and maybe drop by Evan’s house to finally reassure himself of his safety.

As he was flying over Oceanside, he heard Captain Nash calling for medical transportation for 17 people, recognizing his voice almost immediately. He wouldn’t be able to carry that many, but maybe he could help. As he touched down, he scanned the area and immediately saw the downed light post, sparks flying from it, and even more alarming is when JARVIS indicated the leaking gasoline truck. Bobby immediately hurried over to him as soon as he landed. “Tony, we could really use your help,” the man says.

He wasn’t sure what he could do to help, but he could see the strain on his face, both from worry and fatigue from a long day working, so Tony would do what he could. “If it’s within my capabilities, then I’ll do what I can, Cap,” he told him. The man usually liked to work on his own if he wasn’t with Rhodey, the Avengers having been a one hit wonder that hadn’t panned anything. After all, no one had come to help him when the Mandarin had destroyed his house and he’d been presumed dead. However, it was different with Nash and his people. They all looked dirty and tired, having been working all day. The crew of the 118, and a lot more other rescue personnel had been working tirelessly to save people, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to help them when they asked for his help. He motioned toward the light post. “I imagine it has to do with that Sword of Damocles over there? And the truck leaking gasoline?”

Bobby was momentarily surprised, but shook it off before he nodded. “Yes... you know, one of my men called it just that.”

Tony smirked. “I‘ll have to meet him when we aren’t sitting on a potential explosion that could kill everyone here.”

The Captain nodded. “Well, I’ve sent two of my firefighters to acquire some vehicles, but I would feel so much better if the gasoline could possibly be neutralized.”

His mind was going a mile of minute, wondering if it would be better to douse the gasoline with kitty litter, or try and move the lamp post up and out of the way. Tony must have been talking out loud without realizing it, meaning he was more tired than he thought.

“Wait, are you sure you won’t get electrocuted?” Bobby knew the man was a superhero, and had faced many dangers, which included terrorists and even aliens. However, he wasn’t invincible, and he was just as human as Bobby was underneath his high-tech suit.

“Not to worry, Cap my suit once took a hit from Thor’s lighting and I’m still here. I’ve had 36 suit upgrades since then,” he said with a smile. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Famous last words,” the man said with a strained smile.

“Bobby, are you making a joke about my possible potential death?” he asked with mock shock, then gave him a wink as the face plate snapped closed before the man could respond. He flew toward the lamp post, grunting as he felt the shock of the electricity surge through the suit. It wasn’t as bad as when Thor had blasted him, but it was constant until he lifted the lamp post and away a bit.

‘Power at four hundred percent capacity,’ JARVIS intoned like deja vu.

Tony chuckled as he moved away from the light post, the thrusters in his boots keeping him in the air and not touching the gasoline that had already spread this far. He gave the thrusters more power as he went higher into the air. “J, give me the location of the nearest pet shop.” Tony figured that the best thing to do was bury it in non-flammable kitty litter and hope for the best.

“Alright, Cap, I’ve bought you some time, but try and hurry your men,” he told him over the frequency. He hadn’t seen Diaz among them, so perhaps he was one of the ones that had gone to get some form of transportation.

He flew there as fast as he could, knowing the others were on borrowed time. The window of the PetSmart he arrived at had it’s glass doors still intact. “Remind me to pay for these doors, J,” he said as he crashed through them in a rain of glass shards and metal. He went to the cat’s section, and the lights were out but he had flood lights on his suit, and night vision on his HUD. Tony yanked a shopping cart along and started to pile inside several bags of kitty litter, as much as would fit inside the cart. He rolled it outside and then hurried over next door to the hardware store,. “I hope they don’t try to arrest me for looting.” He grabbed two tubes of sealant that he put in a bag and dumped it into the shopping cart, making another note to pay for everything he was taking. “Next time I’m going to aim for a Sam’s or a Costco,” he sighed, lifting the cart.

It was harder to fly back at high speeds without losing the kitty liter, but he managed without dropping a single bag. He cursed when he saw that the lamp post had fallen despite his best efforts, the sparks making the gasoline catch fire, and he dropped the cart. Tony didn’t want to move the post again, so he grabbed one of the ten pounds bags and tore it open before he upended it over the flames. This particular brand was made from bentonite clay, which meant it wasn’t flammable. He managed to douse the flames with a second and third bag, but to make sure it didn’t catch fire anytime soon, he used every single bag to spread it over most of the area around the lamp post. He also got the sealant and after managing to lift the truck at an angle where the gas wasn’t spilling, used both tubes of the white plaster like sealant so make sure no more would spill. When that was done and he carefully set it back down, waited a moment to make sure it wasn’t still spilling, and then used the caution tape someone had left behind to wrap around the whole area. Just to be sure.

He saw the firefighters of the 118 loading the patients into what appeared to be mail trucks and was amused. “Alright, Cap, threat neutralized for now, but I suggest you double time it out of here,” he told him. He knew that neither he or Bobby were military, but he remembered that the guy with the nametag Diaz had a military bearing to his movements. If he hadn’t served, then he’d eat his own helmet.

“Thank you for your help, Iron Man,” he radioed back.

“Neither rain, nor snow, nor tsunami, Captain Nash,” he joked.

He heard a groan on the other end. “I hope you and Chimney never meet and become friends,” a woman’s voice said over the radio.

Tony chuckled to himself as he continued on. As he went over the city where no lights were on except the occasional fire, he felt his eyesight go dark. If it wasn’t for JARVIS taking over, he’d have crashed, and as it was, he was disoriented as he came back around, and realized that he’d fallen asleep mid-flight.

Well, he guessed it was time for that break he promised himself, and changed course toward Evan’s house. Tony didn’t have many actual friends, since people always wanted him for either money, fame, or in the case of Sunset, to steal SI prototypes. So, wanted to make sure one of the few friends he had was fine, since he wouldn’t deny that he’d been thinking about him ever since this morning.

So, he was looking forward to seeing his friend face to face after all these years.-

5 notes · View notes

the-odd-job · 4 years ago

Text

Harem AU Chapter 4 - Choose Your Fighters

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Starscream, Knock Out, Skywarp, Starscream (brief), Unnamed Characters Relationships: Megatron/Sideswipe, Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker, Skywarp/Starscream (brief) Additional Tags: Sticky, Throatfuck/Deepthroat, Oral Sex, Referenced Gangrape, Humiliation, Forced Twincest, Repairs, Orgy (brief background), Size Difference, Coercion, Angst, Hurt/Comfort Words: 11829

Revised version of Chapter 4, as posted on AO3.

Again the changes are TINEH, so if you read the first version then you won’t benefit much from this one.

It just continued.

They refused to fuel at first. Megatron merely shrugged that off and continued fragging them—he and his damn spike wouldn’t stop hurting them—until they were both running on fumes. They’d barely drank anything on the way to Kaon, and after their arrival it had been almost nonstop interfacing. It took its toll on them.

And Sunstreaker didn’t much fancy the thought of being so weak he couldn’t put up even a token of resistance against Megatron.

So they had finally agreed to fuel, downing the ridiculously high quality midgrade distrustfully. But they were exceptionally low on energon. Even if it was drugged, it was fuel.

It turned out it wasn’t drugged, as far as they could tell anyway. It only provided them with a much needed burst of energy and renewed their will to fight, even if they were fighting the inevitable.

They didn’t really want to get back into Megatron’s reach after they’d had the moment’s reprieve provided by fueling. So they didn’t. Sunstreaker escaped into the lounge through the surprisingly unlocked door; Sideswipe crawled under the massive berth. Good luck trying to get him back out from under there.

But of course Megatron had his ways to get what he wanted out of them. If he couldn’t force Sideswipe to come out, he could… Motivate him to do so “willingly”.

Which meant first catching Sunstreaker. He took some pride in lasting a little longer against Megatron than the first time. The lounge provided more options for evasion, because Megatron didn’t climb over objects, he circled around everything.

So all he needed to do was keep something between them at all times.

It worked for a time, but Megatron was depressingly proficient at this particular game. Despite his best efforts, Sunstreaker got herded back into the berthroom, and this time the door definitely locked after Megatron.

The very sparsely furnished berthroom didn’t provide a lot in the way of cover. He was cornered in short order, then dragged back to the berth.

Megatron threw him onto it and Sunstreaker caught himself with his arms. Before he had the time to turn around to face his assailant, Megatron had joined him, pressing his helm against the berth and pulling his hips up before slamming home. Sunstreaker groaned into the bedding as Megatron set up a punishing pace, his hips near denting the plating of Sunstreaker’s aft.

“Your brother can come out,” Megatron growled at him, “or you will remain as the sole recipient of my attention.”

He could feel Sideswipe wavering, his desire to protect his brother… Whose desire? The desire of them both, aimed at the other. Clashing.

Sideswipe would stay safe under the berth. Sunstreaker could handle this.

Sideswipe wanted to spare him even some of the abuse, or at least share it with him instead of forcing him to take it all alone.

But he managed to convince his twin to stay under the berth for now.

Megatron just wasn’t done with him, far from it. Before he’d even reached his first overload, he caught Sunstreaker’s arms and yanked them back, putting a painful amount of strain onto his joints and forcing his back to arch well past comfort. All the while he kept slamming into him, hammering now into an area he hadn’t reached previously thanks to the change in posture.

It hurt. Primus, but it fragging hurt. Sunstreaker grit his denta and tried to bear the pain silently, but couldn’t quite contain his grunt at a particularly hard thrust.

Megatron transferred his hold of his arms into one servo, trailing the other one along his frame. Sunstreaker’s plating clamped tight and Megatron’s touch left a crawling path behind wherever it went.

Eventually it slipped up along his front until it reached his throat. Megatron wrapped his servo around it, tilting Sunstreaker’s helm back along with the rest of his spine.

And he kept tilting it, forcing his back into a more and more extreme arch, bending him into a shape he wasn’t ever supposed to be in. Sunstreaker didn’t scream even when his frame protested with bursts of agony along his back, components grinding together and stressing against each other, but a low sound of pain still rose in his throat.

Sideswipe couldn’t take it. He scrambled back from under the berth just when one of Sunstreaker’s spinal struts finally gave in to the pressure and fractured with an audible crack.

“I’m out, I’m out, just stop, please!” Sideswipe yelled over Sunstreaker’s howl, but…

Megatron did indeed stop, releasing his throat and arms and shoving him back onto his front. Sunstreaker’s frame barely thanked him for being freed from the unnatural posture. His back still ached with the pain of abused parts, his HUD uselessly listing the damage done.

But at least no further injuries were being inflicted.

Megatron continued to thrust into his valve even as he flicked just one digit at Sideswipe. “Come here.”

