#I am absolutely dreading having to shower later. I will never get dry

[cr0wc0rpse]

It is so incredibly miserably humid today. The air is soup. The postcards/prints I have hanging on my wall are starting to bend and warp

[jayismydad]

Hey can i request making out with Jake where you sneak him in your room while your parents are downstairs.

I feel like this could’ve been better but I hope you like it! I also hope you didn’t mind the wait! thank you for requesting :)

⚡︎ Behind Closed Doors ⚡︎

Pairing: Jake x Reader

Genre: Suggestive; Making Out

Words: 1.25k

Warnings: None

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Hey sweetie! How was your date?”, you mother asked as she held the door open for you. Smiling, you entered your home, carefully closing the door behind yourself. “It was great mom! Where’s dad?” 

“He’s in the living room,” she shared, sauntering back into the kitchen as she always did. You waited for her to round the corner before opening the door again as quietly as you could. Jake was quick to slip inside, hiding behind your back as you walked further into the house. Your mom was in the kitchen and your dad was in the living room. If you timed it right, all you needed was a quick sprint to get to your room. Making sure your dad wasn’t paying attention, you took a deep breath, grabbed Jake’s hand, and dashed up the stairs. 

Once you both were in your room, you let out a sigh of relief and locked the door. Despite having snuck Jake into your house numerous times before, you dreaded the uncertainty of getting caught. He, on the other hand, absolutely lived for the thrill. 

He’d been making many frequent secretive visits to your house lately. He preferred seeing you in person rather than hearing your voice through his phone. It baffled you how your parents had never suspected it. Surely they’d noticed something or the other. Like the way you’d be talking to yourself late at night or the way you’d leave your window open despite how cold the nights got.

“Your parents won’t catch us. Don’t worry scaredy cat. Its fine,”Jake spoke assuringly. It was easy for him to say. He wasn’t going to be the one who got grounded if things failed to turn out the way he said. You sighed and went into your bathroom, turning on your shower. Now you had an excuse to keep your door locked. Jake beamed, holding his arms out as you walked over to him. You fell into him, snuggling into his warm embrace. This was the only thing that made your escapades worth it.

“So, what do you want to do today?” Jake asked, running a hand through your hair. You shrugged and looked up at him. “I don’t know. We can do whatever as long as its not too loud.”

Jake pursed his lips, giving your words some thought. His eyes lit up soon thereafter. “Wanna make out?”

You rolled your eyes, playfully slapping his arm. That’s what he suggested every single time he couldn’t think of anything else. Not that making out with Jake was bad or anything, you just couldn’t stand the thought of possibly getting walked in on, that too, by your own parents. As far as you knew, you were a good kid in their eyes. Always followed the rules and never rebelled. Oh, if only they knew what went on behind closed doors.

“Y/n! What did I say about not worrying? Stop being so paranoid and relax a little.”, Jake called out to you, snapping you out of your reverie. You hid your face in his neck, making him chuckle. He sat up, leaning against your headboard and brought you with him. Pulling you away from his chest, he pushed your hair behind your ears and held your face somberly. “Let’s not put any more time to waste,” he said under his breath, leaning in to press his lips onto yours. 

You closed your eyes impulsively, humming as he took your lips between his. Jake smiled against your mouth, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. You followed his lead, responding to his each move with renewed vigor. Kissing Jake sent you to another world entirely. Everything else seemed like background noise as you melted into him. Suddenly you’d forgotten about everything that was bothering you. 

He pulled away slightly, tugging your lip between his own as he did so. Breathing out shakily, you chased his lips, pushing yourself onto him. Jake pulled your legs over his lap, sighing into the kiss in satisfaction. He knew he had you all to himself in this moment. 

The quickly heated up between you both. The shower successfully covered the sounds of the wet and sloppy kisses you both were exchanging. Thank god for that. Now you didn’t have to hold back. Jake groaned as your hips rolled over his. He picked you up and laid you down on your back, hovering over you. He didn’t waste any time in capturing your lips in his once again. Whimpering, you let your fingers thread through his hair. Jake’s hands stayed on your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles into your sides. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his body down on yours. 

Lost in each others lips you both for sure lost track of time. It wasn’t until a brief series of knocks sounded at your door that you finally pulled away from Jake. You both stared at each other wide eyed, not knowing what to do. 

“Y/n? Are you in there?” your father called. Based off of his tone, he seemed rather impatient. He’d probably been standing behind your door for quite some time now. You scrambled from underneath Jake and rushed to turn the shower off. Jake aimlessly stood by your bed, eyes wavering between you and the door. You father knocked once again. “Answer me Y/N. Are you in there?”

“Yes dad! Yes I am! I’m so sorry I just got out of the shower!” you shouted, gesturing for Jake to hide in your bathroom. He scuttled into the room, letting you close the door behind him. Pulling your bathrobe over yourself, you opened your bedroom door. 

“What took you so long?” he asked, pushing the door wider. You didn’t miss the way his eyes scanned to room. “I was washing my hair,” you answered, eyes widening when you realized that your hair was still dry. Your dad raised a brow and stepped invited himself in. He looked around, eyeing your bathroom door curiously. “Are you hiding something from me?” he asked, turning back to you. If you told him the truth, he was going to ground you. If you lied to him, he was still going to ground you. He could probably deduce what was going on from your worrisome expression. He didn’t wait for you to answer him, heading towards your bathroom. He threw the door open and you swore your heart stopped.

But when he entered the room, that when you let out a breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding. He hadn’t seen anyone in there, but someone had clearly been in there. What was going on? Where was Jake and why could your dad not find him? After thoroughly inspecting your room and asking for your phone, your dad concluded that you’d been all alone, much to your relief.

“Get dressed and leave the door open when your done,” he instructed strictly, leaving once you gave him a firm nod. You locked your door and ran into the bathroom. “Jake! Where the hell are you?”

You heard a pained groan, followed by a soft thud. Your cabinet flew open, a hand emerging from it seconds later. “What are you doing in there?” you asked, reaching down to help him out. How he’d fit into such a tight space in such a small amount of time was beyond you. He stretched his body, cringing in discomfort as he faced you. “So, what time should I come over tomorrow?”

[some-dr-writings]

Kiibo helps Reader with burnt fingers wash their hair

·       You sighed in defeat waking up that morning. It was shower day, the day you’ve been dreading. But it had to be done. You could take care of most of yourself just fine, but your hair… it was rather difficult to care for it with only one hand, so you’d have to use your burnt fingers, not matter how much it hurt.

·       You glanced to the corner of the room, finding Kiibo was still shut off, recharging. Though you appreciated Kiibo helping you get your work done before your deadline, given your work became much more difficult with all the fingers of your right hand being burnt, it… it felt weird having him stay up all night with you, it was your work after all, but Kiibo insisted on helping, stating he’d could stay up for a full week without needing to recharge, which evidently was true. Sometimes you were jealous of him. He could recharge and not need to eat or shower, he could just keep going without needing to stop… or feel the pain of burnt fingers. Though he likely had other things to maintain in place of those you knew.

·       You winced, feeling the water pelt down on your burnt hand. You wondered how it still was so tender. Seeing your hand uncontrollably, lightly tremble you tried keeping it away from the water or walls or door or anything else.

·       On unsteady feet you leaned against the wall, exhaustion threatening to knock you out at any moment. With a yawn you mindlessly reached out for a shampoo bottle, only to yelp out, slipping and falling. You braced for impact, landing on your hands and arms. “Y/N!” You heard more than your name being called, but it was near impossible to make out what the words were amongst the crashing of water. Shakily you sat up, using your uninjured, though slightly stinging hand to shut off the water. “I-I’m okay, Kiibo!” “From that crashing sound to your shaking voice I have reason to believe otherwise!” “J-just tired. Go back to recharging.” “… I realize this may be strange to ask, but can I help in some way?” You clenched your teeth, feeling this pain course through your fingers. “I can handle it. Just have my hair left.” “But won’t that hurt? You told me how bad it was last time.” “Well… I don’t exactly have a choice if I wanna stay clean, now do I.” “…” You were just about to turn the water back on when an unexpected and confusing request was made of you. “Y/N come to the kitchen and bring your hair care supplies!” “… Huh?” “I’ll wash your hair!” Baffled, yet intrigued, you decided to go along with this. Not before quickly drying off and getting dressed that was.

·       Entering the kitchen, you found Kiibo had set up a chair before the kitchen sink. “Ah, so we’re trying this salon style.” “Yes! Just leave everything to me!” “But Kiibo… Do you know how to care for hair?” “… There are instructions on the bottles, right?” You chuckled as you took your seat, seeing Kiibo turn slightly sheepish at your question. “It’s simple, I’ll tell you.”

·       You leaned your head back into the sink. “Well, the first step is wetting the hair, and that’s already taken care of. Though we will have to rinse later and you’ll need some practice so nothing get’s in my eyes.” “What will happen if it gets into your eyes?” “It’ll sting, a lot.” “I see!” Seeing his slightly flustered yet determined expression made you smile. No matter what, Kiibo always tried his best in everything.

·       He first tested the kitchen spray hose away from you, wanting to see how much pressure it had. Then slowly pointed it towards you rewetting your damp hair. “First the shampoo, you massage that into the scalp.” He looked over the bottles, making sure he got the right one. “Oh, about the size of the palm of your hand is enough. It doesn’t take much.” “Alright. Is there anything I should know, any techniques?” “No, no, you just rub it in, nothing complicated.” At first his movements were hesitant and stiff, but he quickly relaxed, and he slowly worked higher and higher to the crown of your head. He kept glancing to your face making sure he didn’t accidentally get any shampoo near your eyes. It was pleasant hearing the soft foaming sound and feeling those metallic fingers massage into you. You’d think it’d hurt, but Kiibo used a light pressure and used the pads of his fingers, not the tips so with more surface the pressure was more spread out. He even occasionally asked if he was hurting you or not.

·       “Next we have the conditioner, that more so goes in the middle and lower part of the hair to help detangle it and make brushing easier.” “Oh! So that’s how you get the tiny knots out!” “Exactly. With a brush alone it just gets caught and tightens them.”

·       As he worked the conditioner in, he seemed to stop at some point. “I never realized how heavy hair could be when wet. Even without the shampoo and conditioner it’s rather hefty.” “Your hair is not the same?” “My hair is made of synthetic fibers and some metals. Thanks to some carefully placed magnets and a few other things, it can be styled and stay in place without need of hair products!” “Is that why your hair can stay in place even in the harshest of wind or never fall in rain, yet still gently move with the breeze?” “Yes! It can move a little but not much unless I want it too when styling.” “Huh… So what does it feel like? Human hair or something else?” “… Y/N that’s robophobic!” “Hey! Excuse me if I forget you can’t feel different textures! Actually… Can’t Iruma or Dr. Idabashi give you a function so you could feel stuff?” Kiibo was silent for a moment. “Let me guess, I’m still being robophobic.” Kiibo kneeled down beside you. “No. Not the last part, but it’s true that I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” You looked to him with sparkling eyes. “I get to pat Kiibo.” You eagerly pet his hair. “It’s so weird… and silky soft.” There was some resistance, you could pet it, but in general it could all stay in place, so any attempts at playfully ruffling his hair would be in vain. “It’s like… it reminds me of that feeling when you hold those really thin chained necklaces, it’s cool, and seems soft despite knowing it’s metal. Feels like that.”

·       “Now all that’s left is rinsing it all out.” “… Huh?” You couldn’t help but laugh seeing how baffled Kiibo was. “H-hey! Don’t laugh at me!” “Sorry, but that expression.” You managed to repress it to a chuckle before continuing to speak. “Just leaving it all in is not healthy. So we gotta wash it out.” “Okay. So… it’s like washing clothes? You put the soap in but also wash it out.” “Yeah, just like that!” “I understand.” Kiibo held the tips of your hair in one hand, the other the sprayer hose but something kept him from pressing the button. “… Uh, tell me if I get soap in your eyes. Those are very delicate, and I don’t want to be responsible for damaging them! You can’t be as easily repaired as me.” “I’ll scream. That should suffice.” He flinched, momentarily turning the hose on, startling himself. He slammed it back into it’s place, fearing accidentally turning it on again. “DON’T SCREAM! You’ll startle me and maybe things will just get worse!” “Alright, fine, I won’t. I’ll just tell you.” Kiibo sighed, crossing his arms. “Thank you. Now, back to washing.”

·       He gently ran his fingers through your hair, making sure he washed out every part. He was careful to avoid any knots, knowing pulling on hair could be especially painful. He was here to make life easier for you, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you, you were getting enough of that from your fingers. Your hair absolutely fascinated him. It had this glossy shine even after washing the conditioner out. It reminded him of a waterfall how it just flowed down so prettily. Never before had he found something similar to it. It was soothing and almost fun going through it, though his anxiety spiked as he worked his way to the crown of your head faster than he had anticipated. He was very careful to not allow the water to get to your face.

·       “Now pat it down so we don’t get water on the floor. Then we just brush, and we’re done!” Kiibo did as told, drying your hair out enough for it to not drip everywhere. You scooched the chair forward so Kiibo could have enough room. “When brushing you need to start from the bottom. If you go from the top, you’ll just tighten the knots.” “That makes sense. I’ll start from the bottom then.” As he brushed, he used one hand to hold a higher part of your hair, hoping that could negate any accidental pulling, but… “Ow!” “Sorry! I’m so sorry!” “Kiibo, it’s alright. I’m fine.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I am.” “Should I know of anything else?” “Uh… Nothing I can think of.” Hesitantly he went back to work, a part of him fearful of hurting you again. He carefully brushed through it, his nervousness soon subsiding. He found himself getting lost in detangling those knots and the soft sound of your hair getting combed through. When he reached your scalp he opted to brush through with his fingers, thinking the bristles of the brush may hurt you. It… was intriguing seeing his fingers part your hair, getting him to realize just how thin hairs were. It got him to wonder if he truly got all the knots out.

·       “Heh, having fun?” “Uh- Huh?” “You’ve been done for a while now, but you keep brushing.” His whole face flushed a bright pink and his face covering shot up, clamping over his mouth. “I, I, I-I, I’m just being thorough! I don’t want to mess up!” “Kiibo, there no need to be embarrassed.” “I’M NOT EMBARASED!” You could help but burst into laughter only making that blush on Kiibo darken to a bright red. “Well, then you don’t have to stop… it felt nice.” “It felt nice?” His embarrassed tone faded, intrigued by your words. “Yeah, like a kind of scalp massage, but not.” “Then allow me.” You hummed in delight, melting into his touch. You loved this. “Thank you, Kiibo. For everything. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t.” “I’m just glad to help. Now…” You looked to him in confusion feeling he had placed his hand on your shoulders. “I’ve heard shoulder massages are very relaxing. Relax, and let yourself fall asleep. You’ve been up for a week straight. We’ve gotten all your work done, you’ve taken care of yourself so there’s nothing left to tend to except for your energy, so, like everything else, allow me to assist with this.” “Kiibo, you’re too kind.” “… If that is the case, I don’t see what that has to do with this.” “… Well, you didn’t reject the compliment, so I’ll take it.” “Take what, exactly?” “Never mind. I’m just tired.” He smiled, seeing your eyes already starting to droop. “I’ll get started then.”