Sideswipe didn’t, right away, but when Megatron landed his servo on Sunstreaker’s back, right over the fractured strut, and started to press down…

Sunstreaker’s yowl was enough for Sideswipe to rush onto the berth, tears falling along his cheeks.

They were each other’s weakness, weren’t they? Not wanting to see the other suffer, and easily manipulated because of that. Megatron was making full use of it now.

“Lay down on your back. Spread your legs,” were the orders given to Sideswipe, and he followed them with clear hesitation.

But he followed them all the same. Sunstreaker tried to rise onto his arms to have a better view of what was happening or about to happen, but Megatron shoved him back down and left his servo at his back, a heavy reminder to stay down.

Stay down and take his spike.

He growled, but he wasn’t in the best position to try for disobedience without risking more severe injuries. And Sideswipe was shackled by the same concern. Sunstreaker was at least able to turn his helm to look at his brother. Sideswipe was staring at Megatron with wide optics, their spark fluttering with fearful anticipation. Trepidation.

It wasn’t pain that was imposed on his brother. Megatron stuck two of his digits into Sideswipe’s gaping valve that easily took them after being stretched so far by Megatron’s spike, but instead of anything painful… He started to stimulate Sideswipe.

Sideswipe went stock still for a moment, before the worst of the shock wore off and he tried to scramble away and close his legs simultaneously.

Megatron pressed harder on Sunstreaker’s back. Sunstreaker ground his denta together.

Sideswipe stopped in his escape, panting like there was no tomorrow. “Please, please stop, I don’t want this..!” No no no no echoed in their spark, but Megatron was just as pitiless in this as he was in everything else. Unable to move away in fear of hurting Sunstreaker, Sideswipe sat there and cried as Megatron proceeded to pleasure him with skill that wasn’t really that lacking. He knew where to touch and how to move his digits to wake up Sideswipe’s frame, and in short order Sideswipe’s ventilations were hitching and he was fighting back his moans. His valve was lubricating, finally, where Megatron’s spike just hadn’t managed it through the simple pain and discomfort it caused.

But here Sideswipe was now, his valve slowly leaking more than just transfluid.

It was like Sideswipe was in trance, unable to tear his optics away from the servo fragging him in all the right ways.

Then it got worse. “Show your spike.” At that Sideswipe’s helm shot up, his overbright optics staring at Megatron.

“Please, no.” Whatever Megatron’s reasons for wanting to see his spike were, they couldn’t be good, both twins agreed on that instantaneously.

When Sideswipe didn’t obey right away, Sunstreaker could feel that servo pressing against his back again.

Sideswipe cried harder, but shook his helm, over and over and over again.

The pressure increased.

Still Sideswipe refused. “Just frag me, use my mouth, whatever! Please don’t–”

Sunstreaker tried so hard to stay silent, but when the already fractured strut started to break apart entirely under the weight Megatron was applying onto it, he couldn’t contain his hoarse scream. Sideswipe cried out with him, but finally his spike cover snapped back, his spike pressurizing halfway from its sheath. His frame was getting more and more aroused, but Sideswipe tried to fight it back.

It wasn’t really working out for him.

Megatron removed his digits from Sideswipe’s slick valve and wrapped them around his spike instead, perfectly proportional to Sideswipe’s frame, but a dwarf next to Megatron’s.

And Megatron started pumping it. Gently, just the right way to ratchet Sideswipe’s pleasure higher. Sunstreaker could feel all of it, the sensation bleeding from one spark-half to the other.

His frame was responding too. His ventilations turned heavier as heat began to build in his groin. His valve started to lubricate, easing the passage of Megatron’s spike among the straining walls.

He hated it instantly.

Megatron teased Sideswipe’s spike into full pressurization, and then...

He pulled out of Sunstreaker. His spike abandoned his valve, leaving it horridly empty and struggling to return to anywhere near its original size, but Sunstreaker still vented in relief.

He had no doubt it would be very short lived, but fraggit, he would take it.

Megatron’s servo remained on his back, keeping him pinned in place, but he moved off to the side. Sunstreaker couldn’t help but puzzle over what he was doing.

His blood froze at what Megatron told Sideswipe next. “Mount him.”

“What?!” they asked at the same time, dawning horror crashing into them from where they’d already thought they were slowly getting used to the treatment—that they’d seen it all already.

Sideswipe’s voice was pitched higher than Sunstreaker had ever heard it before. Sunstreaker struggled against Megatron’s servo, trying to get up and away and escape the whole damn situation and oh Primus not that–

But Megatron pressed down on him until he was screaming in pain all over again. Sideswipe was yelling too. “Stop, stop, please! I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Sunny, Sunny please…”

Their spark was full of pleas from one side and the other until it all blurred together into one big mist of I don’t want to.

Despite his words, Sideswipe didn’t move. Sunstreaker was panting from more than just his fading arousal, Megatron’s servo relentless over his breaking spine. His armor was rendered next to useless in the face of the tyrant’s strength. It was like there was nothing protecting the broken spinal strut, and honestly, as far as Megatron was concerned there probably wasn’t anything in his way.

He could have just easily just ripped their armor off if he pleased. Was this mercy, to still get to keep his plating?

Pain. It made his mind race like crazed turbofoxes, no sense to the desperate thoughts that chased each other in tight circles around that one physical sensation. He couldn’t think straight when Megatron kept hurting him, Sideswipe reluctant, so reluctant.

But his brother’s cooperation would end this.

So, which was worse? Having his back entirely crushed, or getting fucked by his brother?

Why were those the two choices they had?

Where had things gone so wrong?

But he wasn’t going to beg to Sideswipe. Fraggit, crush his spine for all he cared, Sunstreaker kept fighting his thoughts all the same every time they whispered Sideswipe could end this.

Convince him to end this.

No. Their resistance may have been for naught, but he was not going to give up on it. Megatron and his treatment, he was never going to subject himself to it willingly, he vowed that much to himself. If that meant injuries, so be it.

Megatron was not going to get what he wanted so easily.

As resolute as Sunstreaker was with that thought… His frame protested. It protested hard, flooding his HUD with warnings and alerts, informing him of this and that. Pain radiated all around his body from the central point at his back. Deliriously he wondered how much more it would take to fully compromise his protoform and start crushing his other internals.

And how quickly the damage would reach his spark chamber.

Optics tightly shut and genta ground together, Sunstreaker was too distracted with his quest to withstand to focus on the outside world. It sounded like there were words being exchanged around, someone moving…

Then the pressure was gone all of a sudden. He sucked in one sharp ventilation of spark deep relief a second before a spike was inserted into his valve. He jumped and tried to pull away on reflex, but one of his helm fins was grabbed, pulling his neck into an awkward bend to keep him from completing the motion.

As quick as he could, Sunstreaker took stock of the changes in their predicament. Megatron was holding his fin, and Sideswipe–

It was Sideswipe’s spike in him.

“Frag you!” Sunstreaker growled at Megatron, glaring at him with all the vile hate he could muster—and oh, there was a lot, despite the short time they’d known the mech for. Sideswipe didn’t move, but he became all too aware of his servos resting on his aft, and… His spike. His brother’s spike. Nothing compared to Megatron’s, it didn’t add to the painful ache of his valve, to the damage done before lubricant had added itself into the play.

And with how many times he’d already taken Megatron’s spike, his valve was slow to adjust to a smaller intrusion.

“That is precisely the plan,” Megatron responded with that stupid, all too common retort, hunger in his optics as he looked down at them. Then there was a clang of metal outside his immediate field of view and Sideswipe jolted, jostling his spike deeper into Sunstreaker’s valve. Sunstreaker bit his lip at the feeling.

It wasn’t that he didn’t find his brother attractive. He could acknowledge that Sideswipe was desirable. Easy on the optics, nice to look at, sexy, however you wanted to put it.

But as attractive as he found him, he wasn’t attracted to him. He’d never wanted to berth Sideswipe, not once in his life. They kissed, they made out, but that was where their interest ended.

And now he had his brother’s Primus damned spike up his valve, when neither of them wanted it.

Megatron slapped Sideswipe’s aft again, and Sideswipe jerked his hips forward to escape the impact.

Jerked them against Sunstreaker’s aft, rocking him in turn.

“Move,” Megatron said evenly, and Sunstreaker could feel him slip his digits back into Sideswipe’s valve. Sideswipe shivered in response, but didn’t move for the longest moment, before Megatron put his claws to use and struck the inside of Sideswipe’s valve.

Painfully.

Sideswipe yelped and his hips danced right against Sunstreaker’s aft in his twin’s attempt to evade the claws. It moved his spike inside him, and again Sunstreaker tried to pull away, hissing and growling wordless threats–

But Megatron still had a hold of his fin and yanked his helm as a reminder of that fact. It kept his head down and pulled to the side, stretching his neck cabling in a way that was anything but comfortable—controlled the rest of his frame with the threat of how much more Megatron was capable of.

“Move,” the order repeated, this time more firmly, and Megatron began to pump his digits in and out of Sideswipe at a pace that was nothing but rough.

But after all the abuse they’d already been through, it was pleasure compared to the rest.

Sideswipe moaned, and whimpered, and Sunstreaker could feel his twin’s vocalizer and engine hitching from the force of his sobs, no matter how he tried to quiet himself… But he started to move, rocking between Sunstreaker’s valve and Megatron’s digits.

Pleasure was lighting up in him, and Sunstreaker’s frame responded in kind even through the pain in his back. The disgust in their spark doubled, all of the negative coursing in from both of them making their spark swell and shrink at the same time—the helplessness, so much helplessness; their fruitless attempts to try to avoid everything that had been done to them so far; the revulsion towards the things they’d been made to do and were being made to do; the I don’t want this that filled every second of every moment, and still the inevitability of it all.

Given no chance to truly escape, provided with no more options than what Megatron saw fit to grant them, their frames first turned into dolls and then used against them…

He would’ve rather stayed as just a doll over this. Having his frame abused against his will, that he could take.

But forced to participate? To enjoy it? To be turned on by it?

Hard limits were being crossed left and right.

And the same that applied to Sideswipe went for Sunstreaker: after all the pain Megatron’s spike had caused, Sideswipe’s was pleasurable in comparison. It wasn’t like he had no sensory nodes in his valve, and no matter how badly those had been mistreated by Megatron, they now responded to the draw and thrust of his brother’s length. He wasn’t being stretched to painful proportions and left feeling like his valve walls were just going to peel off.

Instead there was lubricant slicking the way and a spike that was none too large, and none too small. His calipers began to tighten after a delay, providing a perfectly snug fit for Sideswipe’s spike.

Like they were made for each other. And considering their frame specifications matched almost to the last detail, that was practically the truth.

Didn’t make him want it any more.

But his frame responded no matter how much his mind and spark fought against it all. Even the strain on his neck began to translate into something that just ratcheted his arousal and charge higher as Sideswipe continued rocking.

Sideswipe was moaning in earnest now, unable to keep quiet. Even Sunstreaker struggled, biting his glossa to prevent himself from voicing his pleasure—he didn’t want to give Megatron that satisfaction.

He could feel Sideswipe’s hate towards himself for not being able to do the same.

Sunstreaker didn’t know what to do about that.

Megatron eventually removed his digits from Sideswipe’s valve. Sideswipe stalled a second later, but Sunstreaker’s temporary relief at the lack of movement died a brutal death the moment Sideswipe groaned, a sound that spiraled into a flat out cry.

It wasn’t an altogether pained sound.

Sideswipe’s valve was practically sopping from Megatron’s administrations and the further stimulus of his spike in Sunstreaker’s valve. When Megatron pushed his massive girth in this time… There was the pain from a sore and abraded valve.

But there was barely any of the same friction left that there’d been before, the chafing all but gone.

Instead there was the mind numbing pleasure of having your every node stroked so thoroughly, of your loosened valve being stretched just right.

Megatron was ruining their frames, forging them anew to what he wanted from them. Their mouths, their valves—if it was too tight for him, this for sure was fixing that issue entirely.

Hate only burned brighter at that thought, joining his arousal in heating his frame. His face was twisted into a snarl even as he was held in place by Megatron’s warning grip, his frame shaking with anger. How many layers of rape was this even, at this point? He didn’t want to be spiked and pleasured by Sideswipe, Sideswipe didn’t want to spike and derive pleasure from him, Sideswipe didn’t want his valve used or pleasured… And all of that was happening at once.

And if Sideswipe had hated himself before, that dam broke now completely. Tears were streaming down his face like rivers composed of sheer pain, his optics locked to the ceiling in an effort to not look at who he was spiking right then. Sunstreaker gasped at the maelstrom of torment that their spark turned into as Sideswipe reached some limit within himself.

As that limit was broken through by Megatron’s decree.

There was apology. So much apology it made Sunstreaker dizzy, kept him from taking immediate notice when Megatron began to move, using Sideswipe’s valve as roughly as he ever had.

And Sideswipe… His frame turned on him entirely, sandwiched between a spike in his valve and his spike in a valve. Sunstreaker could feel the ecstasy rocketing through him even through the sting of his damaged valve.

Sunstreaker’s valve was just too perfect of a fit.

Megatron had just molded Sideswipe’s valve too well.

He couldn’t deny the effect Sideswipe’s sensations were having on him, either. They flooded their storming spark and made him experience just what Sideswipe was experiencing, drowning him in the same physical rapture.

But it was only physical. As much as it muddled their thoughts, making it hard to think beyond every second of pleasure, it did nothing to erase the feeling of how much they didn’t want this.

Sideswipe didn’t want Megatron’s spike, or Sunstreaker’s valve. Or Sunstreaker’s spike for that matter.

Sunstreaker didn’t want Megatron, or any of the things belonging to Sideswipe.

This wasn’t wrong. He knew most siblings were happy to frag it out with each other. Why not?

But they had never wanted to.

And here and now, that didn’t matter anymore.

Here and now they’d already been through hell of the likes they’d never imagined in their worst nightmares, and it just kept getting worse.

When were they going to hit rock bottom? How much more could they be degraded before there just wasn’t anything more to do to them?

How the pit were they supposed to survive that far, or make it through the impact of that rocky ground rushing up to meet them?

How was he supposed to stay sane in all this?

Sideswipe wasn’t moving himself anymore, but every hard thrust Megatron made into his valve rocked his frame, emulating thrusts into Sunstreaker’s valve and jolting his frame on the berth’s surface. He could barely even call it Sideswipe fragging him, it was more Megatron fragging the both of them—holding him still with the strain on his neck, and trapping Sideswipe between their frames.

And the pleasure kept building. Sunstreaker closed his optics against it, feeling the familiar enough crest of it all approaching. His fans worked overtime as Sideswipe’s spike continued to pump into his valve, the calipers already tightening out of his control and drawing more moans from his twin.

Sideswipe tried to hold back, but his frame’s march towards climax was relentless under the assault on his privates. His emotions peaked at the same time as his frame did—disgust hate sorrow hurt shame—the first pulse of his brother’s come in his valve sending Sunstreaker over the edge too, if the bloom of completion across their spark wouldn’t have done it already. His back arched despite himself, but even the pain of that wasn’t enough to quell his climax. Overload crashed through him, tightened his cables—Sideswipe’s claws dug into his hips, his valve rippled wantonly. Both their valves did, and Sideswipe’s feelings—shame shame shame—only multiplied when the erratic clenching of his valve pulled Megatron into completion with them, his transfluid deposited deep into Sideswipe’s valve.

To join all that there already was.

And it just would not end, the pleasure dancing between them and lengthening both of their overloads for what felt like an eternity.

An eternity of bliss and revulsion.

Sideswipe collapsed over him in the aftermath, strutless from the strength of their overload. He moaned weakly when Megatron pulled out of his valve to a veritable flood of transfluid and lubricant.

Shame and sorrow intermingled now that the deed was one. Sideswipe’s shame for having to do this, for having enjoyed it, and their shared sorrow of what they’d been driven into. Their choice, all stripped from them. Their will, what they wanted... Ground into the dirt like it meant nothing.

A part of Sunstreaker hoped it would finally be over as Sideswipe’s spike slowly depressurized back to its sheath, vacating his valve. In what world was this not enough?

A larger part of him made a well educated guess that Megatron was nowhere near done with them.

In their world this was not enough.

He wasn’t sure the shock of being dragged into Kaon had even worn off yet. It hadn’t really had the time to do that with everything that had been happening, with all the more reasons for shock they’d been given.

Reality was going to hit them in the face sooner or later, he was pretty sure of that. For now things still felt… Unreal.

Like this was just a nightmare, even though he knew it wasn’t.

His helm fin was released and Sideswipe was pulled off of him, by Megatron, until his brother fell against the tyrant’s chest, still too far from having full control of his frame to protest with anything more than the wounded sound he made. Without his weight, Sunstreaker slowly got his arms under himself and pushed himself to his hands and knees, turning to look at his brother and their tormentor.

His back raved at him for every movement he made, but he didn’t want to just lay there like a dead thing, waiting to be fucked over and over again.

He could feel a mix of fluids seeping out of his valve, and one look at Sideswipe showed his twin’s valve in a similar state. Sideswipe’s optics were still a little far off, but he was moving his frame in small, restless motions, his disquiet with being pulled against Megatron clear as the day for anyone who cared.

Megatron didn’t care, merely trailed a servo over his brother’s frame until he’d tipped his claws into the mess streaming from Sideswipe’s valve, and...

Brought them back up to shove them into Sideswipe’s lax, unresisting mouth.

Sideswipe didn’t want that. His frame didn’t move, but internally Sunstreaker could feel him recoiling and trying to gain full control over his faculties again, just so he could stop it.

But when had that worked? Sideswipe did indeed gain enough of his movement back to bring a servo to Megatron’s arm, trying to push it away–

Megatron responded by shoving his digits deeper until Sideswipe gagged on them.

Sunstreaker growled, but his arms were shaking from both the overload and the simple pain his back was casting into all of his limbs. His frame might’ve been sturdy enough to make up for the broken strut and accompanying damage, still allowing him movement, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

So there was little he could while Megatron lazily pumped his digits in and out of Sideswipe’s mouth, his gaze passing between them as if he was considering what to do with them next. Sunstreaker didn’t like that look one bit.

Sideswipe gained more coherence, and with it, more fight. He brought his other arm up too, using both of his servos to try to push Megatron’s servo away, and he was putting actual force behind it.

Megatron, true to form, ignored it aside from shoving his digits deep and keeping them there even as Sideswipe gagged again, harder this time.

The harder Sideswipe pushed on that arm, the deeper the digits went, until they were flirting down the passage into his throat and it was a fight and a half for his brother to keep his frame from heaving entirely. That was when Sideswipe finally relented, his arms losing their tension and just… Holding onto Megatron’s even as his tank threatened to rebel from the treatment.

But as soon as he did, Megatron pulled his digits further out, only giving them a pair of shallow pumps before removing them out of Sideswipe’s mouth entirely. Lesson learned, Sideswipe didn’t try to hurry the process up by pushing on Megatron’s arm, fearful that it would’ve just gotten the whole thing to continue.

“To the edge of the berth,” Megatron said suddenly, speaking to the both of them from the looks of it.

Sunstreaker growled. Sideswipe shook his helm in a no.

No more of this.

At the very least, Megatron didn’t look surprised at their defiance. Had they gotten him to expect they’d struggle against him? That was good; it meant their fight hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Even if it had done them no good whatsoever.

Like he hadn’t any of the previous times, Megatron didn’t let the issue just pass. The tyrant pushed Sideswipe off his chest and slipped off the berth, but before Sideswipe could move out of his reach, Megatron had grabbed his ankles and pulled him to the edge, flipping him to his back.

And then Megatron was once again situated between his brother’s thighs. Sideswipe tried to pull away experimentally, but Megatron only grabbed his thigh and put an end to that before it really even began.

“You too, Sunstreaker.”

Both twins started at his name being used. Somehow he hadn’t thought Megatron even knew their designations. He certainly had never asked for them.

But it probably shouldn’t have surprised him that he would have his ways of learning. They had told them to Starscream, at least. Maybe he had passed them along.

Although small compared to everything else, it still felt like a violation, irrational as that might’ve been.

His name used or not, though, Sunstreaker didn’t move to obey. Instead he lifted his lips in a snarl and stayed right where he was—safely out of Megatron’s reach, not about to get grabbed. If Megatron wanted to get a hold of him, he’d need to leave Sideswipe, and then Sideswipe would have his chance to escape.

Except…

With a growl of his own, Megatron stabbed his claws into Sideswipe’s open valve. Sideswipe howled at the simple pain of it as his valve walls were tested nearly to their limit, nearly puncturing, and Sunstreaker suddenly found himself very motivated to get a move on. His back punished him for every movement, but that wasn’t anything compared to what he knew Megatron was capable of doing to Sideswipe.

So he scrambled his way across the berth’s surface to Sideswipe’s side, their spark flaring with an anxious ‘what now?’.

At first it was nothing unusual. Megatron removed his digits from Sideswipe’s quivering valve, only to replace them with his spike instead.

But Sideswipe’s valve was wet and had barely had a moment of reprieve between then and now. The intrusion… Could have been worse, as much as Sunstreaker hated the thought of them getting used to this abuse.

Sideswipe didn’t make a sound, staring sightless at the ceiling as Megatron started moving. Leisurely, like it was an afterthought to whatever he was really thinking about doing.