[thenightgazer]

Spark of Stardust

Chapter 1 : An Interstellar Quest It's not a date. Vergil insists upon it, even when he doubts himself as he asks Lyra to accompany him to search for a perfect birthday gift for Kyrie. But just like the dying star that sparks its undying stardust; the "date" is just a start for him to get to know more about Lyra, as the librarian reveals her "little, deepest and darkest secrets"

Warning : implied psychological and drug abuse

Part 6 of Tales of Apotelesma

You can also read this fic on AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~~

It starts with a soft hand that brushes his face. The fuzzy sensation wakes him up. The lamp on the ceiling is the first thing he sees when he slowly opens his eyes wide awake. His eyes linger to his surroundings— and that shocks him because he’s no longer in his bedroom at Devil May Cry. He’s awakened in someone else’s bedroom. The wall is painted with warm colours and there is a large bookshelf besides the bed. When he turns his head to his left, he spots toys and trinkets which supposedly belong to a little girl, and there sits a young woman who smiles at him.

Where am I?

“How was your sleep?” she asks him. Her soft hand ruffles his hair gently. “You look so peaceful.”

He’s speechless. Not because he doesn’t want to answer, but his mouth won’t cooperate with his head. His survival instincts scream at him to get away from this situation, but all he could feel is numbness.

“I brought you dinner,” the beautiful woman continues. He observes her cautiously; she is approximately in her thirties, with long brunette hair and brown eyes. She looks like the kind of woman who looks absolutely harmless. The way her body moves is delicate. Her voice sounds appealing as she tells him the menu and hopes he will like it. She gives him the same warm impression as his own mother, but this woman seems shady. Her eyes remind him of someone... but he couldn’t remember the person. The same cold, void eyes...

“The nurse said you haven’t eaten since last night. You refused to take your medicines. Why? Don’t you want to get better?” Her voice turns colder. “When I heard that you refused to eat, I couldn’t concentrate on my work. I’m afraid you won’t get better. Now you will eat and take your medicine for me, okay?”

He can’t follow everything she has said just now. Who is this woman? What medicines? What nurse? But his head nods automatically as if his body is controlled by someone else, and that little gesture makes this woman’s warm smile appear on her pretty face again.

“Good. Let’s eat! After that, I’ll read you something exciting. How’s that sound?”

He nods obediently, opening his mouth to eat the porridge. He can’t feel the taste, nor can he sense the texture of the food. But the woman looks at him as if she would blast if he didn’t eat. The sound of friction between the spoon and the bowl drives him crazy. She’s making sure that he swallows the food as she cleans up his mouth. After the bowl is empty, she proceeds to pour something from a bottle—medicine— on a small spoon and look up at him, opening her mouth as a command for him to mimic her gesture. She seems delighted when he swallows the medicine.

“Atta girl.”

What is this nonsense? What is that thing she put inside me?

But he knows he won’t get the answer.

It’s all just a dream, right?

The woman walks to the bookshelf. Her fingers run through the book until she finds the one she desires. She sits back besides him again and opens the book, her fingers scan through the pages.

“You don’t like Cinderella, so I picked up this one,” she shows him the cover of the book. “I guarantee you’ll like it! It’s called The Hobbit, an adventure story. Your favourite, right?”  

I do like adventure stories. But it isn’t my favourite. It’s Dante’s…

She starts her storytelling in a clear voice. “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit...”

There’s something in her face when she reads. She seems more relaxed and softer than before, as if she got lost in the story. His suspicion is surprisingly gone while he listens to her and the familiarity strikes him again. She reminds him of his own mother when he was a child, reading him bedtime stories. Cambions in their early childhood needed a lot of sleep just like human children, but Dante and he always refused to sleep early and asked for more stories. There’s something peaceful about this familiarity. It calms him, then he decides to close his eyes again whilst the woman’s voice slowly fades away.

---

The dream shatters as Vergil’s cell phone rings loudly.

The hybrid lays still on his bed. He was sleeping for two hours just because he had no other options left to do aside from sleeping. Yet, even though his body doesn’t particularly need to sleep, he hates it when his slumber is interrupted. His hand reaches to find his phone and immediately pick it when he finds it on the desk beside his bed without seeing who’s calling him because he doesn’t bother to open his sleepy eyes.

“Dad?”

That familiar voice forces Vergil to open his eyes.

“Nero?”

“Yeah. You busy?”

“No,” Vergil throws a blanket from his naked chest as he moves his body to sit and brushes his hair. “What’s wrong, Nero?”

Nero doesn’t reply immediately. Vergil can hear a heavy sigh from his son and that makes him a bit anxious.  

“Nothing wrong. Just...” The young devil hunter lets out another sigh. “Today is Kyrie’s birthday. She invites you and the crews for dinner at six. Uh… six as in Fortuna time, which is an hour later from Red Grave time. Just in case you got lost in time again.”

“Of course. We will be attending the dinner. Thank you for the invitation.”

“It’s Kyrie who invites you, not me.”

“...”

“... but having you around here is not so bad. The kids were always whining whenever you and Dante left the house.” Nero’s response is almost excited and eager, much to Vergil’s relief.

The picture of Julio, Carlo and Kyle somehow makes Vergil grins. “You did very well taking care of those little rascals.”

“Thanks,” there’s a pause before Nero continues. “Anyway, I should get going. Nico needs my help to do some crazy shit.”

“I hope all is well for you.”

“You too, I guess...” the young man clears his throat. “And... thank you. For accepting the invitation.”

“It’s the least I could do,” The blue devil smiles, his anxiety is gone as their interaction goes smoothly. “Carry on, son.”

“Y-yeah— bye, then.”

Warmth fills Vergil’s heart as he cleans up his bed and folds the blanket neatly. Never in his life would he have thought that he’d become a father. Even though it was unplanned, having a son does change his life. He has no parental figures to ask advice from and those parenting books are not helping at all, but he learns at his own pace. Two years of effort of atonement is nothing compared to his sins, yet he wants the very best for Nero and is very protective to him.

Then the word stings him.

Birthday, huh?  

Ever since he was a little boy, Vergil has never understood the concept of celebrating birthdays. For him, birthday is just another day to pass. If anything, it seems like people love to celebrate the day when their life spans decrease. People are getting old, so what? Why do we celebrate that irony? Is that because of the presents and cake? Little Vergil never found the answer, but he did feel happy whenever he received presents and ate his birthday cake, even if that means he had to share it with his twin, Dante (he had given up the dream of having his own cake, since being twins means sharing almost everything). He didn’t even think about birthdays until Nero reminded him.

I wonder if he knows his birthday...

Vergil walks to the bathroom and washes his face. He looks at the mirror and the man guy in the mirror stares back at him. His reflection somehow reminds him of the strange dream. What was that dream about? It seems visceral, like it was my own memory. His heartbeat gets faster when he has a dreadful negative thought that it could be Mundus’ mind manipulation. If that was Mundus, it’s too pointless. He’d use my own memories to torture me, not with some kind of irrelevant vision.

“Mornin’,” Dante shoves himself besides Vergil and yawns. “I’m hungry.”

“Pleased to meet you, Hungry.”

Dante bursts into laughter. “Since when are you into dad jokes?”

“I’ll take the shower first.” Ignoring Dante’s question, Vergil picks up a dry towel and gets inside the shower cubicle.

Dante takes off his shirt and stretches his muscles. He washes his face and begins to shave his beard. “You said you fought Angelo demons at last week’s gig, right? Heard from Lady the same Angelo demons got sighted at another city. We still don’t have any information on who created and summoned them.”

Vergil wipes the droplets of water from his face. “It seems like those Angelo demons were none like all the artificial demons we have ever seen before. Their form, their abilities, their durability. They looked rather... futuristic, I'd say. I got an impression that the new Angelo was created mostly by advanced science rather than magic.”

“Another thing happened these past weeks. There are three outbursts at restricted medical facilities in different cities.”

“What medical facility?”

“Trish said that the three of them were research laboratories owned by Ravenhill Corporation.”

“Isn’t that the same corporation that won a peace award or something like that?”

“Yeah. The Ravenhills are an influential aristocrat with power over the health and security industry. Most of the health facilities in this world are sponsored and if not, owned by Ravenhill Corporation. They have a branch company here in this city too.”

“And do you think those incidents have a connection with the appearance of Angelo demons?”      

“Just a gut feeling, but that’s worth investigating, better safe than sorry, aight?” Dante brushes his hair and flips it back like Vergil. “Hey, I look just like you with this hairstyle! Perhaps I should go with this style from now on.”

“If you’re done talking, get out of the bathroom.”

“This is MY bathroom!”

“And I’m the one who cleans up the mess you’ve created in this house, Dante.”

“Fine~!” Dante chuckles as he cleans up the remaining shaving foam from his jaw. “Have you bought something for Kyrie’s birthday? Got missed calls and a text about the dinner party from Nero.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ve been thinking of giving her a fancy revolver. Heard from Nero that she’s quite good at using guns.”

“... do you really think that women fancy weapons as a gift?”

“Trish and Lady do. But hey! You can go ask our clever librarian!” Dante's face lightens up in exhilaration.

Vergil turns off the shower and wraps a towel around his waist as he opens the cubicle. “What do you mean by ’our’?!”

“Yours, then. She’s a normal civilian woman. Perhaps she can recommend you a perfect gift for Kyrie.”

No, if only you know that she’s not normal! “... you’re probably right.”

A teasing whistle comes from Dante as he takes off his pants and walks inside the cubicle. “As Yoda said, Verge, ‘ do or do not. There is no try ’. Call her and ask her out for a date.”

“I’m not taking any advice from a man who has rotten luck with women. And who is Yoda?”

“Call it what you want it. If you’re not asking her out, I’ll go ask her by myself.”

“Not before I step over your dead body.”

“Ha! Someone’s jealous for realsies~”

Vergil walks away from the bathroom before his inner turmoil tempts him to try to kill Dante… again. His insolent brother might have been teasing him too much, but in a way he’s right. He needs to find someone trusted enough to help him buy the perfect gift for Kyrie.

But she’s on duty today is her work day. I won’t make it right on time to the party if I have to wait for her shift to end.

He’s still thinking about it when he enters his room on the second floor and grabs his phone. Lyra’s contact name is showing up, but he hesitates. It’s still 9 o’clock. The library must have just opened.

After having a quite long internal battle with himself, he decides to call her anyway.

It takes a little bit long for Lyra to finally pick up her phone. Vergil catches the sound of her voice and a man’s laugh who Vergil assumes is Nate. “Bugger off for a minute, will you? — Clayton here.”

“Lyra.”

“Oh, hello Vergil!”

“Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all! Is there anything I can help you with?”

“... yes.”

“Are you okay? You sound like you want to cry.”

“I am certainly not,” Vergil groans at Lyra’s giggle. “Yet, I do believe I need your help.”

“Name it!”

“... it’s about a birthday present.” Vergil clears his throat. “Do you remember Kyrie, my son’s fiancée? She will be celebrating her birthday this evening. She invited Dante and I to her house for dinner.”

“I see.”

“Kyrie has always been there for Nero,” he continues. “She helped guide him to become the person he is now. She took care of him while I wasn’t there for him. She’s an important person to my son. That’s why... at least I have to show her some respect.”

“By giving her a decent birthday present.”

“Yes.”

“I think she will appreciate everything you give to her.”

“She will, certainly. She’s too polite to reject a present, but I don’t want her to think that I’m a careless father-in-law by giving her a gratuitous gift.”

“You’re right. I’d be delighted to accompany you to buy the present, but…I’m on duty right now. I’m afraid I couldn't help you any further.”

“That I know. That’s why I call for your advice.”

“I suggest something small, but meaningful. You told me she love to sing, right? Maybe a vinyl of classical music would — what in the bloody—! Nate! Give me back my phone at once!”

Vergil hears them grumbling and arguing at something. He considers to just hang up the phone given to his hunch that Lyra and Nate are probably having a fight right now, but suddenly he hears Nate’s voice as the young librarian speaks to him.

“Mr. Vergil? It’s Nate!”

This scoundrel's audacity...! “I recognize your voice, Nathaniel. What are you doing with Lyra’s phone?”

“Err... sorry for the interruption, but Lyra forced me to tell you this myself, or else you won’t believe her! I told her that I don’t mind if she wants to go on a date with you! My father won’t be checking on the library today!” Nate lets out a dry chuckle to break the ice, but since Vergil says nothing, Nate continues to speak. “She insisted on at least working today, so I told her to finish the duty earlier so she could spend her time with you. That’s all! Oh yeah, a little advice here; Lyra has a terrible sense of direction, means that you should hold her close— ouch!”  

A sound of a book slapped on Nate’s head comes to Vergil’s ear. The next is Lyra’s nervous voice talking to him. “Vergil? You heard Nate. So... we meet at three. How’s that sound?”

“I’ll pick you up at the library.”

“Okay!”

“Then... I’ll see you around.”

“Cheerio!”

Vergil hangs up the phone, unexpectedly feeling the queasiness after he recalls the word ‘date’ as Dante and Nate said earlier. Foolish. We are not dating. We are just going to buy a birthday present. That’s all. Stop this unnecessary disquietude. It’s just Lyra—

“Tell me you’re not gonna go on a date with your boring clothes!”

Vergil hardly glances to his side and sees Patty’s figure standing by his door. The twenty years old girl is wearing an apron and holding a broom in her hand. “At least wear something stylish! You and Dante are all hopeless! No wonder the two of you haven’t gotten married yet!”

“I believe that’s none of your concern, Miss Lowell. And although I lack what humans would consider common sense, the last time I know about human norms and etiquette, that it is rude to trespass on someone's private space and eavesdrop on other people’s conversation.”

“I’m not eavesdropping! I just happened to pass this room while cleaning this house because lately you are not present in this house and Dante is being a lazy bastard as usual! Show some gratitude!”

“Thank you for your help. But as you can see now, I am here and that means I will do the household job while you can go disturb Dante’s peace now.”

“Hey! I heard that!” Dante shouts from the first floor.

“Anyways, let me help you to choose better clothes for you!” Patty insists. “I don’t know who this girl is because Dante won’t tell me, but she seems special to you. You need to dress at your best! Impressing a girl on their first date is a must!”

“I’ll forgive your impudent attitude this time if you kindly close the door, Miss Lowell. I need to put some clothes on.”