Sunstreaker waited tensely, but he didn’t have to do that for long. Megatron just loved ordering them around. “Coax his spike back out.”

Sunstreaker balked at the command and Sideswipe covered his face with his servos to try to stifle the sob. Their spark screamed no more, but Sunstreaker felt stuck.

Do it and suffer, or don’t do it and suffer.

He stared at his brother, first at his hidden face, then… His optics trailed down his frame until they reached his recessed spike.

Sideswipe didn’t want this.

Sunstreaker didn’t want this.

Who the fuck cared?

Coax his spike back out.

It was bad enough when Megatron had done it and forced his frame to experience mind blowing pleasure. He’d used both his valve and spike at the same time before, but… Never like this

Never with a valve that held his spike so perfectly, or with his own valve stuffed as full as it had been.

He’d spiked Sunstreaker. That was just wrong. Not in the grand scheme of things, but between them. Sunstreaker had never wanted his spike, and he hadn’t wanted Sunstreaker’s valve, and he definitely hadn’t wanted Megatron up his valve at the same time as he was forced to exploit his twin.

But what choice had he had? Would Megatron have really crushed Sunstreaker under his servo if he hadn’t obeyed? He had little doubts about that.

To protect his brother, he had to hurt him.

In a way. Not physically; Sunstreaker’s frame hadn’t hurt from more than what Megatron had inflicted on him.

But fragging him was assault all the same.

And now Megatron wanted them to continue in that vein.

Was nothing sacred to him? Not their wills, not their frames, not the relationship he had with his twin… It didn’t include fucking, it just didn’t!

Megatron was set on tearing it all down so they’d learn their place. What had he said earlier? How long ago had that even been? Time was starting to turn meaningless in the unending torment.

Learn to spread their legs.

Learn to use their mouths.

For his pleasure.

Megatron hadn’t been kidding, had he?

And it had been better when Megatron had focused on just that, on taking his pleasure from their frames without any heed for their comfort.

Now, instead, the way Megatron was moving in and out of his wet valve was lighting up his sensors in most pleasant ways, the still existing sting of valve mesh and calipers pushed past capacity only adding to it. He’d always liked it a little rough.

But he would have never interfaced with someone of Megatron’s size, if he’d had a say in the matter.

He couldn’t believe his frame was even adjusting this damn well to it.

But he was managing to keep his spike down, at least for now. Except Megatron wanted Sunstreaker to do something about that.

Sideswipe didn’t want to look, his optics closed and his servos over them for good measure. He could still feel Sunstreaker’s distaste of the situation, his calculation of what his options were. Sideswipe didn’t want this, and… Sunstreaker didn’t want to force him through it even less than he wanted to do it.

And he really didn’t want to do it.

There was a hiss when Megatron just grabbed his brother by the helm, and Sideswipe shivered when he could feel the proximity between them growing until something was pressed against his spike housing.

No, not just something. Sunstreaker’s lips, forced there by Megatron’s immovable grip on his helm. Then, a growl, coming from Sunstreaker as Megatron began to do to him what he’d done to Sideswipe earlier—tightening his hold until only pain and pressure warnings remained.

The intent was clear. Get to work.

Sunstreaker resisted for the longest moment, just his lips pressed against Sideswipe when he very well couldn’t move away no matter how he wanted to. Sideswipe could feel them first pull into a snarl, then into a grimace as the damage on his helmet multiplied.

He held on for longer than Sideswipe had. His protoform was crushing by the time Sunstreaker finally vented heavily, steadying himself before Sideswipe felt his lips wrap around the head of his spike, barely reachable from how unwilling it was to even peep out of its sheath.

Megatron’s grip didn’t go anywhere, but it lightened until it was just firm instead of crushing. He continued to move in and out of Sideswipe’s valve, making it harder and harder to keep his spike from responding as Sunstreaker flicked his glossa over the tip.

Disgust was pouring from the both of them, but what were they but cornered and helpless? Sunstreaker did what he had to to save their health, maybe their entire lives.

“Sideswipe, why don’t you appreciate your brother’s efforts. Open your optics. He’s putting on quite the show.”

Sideswipe cried into his servos as Sunstreaker’s administrations faltered at the words. A squeeze of his helmet was enough to prompt him back into action, but Sideswipe couldn’t bring himself to look like Megatron wanted him to.

The tyrant’s hold on Sunstreaker’s helm kept tightening, though. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Sunstreaker moaned in pain, the vibrations of the sound doing things to his spike, but Megatron’s threat was clear as day. Sideswipe still heaved several shuddering ventilations before he slowly peeled his servos from his face and opened his optics, staring at the ceiling.

Unable to look down his frame, knowing what he’d see.

Megatron was having none of that. “Optics here.” His grip on Sunstreaker’s helm didn’t relent, and Sideswipe could feel his twin’s growing delirium as his frame was broken bit by bit, the agony of his helm adding to the one already existing in his back.

Sideswipe couldn’t take it. He couldn’t put Sunstreaker through it.

So he looked.

Megatron was staring down at him, gaze intense, hungry. At them both really, like this was the best kind of visual entertainment.

Sideswipe’s optics were drawn lower though, and then he could see Sunstreaker, and he couldn’t look away, compelled to witness a disaster he couldn’t escape.

Sunstreaker’s helm was held against his crotch by Megatron, his brother on his hands and knees next to his supine frame. And Sunstreaker… He was doing it, no matter how reluctant he was even visibly, even more so in their spark. Dread of what he would still be made to do once Sideswipe’s spike pressurized...

Sideswipe tried so hard to keep his spike from doing that, but between the stimulation of his valve and his spike tip, it was a battle he was losing steadily. His spike began to push out little by little, but Megatron didn’t let Sunstreaker pull back even a little bit, instead forcing his brother to take the spike directly into his mouth.

Sunstreaker hated it. It didn’t stretch his mouth the way Megatron’s spike had, but Sunstreaker still hated it. Sideswipe could feel his torrent of emotion thundering in their spark, anger rising on top of it all.

But it had no outlet.

And Sideswipe couldn’t ignore the warmth and wetness that encased his emerging spike. Without much warning his spike surged the rest of the way into full pressurization, slipping into Sunstreaker’s throat as deep as it could go. Megatron kept Sunstreaker’s helm in place, his lips pressed solidly to Sideswipe’s crotch.

Sideswipe moaned when Sunstreaker swallowed on reflex, his intake rippling fantastically around his sensitive length. Megatron made a pleased sound too before letting go of Sunstreaker’s helm.

But the moment Sunstreaker tried to pull off his spike, the servo returned with a tut tut and pressed him back down on him. “Service him.”

Sunstreaker’s spark surged with despair at the order and the hated feeling of a spike lodged deep in his mouth. He swallowed again, without meaning to, and this time Sideswipe couldn’t help throwing his helm back as pleasure lighted on his spike, radiating into his valve that rippled around Megatron’s intrusion in return.

Megatron chuckled, his servo resting as a heavy weight on the back of Sunstreaker’s helmet. “Well?” the tyrant drawled, and Sunstreaker panted hard at the thought of what he was told to do.

He didn’t want to do this and Sideswipe didn’t want to receive this. Megatron’s patience ran out first, before Sunstreaker had won or lost his internal battle. The grip on his helm tightened enough to take a good hold of it, and then Megatron began to move Sunstreaker helm, up and down along Sideswipe’s spike.

It was heaven and hell at once. Their spark hurt from the strength of the emotion filling it, the rape it was suffocating them.

But it felt so good. Sunstreaker’s glossa danced against his spike despite himself, some desperate attempt to push it out of his mouth even as Megatron made that completely impossible. His throat contracted with every push inward, not quite a gag but a reaction to the intrusion anyway. His denta scraped against his spike just so, not enough to hurt but adding its own edge to the sensations.

And Megatron kept fragging his valve. Sideswipe stared at the ceiling, his vision turning staticky from pleasure as it built, taking him higher with a promise of another spectacular overload. “Optics, Sideswipe,” Megatron reminded him, and with some effort Sideswipe directed them back down.

Watching as Megatron moved Sunstreaker’s helm up and down his spike at an increasing pace. Sunstreaker was crying again. It didn’t matter that Sideswipe’s spike wasn’t anywhere near the size of Megatron’s, Sunstreaker still hated it, the feeling of having his throat opened over and over again, mouth held open by his girth. Drool was running past his lips, wetting his spike and groin—adding to the mess already there, lubricant and transfluid painting his entire crotch.

Seeing Sunstreaker abused like that was enough to stomp down on his arousal, but only for so long. He couldn’t deny his frame and the dual pleasure of having both of his penetrative equipment fragged. His ventilations turned faster, frame heating despite the efforts of his whirring fans.

And Megatron continued until Sideswipe couldn’t take it anymore, his back arching, hips bucking up into Sunstreaker’s mouth to the smallest of groans from his brother. It was all too late, overload hitting him hard, his spike unloading deep into Sunstreaker’s throat, his valve spasming around the impossible stretch that was Megatron’s spike.

“Swallow,” he could dimly hear Megatron order Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker only growled, lengthening his overload with the vibrations sent along his spike. A moan was drawn from him.

Sunstreaker didn’t swallow as told, Sideswipe’s transfluid draining from his mouth and down Sideswipe’s spike. Megatron growled too, yanking Sunstreaker away—and Sideswipe hated the part of him that missed the warmth of a mouth on his length—followed by a clash of metal on metal and a pained grunt from Sunstreaker.

And Sideswipe’s mind escaped to a nevermore place as he tried to just survive the rest of the days Megatron kept them in his quarters.

A winged frame in black and purple greeted them as they exited Megatron’s wing of the palace. He didn’t know how long it had been, only that it was too long. His legs were weak, his valve throbbed and leaked down his legs in a never ending stream of transfluid and lubricant. He was low on energon and charge, and he hurt all over from all the times they’d pushed Megatron too far and felt it on their frames.

Sunstreaker was in an even worse shape, his damaged back arguably the worst of the injuries either of them had suffered. Now his ventilations were quick and shallow, pain his constant companion.

“Hi! I’m Skywarp.” Sideswipe struggled to focus on the present reality at the voice, his optics slow to make sense of what he was looking at.

One of Megatron’s mates, based on the markings on Skywarp’s wings, identical to Starscream’s.

Identical to the ones decorating their backs.

Sideswipe stared at the Seeker blankly, and Skywarp stared back for an awkward moment before the flier rocked on his heels. “Soooo… How’d it go?” he asked, giving their frames a good once over and wincing a little bit at what he saw. “Megatron can get pretty rough on first timers.”

“It went fine,” Sideswipe said numbly. A complete and utter lie, but he didn’t really want to talk about how not fine he felt.

Skywarp just nodded, accepting the answer, although he had to know it was the opposite of truth. But Sideswipe was grateful when he didn’t push.

“Knock Out’s ready to do your repairs,” was all Skywarp said before turning to lead the way to the harem wing. Apparently they were just going to get escorted from place to place. Sideswipe wasn’t sure if it was to keep them from getting lost, or from escaping.

Or trying to escape, anyway. He didn’t know the palace’s layout at all, and there were guards and servants all over the place. Any escape attempt would’ve been pretty doomed to fail.

And right now… He really didn’t feel up for doing much of anything, nevermind something that would’ve required lucid thinking, planning, and general movement, like trying to escape would have. Exhaustion was bearing down on him, he hurt, and he just wanted to rest.

Repairs? They were in need of some, so returning to the medbay… He didn’t really want to after what they’d already gone through there too, but it was necessary if they wanted to stop the aches in their frames anytime soon. It was a good idea.

Besides, they’d most likely be put into stasis for the repairs. It wasn’t really… He wouldn’t be conscious enough to appreciate it, not like he would have been in recharge, but it was better than nothing. Maybe they’d get a chance to properly recharge at some point too.

So they followed without a fuss, too tired and beaten to really even put up a fuss anymore—defeated. They’d lost the battle.

But not the war. That would continue. Megatron wasn’t going to break them so easily.

Determination built a housing in their spark even as they quietly followed Skywarp into the harem wing and to the medbay. Skywarp filled the silence with some nonsensical prattle about a show he had been watching—or at least it sounded nonsensical to Sideswipe.

Just as likely was that his processors weren’t running fast enough to keep up with the one-sided conversation.

Knock Out had one look at them as they walked into the medbay before shaking his helm. “And here I was hoping you could at least keep your valve covers.” Exasperated? Amused? It sounded like so.

Sideswipe didn’t much appreciate the amusement, and neither did Sunstreaker. Both of them growled at the medic, who ignored the sound and just gestured at two of the medical berths. “Well, hop on and let’s get started. This might take a while.”

Again, it was the smart thing to do. They needed those repairs.

And Knock Out… Didn’t seem like a very nice mech. He was incredibly flippant about everything, about all the straight up suffering, but at least he kept things professional.

It could be worse.

Sideswipe dragged himself to the further berth and let Sunstreaker have the nearest one. They both climbed onto them and laid down like good little mechlings, ready for Knock Out.

Skywarp bid them goodbye before he took his leave. Sideswipe stared at his back until the medbay doors closed after him.

Skywarp was lighthearted, somehow. Sideswipe couldn’t understand how he was able to keep a hold of a spirit like that, but he envied the mech.

Then his attention turned to Knock Out. The medic came to the space between their respective berths, scanning the both of them. He shook his helm again, sighing. “He really does make an unfortunate habit of breaking you lot… Ah well, I’d be out of a job if he didn’t.”

There it was again, that… Lack of care. Like it didn’t matter that they got raped and beaten to their limit—like the medic only cared about how it inconvenienced him.

Somehow Knock Out fit right into the image he’d built of this environment, cruel in his apathy. Just letting everything happen and only fixing the physical signs of it.

Sideswipe couldn’t find it in himself to get angry at him right then, though. His spark was far too raw, still trying to come to terms with his preexisting emotional mess. It was too tired to add anything more to the writhing pile of blackened, battered emotions. He stared at the ceiling instead, letting the medic’s words roll over them as Knock Out listed some of the damage just his scanners were picking up. Sunstreaker’s broken strut and strained back components were obvious, as were the dents on them, their practically caved in helmets, missing valve covers, abraded throat tubing and valve lining, and probably a few broken calipers to go with it all.

He also mentioned something about Sunstreaker’s shoulder joints.

There would probably be a lot more upon physical examination. What had he said before Megatron had summoned them? That he’d need to do full repairs on them at some point, go so far that the wear of street life was erased from their frames?

Now was probably the time he would do that. Sideswipe wondered how long that would take.

How long they would be out for.

“I’ll fuel your frames while you’re under,” Knock Out said, and Sideswipe focused on his words a little better, glancing at the red medic just when he tapped one of his slim claws on the berth next to his helm. Sideswipe took the prompt and turned his helm to the side, giving him access to the medical port at the back of his neck. Knock Out plugged in, went straight for the commands for medical stasis, and then everything was black.

The first thing Sideswipe did when his systems started to come back to life was feel.

Did he hurt still? Anywhere? Everywhere?

Only… His throat and valve. They still felt like they’d been abused relentlessly—you know, exactly like had happened.

So that hadn’t been fixed.

But the rest of his frame? There was that slightly detached sensation of parts that hadn’t yet fully integrated with his systems, but that was it.

He hadn’t even realized how many minor aches he’d acquired over their vorns in Iacon’s gutters. Now all of those were gone, just gone, and his frame felt like it was fresh from an assembly line.

The bigger things were gone too—the dents Megatron had landed on them, all of that swept away like they had never existed in the first place. His helmet was in perfect shape again. The only notices on his HUD were about his throat and valve, otherwise his systems read full soundness. His valve cover was in place too.

And his frame was clean, at least on the outside and around anything Knock Out had worked on.

He turned his helm to the side just when the medic finished ending Sunstreaker’s stasis protocols and watched and felt as consciousness returned to Sunstreaker’s frame too.

The same thing applied to him. No hurts aside from his throat and valve; even his back felt almost like it had never been damaged in the first place.

“How are you both feeling? Any undue sensations?” Knock Out asked once Sunstreaker too had finished bringing his systems online and opened his optics.

“Almost as good as new,” Sideswipe responded honestly for the both of them.

Almost.

“What about–?” he tried to continue, but the words didn’t quite come out.

“Oh, your intakes and valves?” Knock Out caught on quickly anyway, like he had answered that question several times before. “Those are only replaceable with Lord Megatron’s explicit permission. Aside from calipers.”

And when Sideswipe checked his alerts again, that turned out to be true enough. While there were notices of his throat tubing and valve mesh, there was nothing about his calipers needing any attention anymore. The thought that Megatron controlled how much those parts hurt or didn’t hurt was pretty depressing, but… What were they going to do about it, really?

All in all he had to admit that Knock Out had done exceptional work with their frames and been thorough as hell.

It had also taken him some time. A little over a full orn in fact, which Sideswipe assumed contained Knock Out’s recharge and other breaks on top of the time spent working on them.

But it was an orn they hadn’t been abused during, even if they hadn’t had the sense to appreciate that.

“Are we free to go?” Sunstreaker asked, something Sideswipe was eager to know as well. He looked at the medic expectantly.

Knock Out smirked. “From my medbay, yes.” He said that as if he was harmlessly teasing them instead of reminding them they’d lost all of their freedom and rights in one fell swoop.

That they weren’t allowed to go where they wanted to anymore. Stuck, although Sideswipe didn’t know the exact limits of their cage. Only the harem wing unless they were told to leave it on Megatron’s bidding, or was there somewhere else they were allowed to go to as well?

He didn’t feel like asking. Instead he swung his legs over the berth’s edge in time with Sunstreaker and they both made their way to the door, Sideswipe still in wonder over how effortless movement felt now compared to the before.

Had he ever been in this good repair? When he was first activated, maybe.

They were already almost through the doors when Sideswipe turned partially around and, “Um… Thanks for the repairs.” Manners, right?

“It’s so nice to be appreciated. You’re welcome,” Knock Out said with that smirk, and Sideswipe didn’t know him anywhere near well enough to decide how serious or sarcastic the mech was being.

He hastily beat it out of there after that, sighing with some relief as the medbay doors closed behind and left them alone in the hallway, aside from the guards at the door. But they were so still and quiet it was easy to forget about them.

Sunstreaker wrapped him into his arms right away and Sideswipe clung to him, seeking the comfort offered and trying to offer some in return.

The repairs… The state of his frame, it made it even harder to believe that all that happened was real.

If it wasn't for the ache in his valve and his throat, he probably wouldn’t have believed any of this to be more than a bad dream. The lavish surroundings—nothing but a figment of his imagination.

But he could still feel the ghost sensations of Megatron between his legs, and those of his lips pressing against the tyrant’s groin plating as he was forced to swallow his length to the hilt. That was what clued his resisting mind to the fact it was all true.

He was tired. Both of them were. Based on their fuel levels Knock Out had topped them both off before bringing them online like he said he would, but their batteries were running low on charge with a few notices prompting them to enter recharge soon.

And… Defragging would probably be a good idea too.

But he didn’t want to leave his twin’s embrace anytime soon.

They stood there, quiet and still for what felt like an eternity, no one but the guards around to see them. Then Sunstreaker carefully pet along his armor and pulled away a little bit. Not going anywhere, just… Making it possible for him to see Sideswipe’s face. “Should we go get some recharge and defrag? Everything will… Probably go better if we’re at our prime.”

Everything. They didn’t know what else there would be still. Megatron was done with them for now, but how long would that last? Would he give attention to his other mates for a change, or was he still zeroed in on them?

Would he break their frames all over again soon? Sideswipe felt that it would be inevitable at some point, because… Because this was their new lot in life. Wet holes for their master to use when and how he pleased, that just happened to be sentient too.

But he hoped they would get some time before Megatron demanded them again. Just enough to even try to come to terms with everything. That was all he asked.

Were he to voice his request to Megatron, though… He’d probably get a laugh in his face before he was bent over the nearest surface and reminded of his place.

He didn’t want to accept it all. Beside the feeling of sheer unrealness, there was also will. Something that insisted they deserved better than this, that wanted to demand that better. Would they just allow Megatron to treat them however he wished?

Or would they continue to fight?

Would it continue to be futile?

And even if it did… Would they fight anyway?

Sideswipe nodded to Sunstreaker’s suggestion, releasing his hold and pulling away the rest of the way until only their intertwined servos remained as a point of contact. Then they walked along the long hallway, passing the library, the dining hall, the washracks, and the entertainment room—except Sideswipe’s step faltered as they came to its open doorway.

There were mecha just… Interfacing on one of the sumptuous couches. Five of them. Spikes and valves were bared, mouths were in use, and they looked like they genuinely enjoyed it. Noises of pleasure floated in the air.

Again there was that feeling of not understanding. It was as if some pieces were missing from the puzzle he was trying to build to compose an image of this place—their new life. Something about the… Perspective. Where the fragging was nothing but torment for them, for others it was… Something else. Something enjoyable.

Had they not experienced the same they were experiencing right now? Sideswipe couldn’t fathom wanting to interface anytime soon, if ever, not after the pit they had just been put through—and it still felt like it was just a little while ago, another downside of stasis. No memories between then and now to fill the gap in time.