Realizing that Vergil wears nothing but a towel wrapped on his waist, Patty flusters as she looks away and grabs the door knob violently. “Fine!”

The blue devil chuckles softly when he hears Patty goes downstairs and screams at Dante for whatever antics that he does right now. He searches through his wardrobe, pondering if Patty was right. And maybe she is. He’s about to blend into society, that means he needs to look less suspicious. He should wear something casual and humane.

Humans and their fashion. Even demons are much simpler.

He picks some clothes with a hope that he won’t look too ridiculous.

---

“Do you think he’s the type of person who brings flowers for a date?” Nate throws paper planes at Lyra’s direction, which she blocks it all with a book.

“Why do you insist that this is a date? We are friends. Friends go hang out sometimes.” Lyra says.

“Dammit, Lyre! You are older than me but I can’t believe you’re so clueless about this. Even idiots could tell that he likes you!”

Lyra groans desperately. “That’s it. That’s the problem of modern society. People nowadays confuse politeness with flirting!”

“Sometimes both work simultaneously! And that’s the case of Mr. Vergil. Sure, he’s polite to everyone even though he always looks like he wanted to kill someone. But he’s different with you; he’s not just polite, but kind. That’s two different things!”

Lyra half-heartedly listens to Nate’s babble; despite she already knows what is inside Nate’s mind. She knows what he means about Vergil being kind only to her, and Nate’s mind interprets how soft Vergil is whenever he’s around her. The thought of those forms of romanticism confuses her. Being a telepath, she has seen and listened into people’s minds for almost her entire life. She’s no stranger to the concept of love according to universal belief, yet she still doubts its existence.

Sometimes, what people think about something isn’t always synchronized with how they feel about it.

And speaking of which, I haven’t heard Nate’s thoughts since fifteen seconds ago...

“He’s here!” Nate declares as he looks up at the window near the front door. “Wait, uh... is it really him?”

“What?”

“He looks... different.” Nate mumbles. “And he didn’t bring flowers. Guess he’s not the flower type of guy.”

“On the contrary, he is.” Lyra takes a brief look at her appearance in the mirror and puts on eyeglasses before giving a wink at Nate. “See you tomorrow!”

“Now who’s excited about the date!?”

She giggles throughout her journey to the front door, only to be surprised when she opens the door and finds Vergil standing in front of her and about to open the door too. But today he looks stunningly different; he is wearing as black shirt beneath a navy-blue casual coat. His dark trousers make him look taller than usual. He changes his footwear into a pair of black chukka boots. Even with his usual warrior clothes, Vergil Sparda is already breathtakingly handsome. His casual look just enhances his majestic stature.  

Lyra has never really given any attention to fashion, but now she can’t take her eyes off of him. “What’s with the sudden change in your sense of fashion?”  

“You don’t like it?”

“I like it!” she blurts. “You look… so… normal”

“Is it just me or does it sound like an insult?”

“It’s a compliment!”

“... thank you, I suppose,” Vergil reluctantly scratches his nape. “Shall we go now?”

“Let’s!”

Lyra glares at Nate who’s giving her double thumbs up and loudly wishing her good luck before she closes the door.

“So,” the librarian walks side by side with Vergil. “Do you remember I mentioned that I purchased my devil arm at an antique shop?”

“Yes. What’s with that?”

“I think it’s a good place to start our quest. The shop sells antique weapons, jewelries, old books and trinkets. Perfect collection for Kyrie.”

“Very well. Where’s this shop located?”

“Nova Town.”

“It’s too far from here.”

“Lucky for us, you have Yamato.”

“I’m beginning to think that you see me as a mere means tool of transportation.”

“Maybe,” she winks playfully. “But you are too decent to be a mere tool, my dearest friend.”

The hybrid rolls his eyes, “Let’s find an empty alley first.”

---

“That was the first time I saw Lyra smiling like that,” Nate mutters at himself as he taps something on his cell phone. “Good for her! Ever since I saw their chemistry on the murder in the library weeks ago, I know they’re going to form a relationship soon!”

The twenty four years old librarian giggles at his own fantasy while drowning himself further into a mobile game he always plays whenever he has free time. He almost startled himself when the bell rings and a customer comes in. Nate abruptly pauses the game and greets the guest. “Welcome to The Literarium!”

The guest — a tall and ginger-haired man — returns Nate’s greeting with a nod. A suspicion arises in Nate’s head as he observes the man’s eyes that are covered with sunglasses. Why the hell does he wear sunglasses indoors? He continues to follow the man’s movement, which is also suspicious. The man seems detached from reality as he stares at one of the shelves quite long without really doing anything, not even touching the books. He walks slowly to another section, again without any interest in the books. The man seems eager to look for something as he repeatedly tilts his head to look outside the window, but Nate is certain that he’s not here for books. Then why bother coming here if he’s not interested in books? Nate clicks his pen anxiously. Paranoia begins to consume him. What if he wants to rob this place?!

The ginger-haired man approaches the sale section and finally picks a book. He looks at the cover briefly before heading to the counter. Nate fakes a polite smile when he scans the book— Lord of the Flies by William Golding— and forces himself to make a small talk. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

The man nods while giving Nate his money. “I agree.”

“You like allegorical one, huh?”

The man furrows his brow. “Sorry?”

Nate lifts the copy of Lord of the Flies . “You don’t know that Golding wrote one of the best allegorical novels all the time?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I only recognized it as one of the bestseller books,” the man chuckles. His laughter surprisingly sounds very friendly. “I picked it because the synopsis reminds me of the past.”

“Jesus, what a chaotic past you must have back then.” Nate gives him the book and his change.

“Quiet so,” the man flips the page, but Nate can sense he’s focusing on another thing. “By the way, the woman who wears eyeglasses… She came out from this place with a man about five minutes ago. Does she work here?”

Shit, another Lyra’s admirer. That explains my suspicion! “Yeah. You know her?”

“She looks like a person I used to know. Quite different, but I spot some similarities.”

“Maybe they are the same person?”

“The same person?” the man chuckles again as he closes the book. “That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“She died years ago.”

“Oh, man… I’m so sorry...”

“It’s fine. She wasn’t related to me, just a person I knew. At first glance, your friend looks eerily similar to her,” the man’s face abruptly turns into doubt and anxious. Nate swears he can see his hands tremble. “I was terribly surprised when I saw your friend out there. I thought the woman I knew was alive again. What is the name? Your lady friend, I mean.”

“Louisa.” Nate lightly says his lie as soon as he’s aware of the man’s intention. I’m not doing anything wrong. Lyra told me to fake a name in case some flirty bastards ask me her name.

“Louisa, then. Pretty name,” the man seems pleased at Nate’s answer. “Thank you. Lovely library, anyway. Good day for you.”

“Thank you. Happy reading and have a good day!”

He’s different from any of Lyra’s secret admirers, Nate feels uneasy about the man’s strange attitude even though the man has already taken his leave. He makes a mental note to contact Lyra soon after he closes the library. “That guy looks like he’s about to plan something fishy. But I can’t disturb Lyra and Mr. Vergil right now.”

Nate grabs his cell phone and restarts the game with a hope that nothing bad would happen.

---

She’s strangely quiet today.

Ever since they arrived at Nova Town, Vergil catches something unusual from Lyra. She guides the way to the antique shop without talking to him but carefully watches her surroundings. But at the same time, she seems to lose her focus and sometimes stares blankly at something. They have been walking for almost 30 minutes and they haven’t arrived at the antique shop yet. Also, that’s not the only thing from her that is unusual... “You wear eyeglasses.”

“Huh?” Lyra automatically touches her eyeglasses. “Why? You don’t like a girl with eyeglasses?”

“I don’t dislike it.”

“You have a funny way to compliment others, don’t you?”

“I have never seen you wearing eyeglasses before. I thought I was looking at a completely different person when you opened the door earlier.”

“I always wear eyeglasses whenever I’m out to shop, just for aesthetic purposes. I’ll take it off if that makes you uncomfortable—”

“Please don’t. You look lovely with that.”

“Thanks!”

“You’re welcome. Are we getting closer to the shop?”

“… I think so?”

Vergil stops abruptly, “Tell me we are not lost.”

“W-we’re not!” she stutters in panic. “I’m just having a little confusion here, because this town looks different from the last time I came here. It has only been two years and the town is already changing...”

“Are you even certain that we are in the right town?”

“One hundred percent certain!”

“Then tell me,” Vergil curves a devilish grin. “Is Nathaniel right? That you have a terrible sense of direction?”

A light blush blooms on Lyra’s face. “Uh... yeah— but we are in the right town! For real! Just because I have a terrible sense of direction, doesn’t mean I’m an idiot!”

“Yet we are lost, aren’t we?”

“We are not! See that monument over there? It’s the town’s icon. We just have to turn left to that road and the antique shop should be on the right corner.”

Vergil watches the monument that Lyra mentioned before he glances at her again with doubtful looks. “Alright, then. But why don’t you use… what is it again... GPS?”

“Later. I’m practicing my sense of direction by practicing my telepathic ability.”

“Does your telepathic ability have something to do with your sense of direction?”

“Since the murder in the library, I’m practicing to read people’s mind whenever you’re around me because your magical defense blocks my telepathic ability. Normally, all I need to do is just focus on their minds and find out if some of them have knowledge of the place I’m about to go.”

“Why bother? You still can read minds by touching their body parts.”

“That’s impractical! Not everyone wants to be touched. Just imagine if I need to touch a person with haphephobia.”

“I thought you like it when you don’t have to read minds anymore.”

“Just in case of an emergency. Who knows if we would find any strange cases again, or if I’m stuck with Dante and there’s an urgent situation where I’m required to smuggle into someone’s head.”

“Hold on. Your telepathy doesn’t work on Dante too?”

“I guess the power of Sparda includes protection from telepaths.”

“I see. Now I understand,” Vergil scoffs. “The reason why you were awfully quiet since we stepped in this town is that you tried to practice your telepathic ability to find out the antique shop’s direction, so you won’t embarrass yourself in front of me because you have poor sense of direction and you think having to use GPS would make you look unreliable as a guide.”

Lyra hides her hands behind her back and stares at the ground, which to Vergil indicates that everything he said is true and that she’s embarrassed to admit it. To be very honest, he doesn’t think that Lyra does something wrong. He just wants to clarify things behind her unusual behavior, but it unconsciously sounds like he’s scolding her for her little secret.

“Just use the GPS if you need it. You have nothing to be ashamed of. That won’t make me think less of you.”

Lyra seems to hesitate at first, but eventually shrugs and takes her phone out from her bag. Vergil quietly smirks at her surrender.

“Fortunately, we’re on the right track!” She shows Vergil the map. “Thank you for your encouragement, Vergil. That’s the longest advice you ever said to me.”

He shrugs it off. “I guess that’s what friends are for.”

“Still, that means a lot to me.”

“Just forget it. Then how’s your practice going?”

“Still doing my best. The first time I tried to read someone’s mind without touching them whenever you were around me, it was all nothing. But now I can see blurry images and hear buzzing sound!” She smiles at him, her eyes beam as she points at the rustic shop at the corner of the street. “Look! We've arrived!”

When Vergil enters the antique shop, he expects the shopkeeper to greet them with unstoppable pestering offers like all the shopkeepers normally do. That’s why he hates shopping. Thankfully the shopkeeper is sleeping on the counter, like she doesn’t care if someone steals one of the items. The shop itself is quiet and the goods are all unique. The problem is, Vergil doesn’t know where to start searching. There are many items that Vergil puts a certain degree of interest in—necklaces, bracelets, clocks, paintings—but he doesn’t think that it would be useful or meaningful to Kyrie. He starts to think about Dante’s suggestion to give her a weapon for self-protection. It seems easier than this endless searching.

“Do you know the biggest dilemma when it comes to shopping? You expect to find a certain thing, but when you’re in the shop, suddenly you’re not sure what to buy anymore.” Lyra chuckles at Vergil’s confused expression.

“Evidently,” Vergil picks an antique revolver. “I think I want to give her a weapon.”

“Is Kyrie an excellent combatant?”

“She can take care of herself, though she still needs a lot of practice, but she won’t survive a second if she had to fight multiple opponents.”

“Mmmm... okay but... how about something for protection from the demons?”

“That will do. It’s way more practical and useful.”

“Alright. Let’s ask the shopkeeper.”

Vergil points his chin at the counter. “She’s sleeping.”

“I’ll wake her up.” Lyra fixates her focus on the shopkeeper until she slowly raises her head from the counter table and rubs her eyes.

Vergil almost couldn’t hide his amusement. She can wake someone up from slumber? How advanced is her ability actually?

The shopkeeper yawns loudly. “Welcome. How can I help y’all?”

“We’re looking for an item for protection from demons. Do you have anything suitable for that?” Lyra asks.

The shopkeeper looks straight to Lyra’s eyes, then to Vergil’s. She sighs as she walks to the weapon cabinet. “I don’t have much of that, but I have this one. Take a look.” she mumbles, handing Lyra a red music box. The music box looks captivating with a rose pattern carved on the box. When Lyra opens the music box, Vergil recognizes the box is playing Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier.

“Lovely, but I don’t see what’s so special about the music box,” Vergil mutters his doubt.  

“Easy, dude. Push the button near the mirror to open the secret room behind it.”

Lyra does the exact instruction until the secret room is opened and reveals a golden bracelet inside.

“What’s that for?” Lyra asks.

“It will glow red whenever there's demons nearby,” the shopkeeper lights her cigarette and walks back to the counter. “When the bracelet glows, you press it and close your eyes, because it will cast a very blinding light. It’ll blind and burn demons and that’s the best time for you to run away.”

Lyra glances at Vergil, who’s examining the music box and the bracelet. She holds her giggle when she notices that the bracelet glows in red when Vergil holds it and abruptly puts it back to the secret room behind the mirror before the shopkeeper notices it.

“I guess the bracelet couldn’t distinguish demons and cambions,” she whispers to him.

“This should be fine,” Vergil forms a satisfied grin. “It has both protection advantage and aesthetical function. Perfect.”

“You take that?!” the shopkeeper shouts eagerly.

“Yes,” Vergil replies. “Is there a money-back guarantee in case the item doesn’t properly work?”

“This is an antique shop, dude. Some items might not working at all—”

“I believe I don’t have to repeat myself.” Vergil insists.

The shopkeeper gulps at Vergil’s unspeakable death threat within his icy eyes, knowing that there’s no use to argue with a man like Vergil. “Dammit, fine! Now can I get my money?”

Lyra howls with laughter, “Blimey, you are a terrifying customer.”

Vergil grins in pride as he heads to the counter.