The whole experience of interfacing… Was there anything left to do that hadn’t been soiled already? Megatron had been beyond thorough in fragging them every way he could think of, and he’d had a lot of ideas as far as making it worse and worse for them had went. Sideswipe couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t just remind him of when Megatron had done that to them, ruining any pleasant experience he might’ve otherwise had.

And the pleasure. That was the worst part, being made to enjoy the abuse. In body at least, never in spark and mind.

It was ruined, all ruined for him. Them.

But here were others, apparently completely oblivious to things like that. But they were all Megatron’s mates, right? They’d all interfaced with him, right?

Were they the odd ones out?

But then… What Skywarp had said. ‘Megatron can get pretty rough with first timers.’

Was it a suggestion that they weren’t special in the torture they were put through? That others had had the same happen to them too? Maybe even to some of the mecha now happily fragging their processors out?

He couldn’t understand it. He could feel his thoughts stalling and rotating around that one topic, trying so hard to make sense of it, but failing miserably, until his helm ached with the effort of his attempt.

Sunstreaker tugged on his arm, snapping Sideswipe out of his uselessly circling thoughts. He looked back at his brother, and saw… Concern. “I’m fine,” Sideswipe said on reflex, voice small and tight.

Sunstreaker’s lips pulled into a thin line. It wasn’t like they could actually lie to each other.

But Sunstreaker didn’t say anything, just pulled him along until they reached the big doors of the berthroom.

Sideswipe was looking forward to peace and quiet, pretending he was out of Megatron’s reach, but all of his hopes of that were crushed when the doors opened at their proximity.

Because behind the door, in the vast room with its many cots, there was veritable orgy going on.

Before he could look away, he’d already recognized Skywarp, thighs spread wide and moaning wantonly as Starscream pounded into his valve. Starscream had a dildo up his valve, big enough that just seeing it made Sideswipe close his legs tighter.

And around the pair there were several other mates sitting, laying, or standing, watching the show while they stroked their spikes or fingered themselves or each other.

Sideswipe’s thoughts whited out completely, erased with one pass by sheer shock, disbelief and disgust. He’d thought and hoped that he’d only have to worry about interface around Megatron, that he could escape it elsewhere—enjoy downtime in the harem wing if that was what it took to keep him sane.

Instead there was just… This. All of this, mecha fucking each other all over the place, and he couldn’t understand it. It made no sense!

His helm started to ache all over again, harder this time. Sunstreaker had been staring at the display with no lesser amount of disturbance, but he recovered first and dragged him away from the doorway and back down the hall the way they’d come in from. Sideswipe stumbled after him, his thoughts too jumbled to do much else.

A single clear thought did come to him after a few more steps, though. “Where are we going?” he asked, optics wide and decidedly not glancing to the side as they passed the entertainment room again.

“To the library,” came Sunstreaker’s response, and… Yeah, that made sense.

Libraries were quiet and peaceful. What were the chances any of the harem members had decided to frag each other there?

That was the theory anyway. Sideswipe didn’t trust any of his theories anymore though, not after the depravity he’d been forced to witness and participate in from the moment they’d been dragged into Kaon.

This place was sick, absolutely sick.

And they were stuck in the midst of it all.

He wanted to cry.

Sunstreaker led the way to the library, and lo and behold, it was almost empty. There were exactly two other mecha present, one so enthralled by the book file they were reading that they didn’t glance up when the twins entered. The other, browsing at a console, did glance their way before dismissing them just as quickly.

No interfacing to be found. There were no moans, no metal hitting metal.

Just… Peace and quiet.

They found a couch in the far reaches of the surprisingly large room, tucked away between the massive shelves, and collapsed onto it. Sideswipe curled up against Sunstreaker right away, and… He was shaking. Sideswipe was shaking. He hadn’t even noticed.

But the emotional knot now being assaulted with even more emotions was a pretty good reason to have the shakes, he figured.

It was hard to make sense of it all. There had been no time to process anything before more and more had been piled on the already painfully high pile.

First… Being taken from Iacon. Their life hadn’t been much, scraping by in the streets without anything but the contents of their subspaces to call their own. Every day you had to wonder will I get to fuel today, and many days the answer was a negative.

Had they been happy? Not really.

Had they been unhappy? Also not really.

It was just… Life. They’d always taken it at face value and enjoyed the little moments of bright in what was otherwise a gloom.

Life on the streets was dangerous, they’d always known. Felt it too, a few times. They—the leaders, the general public—liked to paint Iacon as the most desirable city on Cybertron, but from the gutters… It was hard to see that.

Hard to climb out of that predicament. Hard to get back on your feet. They’d been as stuck on the streets just as they were now stuck here; the only difference was that they’d had the entire city to roam as they pleased, fuel levels allowing, whereas now they only had… This.

Their friends might’ve noticed they’d gone missing, but being guttermechs themselves, there was really nothing they could do about it. Guttermecha went missing all the time. The enforcers didn’t bother with lowlifes like them.

They’d just quietly disappear. That had made them easy targets.

He’d hoped that someone would notice they were taken against their will during the long trip to the other side of Cybertron, but they’d had no such luck. Kaon’s corruption ran too deep, an insidious disease he’d never before even really realized existed, spreading its tendrils all across Cybertron. It wasn’t contained just to the citadel that was Kaon itself.

And then they’d arrived, and… Was this really all they’d been brought here for? There hadn’t exactly been much fanfare before they were dragged in front of a few dozen mecha, and it was downhill from there. Just… Raped over and over again. Everyone could have a turn! Enjoy their frames! Ignore their struggles, all the times they’d said no.

It was hard to think there was any other reason for their abduction, when that was all that had happened. When that was all they’d been told. First with the crowd, and then along had come Megatron, and… He wasn’t sure which was worse. The gangrape, or the undivided attention of one of the cruelest mecha they’d ever had the displeasure knowing—contested in that position only by his underlings.

He couldn’t even… Begin to understand what motivated these mecha, why they saw it as acceptable to do what they had. How they could laugh about it while tormenting them, laughing at their pain and resistance. Sadists, the lot of them, taking their pleasure out of their suffering.

The pain in his frame hadn’t at any point compared to the hurt in his spark, least of all now that the only reminders were the aches in the holes they’d used for their pleasure. The extent of the humiliation… Pride shattered into a million pieces and the pieces stomped all over for good measure. They’d been allowed no dignity, degraded with words and actions until they felt like the gutter trash they were. In pain, dripping fluids, banged up… Covered in the signs of their abuse.

What would anyone sensible have even thought of them if they’d seen them right then? Pitied them? Probably.

He didn’t want anyone’s pity, even if it would’ve been for a good reason.

A little bit of mercy would be nice, though.

And now what? Megatron had given them a good taste of what they could expect from their future, a-and… Sideswipe wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take, or what would happen when he couldn’t take any more.

He curled tighter against Sunstreaker, his brother’s arm hugging around him, pulling him against his side, practically into his lap. At least he wasn’t alone, but he wasn’t sure how long that would help either of them. They were just used as tools to harm their brother—not physically, but the emotional devastation was… Thorough.

And somehow he would need to come to terms with that too, that he and Sunstreaker were likely to be made frag each other in the future too.

Could he learn to… Accept it? He loved his twin, and he’d heard of so many other pairs who enjoyed fragging each other and did it out of free will. Maybe he could too? But it was hard to overcome all the vorns he’d spent not wanting his brother that way, or the fact there was no sexual attraction between them. Absolutely none.

They’d have to create that out of thin air somehow. If they learned that… At least that aspect of their abuse could become tolerable. Maybe even enjoyable. Something to look forward to amidst all the rest.

But how were they ever going to manage that? Neither of them wanted it. That was a hard obstacle to get over. Or around.

And being forced into it anyway didn’t exactly work to make them want it any more. Maybe, maybe if they’d been allowed to approach it at their own pace, they could have achieved that.

But not when they were told to go to town on their twin without any preparation.

Mount him.

Move.

Coax his spike out.

Service him.

Sideswipe’s tears fell. And a small, traitorous voice whispered at him, that they could still do that. In between whatever Megatron wanted from them, they could practice. Take it slow. Build to bigger things little by little.

Frag their brother during their free time.

Get used to it.

Maybe make it hurt less when they were ordered into it again.

“If you want to,” Sunstreaker said quietly. Sideswipe could feel his reluctance right next to his own reluctance, but…

If it would make things even a little bit better.

“I don’t want to,” Sideswipe whispered back. “But maybe it’d be for the best anyway.”

Sunstreaker made a noncommittal sound, not agreeing, not disagreeing. Just… Not wanting.

Just like Sideswipe didn’t want.

But maybe they could use each other and their love to try to erase even some of the abuse. Repeat those things, but willingly. Make them good again. Something to like and enjoy.

Until the next time they were forced into it all against their will.

Was that their plan? Because it sucked.

Much better would be to just… Get out of here. He just didn’t know how. Even if they could make it out of the harem wing, they’d need to get out of the palace after that, and then out of Kaon itself.

And not a lot of things left Kaon. It wasn’t permitted; the borders were closely guarded. As little as they knew about anything with only ever having gotten the most basic education, they knew that much.

No one went into Kaon, no one left Kaon.

And how long could they hide from the very ruler of Kaon in his own city?

It was hard to see a way out. Really hard. Hard to see a scenario that wouldn’t see them getting dragged back into the harem kicking and screaming, no matter how far they might otherwise get in their escape.

And he did not want to find out what Megatron would do to escapees, when even his regular treatment was… Beyond abominable.

He closed his optics, though that did nothing to stop the tears running down his cheeks. The rumble of Sunstreaker’s engine was familiar and comforting, just… A tiny dot of solace and familiarity in what was otherwise a black sea of despair and pain.

They were so, so stuck. And so helpless. That was the worst part. Not being able to do anything about any of it. They could resist, did resist, and they still got beaten and fucked. So outclassed and outmatched.

Fuck. What were they going to do?

“We should rest,” Sunstreaker murmured, pressing his lips against the top of his helm—same lips that had wrapped around his spike and fragged him to completion.

No. He didn’t want to think about that.

The thought stayed stubbornly anyway.

“Yeah,” he agreed regardless, because it was true. They weren’t going to make sense of anything without decent charge in their batteries, and appropriately defragged and organized processors—and memory files.

Let their minds catalog everything that had happened, put it into some order… Then look at it again.

Sunstreaker reclined on the couch until he was laying across its length, and Sideswipe settled on top of him until they were chest to chest and he could rest his helm against his brother’s shoulder. Sunstreaker kept an arm around him, a welcomed weight along his back.

Tomorrow would be a new day. Hopefully a less painful one.

And they’d find a way out of this yet. One way or another.

They had to.

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#transformers #maccadams #megatron #sunstreaker #sideswipe #knock out #skywarp #starscream #harem au #megasun #megaswipe #megatwins #twins #fic #2020

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i4z-0892-il · 5 years ago

Text

Monster House 6

Summary: Posing as Newlyweds Sam and Y/n set out to investigate what’s killing the visitors of a secluded Inn, and attempt to keep their working relationship professional.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word count: 4884

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, suggestive themes, language, smut

A/N: Wow! It’s been a while. This chapter has been sitting in my google docs 90% finished for quite some time. And given the spirit of NaNoWriMo I figured it was time to finish it. So thank you all who have been waiting for this so patiently, and who have been so supportive an lovely in my absence. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but I’m still writing! I haven’t forgotten. And now, without further ado...

Immerse yourself in the story, Buy Sam’s Scent Here from @scentsfromthebunker (And damn does it smell goooooood)

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

The scream that caught in your throat came out as nothing more than a clipped sob and a whisper of air. Frozen in place and time like a marble statue. What was standing before you was impossible. Everyone had heard the stories, the quick hushed warnings not to speak of the White Thing in the Woods too loud lest its attention be drawn. And despite what you knew about the changing moods of the forest, you didn’t buy into it. It was all bullshit just to keep kids from getting lost in the thicket of trees.

Fables.

Urban legends.

Fairy Tales.

That’s all they were.

The White Thing was no more real than the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus.

It wasn’t that you thought yourself too smart to believe in such things, you’d simply taken for granted just how old those Woods were. The America’s were still young, a few hundred years of Colonised society was enough to make a young girl forget that these lands had been here since the beginning. And something lived deep in the underbelly of the wilderness, where even the most foolish or brave-hearted person dare not venture.

It was a beast, massive and filling the space of your vision to the edges. The Thing was so much taller than you, even as it crouched on legs too long and layered with lean muscle; incredible antlers sprouted from its skeletal head like moss covered tree limbs. Sunken eyes set in their deep black sockets as if it was the void looking back at you. Pallid and worn flesh stretched too tight over the unnaturally thin and long bones of its body, seen through the long mangy white locks that hung from it’s skull. Sharp teeth the length of your palm sprung from it’s elongated skeletal snout, yellowed and rust colored from age and use; able to cleave muscle and fat from bone like slicing through butter. Thick mists of air hung heavy as it breathed, and a curious rumble from deep within rolled out of its mouth as it looked you over. You, this pitiful little creature, helpless and paralyzed by fear and disbelief.

If there were any doubts before they were dashed now. You were going to die.

Two things were going to happen. First, you were going to disappear, the Police would put together a short, and limited search party. They’d search through part of the forest, not venturing very far, superstition running too deep in their DNA. The search for you would be called off within a week, and you would vanish into history as nothing more than the face of yet another Missing Girl. Secondly, knowing full well that you played with fire and were burned, the townsfolk would use your death as a cautionary tale to warn other youth to keep in line. To not be the stupid girl that disappeared in the trees. If only she’d heeded her Daddy when he told her to stay clear of the Woods to the North she might still be alive. You would become a myth.

Seconds turned to decades as The White Thing watched you tremble. Tears spilled down your cheeks freezing to the skin at your jaw in the icy air. It tilted its head, leaning forward on one of it’s four boney arms with taloned hands large enough to crush your skull like a grape if it wanted to. You couldn’t breathe.

It sniffed the air around you, as if it could pick up the scent of your terror. It was close enough that you could smell the stench of death pouring from it’s clammy skin. Heart hammering away in your chest you thought for sure it might explode and kill you before this Thing sunk its teeth into your soft flesh. If you were lucky that’s what would happen.

The White thing extended a hand to you, a misty green stone in it’s palm with a symbol carved in it. An offering. Your horror turned to curiosity and confusion, but you were too frightened to move or do anything about your confliction. Moments ticked by agonizing in their pace, years might have passed already. When it finally moved your whole body jerked away on instinct, but it simply placed the stone on the ground, and backed away. And like that it vanished into the mist and ticket of trees just as it had come, like a dream. Or nightmare.

The icy chill dissipated making way for the warmth of late summer, and the trees parted again letting streams of golden light pour through the canopy. Birds began to chirp and the weight sitting on your chest fell away. Suddenly you could breathe again. The moment your limbs regained their use you took off through the woods, tearing through the trees as fast as your legs could carry you, not bothering to stop until you’d broken through the treeline and into your house slamming your bedroom door behind you.

You hid your torn and dirty clothes far into the back of your closet, as if you could will away an evidence of what had just taken place. If you believed it was a dream, a hallucination, some trick of the mind then you could carry on with your life. Just like everyone else. Like nothing had ever happened

What did just happen?

What happened was impossible. Absurd. Lunacy. Delusion. Absolute nonsense. Monsters simply could not be real.

The tightness in your chest gripped your lungs like a vice threatening to cave you in and destroy you from the inside out. There was no way you could go back to normal. What you’d just witnessed upended everything you ever knew. Everything you had been certain of once before.

What else was out there? What else existed in the shadows? Lurking in the dark waiting for the right moment to pounce. Four hours ago you were certain of many things: There was nothing in the woods. The Tooth Fairy wasn’t real. Poltergiest was just a movie, and above all there was nothing to be afraid of in the woods.

You went to bed that night with your eyes locked on your window, blinds and curtains drawn, waiting. Waiting for the whispers to begin and the knocking. After the adrenaline had finally left your bones chattering, exhaustion kicked in and sleep eventually took you.

When you woke in the morning you couldn’t help but be relieved, maybe it had just been a bad dream after all. You were in one piece, in the safety of your bedroom, all windows, doors, fingers and toes in place. You were going to do all you could to forget it. Although you would never venture through the woods again.

Kicking your legs over the bed and planting your feet on the floor you stretched your arms out over your head, tensing and cracking at the joints. You let out a satisfied groan and huffed a sigh as you pushed disheveled hair from your face. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you walked down the hall and turned to the living room staring for the kitchen. Absolutely starving, the most heavenly thing you could think of was a packet of pop tarts that had your name in it.

You snagged a bag and cast a glance at the clock on the stove reading 8:18 am. Usually everyone was up by now. Your little brothers were under no circumstances ones to miss Saturday morning cartoons. Mom was usually piddling around, or working on a quilt she’d never finish, and Dad no doubt would be outside already and under the hood of that old Mustang. The silence and stillness of the house as you moved through its rooms made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, it was never this quiet on a Saturday morning. What stopped you in your tracks like slamming into a wall was your bookbag. The one you’d dropped in the maze of trees, sitting on the coffee table in the living room, as if it had been there the entire time.

Pulse raced, and blood pumped furiously through your veins as you slowly reached out a hand picking up the bag you thought you’d surely never see again. A little green stone with a marking in the middle dropped from your bag to the coffee table, and your blood turned to ice.

The crushing realization set in along with that black shroud of doom you couldn’t shake. Your legs moved before your brain could process, carrying you down the hall like a doll on a string. You swung the door open to your brothers’ room where carnage painted the walls a sticky dark red. Frozen to the spot, you couldn’t scream, all you could do was let your eyes trail over the mutilated remains of your younger siblings.

Eyes snapped open as you jolted from your sleep. It’d been more than a decade but you’d never really left the woods of that sleepy town. That shadow had followed your every step since, haunting you, lurking in the back of your mind and biding it’s time. It was the Washington State forests that reminded you of the thick wilderness of West Virginia, of home. The same thing happened in Michigan, the Wendigo. Dense woods were more than enough to trigger what you’d done your best to tuck away. Every hunter has an origin story, most aren’t born to it. Most have paid a devastating price for the knowledge of what lives in the dark. You were no different than any of the rest of them, but unlike most of them who found a place in the violence and anonymity, this life gave you no pleasure.

The blood thirsty look in a man's eye is unmistakable, and is a trait shared among a vast majority of hunters. First it’s fueled by vengeance, then it’s something to fill the void until you learn to hate the things you hunt, and killing them brings you a release you couldn’t otherwise find. But for you it was a job, a disgusting one that you’d rather not have been the one to do, but if not you, then who? Some other poor girl who wandered into the wrong place? Truth was you couldn’t have lived with yourself if you left the supernatural for others to deal with who might not be as lucky or well prepared as you.

Your eyes dropped to the floor to see an empty mat and blankets where Sam must have slept overnight. He was an early riser but dawn wasn’t for hours stillt, maybe he couldn’t sleep either. Letting out a sigh you shut your eyes and rolled away from the edge of the bed to the middle on your side as the throb of a headache began to set in and the world tilted around like a weeble wobble. You were still half drunk, and felt like you’d gone four rounds with a brick wall. When you opened your eyes again a shock of breath caught in your throat to find that you weren’t as alone as you’d thought.

Sam lay stretched out on his back, an arm tucked under his pillow and propping up his head, looking something like a painting in the darkness before Sunrise. A peaceful person he was not, but in that moment it might have fooled you that he could be. So often his brow was furrowed in thought or concentration, his broad shoulders tense with such worry that he rarely looked comfortable. Seeing him asleep was nothing new, but being able to relish in his image without interruption and so close was. He was right there, you could feel the heat radiating from him, seeping through the sheets. You could touch him, you could reach out and touch him. Trace your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, and down the length of his throat like you’d imagined doing hundreds of times. You could press your lips to his cheek and curl his long silky hair around your fingers. You could. He was right there and you were still tipsy, less inclined to listen to the practical side of your brain.

There was no telling how he ended up in bed with you. Last thing you remembered was being too drunk to stand up on your own, and in times like those you were prone to putting your foot in your mouth. It would have taken a flash in his eyes for the secrets you’d been keeping to spill out of your mouth like a burst dam. It would have taken a grin to his lips and a dimple to let loose the fact that you wanted him. He wouldn’t have taken you up on your offer, not with you being so intoxicated but you must have done something right to bring him to your bed.

You could have watched him breathe forever. The world could have caved in around you and everything fell to ruin, but it wouldn’t have mattered, because he was just so close. Worries melted away just by sheer proximity, and the nightmare you had just roused from fell away with the rest of your problems. If there was one silver lining to the life you lead, it was Sam. Sure the hunting evil, saving people and all that gave the occasional warm fuzzies, but that was expected of you. It was your job. It was thankless and messy and scary and frankly you hated every second of it. There were things you’d planned on doing with your life. Places you’d planned on exploring, people you’d planned on meeting. You had your eye on being a Surgeon, Cardiac, the best the field had ever seen. You had colleges in mind, and the determination to make it happen.

How quickly life changes.