---

The birthday party will begin in an hour, but Vergil chooses to spend the rest of the time with Lyra at the Sparda Manor. During the day time, they only meet in the library. That makes their little adventure today seem rare... and fun. Lyra buys them ice creams at the end of their journey in Nova Town. She can’t hold her laughter when she catches Vergil’s eyes sparking in childish interest as he holds his ice cream once the magic portal opens its way to the Manor.

“The shopkeeper was different from the one whom I met two years ago. He was nice and helpful,” Lyra murmurs, licking her bubblegum ice cream. “Guess he didn’t work there anymore. We get a sleepyhead instead.”

Vergil says nothing as he examines his blueberry ice cream cone. His memory of V eating cheeseburger hits him. “Why do humans think that creating something messy is a good idea?”

“It’s called innovation, Vergil.”

“Messy innovation.”

“As long as people like it, it is considered as a great innovation.”

He finally gives up and chomps his ice cream. “This is not bad.”

“Tell me this is not your first time eating ice cream.”

“I might be inexperienced in human lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean I never tasted ice cream.”

It’s strange, Vergil recalls the moment when they used to be strangers before Almagest helped them to get closer. Now they stand side by side and talk about stuff like old friends to the point where he could never get enough of her companionship. He lets her wander around his childhood house, even if he barely calls it a house now. He lets out a silent chuckle when she lifts a pile of rocks up to the air just to see what hides behind it, only to find another ruins and she’s slightly disappointed.

“For a second I thought your father was Johann Sebastian Bach.” Lyra looks up at Sparda’s family painting.

“You are not the first person who said that.”

She laughs. “Oh look at you… stoic since you were born. And I already got a picture on Dante being impatient while the painter kept asking him to stand still.”

“Pretty much correct. He complained how itchy his feet were at the end of the session.”

“Your mother was gorgeous,” Lyra admires Eva’s angelic stature. “No wonder Sparda fell for her.”

Vergil forms a wistful smile. “She was.”

“This painting reminds me of The Picture of Dorian Gray .”

“Pray tell, why?”

“Dorian sold his soul to the devil for eternal youth, and it decayed his self-portrait painting every time he did a sin. Of course your family portrait is a different case, but you see, your mother’s face is the only one that didn’t get burned by fire. It’s like a sign that she was the only human in the family…”

“And the rest of the family members were cursed by the evil blood that ran in their veins. That’s why the faces of the three of us were burned. That’s a picturesque perspective.”

“I didn’t say that demon is always evil—”

“I know. Still, it’s a good metaphor. Haven’t thought of it myself.”

“Why don’t you take the painting with you? People keep their family portrait in their house.”

“Dante and I agreed to leave it here as a sign that this mansion once belonged to our family. Besides, I can’t imagine such a painting to be hanged on the shop’s soiled wall. It would be a disgrace for the painting itself.”

“Now that you mentioned it, I think you are right.”

Lyra continues to lift some rocks and put it back carefully once she finds nothing interesting.. “Have you been in there again after you escaped the Underworld with Dante?”

“To collect mementos, yes. Though, as you can see, nothing much was left since Urizen destroyed the whole city. Not to mention almost all parts of the house were destroyed or blocked by pillars and huge stones. We tried to remove them, but it’d cause a domino effect throughout the manor and demolish it completely.” 

“How did it feel to visit your childhood home again?”

Vergil swallows his ice cream at once. He puts a handkerchief out from his coat and wipes his lips. “It felt mostly heartbreaking.”

“I see,” Lyra nods and gives Vergil a light pat on his shoulder. “Not everyone could even come back to the place where their trauma began. Not that it’s necessary. I just found it encouraging.”

“Speaking of memento, what was the most valuable present you had ever received?” Vergil curiously asks.

“Oh, we start to have a small talk now?”

“I thought we agreed to trust each other, don’t we? Then we should start from mundane things.”

“Alright. Make sense. Let me recall it… mmmm… oh right! A lyre!”

“You play lyre? Amazing.”

“I thought you were about to say ironic.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You know, a lyre plays a lyre.”

Vergil smirks, recalling her remark on their previous little adventure, “You’re right. It’s ironically amazing.”

The librarian rolls her eyes as she bites the ice cream cone. “My mum bought me one for my fifth birthday. It only lasted for two months before I asked her to give me a harp for the next birthday.”

“Did she finally buy you a harp?”

“She didn’t.”

“Why?”

“She died before my next birthday.”

Vergil immediately stared at Lyra’s sullen eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles at him, chewing the last part of her cone. “It was a long time ago.”

Lyra has so many things she hides behind her amicable demeanor, and Vergil should’ve feel relieved because after all these months, Lyra finally opens up a little bit about her family, yet he doesn’t feel it at all.

“Were you close with your mother?” Vergil’s tone is full of consideration.

Lyra taps her fingers on her chin. “I guess so. We only had each other.”

“… How did she… die?”

The librarian smirks at him. “If I told you she fell from the tree, would you believe me?”

“Only if that’s the truth.”

She goes silent for a while, seeming unwilling to continue her story. She opens an empty drawer, looking at nothingness for a while. “You might’ve heard about her.”

“Your mother?”

“Uh-uh,” Lyra nods calmly, but Vergil senses a slight hesitation. “Her name was Asteria Crescent.”

Impossible! “The award-winning astronomer?”

“Astrobiologist, yes.”

“I see. That explains your fondness of astronomy.”

The first time Vergil heard about Asteria Crescent was when he was eleven years old, still homeless and constantly moved out from place to place in search of power. Asteria’s groundbreaking research of modern astrobiology broke the news. Her discovery led the scientists to rethink human’s position in this world and question the exact location of the Underworld in the known universe, considering demons as an extraterrestrial creature with its own origin and evolution. Demons and magic are inseparable, but Asteria Crescent was brave to make a further step to explain demonology in a scientific approach. Science and magic are two sides of a coin , Vergil recalls her statements. Science just has yet to understand magic.

“Asteria was a Titan goddess of falling stars and nighttime divinations. That suited her very well,” Lyra chuckles bitterly, swinging her hand to lift a pile of ruins back to its place. “I once wondered why she didn’t name me Hecate, daughter of Asteria and goddess of witchcraft. Maybe at that time, she didn’t have a thought that someday I’ll develop this… psychic ability.”

“The media never reported anything regarding her cause of death. It happened all so sudden, they said.”

“They always spoke highly of her. But when she died, they turned the story into rumors and gossip.”

“So did she fall from the tree?”

“She did fall.”

“But not from the tree.”

Vergil’s demonic eyes catch Lyra’s body slightly flinching, but she maintains her calmness and fakes a smile. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you further about your private life.”

“You entrusted me your biggest secret. I intend to do so. I’m just… not ready to open up, but I know that I want to.”

“When I said that we should try to trust each other, I didn't mean that you should abruptly open yourself to me.”

“Too late. Now you know I’m the daughter of a dead astrobiologist.”

“Why did you change your surname then?”

Lyra stops and gazes at Vergil. She seems anxious while glancing at her surroundings carefully, as if she’s afraid that someone else would hear them. Vergil slightly bows his body when Lyra whispers in his ear.

“I’m being hunted.”

The furrow on Vergil’s brow is going deeper. “By whom?”

“Someone who wants to abuse my power. That’s why I need to change my surname and hang out around wearing eyeglasses, so people won’t find out about my identity.”

For a moment, they stand still there, staring at each other’s eyes to find some clues. It’s logical that Lyra’s unique ability would attract power-seekers, be it humans or demons. Vergil knows it too well; the danger of possessing a greater power. A part of him wants to believe her words…

If only he failed to spot a subtle grin on the corner of her lips.

I would be absolutely fooled by her deception, Vergil grunts discontentedly. "You are lying, aren’t you?”

Lyra’s laughter echoes throughout the lake.

Vergil snarls at her unstoppable giggle. "Quite a jester, I see.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

Vergil doesn’t bother to reply, because he knows it would lead to another bickering. He doesn’t try to hide his amused smile too, even though Lyra teases him about the ‘sly devil smile’. To be honest, he couldn’t care less. He just wants to see her smile, her true smile.

Like the way she’s smiling right now.

“Do you want to have a look at the lake?” Vergil offers, trying to lift the mood. “There’s nothing left to see here.”

“Sure!”

They sit on the cobblestone pier in the lake while admiring the twilight sky. It’s Vergil’s favorite place, ever since he was a child. This place has changed; there are no more Qliphoth roots left and there are several trees and wildflowers growing on the land. The lake no longer contains human blood. It’s mesmerizing how fast time flies and changes the entire city.

“I used to spend my days here, reading and playing with Dante,” Vergil says. “We loved being here more than staying indoors.”

“I can see the reason. It’s bloody beautiful here.” Lyra mutters her admiration. She taps her fingers on the cobblestone playfully, causing a small rift in the lake.

“Dante once pushed me to the lake because we fought over a chocolate bar,” Vergil recalls one of his precious memories. “I pretended to be drowned. He pulled me out of the water and cried, pleaded to me for not leaving him alone and that he’s sorry. Promised me that he won’t disturb me again. Right when he shook my body to wake me up, I pushed him to the lake but he managed to drag me with him.”

Lyra can’t hold her howls of laughter. She chortles until her stomach hurts and her throat gets sore. Vergil swears he never saw her laughing like this. “I’m sorry— I— HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Lower your voice,” Vergil grunts. He starts to regret his decision for rambling about his childhood antics just to get rid of Lyra’s gloomy face. “You might end up choking yourself to death.”

“ Pfffftttt!”

“Will you shut up?!”

“Sorry!” Lyra bites her thumb to hold her cackle but fails. “I just… bwahahaha! It seems that ‘never hold a grudge to the people who wronged you’ is true!”

Vergil pulls her thumb away from her teeth, caressing her reddened thumb. “A little deeper, you would bleed your thumb.”

The careful touch from Vergil distracts Lyra for a while. It’s the first time he holds her without gloves on, and it surprises her how soft his palm is despite the fact that he is a warrior who wields various weapons. Her thumb slips lightly from his palm. “Even if I bleed, I got your Lucy Pevensie’s cordial to heal me.”

Vergil sighs heavily as he removes some strands of Lyra’s hair from her forehead. “I gave it to you for an emergency case only. The cordial was made mostly from demon’s blood, mixed with rare herbs and some complicated spells to make it suitable for human’s bodies. Even the bottle was made from demon’s materials to prevent physical damage. Trish produced only a few bottles of cordial, so use it wisely.”

“I will,” Lyra picks out the cordial bottle from her bag and shows it to Vergil. “See? I haven’t used it since Capulet.”

“Put it back into your bag before it slipped from your hand and fell into the lake.”

“Alright alright! Why do you sound a lot like my mother?” Lyra puts the bottle back into her bag.

“You are clumsy and easily distracted. I have to keep my eyes on you every time. It’s rather distressing.”

“I can take care of myself!” Lyra lays a punch on Vergil’s chest. “Remember, I weakened Phantom last week, so you devil twins could kill that spider easily!”

The cambion smirks disdainfully to her weak strike. He puts something off from the back of his coat and hands it to Lyra. It’s an old book with a black leatherbound with the title engraved in a beautiful golden emboss. “Your payment for escorting me today.”

Lyra observes the front cover with beaming eyes. “The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe...”

“It’s one of the mementos I brought from the Manor. I reckon you would love Poe, given to your fondness of horror and mystery.”

“Then I have to refuse! It’s yours!”

“I believe I made myself clear when I said the book is for you.”

Lyra was about to refuse again, but quickly zip her mouth when Vergil glared at her with his terrifying and undeniable gaze. He won’t take any ‘no’ from her. She flips the pages, and something almost falls from the book before Lyra catches it quickly; an antique necklace with an obsidian pendant. She takes a closer look at the pendant and recognizes the familiar white, shiny dots pattern on it— the Lyra constellation.  

“… did you pick this one too from the manor?” Lyra asks carefully.

“… it was from the antique shop.”

“I didn’t see you strolling around the jewelry section.”

“It was displayed on the counter. Nothing special. Just normal jewelry. The pattern just reminded me of you—”

Vergil can’t finish his sentence because Lyra wraps her arms between his waist, locking him in a tight embrace. He can feel the strange, but comfortable warmth fills his body as he returns to hug her without hesitation. Her body is so small and shorter compared to his height that he needs to bow slightly in order to balance the embrace. He loves her scent— a strange mixture of peach, black tea and old roses— and quietly inhales the intoxicating fragrance from her hair. He feels like he could do this all day.

“Thank you,” Lyra’s murmur vibrates his chest. “I’ll cherish this forever.”

“It's just a book and a necklace.”

“These are the best presents since the lyre from my mum!” she chuckles. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually hug people around.”

“Neither do I.”

“So let us hug a bit longer, shall we?”

“It looks like I have no choices but to comply.”

For a moment, they banish their distrusts about each other, breaking the adamant barrier and wishing the time to stop ticking.  

---

Yesterday, Lyra dreamt of a boy who wanders around a big house.

She thought it was just a meaningless dream, at least until she realized that she was the boy himself. She looked at her—  his — reflection in the mirror; the little boy was handsome with swept back silver hair and a black pajama. His serious and grumpy expression reminded of someone she couldn’t remember yet. She— the boy —wandered off around a big and dark house. It wasn’t her own intention; like her movement was controlled by someone else. She opened a chamber and let herself in. There was a woman who lay unconscious on the bed. Lyra could see traces of tears on the woman’s sullen face. Her body forced her to lift the quilt to cover the woman’s body and tip-toed herself out from the room.

When she was about to go back to her room, she heard a wheezing cry and followed the voice to the main hall. It didn’t take her too long to find out the source of the voice as her hand reached to open a white drawer, where another little boy with the same silver hair cried inside it.

“Vergil…” that little boy stared at her with a turbulent sob coming out from his mouth. “Father… you… you d-d-don’t believe that he died… r-right?”

I am…Vergil?

Does that mean that this crying boy… Dante?

The next thing Lyra remembered was she woke up with tears stream down her face like a waterfall, soaking her pillow. She was sure the sadness she felt in the entire dream wasn’t hers, but Vergil and Dante’s. She was going to tell Vergil about her strange dream when she saw the exact same white drawer in her dream at Sparda Manor, but she thought she was biased. Vergil had told her about how devastated his family was when they heard that Sparda was deceased, and her dream must be just her brain playing a trick to her.

But then she thought, Vergil never told me that he found Dante hiding and crying in that draw…

Tonight, Lyra falls into another strange dream. Even weirder and scarier. A titanic, god-like demon tortured her in the most unimaginably painful way. Her entire body was chained and spiked. The demon was merciless. His face was full of disgust and hatred as he spat her insults and penetrated her head with dreadful illusions she couldn’t even envision. He kept calling her “disgraceful offspring of the traitor Sparda”. It was only then she realized that she wasn’t herself, but Vergil.