If you had been told at fifteen that this would be your life, you’d have laughed. Never in a million years would you have guessed that you’d live the rest of your life as a Professional Ghost Popper, on the road, in shitty motels and surviving on gas station hot dogs. Though it wasn’t all bad. There was Sam. He waltzed into your life like a breath of fresh air. A kindred spirit. A sliver of hope where there was none. He wanted out too, he only mentioned t it a few times, and usually inebriated, but it was enough. He didn’t like the job any more than you did, but you’d both been doing it so long you couldn’t imagine life outside of it. It was that fear of the unknown that kept you both in your safe spaces. If there was any reason to leave the shelter of the dark, it was Sam.

He shifted in his sleep with a small sigh,his head falling to the side and into the stream of silver moonlight, and there as no fighting the need to reach out and touch his face. Fingertips ghosted over the line of his jaw, resting softly at his chin where your eyes fell to his lips, rosy, soft and parted. You thought of the women lucky enough to know what his lips tasted like. Were they sweet like he was? Intoxicating?

The screen on his phone lit up on the nightstand as the time ticked over to 3:30 and his alarm began to sound. You dropped your hand away, and Sam let out a remorseful groan as he rolled on his side and reached a long arm over you to the nightstand to hit snooze. His head hit the bed and he was out again, arm left to drape over you, heavy and warm. Trying to pull your arm free he stirred again, his arm wrapping around your back and pulling you to him as his nose nuzzled into your shoulder.

The swell in your chest was nearly drowning you, it was exactly where you’d always wanted to be, and the one place you’d never allow. Maybe… maybe just for a minute you could allow it. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla and coffee, and the feel of his lips against your shoulder took over your senses. You’d have given anything to stay just like that forever.

Your fingers slipped through silky tresses, and long eyelashes fluttered open at the touch.The sunflowers in his eyes, even in that dim light, took your breath away.

“Good morning,” you whispered. A smile curled his lips and created that perfect dimple in his cheek. Not quite awake he let himself sink around you breathing in the natural perfume of you, and the warmth of your skin, soft like butter and better than he’d dreamed. Only he wasn’t dreaming. The alarm hadn’t woken him like it was supposed to, but you wrapped in his arms certainly did. He told himself that he’d keep his distance, he wasn’t going to encroach on your space. The last thing a drunk girl wants to wake up to is a guy in her bed. But when he turned his eyes up to meet yours, and a lazy smile graced your lips he eased.

“You’re still drunk aren’t you?” He asked.

“No,” you answered nodding your head ‘yes.’ He replied with an amused snicker and pulled his arm away, stopping at your hip when you didn’t move away. You’ve looked at him with those bedroom eyes like that before. A few times. You were drunk each time. When you were sober you were well composed, only allowing yourself to get but so close. When you had a few you let your guard down, just a little, just enough to get a peek over the wall. He’d seen you drunk and on the prowl, and while that was certainly a sight to behold, you were different when you were alone with him.

With him you were vulnerable in a way you couldn’t be sober, when the girl who had a rock collection in her youth came out. The girl who read The Silmarillion annually, and taught herself to speak, read and write in Elvish. The girl who hates raisins, and catches spiders to set them loose outside instead of killing them. The girl he wanted to get to know more than he’d wanted to know anyone. You’d be three doubles and four beers in, and that look would flash across your eyes. Cheeks flush with drink, eyes half lidded and looking only at him. Then your lips would curl into a smile, and it was almost impossible to resist. Each new day with you proved harder than the last to find a reason why it was a bad idea to be with you.

“Right, and I’m the Pope.” He snarked, as he pulled himself away from your touch and sitting up, regretting not staying put longer almost immediately.

And the moment was over, back to business as usual in an instant. The pang in your chest was miserable. Swinging your legs over the bed you stood up stretching your arms over your head and waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“So, uhm, guess the floor wasn’t as comfy as you thought?” You said, kicking the pile of blankets.

“Yeah. Something like that.” He said. You didn’t remember.

Sam heard the thud of your body hitting the floor, finding you in a heap when he yanked the b

athroom door open. Gathering your limp frame in his arms he checked your head for blood, and grateful to find you’d missed the nightstand. Long fingers smoothed hair from your face still flush with drink, and a little paler than usual. Sam had seen you black out drunk before, but he’d never seen you pass out before, the cooking class must have been torture.

The way you settled in his arms as he lifted you was perfect. The last time he’d held you like that you were holding your guts in and bleeding out from a stabbing after a hunt went sideways. The color was draining from your face to pour down your stomach. You were fighting so hard to stay awake, even as your lips turned blue and your eyes lolled to the back of your head. The teeth in your head had begun to chatter so hard he thought they were going to shatter, but you kept talking, the whole time. Raving about how the rampant uncheck misogyny running through the fabric of our culture affects young girls on fundamental levels since birth. The more you talked, the angrier you got, the longer you stayed awake. It was all you could think to do to stay awake. In a less dire situation he’d have paid more attention to your tirade, but all he could do was look on you with amaze. You were the strongest woman he’d ever met in his damn life. You were still ranting when the Medical staff at the hospital took over.

This was how he wanted it to be, soft and warm, safe. The way you settled in his arms was like you were made to be there, like he was made to hold you.You were home. Sam laid you in the bed, and pulled the blankets up around you when you took hold of his hand.

“Stay with me, Sam.” You said in an airy whisper, eyes still closed. Who was he to refuse? He probably should have taken longer to think about it, if he were more noble he might have, but he didn’t argue when you asked him to stay. So he climbed into the bed, careful to give you more than enough space. Countless times had he wished that things were different for his life, this should have been one of them. But truth was if neither of you had become hunters odds were you’d have never met. And even though the life he lead seemed more hellish than anything else, he’d met you.

Silencing the alarm on his phone he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over you as you stretched, the way your hair fell, bedhead messy and lovely against your neck begging for his hands to touch

“Oh, I found out where Mr. Lonely is buried. I figure we can go salt and burn the body before the Sun is up, come back, take a nap then hit the road.” You suggested.

“You don’t want to stay for Wine tasting?” He snarked.

“Preferably not, but if we have to then I’m just going to stay drunk today.” You answered, and he grinned.

“We should probably still do an EMF sweep.”

“Really? Can’t we just torch the corpse and call it a night?” You pouted as you watched him move around the room to gather clothing to change into. He stopped to ponder at the bathroom door before giving a nod. It was late, or incredibly early, you were still trashed and both of you only got a couple hours of shut eye. There was no reason not to just get the bottom line done.

“Fine, we can skip it, but we have to stay tonight to make sure it’s done.” He compromised. Sitting in a chair to tie your boots you paused to consider if skipping part of an investigation was worth sticking around for another single night. You turned your eyes up to Sam who stood so tall and broad, and firm, you had your answer.

Yes. Definitely yes. The case would be closed, you’d get to drink, and actually enjoy a little bit of relaxation- though this would not have been your first choice. And it would just be you and Sam, nothing to worry about other than simply being.

“I agree to your terms.” You said pulling a flask of whiskey from one of your bags. Hair of the dog, you were going to power through the oncoming hangover. You had an empty day ahead of you that you were going to fill with Sam, your enthusiasm was genuine. “Get dressed and lets go defile a grave!”

Hiking at night wasn’t something you wanted to make a habit of doing. The sky was clear, and the Moon was particularly bright which was great until you hit the treeline where the path to the Graveyard was. The black chasm of the trees swallowed up the silvery Moonlight till there was nothing left but pitch. Then your fear of dense woods sprung up again like a steadily increasing anxiety riddled game of whack-a-mole. There was nothing to be afraid of, you had flashlights, Sam, and you were strapped. Your brain wasn’t giving you a reprieve however, you kept expecting to turn your head and see the skeletal bloody face of the White Thing to appear in the darkness between the trees, ready to spring out and finish the job it started more than a decade ago. A cold chill slid up your spine sending a dread filled shudder down your body. With each step you had to remind yourself that you weren’t back home in West Virginia, you were on the other side of the country, in Washington, it wasn’t going to find you after more than a decade. You hoped at least. If the White Thing wasn’t in the woods there was something else in there with eyes that stalked your movements, putting you on edge, and making you paranoid. Trepidation rattled you, and you found yourself stepping closer to Sam as you walked, finding relief and comfort with each brush of his arm against yours.

It was a 20 minute hike, in the pitch black wild wilderness, at 3 o’clock at night, but once you hit the gravesite it was worth it. The site sat on a cliffside at the top of the mountain, just a small clearing in the trees, what could have knocked the wind out of you was the most magnificent view of the peaks and valleys of the mountain range, stretching as far as the eye could see. More stars hung in the sky than you had seen in a very long time, no light pollution, no noise, just the calm quiet. No wonder Wellington wanted his family buried there. You allowed yourself a few moments to soak it all in before setting to work.

Stabbing the spade end of your shovel into the pile of loose dirt, you dropped your butt down to sit, legs dangling into the large hole before you. With a sigh you wiped sweat from your brow as you rifled through the pockets of your jacket for a short, partially smoked joint.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Sam asked from inside the hole, a teasing grin on his face as he looked up at you. Answering him with a shrug you lit up and took a long drag. While he didn’t care much for smoking in general, it was difficult to tear his eyes away from the smoke wafting and curling in transparent tendrils spouting from your lips.

“It’s never too early or late for this.” You answered offering it to him, he declined with a shake of his head, quickly setting back to the task at hand- digging up a corpse. An old, rotten, decayed, mouldering corpse. If you could rate aspects of your job in order, digging up bodies was at the bottom of the list. Though to be honest, there weren’t many things that you did like about the job. There was the bonus of a flexible schedule, and the option to travel, and there was, of course, the fact that your co-workers were a little more than easy on the eyes. But there were no tax exemptions, or paid expenses, no benefits, fuck not even a reliable salary. It wasn’t a job you did because you wanted to, you detested almost everything about it. But someone had to do it.

No one wants to tell you how much effort is involved in digging up a six foot deep grave armed with nothing but a couple of old rusty shovels and sheer willpower. No one wants to tell you how long it takes either. The Sun was going to be up in the next hour or so, and the cover of darkness was a necessary precaution when it came to gravedigging. When Sam’s shovel struck something hard and hollow you could not have been more thrilled. Your eyes met his, as he moved to get a better angle.

Sam jammed the spade of his shovel between the lid of the coffin and the side prying it open with creaking wood and a crack of relief as the lid came loose.

“...The hell?” Sam’s face twisted in confusion as he lifted the top, hazel eyes moved back to you as he shoved the lid to the side of the hole revealing an empty coffin.

“Well that can’t be a good sign.” You announced, just as puzzled as Sam.

“You’re sure he said he was buried here?”

“No Sam, I just made it up so we could pointlessly dig a hole in the middle of the night for fun.” You sarcastic eyes at him.

“Hey, I know how much you love digging holes. So if he’s not here-”

Then just where the fuck is he?”

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