Lyra fights herself to wake up, and is barely successful. The dream is too visceral that she almost still can feel the pain all over the body as she opens her eyes. Her back is wet from her own sweat.

Why do I keep dreaming of him? Moreover, I never experienced this kind of pain…

Does it have something to do with our accidental mind link on that day? Strange things have happened since then...

Her wave of thoughts are interrupted by the sudden thirst in her throat. She snaps her fingers and the light from the lamp brightens the bedroom. The door cracks slowly to open its way for Lyra. The librarian walks with leaden steps as she rubs her sleepy eyes. She almost stumbled upon a chair when she entered the kitchen.

“A cuppa sounds delightful to cure nightmares,” Lyra mumbles at herself, swinging her hand to summon a cup from the drawer. The cup flies and lands right in front of her, but she makes no further movement but staring blankly at the cup. Her body is still shivering by the imaginary pain from her nightmare.

“From all the people in the world, why does it have to be Vergil? This mind link is vexing me...”

The harsh cry of a raven causes Lyra to glance over the kitchen’s window. She curves a light smile while opening the window and lets a little raven enter her house. The raven lands on her shoulder for a while before flying around the house and lands on the kitchen counter.

“Where have you been, Corvus? Haven’t seen you for days!” Lyra greets the raven.

The little bird tilts its head and squawks. Lyra giggles as she pats the raven’s head. “Hey look. My friend gave his poem book to me and one of the titles is The Raven. I like it, by the way. And I’ve been thinking about him lately, even dreaming about him. To be honest, it’s disturbing. Do you think I should invite him here and tell him the truth?”

The raven gives her a nod.

“You are right. A cuppa is best served with a friend, don’t you think?”

Corvus flaps its wings eagerly. The black bird flies around Lyra’s head before making its way outside the house.

“Leaving already? You haven’t eaten yet!” Lyra shouts at the raven. “Alright then, send my regard to your girlfriend!”

Corvus squawks something like a curse, causing Lyra to barks in laughter. She heads back to the counter as she turns on the radio to entertain her confusing state of mind, picking the channel telepathically until she finds her favourite channel. She listens to the song while summoning her phone from the bedroom, tapping the screen until Vergil’s contact name pops on the screen.

Down in the willow garden

Where me and my love did meet

As we sat a-courtin'

My love fell off to sleep

I had a bottle of burgundy wine

My love, she did not know

So I poisoned that dear little girl

On the banks below

I drew a saber through her

It was a bloody knife

I threw her in the river

Which was a dreadful sign

“By Jove, that song is sinister,” Lyra chuckles darkly. Her solemn face is turning pale. “As for the poisoned little girl… well…”

She clicks Vergil’s name, waiting for the devil to answer with fingers tangled between the black pendant on her neck, hoping half-heartedly that he wouldn’t pick her call.

~~~

A/N : the song mentioned at the end of the chapter is “Down In The Willow Garden” by The Everly Brothers.

Tagging : @drusoona @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz @shiranyaaww @andieperrie18 @rubixa-seraph @blooddrop-palace (I honestly forgot who to tag, so if you want to be tagged just send you reply or DM me! XD)

Masterlist | AO3

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 27

Fandom: Marvel 

Summary:  Based on “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine��

Loki dipped a soft brush in the powder again, using it with deadly precision. 

"It's going to take you a week," you noticed while painting the nails on his other hand. 

"It will be a week well-spent then," he said, barely moving his lips. He had nice cheekbones, but they could always look nicer.

"Only if you use more glitter. You promised." 

"The silly bet you insisted on only covered the part of using 'some' glitter. There was no word specifying the amount or placement." 

You looked at your work. Loki had really nice hands, and the deep green polish you found seemed to be a perfect choice. You were sure it would match the suit he chose from the seemingly bottomless (and actually enchanted) bag that now laid near the bed in your room. If only, of course, he would hurry up and put it on. 

He must've noticed your impatience in the mirror. You were sitting on the edge of the bathtub in the tiny confines of your bathroom, and it would be very hard for Loki not to see you from so close. 

"We'd have more time if I didn't have to fix your face first." He pointed the brush at you accusingly. 

"My face was just fine." 

"Except for that marvelous bruise on your jaw. And that scratch on your brow. We surely wouldn't raise any questions if we went there looking beat up." 

"I told you the glitter would fix it and it did." You appraised your looks in the mirror, pushing Loki away. "The more glitter the better."

"It's not—" 

"The best time for glitter is everyday and the second best time is now! Embrace that simple truth, you coward." 

"...that literally makes no sense."

But he'd rather run his throat dry than successfully explain that to you, so Loki didn't bother. Besides, surprisingly, he wasn't as frustrated as he would usually get at this point. 

The hand wielding the brush stilled for a moment. It was a shame his mind didn't, and instead jumped to a few very far-fetched conclusions and realisations that hit him like a punch to the gut. 

Sure, he had spent a lot of time with you lately, and it actually wasn't that bad and he enjoyed quite a few moments, but to think that, maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny, unthinkable possibility that he… 

A sense of dread filled him, and a shiver ran down his spine. 

Nope. 

He'd think about that some other time. Right now, he had to look his absolute best, and that was something worth focusing his whole attention on. 

With a sigh you didn't know the source of, he put down the brush you 'borrowed' along with a few other handy items. He had no idea what the fake face the filthy enchantment put on him looked like, but the one he was seeing in the mirror was absolutely marvelous. Loki carefully combed through his hair, noticing a few glittering speckles that he was sure weren't there just moments ago. 

He sent you a knowing glare, but it didn't seem to work. He must've fallen out of practice. 

"You're really good at all that," you gestured to the cosmetics. "There's no sign I got my ass beaten only a few days ago." 

"Of course I am,” He said. "You have no idea how many times it has saved me from trouble." 

"Oh, do tell," you grinned, fanning your hand over his drying polish. 

"Let's just say that trying to convince a few unfriendly beasts being held at the stables to have a good time in the gardens where a feast was being held was definitely worth it."

You looked at the brushes and pencils. "I don't see the connection." 

"Altering your appearance through magic can be detected. But changing your features temporarily using means that can be wiped clean in a few seconds—well, that's a different story." 

Loki smiled a little at the distant memory. He remembered the feast very well, as he did the warrior whose name it was being held for. Said warrior was often posted with other guards near the central area of the palace, and he made it very hard to sneak around undetected. Some of the other guards, especially the older ones, at least pretended to look the other way, but he never did. 

Your laugh warmed something in him, but Loki didn't dwell on the feeling. After all, there was a party to crash. 

"How is the boy faring?" he asked while changing a few minutes later. 

"Busy," you said, waiting on your bed. "He's really into that project. I'm pretty sure he wants to impress MJ and that's why he's so… restless. I hope it all goes well."

"Will he be joining us tonight?" 

"No, he wouldn't pass—he's too young, remember? And besides, he'll probably be spending the evening working out the details of his project. He told you that at dinner, didn’t you listen?" 

"My bad."

Loki didn't sound guilty. You weren’t surprised. Still, if he didn't care at all about Peter, he wouldn't ask about him. Someone seemed to be growing a soft spot. 

"Just to make sure," you said, fixing your shoes. "You do remember you have to act like a human for a while? We have to blend into the crowd." 

"Oh dear," Loki opened the bathroom door dramatically. "I shouldn't have showered then." 

You ignored the sarcasm and whistled as you appraised his look. Asshole or not, Loki knew how to dress up. 

"Don't say a word and keep on looking like this and we actually stand a chance of not getting thrown out after five minutes." 

Loki huffed, whipping his hair over his shoulder with a practiced gesture. "I'm a delight. They should be grateful I laid my eyes on that rathole at all."

"I'm sure they will be." 

You linked arms and marched out of the room that had become a little more chaotic in the past hours. It took you a long time to finally put up a look that had both of you satisfied. What clothing didn't make it to the final round, ended up abandoned on various surfaces. 

The evening painted the skies over the city black. As you passed the huge windows, you noticed no snow speckles dancing on the wind. It was a shame from an aesthetic point, but would make the way to the party easier. 

Loki was in an amazing mood—right until the two of you were noticed. 

"Where the hell are you two going this time?" Tony's question echoed in the corridor as he stopped dead in his tracks. 

Bruce was right beside him, with a handful of papers and a coffee, but he stayed quiet. The memories of what had once happened between him and Loki must've still been fresh in his memory from the look on his face. 

"We," you cooed with the sweetest smile you could muster. "Are going to socialize a little." 

Tony blinked. "Over my dead body." 

"That can be arranged," the soft velvet of Loki's voice caressed the unspoken promise. 

There was a part of you (a big one) that wished to see Tony take that one small step for the situation to escalate. An equal part of Bruce, tugging on Tony's sleeve, wanted the precise opposite—and it won. 

Tony pointed a finger at you. "Don't disappoint us."

You laughed and resumed walking with Loki by your side. 

"Trust me, whatever your expectations of us are, we'll best them." 

"...that's what I'm afraid of," was all Tony said, a bitter edge in his voice. 

On any other day, Loki might've laughed at that, but the night was young and full of possibilities that for once didn't bother him much. The arm linked with yours seemed to steady him as much as push him forward. Loki had no talents regarding predicting the future, but for the first time in a while, the unknown didn't bother him. Little seemed to bother him lately, and he enjoyed the feeling. 

You left the building behind you and entered the winter chill. Your steps fell into sync as you entered the snow-covered streets and only then did Loki dare look at you. 

The night was indeed young and full of possibilities. Even ones he was only beginning to realize. 

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Us and Andie Ch. 4

Summary: Bucky works as an Avenger because it’s what’s right. He feels he has sins he’ll never be able to make up for, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying. However, his life takes an unexpected turn when he comes across Andie, the daughter of recently divorced Y/N. The life he had once “maintained” in hopes of surviving changes as his heart warms for a tough-as-nails nurse and her wonderful daughter.

Word Count: 3373 (I know, it’s back to the shorter chapters)

Warnings: I mean, cussing is always a thing? But there is a lot more interaction between Y/N and Bucky in this chapter. Finally getting more of that ball rolling. 

Series Masterlist - Masterlist

Y/N woke to noise outside her room. But as she opened her eyes and blinked away the bleariness that came with just waking up, she realized something a little important.

She wasn’t in her room.

Y/N sat up, yanking the sheets off her body and hurrying to her feet. She stumbled over the comforter she had kicked off, catching the dresser before she could fall flat on her face. How long had she been asleep? Running her fingers through her tangled her, she kicked off the comforter before getting to the bathroom. She needed a shower. Desperately.

The hot water was steaming, relaxing her muscles and helping her clear her head. She’d forgotten what it was like to just enjoy a shower without being in a rush. But as she scrubbed away the grim from yesterday, she started remembering the events from her night with the Avengers.

“Oh, my god,” she murmured. “I met the Avengers…I…I criticized the Avengers.” She pressed her forehead against the cold tile. It was a stark contrast to the warmth hitting her back. She didn’t even remember how she got to bed. Oh, she wanted this day to end. Nice shower aside, she was definitely overstaying her welcome. Turning off the shower, she could only hope she could get out of here without being noticed.

And Andie.

Fuck, she hoped Peter had gotten Andie to school in time.

Finally drying off, she started picking up the clothes she had worn the night before. She had to get back to Brooklyn, get a fresh change of clothes, and run errands before work tonight. She rubbed her forehead, gnawing at her lip. She needed to get Andie from school later too. What time was it? However, all her worries and concerns were tossed out of her mind when she saw clothes on the dresser. She frowned, remember that she had told them she didn’t need to borrow anything from Natasha.

Picking up the sticky note waiting on top of the fabrics, she read the extremely messy handwriting that told her:

Wanted to let you sleep, but when you wake up – these are Wanda’s. Thought it would be better than the clothes you slept in.

There was no signature. Y/N flipped it over, wanting to double check, but still she found nothing. She looked at the clothes and made a mental note to grab a ‘thank you’ card when she was out later. When she sent the clothes back, she could send the card with it. Leggings, underwear, a sports bra, and…Well, that looked way too big to be Wanda’s. But she didn’t pay too much mind. She liked wearing baggy clothes and perhaps the Avenger did too.

Who was she to judge?

Stepping out of the room, she closed the door behind her and started rolling up the sleeves of the blue Henley. It was long, skimming past her butt. The sleeves weren’t too bad, but she preferred not constantly pushing them out of the way. Y/N pulled her still damp hair out of her face, tugging it into a ponytail as she heard movement in the kitchen.

So leaving wouldn’t be so simple.

Stepping around the corner, Y/N saw Bucky was cooking in the kitchen. The smell of pancakes hit her stomach and a rather loud, far too obnoxious growl left her stomach. She winced as Bucky looked her way.

“I’m guessing you’re hungry?”

Y/N smiled sheepishly, trying to tell him, “It’s okay. I can get food back at my place.” But when was the last time she actually had a chance to go grocery shopping?

Bucky knew he shouldn’t push or put himself out there, but the truth was, he already ate. Everyone did. It was 10 AM after all. “These are for you, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I wanted to.”

She shifted from one foot to the other, hugging herself. “Did Andi…Was she taken to school?”

“Peter and Steve took her this morning.”

Y/N hesitated but watched as he flipped the pancakes and started pouring her a cup of coffee. It was so domestic. So simply kind. When was the last time someone did something like this for her? It seemed that was enough to make up her mind. She took a seat at the island, crossing her arms on the counter as he passed her the cup of coffee. She wrapped her hands around the cup, allowing it to warm her fingers. “Thank you.”

The smile that slipped past her lips was enough to make Bucky’s heart skip a beat. He quickly looked away, listening to the clinking of a spoon as she doctored her coffee just the way she liked. She didn’t take milk with it. Only sugar. He didn’t want to make a note of that. He really didn’t. But Bucky was already tucking the information in the back of his mind before he had a chance to think otherwise.

Silence fell as she sipped at the warm caffeine, watching as he took care of the pancakes. When she heard the commotion earlier, she thought that maybe there had been more people around. Taking a quick sweep of the room, she was confused when she saw it was only them. Before too long, there was probably going to be someone coming back in. Gnawing her bottom lip, she looked back at Bucky. He was wearing a red Henley and for the briefest moment, she wondered if the one she was wearing belonged to him.

Stop. You have been alone too long. It is a shirt for crying out loud.

“What – “ She took another sip of coffee. “What pancakes are you making?”

“Just regular ones. I wasn’t sure if you had an allergy or anything.” He slid a couple pancakes on a plate, passing them to her. She grabbed the syrup across from her, dousing the pancakes and absolutely soaking them. Bucky watched her, barely able to hide his own smile. It wasn’t everyday he saw someone enjoying pancakes as much as he did. “Do you have a favorite kind?”

She looked up right in the middle of stuffing her face, forgetting for a second that she was supposed to have manners. Oops. Taking a smaller bite than she initially planned, she shrugged. “Andie does. I make them for her once a month.”

“Why so rarely?”

Y/N giggled as she recalled the last time. “Well…it’s a special thing we do. When I manage to get off work for three or four days, I let her pick a night. And we go to my cousin’s house.” She looked out the window, shrugging.  “It’s probably a couple hours north of here. Sorry – I…just realized I’m rambling.”

Bucky was already leaning forward, elbows propped on the counter and watching her with absolute curiosity. “I really don’t mind,” he assured her. Hesitating, he explained, “I never really had a tradition…” Silence fell as she realized that, with his life as the Winter Soldier, something small like this might be nice to him. Different.

Taking another bite, she decided maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to share. “It’s a little country house type thing. They even have a barn and they have it set up where Andie and I can star gaze all night long.” She chuckled, staring down at her plate. “There’s even a projector set up there. I’ll have her pick out a movie and we’ll watch it. Then I’ll point out constellations to her, tell her their stories while we eat pancakes and other junk food.” To anyone else, it would seem utterly ridiculous, but this tradition was one of the most important things in her life. She dreaded the day Andie got too old for it.

“Andromeda.”

She looked up, noticing the smile on his face.

“That’s where her middle name comes from?”

Y/N nodded. “There are so many meanings behind the name, it’s hard to keep track. But the one I named her for is ‘to be mindful of men’.”

“Which meaning is her favorite?”

Y/N stared at him, surprised that he would know she had her own favorite meaning. “Whether it’s true or not, she believes it means ‘leader of men’. And she’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.”

Bucky laughed at that. Even though he hadn’t interacted with her much, that didn’t surprise him one bit. Andie took charge in any room she was in and he admired that about the kid. “She’s…You raised a good kid.”

“Still raising her. Just hoping I’m not fucking it up too much.”

Bucky watched her as they ate. How could Y/N think she was fucking it up? She was a good parent. Andie was a great kid. Except for when she ran off and hid from the world. But that probably wasn’t something to bring up right now.

“Probably should get back on the road,” Y/N told him, taking the now empty plate and walking to the sink. She washed it off, immediately going to work on the rest of the dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” Bucky told her, rising to his feet.

“It’s second nature at this point.”

“Still. We have a whole house of people that could benefit from doing more chores.” He came up behind her, his chest pressing against her back as his hand caught her wrist. “Just let it go, yeah?”

Her body tensed as she realized how close he was. God, she needed to get a grip. Eight years of not dating and here she was reacting to some guy’s chest against her. But...It was Bucky. There were certainly worse men to be freaking out over.

Hell, she married one.

“Sorry, I think it’s hard for me to slip out of ‘mom’ mode.” She dropped the dishes and he took a step away from her. Turning to face him, she realized they were still close. Only a couple feet apart, each leaning against an opposite counter. Up close, she realized he was even more attractive. Not only had he looked out for her daughter twice, but he had the kindest eyes. A sweet smile. It was hard for her to believe this man could hurt anyone. That is, until she took in his massive build. Even before she worked in labor and delivery, back when she worked in the ER and came across all kinds of people, she had never met a man built like Bucky. He was like a brick wall. Still…her favorite thing was his eyes. And his smile.

Stop it. You are not a horndog.

“I – I should probably go. I still need to stop by my place. And run errands. And then I have work. I just…I have a lot to do.”

“Do you need help?”

The question surprised them both.

Y/N because he was an Avenger. Bucky didn’t need to be wasting his day running pointless errands. She was sure they had ‘people’ for that sort of thing. So why the hell would he ask? Why would he do something so simple and so unnecessary? But then she remembered everything she had learned about him. He had been through a cruel life. A part of her wondered if he really remembered having any sort of life that was what one would describe as “domestic”.

Meanwhile, Bucky couldn’t believe he had managed to ask. To put himself out there in any sort of way was hard. He failed more often than not. But with Y/N, things felt almost easy. Almost normal. And he wanted more of that. He needed more “normal” and less “hero”. He knew he wouldn’t get that with the Avengers. Just walking down the street wasn’t even normal anymore. Not when you were friends with the one and only Captain America.

“No, I don’t.”

The words left her lips and Bucky felt his shoulders drop. He knew he shouldn’t have asked, but it still hurt to hear her so adamantly not want him around. Was he making her that uncomfortable? Was even having a meal with him so –

“But I want it.”

Bucky jerked his head up, unable to contain the smile on his face. “Really?” Someone wanted him around. Not to beat up bad guys, but just help.

Y/N held up a hand, telling him her only requirement was, “So long as you won’t be judgey. I can’t stand judgey.”

Bucky laughed. “I can do that.”

-.-.-.-

Bucky stayed close to Y/N the whole time they were in Brooklyn. It turned out, he hadn’t been wrong when he guessed that Y/N and Andie lived in one of the more run-down communities. Everything in him wanted to move them out of this area and into the compound. He couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was because he thought a family like them deserved better.

But he wasn’t being judgey.

He really wasn’t.

She unlocked the door to her home, not even noticing the way Bucky was observing the hall. What he was making notes of, only he would ever know. “We’ll be quick. I just need to make a list.”

Bucky followed her inside and when Y/N turned to look at him, she could barely keep herself from laughing. She knew her apartment was small but seeing him in it reminded her just how small it was. “Try not to break anything,” she teased.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking around. The living room and kitchen were one massive room. There were few cabinets, limited counter space, and a fridge. The sink still had a few dishes in it. She probably meant to do them the night before. The living room had a small TV, probably something she bought on sale. There was a couch no doubt run down from raising a rambunctious kid like Andie. And there was a coffee table with a stack of mail. Looking around, he knew he was tense. There wasn’t exactly a place to hide if someone broke in. There were two windows in the ‘living area’ directly across from the front door. It wasn’t safe.

Not even close.

But he wouldn’t judge, and he wasn’t going to say anything.

“I’m going to get a list put together so I can keep my head straight,” Y/N told him, pulling her hair out of her ponytail and combing through it. Almost immediately it went back up as she grabbed a pen and envelope from the pile. She started scribbling on the back, opening the fridge and making a note of what she needed from the store.

Bucky got a glimpse of the contents inside. There wasn’t much. When was the last time she got a chance to go shopping? He ran a hand through his hair, taking a slow breath. He needed to calm down and stop worrying about them. It wasn’t like this was his responsibility. Still – he was curious what the rest of the apartment looked like.

Making sure she was occupied, he slipped away. There was a small bathroom with only a shower. The bedrooms were right around the corner. He was relieved that Y/N at least had a bit of privacy and in that moment, he knew he should respect it. So he only caught a glimpse through the open door. Her bed was unmade and there was a stack of clean clothes on the dresser and an overflowing dirty laundry basket by the door. Other than that – there was nothing about the room that showed it belonged to her. In fact, it could have been anyone’s.

It made his heart hurt. Sure, he had even less when he was the Winter Soldier, but that was different. He was a machine then, following orders and nothing more. She had a life, but it seemed she wasn’t really living.

Walking across the way, his steps fell silent. It took only a stride and a half for him to get to Andie’s room. The door was wide open. And of course, Y/N had given her the bigger room. There were little plastic stars covering the wall and ceiling. A dark blue comforter covered the bed along with a couple of toys – both looking like they were massive and used for late night cuddles. One was a faded frog missing an eye. The other was a black bear that was clearly limp from overuse and had patches where fur had been rubbed off.

They were clearly her favorites.

In other parts of the room, there were toys here and there. A plastic Mjolnir, a stack of coloring books, several packs of crayons, and other toys littered the floor. When he’d first met Andie, he’d gotten the impression she was one of those “tomboys”, but judging by her room, she was just a mix. She liked what she liked.

He picked up a couple of her clothes off the floor, dropping them in the laundry basket. However, he paused when he picked up a black t-shirt. It was clearly painted on and unfolding it revealed a red star on the chest.

“She had me paint that for her.”

Bucky hesitated, staring down at the massive red star. It practically glared at him. How could a kid want to wear such a horrible sign? He looked back at Y/N. A part of his mind registered that she had put on a jacket, but that wasn’t his priority. No. That was the shirt. “Why?”

“You’re her hero.”

Bucky’s fists clenched around the fabric. He didn’t understand. “Why?”

Y/N leaned against the doorway, watching him as if he was a child trying to figure out a puzzle. There was no pity there. Just…hope? Excitement? She couldn’t place the word. Wrapping her arms around herself, she asked, “Has she told you what her powers are?”

“No.” He turned his eyes to her. They were bright, intense in a way that could only come from Bucky. “Why? What are they?”

Y/N shook her head. “That’s for her to tell you. Not me.” She stepped forward, taking the shirt out of his hands. It wasn’t her place to remind him that he wasn’t that creation anymore. It wasn’t her responsibility to tell him that he’s a good person. No, he needed to know that on his own. Still… “You know, Andie and I have a lot of experience with people who refuse to even try and do the right thing.” She looked up at him, holding his gaze. “I know a bad person when I see one.”

Bucky felt frozen to the floor, hanging on every word she told him. His voice was barely above a whisper as he asked, “And what do you see when you look at me?”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, debating whether to tell him or not. “That’s for me to know.” She took a step back, breaking whatever small spell came between them. Now wasn’t the time to get hung up on Bucky.

In her reality, there was never a time for that.

She tossed the shirt in the laundry basket. “Let’s go. You told me you were going to help me with errands, remember?”

Bucky nodded, surprised when she took his hand and dragged him through the apartment. He couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from their intertwined hands. It wasn’t the first time a woman had touched him. He wasn’t a nun. Far from it actually. But this touch was different. It wasn’t with an intent for something more. It was simple. Nice. It was in that moment that he realized…

He didn’t want her to let go.

When she finally pulled him out of the apartment, she also released his hand to lock the door. He watched, a part of him hoping that she would take his hand again. But that wasn’t the case. Instead, she slipped her keys and list in her purse and shoved her hands in her pocket. He flexed his hand, ignoring the sudden emptiness there.

It shouldn’t matter. It was just a moment.

Following her, he made sure to stay close by. He refused to let anything happen to her. He refused to dwell on whatever weird feeling still resided in his fingertips. It wasn’t that it shouldn’t matter.

It just…didn’t. It truly was just a moment.

“So where’s the first stop?”

-.-.-.-

Tag List:

@mr-robot-x

@lets--be-honest

@buckyssoul​

@purplekitten30

@amnahs9695

@booktease21

[yourfaveisyanderematic]

Could I request yandere Trish with a stand user bodygaurd making them share a bed with her for "" protection""

It’s been a long day.

A change of clothes later, and you’re still finding blood in odd and random places--soaked in the lining of your shoes, staining your arms at the elbow, droplets caked in the roots of your hair—really, you’ll need a shower to completely purge the memory of the bloodbath you enacted.  Your Stand was powerful, but it was messy in a way that laid bare your savagery and made it impossible to get anyone else to work with you.  Every time the Don sent you and his precious daughter on a mission, you were required to act as protector and attack dog both, with Trish as your civilizing force.  When you called upon the brutal power of your Stand, it terrorized everyone who survived seeing it in action…and impressed them just as greatly, when they saw the ease with which Trish reigned you in.

At first, you didn’t understand why someone with power as vulgar as yours had been assigned to protect her, but now you could appreciate the twisted logic of it all—each mission hardened the little princess’ stomach that much more, made her more willing to put you to work as her own personal executioner.  She had a throne waiting for her, after all, and the steps leading to it were drenched in blood.

Blood…yes, blood.  The stench of it doesn’t dominate the air anymore, now that you were in the cushy hotel suite and the only red in your surroundings was the velvet trim and flowers in the wallpaper, but there are lingering traces of it all the same, and for the life of you you can’t figure out where they’re coming from.

The door next to you opens, interrupting your thoughts.  Trish walks out in a haze of steam as she towels her hair dry, the lack of makeup and expensive suits making her seem strange in a way you can’t put your finger on.

It’s not until she finishes changing into her nightwear—with you pointedly looking away, of course, you’re not that much of a beast—that you realize what it is: she actually looks her age.  It’s an occurrence that’s becoming rarer and rarer the longer you’re with her.

Trish turns to look up at you and immediately wrinkles her nose.

“I thought that might be you.  You stink,” she says.  You smile indulgently in return.

“All in a day’s work, Miss Una.  Was there anything else you needed me for?”  You can already feel it.  The hot blast of water soothing the ache from your muscles, the strong soap you’ll use to scrub every inch of you clean, and when you slide between your sheets you’ll be as clean and blameless as anyone else in this city.  You’ve become a crane-wife in reverse, threading feathers through your skin to become a beast only to tear them out again at the end of the day.  You can’t wait to be a person again, your humanity tucked out of sight before it can be mistaken for weakness.  

Except that Trish is still looking at you, head cocked in that way you’ve learned to recognize from watching her stare at little trays full of treats.  Want, naked and hungry, but it would break decorum to simply reach out and grab, and she needs a moment to work out the way to phrase her request.

“Leaving me here?”  She asks, “by myself?  You’re an awful bodyguard.  What about protection?  How am I supposed to have that if you’re gone?”

You raise an eyebrow at her.  The lie is barely worth humoring—there are no Stand users in this city, not anymore, the two of you had made sure of that this very afternoon.  Who would dare try to touch her, after all that?  Who would dare try to touch her at all?

Your master has spoken.  You ignore the ache deep in the bones of your feet, renewing their protests as your body realizes it won’t be resting anytime soon, and you move to sit in the plush armchair near the door.

A hand yanks around your arm, pulling you back.  You’re not taken off balance—you’re too disciplined—but you do hesitate, looking down at her in obvious confusion.  

“I didn’t say you weren’t resting,” she says slowly, as if it was patently obvious and you were missing the point to be obstinate, “you just have to stay with me.  For protection.”

“For…protection,” you repeat dully, trying not to imagine what would happen to you if anyone found out about this, “but of course.  Then I’ll—“

“Undress?  Yes, I’d hope so.  You’re not coming to bed wearing all that.” she finishes for you.

You stare, and then you try very hard not to imagine what would happen to you if anyone found out about this.  If a blush is heating your cheeks, Trish is polite enough not to point it out.

It was okay, right?  If she was the one who told you to do it, and you were just following orders…it wasn’t wrong to obey her, right?  You weren’t allowed to do anything else.

Your hands fumble at the buttons of your suit, shrugging the jacket off and then undoing each button one by one.  Trish rolls her eyes again and pointedly turns her head away, a courtesy you can’t help but thank her for, even though she could easily choose to not make you do this at all.  You hesitate again at the waistband of your pants, and look helplessly to her as if to ask: is this enough?  

No such answer is forthcoming: she simply huffs, clearly impatient to go to bed.  You shed your slacks, step out of your shoes and socks, and hesitate yet again at the edge of the bed.  If you weren’t terrified, you’d laugh at the absurdity of the situation—only months ago did you rankle at being beckoned to and fro like a dog, and now someone’s bed felt too much like forbidden territory to intrude upon.  You’d almost rather sleep on the floor.

She sighs, yet again, but there’s a strange emotion to it this time, one that’s difficult to place.  Trish runs her hands up your forearms, brushing against your skin, and then finally takes both your upper arms in her grip, pulling you over embroidered sheets and fluffy pillows until you’re nestled next to her.  

If you’re going to die of a heart attack, you’d better do it now.  Her skin is warm and smooth and very, very bare, and she’s entangled your legs in hers, and her head is resting against your breast, where she can hear the frantic thrum of your heart.  You’ve held her closer than this before, but that was with both of you fully clothed and in the heat of battle, so.  Totally different.  The difference of course being that nobody would argue that you weren’t doing your job then; nobody would argue that you were doing your job now.  

You needed to stop thinking about this.  Fortunately, Trish picked this moment to be a supremely unhelpful distraction, tracing patterns around the dip of her clavicle with one hand.  You focused on the motion, if only so you would stop focusing on the softness of something else pressed against your ribs.

“Say a bunch of men with guns kick down that door, right now, and attacked you,” she murmurs suddenly, almost lightly, “what would you do?”

The scenario is absolutely ridiculous.  Nobody would make it this close to her with guns alone—simply fighting their way up to you would give you more than enough time to get dressed and get out.  You humor her, though, because that’s what you do.

“I’d shield you with my body and move you to cover, where I would then escort you to the exit point.”  The answer is mechanical and practiced.  You could give it in your sleep, and you’re pretty sure you have.

She giggles.  “Liar.  You’d tear them apart where they stood.  And then you’d go back and kill the rest of my detail, for letting them up.”

A laugh huffs out of you, lightening the moment.  “Alright.  Yes.  But that’s not really the right answer.”

“Everyone knows it’s what you’d do.”  She grins, still tracing circles along the light blue webbing of your veins.  “But okay.  What if…what if I attacked you?  What would you do then?”

That one took a little more thought.  “It would depend on whether it was a reprimand, or if you were actually trying to kill me” you say at last.  “I think I can safely assume that you wouldn’t try to kill me unless you were being controlled by something.”

She pulls a little closer into you, pressing a little harder on the skin over your heart.  “You’re right,” she says at last, “I’d never do that to you.”

Her finger dips lower still, tracing circles around the pocked scars of bullet wounds across your chest and the spot where your heart beats strongest.  At last, she speaks.

“What if I told you to kill Daddy for me?”  This isn’t a hypothetical.  There’s a tremor in her voice, as if she’s almost dreading your answer, as if something very real is riding on what you say next.  “What would you do, then?”  

Your heart jumps into your throat.  Your breath, traitorously, stutters as you consider the question.  Is this some kind of test?  You try to anticipate the kind of answer she must be looking for—the earnest truth?  The calculated, political answer?  The passionate defense?  The helpless trust?—but eventually, what comes out of your mouth is:

“Are you afraid of your father, Trish?”

Her nails dig into the skin of your chest, painfully now, and belatedly you realize that the hammering of a frantic heartbeat you’d been hearing wasn’t yours—it was hers.  You stutter out a follow-up, perhaps trying to recant, to reassure her that you’re on her side without explicitly speaking against your employer.  

“M—Trish.  I know he can be brutal and cruel to everyone else, but he’s leaving his legacy to you.  There’s no reason for you to think—he wouldn’t want you to—“

Trish’s body twists and shifts, and suddenly there’s weight on top of you, making you sink into the plush bedsheets.  She’s on top of you, straddling your waist, hands over your shoulders as her eyes glare into yours, looking for something but not finding it.  Her jaw works, chewing up the words she was about to say.

“I—“ you begin, but she cuts you off.

“I don’t care what he wants,” she whispers, and you have to strain to catch every word, “Not about you.  He doesn’t care about you.  Don’t you get it?  He just wants to use you to keep me safe, and he’ll take you away from me if he thinks he needs to—once he decides you’re too broken to be with me anymore, or just a bad influence, and then he’ll give me another bodyguard and say they’re just as good.”

Her grip on you tightens, painful now, as if you’ll disappear if she doesn’t cling to you hard enough.

“It doesn’t matter what I want!”  her voice is choked now, horrible and raw in a way that makes you instinctively want to soothe her, but you can’t—not when you’re the source of her pain.  “Not when it’s you!  You’re supposed to be mine!”

She’s going to hurt herself if she clutches at you any harder.  You gently rest your hands on her white knuckles, shaking her grip loose and pulling her hands away from the crescent shaped cuts she’s left on your skin.

“I am yours, Trish,” you murmur, even though it’s clearly not really your decision to make, “Remember? Until you’re ready to let me go.”

Her burst of manic energy has run its course, because she’s slumping now, not only out of relief but also because of renewed fatigue.    

“I won’t ever do that,” she promises you, drowsily, as she nestles back in beside you.  “Not ever.”  And she means it—she’d tear down everything her father built with her own hands, if it meant she could hold onto you.

You can still feel where her fingernails cut into you.  

[the-odd-job]

Harem AU Chapter 5 - Beautify, Defy

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Starscream, Knock Out, Skywarp, Unnamed Characters Relationships: Megatron/Sideswipe, Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe/Skywarp, Sideswipe/Unnamed Characters, Sunstreaker/Unnamed Characters Additional Tags: Propaganda, Sticky, Induced Arousal, Forced Orgasms, Throatfuck/Deepthroat, Oral Sex, Orgy, Size Difference, Coercion, Angst, and everything is non-con Words: 20074

Who wanted one monster of a chapter? No one? Eh, you’re getting it anyway.

“Here you are! I was looking for you two.”

Sideswipe opened his optics groggily and felt Sunstreaker similarly stir beneath him. Mutual confusion was the first thing to fill their spark, first at the surroundings—grand bookshelves with more book files than they could count fitted on the orderly shelves; the artificial window next to them streaming equally artificial sunlight into the room.

Then at the voice that rang completely unfamiliar but spoke to them as if they knew each other.

But memories flooded back faster than either of them would have liked. Their abduction, rape, introuction to the harem wing, more rape, repairs–

It reminded them just how far Iacon and their life were. This wasn’t their alley, or their friends speaking to them.

Sunstreaker’s optics focused on Knock Out first, but Sideswipe’s were quick to follow. The medic was staring at them, hands on his hips, an amused little quirk to his optical ridges. “Something wrong with your appointed sleeping arrangements?”

Right, they were in the library instead of the berthroom.

Why were they here?

...Right.

“No, no- I mean… Uh. They were just-” Sideswipe started, but didn’t really know how to explain how impossible it had felt to be anywhere near interfacing mecha after… After everything. He really didn’t expect Knock Out to understand.

Knock Out seemed to get what he was trying to say anyways, although his reaction wasn’t exactly sympathetic. The medic merely waved his servo through the air in dismissal. “The mates do that all the time, you’ll get used to it. Just keep it out of my medbay.”

Medbay..?

Did Knock Out really think they would want to partake in that stuff?

Sideswipe opened his mouth in offense, but Knock Out continued speaking before he could get a word in. “But that’s not what I’m here for. I am here to handle your repaints,” Knock Out announced proudly, looking like he expected them to be overjoyed at the news.

Crickets.

“Something wrong with our current colors?” Sunstreaker asked after Knock Out’s face had already fallen, but the acknowledgment of anything color related had the medic perking right back up.

Medic, and something of a body artist too, apparently.

“Colors themselves, no. Their application and quality of paints used? Yes.”

Both of the brothers frowned. Knock Out wasn’t necessarily wrong as far as the quality of the paint used on their bodies went. Their commissioners had never been rich to begin with; investing on something as superfluous as paint hadn’t really been a priority.

And then… Touching up on their paint was a necessary step as far as not looking like street rats went, but when you were already struggling to get by, any paint that even halfway matched your existing color was good enough. They’d always gotten lucky enough to not end up with horrendous patches of mismatched colors, but, you know…

It was what it was.

And apparently that wasn’t good enough here, anymore. Come on, just look at their goddamn surroundings! It wouldn’t do if they were looking at all shabby in the lap of luxury, would it?

Sideswipe growled. “And what if we don’t want to?”

Both Knock Out and Sunstreaker looked at him in surprise, but only Sunstreaker’s look dawned into understanding. Knock Out’s just deepened into confusion. “Why wouldn’t you want to?” he asked, twenty shades of incredulous. 

Yeah, why wouldn’t they want to? To be difficult, that’s why. 

“I’m sure Megatron wants us to look the part,” Sideswipe continued, hating the bitterness in his voice.

He didn’t want to be a bitter mech. He’d always hated those types.

Right then he couldn’t really help it, though. Everything was too fresh, made him too angry.

This time Knock Out caught on too. Once again, he wasn’t very sympathetic. “Oh, don’t be like that.” Sideswipe snarled in earnest, Sunstreaker’s growl vibrating his frame beneath him too, but true to form, Knock Out took no notice whatsoever. “I doubt Lord Megatron even notices what manner of paint you have, and he will mess it up sooner rather than later all the same. This is purely for your own comfort.”

“If he’s just gonna mess it up, what does it matter?” There he went again, being bitter. He couldn’t really say he appreciated the reminders of what had happened and would no doubt happen again, though. Knock Out might not have given a shit, but Sideswipe sort of did. It was his frame and his life on the line.

Once again, Knock Out didn’t really seem to understand. “Don’t you want to look pretty, just for your own sakes?” was his argument, worded as a question. And looking at how Knock Out looked… Probably very expensive paint gleaming, red and silver and white colors more lush than Sideswipe had ever seen… And he wasn’t a mate, Hot Shot had said. Just the medic.  

Did Knock Out look good just for himself? Probably. Who did he have to impress, really? With a job as hands on as his was, it could’ve been forgiven if he had some oil and grease stains on him.

Instead his finish was absolutely flawless. Like he took a lot of pride in his appearance. It made him fit right in with their opulent surroundings, but Sideswipe had to wonder which had come first: the surroundings Knock Out was in, or his apparent vanity. Maybe he’d kept himself looking tip top even before he’d gotten his post as the harem’s medic. Sideswipe was pretty sure he hadn’t always been in the position, at the very least.

To Knock Out, looks probably meant a lot, even removed from Megatron.

To Sunstreaker, looks also mattered, except before they hadn’t really had the opportunities to do much about that. They’d done what they had been able to with what was available to them, knowing it was never a lot.

Here and now? With the washracks they’d already seen in their use?

Primus, they could do so much more.

And it was a siren’s call Sunstreaker couldn’t resist. Just for his own sake.

Beneath Sideswipe, Sunstreaker nodded, and Sideswipe could feel his eagerness even through his own reservations. But… He couldn’t really deny his brother this, knowing how much Sunstreaker wanted to be proud of his own looks. He already looked good. How more beautiful could he be with a proper paint job?

Sideswipe wasn’t as eager, but he still climbed off Sunstreaker, letting his brother sit up before they both got to their pedes. Knock Out clapped his palms together in satisfaction and gestured them along, leading the way from the empty library, through the stretch of hallway, and into the washracks. There were a few other harem members around, showering, tending to their finish, or even relaxing in the oil bath.

Relaxing. That felt a little beyond Sideswipe. He just… Couldn’t get his mind off what he feared the near future would bring for long enough to even chill.

Sunstreaker wasn’t much better, but desperately wanted to distract himself. Sideswipe couldn’t really disagree with that goal.

Any little moment not spent dreading the future would be most welcome.

“Have a shower first and I’ll get everything ready,” Knock Out instructed them before sauntering over to the corner with all of the paints and painting appliances and– Really, Sideswipe didn’t know what most of the stuff there was.

Knock Out definitely seemed to know though.

He drew his optics from the medic and followed Sunstreaker to the closest set of unoccupied showerheads. Again the solvent was warm, a stark contrast to any of the showers they’d had in Iacon.

He would’ve still rather been in Iacon, cold showers or not.

There wasn’t a whole lot to wash after what Knock Out had already cleaned during their repairs, but he could still feel some things dislodged from his internals by the running solvent. They both had a quick scrub down, lingering under the showers for just a little bit longer than strictly necessary to enjoy the warm liquid—but they ran out of excuses to stay eventually, and made their way over to Knock Out after drying up.

Sideswipe could sense Knock Out’s impatience, but the medic didn’t say anything, just proceeded with the whole process they’d apparently agreed to. “I’ll strip your colors first,” Knock Out told a second before he attacked Sunstreaker’s paint. His brother revved in affront, but Knock Out just shushed him and went ahead to quickly and efficiently remove the color from Sunstreaker’s armor. He kept his touches appropriate as he had for the whole of the short duration they’d known him, only doing what he needed to and nothing more than that.

Disquiet still echoed in their spark, but it was more Sunstreaker’s concern over the state of his frame as gold and black were washed away in favor of the bare grey of their armor. They’d been promised a higher quality repaint, but it was hard not to feel a little concerned when you were left with nothing first.

Once Sunstreaker didn’t have a speck of color left on him, Knock Out abandoned him to wait while he did the same to Sideswipe. Sunstreaker waited, awkwardly and feeling more than a little naked, while Sideswipe felt that same alarm as he had, seeing the color fade from him too. Gone were his red, his white and his black, replaced by deathly grey.

...He really felt really nude like this, even if his armor was completely intact and no untoward pieces of machinery were showing anywhere.

Knock Out did a once over around the both of them before he nodded his acceptance at his work. “Primer next.”

Primer next. Like he wasn’t a medic at all, but some sort of body shop worker, Knock Out went on to spread that evenly across their colorless armors with the touch of a true professional. “How are you so good at this stuff anyway?” Sideswipe couldn’t help but ask as Knock Out progressed with his work.

Knock Out’s field pulsed with gratification at the praise. “A personal passion,” he said simply. “I’ve gotten quite a bit of practice in on all the mechs Lord Megatron drags here.”

And… They could’ve gone without that reminder.

Either oblivious or uncaring of their momentary discomfort at the topic briefly brushed, Knock Out went on, “I swear half of you don’t even know how to manage yourselves when you arrive, but I have taken it upon myself to make sure you all learn how to make most of the facilities you have in your use.”

He said it like it was the peak of altruism for him to do that. And to be fair, instructing them about washrack and beauty product usage probably wasn’t part of his job description.

But if no one had told him to do that much, then it likely said something about how much he cared about appearances that he was making sure others kept themselves looking even partway as decent as he did. Because, so far as they’d seen, all of the harem members were in pretty excellent shape as far as they paintjobs and finish went. They had also been told Megatron more or less expected that, but… Yeah, it was probably a little too much to expect everyone would’ve known how to make use of everything available to them here.

It was all still a topic to put Sideswipe in a really surly mood, but Knock Out didn’t take notice of that either, just finished with what he was doing. “Do you use these washracks yourself?” Sunstreaker took it upon himself to ask over Sideswipe’s sullen silence.

“I am allowed to, but I have my own ones in my quarters,” Knock Out shrugged a moment before he stepped back and cast a critical optic down them both.

Sideswipe resisted the urge to try to cover himself up. Not like there was really anything to cover up either, just the feeling.

But, satisfied with whatever he was seeing, the medic nodded. “Now then! What colors do you want to be?”

The brothers had a pause before they shared a look. Sideswipe… Hadn’t really ever considered switching colors. They could’ve never afforded it anyway, and not like he had hated his colors.

Much the same applied to Sunstreaker.

Although… “We actually get a say in our colors?” Sunstreaker asked sharply, optics shifting back to Knock Out.

The medic didn’t flinch at the tone. “Well, only as long as Lord Megatron doesn’t order otherwise… But so long as you keep your choices within good taste, he never has.”

Why didn’t it surprise them one bit that their colors were only theirs to an extent? What even belonged to them anymore?

Sideswipe couldn’t really think of anything. They’d been shown pretty thoroughly that in this world they belonged to someone else entirely, and their own wants were void.

Sunstreaker growled, but came to his conclusion first. “I’d like to stay gold and black.”

Were there really any colors Sideswipe would’ve rather been in other than his old ones, either? As quickly as he tried to think about it, there were ones he’d maybe like to try one day, but right now he just wanted that little piece of home with him. Little piece of him.  

“Red, black, and white for me,” he followed on the heels of Sunstreaker’s answer.

“Really? No changes? This is your chance to reinvent yourselves!” Knock Out argued, but turned to the shelves overflowing with paints all the same.

“Don’t really want to reinvent anything,” Sideswipe muttered. Sunstreaker revved in agreement next to him. 

“Suit yourselves. Let’s make those color choices of yours shine. Your old paint jobs really were in desperate need of some work.” 

Sideswipe snorted. “We’re guttermecha, what did you expect?”

“Ah. I suspected as much from the state of your systems. Well then, this is quite an upgrade for you!”

“An upgrade?!” Sunstreaker snarled even as Sideswipe stilled in disbelief. His brother rounded in on the medic, who had the good sense to back away. “After all the slag we’ve been through, all the slag you know we’ve been through, and you call this an upgrade?”

Knock Out put his servos up in a placating gesture. “I only meant your surroundings. Your life really couldn’t have been that good in the gutters.”

“It was better than this!” Sideswipe exclaimed, drawing both Knock Out and Sunstreaker’s attentions back to himself. It diffused the situation somewhat, as unintended as that side effect was. Although his engine continued to growl in warning, Sunstreaker took a step back and Knock Out relaxed—somewhat.

“If you say so.” Sideswipe wanted so badly to continue arguing on the topic, because there was no way in the pits anyone could possibly think any of this was an improvement to damn anything no matter how lavish the surroundings were–

But Knock Out had already turned to the paints, entirely brushing aside the topic. “Let’s do you first, Sunstreaker. Gold, you say? I’ll put your old color to shame.”

And… That was exactly what Knock Out proceeded to do. In a pretty roundabout fashion, because first he picked a deep, rich brown color. “I said gold,” Sunstreaker repeated, more than a little alarmed when Knock Out aimed that color at him.

He even took a step back, he was that intent on not getting miscolored. Sideswipe couldn’t help his snicker, even through his own confusion over how Knock Out could misunderstand simple instructions.

“We’ll get you to gold, trust me. But this, first.” The medic arched one of his optical ridges and wiggled the can at Sunstreaker.

After a long, tense moment Sunstreaker finally stepped back within reach.

“Do you want your old color placement as well?” Knock Out still asked, and when Sunstreaker nodded an affirmative, he set to work.

First came the brown. Knock Out coated all of the supposedly to-be gold armor plates in it even as Sunstreaker stood there tensely, only comforted by the thought that if this all went horribly wrong, the color could be stripped again. As much as Knock Out had asked for that bit of trust, neither twin was really ready to give it yet—no matter how the medic gave the impression he knew exactly what he was doing. 

After the brown… Came a darker brown. “Just what the pit are you doing?” Sunstreaker asked as they both stared at the medic in simple confusion.

Knock Out just looked smug. “You’ll see.”

And ahead he went with applying the darker brown onto the lighter brown, although Sideswipe noticed that he didn’t apply it evenly anymore. Rather he just brushed it onto select locations, blending it in with the underlying layer for carefully applied gradients, that…

It honestly added a lot of depth to the color. Sunstreaker, as an artist, could appreciate that, and Sideswipe felt Sunstreaker’s suspicion changing breeds.

That suspicion was further nurtured when Knock Out then picked up a paint that was actually gold. He painted that on top of the browns, blending it into the existing color layers at the edges even as he made it the dominant color.

And the end result dawned in front of their optics. Where Sunstreaker had been painted in a flat shade of yellow-orange that approximated gold, his color now was alive like his plating was still molten. He didn’t need to rely on light and shadow to play on his armor to bring out his color. The careful blending and layering Knock Out had done had integrated light and shadow into his very paint job, accentuating his features and his color until he looked like a living avatar of–

Primus, he really needed to stop staring. Sunstreaker needed to stop staring.

Sunstreaker needed to stop loving his new look so much.

Knock Out noticed their wonder and their admiration, and he looked more self-satisfied than Sideswipe had ever seen anyone look before.

In all fairness, it took Sideswipe a good amount of time to pick his jaw from the floor as Knock Out finished applying the gold.

And he wasn’t done even then. Next came a bright yellow, near white, and Sideswipe thought he might just die from the gleam it added to Sunstreaker when Knock Out applied just bare hints of it in select spots. 

And that wasn’t even saying anything about the paints themselves! Color selection aside the very substance screamed splendor. Without a sealant, without a buffing it already glowed.  

Sunstreaker had never looked better, and pits, Sideswipe hadn’t believed anyone could ever look as good as his brother did just then. Sunstreaker couldn’t tear his optics off himself, and Sideswipe found himself struggling with the same thing.

He suspected they’d both spend a lot of time staring at Sunstreaker a long while still. Was there even any getting used to the manner of grandeur Sunstreaker had just gotten dressed in, just from a few brush strokes from a knowledgeable individual?

A “passion”, Knock Out had called it, but fucking hell, Sideswipe was sure most professionals couldn’t have done what Knock Out did. Though what did he know, not like he’d ever had the chance to go to any professionals.

He did know he’d never seen anyone walking around looking like a flaming star trapped in a metal casing.

“Satisfactory?” Knock Out asked with a demure smile—so fake—and Sunstreaker couldn’t find the words. Neither could Sideswipe for that matter.

So they both just nodded mutely.

Knock Out’s smile blossomed into a full grin and he turned back to the paints. “Next, black.”

He didn’t get too fancy with the black, just applied a deep, shiny shade of it onto all the parts that had worn the color before too. But somehow the simplicity of that only brought out the utter glow of the brighter, more domineering gold, adding contrast between the two colors.

Like the shining sun against a starless, blackest night sky. It should’ve been a physical impossibility, but here Sunstreaker was, the very embodiment of that.

It made Sideswipe long to see it in the true sky, but even if he did, could it compare to this?

“Well, how do you like it?” Knock Out asked, looking Sunstreaker’s frame up and down with that endlessly self-satisfied expression.

He’d earned it, if you asked Sideswipe.

“You turned him into a goddess walking among mere mortals,” Sideswipe responded honestly, digits twitching with the desire to touch. But how could he touch a masterpiece like Sunstreaker in fear of doing anything to ruin it?

Megatron would ruin it.

He didn’t want to entertain that thought, but it became an impossibility after Knock Out said, “One more thing,” and turned his attention to Sunstreaker’s back.

And the brand.

Just like they’d seen on Hot Shot, he carefully painted the flaw on Sunstreaker’s plating until it stood out just so from the otherwise uninterrupted, glistening gold. 

Sideswipe really could’ve gone without these reminders of where they were and what for.

Reminders of everything that had happened, and would still happen.

But he tried to shake all that off and… Focus on just the present, like he had been doing. Allow himself to become distracted by Knock Out’s impeccable work. 

Knock Out still applied sealant over Sunstreaker’s new paint job before he called it done and stepped to the side to allow them to gawk some more. “Thank you,” Sunstreaker said, and by the Thirteen Sideswipe wasn’t sure if Sunstreaker had ever thanked anyone that genuinely before.

Sunstreaker was a little vain himself, and Sideswipe thought he might’ve just found a kindred spirit.

And maybe now Sunstreaker could unleash on himself all the self-care he’d always wanted, but that they hadn’t had the option for. He could keep himself as shining as he was now, with everything freshly applied. And clean. They wouldn’t have to worry about the gutters’ grime soiling their frames anymore.

He would’ve still rather taken the gutters over this.

But they didn’t have the choice, so until they figured out how to get the frag out of this mess…

They’d get out still, but why not enjoy the little things in the meantime?

“You’re welcome,” Knock Out said before turning to Sideswipe. “Your turn. Let’s see if I can’t dazzle you like I dazzled your brother.”

This time they didn’t question it when Knock Out first picked out a deep purple. Sideswipe could already feel Sunstreaker’s expectation of where this was going to go, now that they knew something about Knock Out’s tricks.

So first all of his armor bits that had been red were now painted over in purple, and as he had done with Sunstreaker, the next color applied was a deeper violet. Sideswipe watched as just certain bits of his features were brought into the shadow of that color, accentuating the lighter areas.

He would’ve looked better than ever with just that bit of work, but he’d said he’d wanted red, and by Primus but Knock Out delivered red. It was the next color he picked out and began to apply it with the same blending he’d performed on Sunstreaker, but Sideswipe noticed he also left the layer pretty… Thin.

He was becoming red, there was no question about that, but when his freshly painted armor caught light… The red was tinting towards purple.

Knock Out did another pass, making the red a little thicker at certain places, and Sideswipe could only stare in awe as his formerly blank red was transformed into a real work of art. The last color that came was pink, just little touches of it as highlights.

What did he look like in the end?

A jewel. His red was never just red, but a thing of light and shadow and color that made his plating look lush like never before. He didn’t even know how to describe the sheer extravagance of his new color, from the rich red to the near black—the depth in it.

Sunstreaker might’ve been a star of the highest heavens, but Sideswipe became a precious stone born in deep reaches.

“I take it you like it?” Knock Out asked with a grin, watching Sideswipe ogle himself. 

“What kind of witchcraft do you practice?” Sideswipe asked a little breathlessly as he turned this way and that to catch all angles of himself from the mirrors and watch the play of light on his plating.

He was dazzling now. Just like Sunstreaker

“No witchcraft, just years of practice and some natural talent,” Knock Out smirked before he brought out black. “Now, let’s continue.”

He first applied dark purple on all of his black areas too, before he went over it all with true black. Unlike Sunstreaker’s obsidian that provided just the perfect contrast with his gold, Sideswipe’s black was made to edge towards purple, complementing his red. 

The results were as out of this world as Sunstreaker’s.

And then was the turn for his white. Knock Out pulled no punches with that either. Purple and pink peeked through the later applied white just enough that he shimmered, and none of his colors clashed. There was no denying red was red, black was black, and white was white, but the hues, tones, whatever they were, they all suggested in the same direction.

It brought everything together and made his paintjob so much more lively than it had ever been before.

Even if they had gone to a professional bodyshop, could they have come out looking like this? How many anywhere on Cybertron had Knock Out’s level of skill, or the interest to go as far as he did? It was probably more of the latter, actually. A paintjob like this, it was just… Over the top. He could only imagine how difficult it would be to maintain too. How many would really see it as appropriate and not a neon sign that screamed ‘mug me’?

But everything around them was over the top now. They fit right in.

He felt he should’ve been more upset at the thought, but the wonder overrode everything else for the time being.

He couldn’t stop staring at his reflection.

He couldn’t stop staring at Sunstreaker.

They looked damn well ethereal, and he really… He knew they’d always looked good, their features beautiful, their frames conforming to objective standards for what was attractive. 

But what they had looked like before was absolutely shabby in comparison to what Knock Out’s work brought out of them. They were beyond gorgeous now, all the best of them brought out and laid there for everyone to see—more eye-catching than he had ever thought possible.

Primus, he wasn’t a vain mech, he really wasn’t, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like looking pretty.

And he looked so pretty. 

As did Sunstreaker. 

They both did.

Tears came to his optics despite himself and Sideswipe buried his face into his palms as his engine hitched. Sunstreaker didn’t dare touch him physically lest he ruin Knock Out’s work, but their spark swelled with the emotion of them both. Awe, wonder, a little joy, pride.

That last one was mostly Sunstreaker’s.

And Sideswipe’s tears came just a little more numerous knowing Sunstreaker had reason to be proud of his looks like never before. 

“Now now, it’s not worth crying over,” Knock Out said, but Sideswipe could hear the grin in his voice, as well as the pleasure over work well received. Knock Out’s field was a steady thing of that emotion, and Sideswipe really couldn’t blame him for it. “Let’s seal that in, then we can polish you two.”

“‘Kay,” Sideswipe mumbled, but first–

Another ugly reminder of the situation they were in when Knock Out, before the sealant, painted in his brand too. Sideswipe didn’t want to look in the mirrors to see what it looked like. It would’ve been better if it stood out like a sore wound, not this… Subtle, in a manner that made it look intentional in every way.

That was what it was, wasn’t it? Intentional. A mark of their standing, one Knock Out didn’t have.

It had never been outright stated, but Sideswipe could only guess it belonged only to Megatron’s mates.  

Knock Out sealed the brand’s new color in with the rest of it. Sideswipe tried to not think about it too much, and Sunstreaker made sure to not show him his back either, knowing what was there too.

A little denial, yeah? Let them enjoy this before everything went to hell again.

Because he was real damn sure things would go to hell all over again.

“Alright, that should do it,” Knock Out said once it was all done, casting one more critical glance at his work on the both of them before he nodded. Up to par, then. “Let’s shine you two up.”

Weren’t they shiny enough already? But no, despite the shimmer of their armors, Knock Out ushered them to the shelves of all manner of polishing supplies, and shined up they were. They got a crash course into what did what, too, and it became more and more apparent that Knock Out wasn’t just a skilled medic, but one hell of a body artist. 

If you asked Sideswipe, there were a lot more interesting things than the order you were supposed to use the products and supplies in and how to use them for the greatest effect, but Sunstreaker was enraptured. Which was honestly pretty cute, and Sideswipe had to cover up his giggles more than once. There were a lot of questions too, but instead of being annoyed at the barrage, Knock Out seemed to enjoy having found someone who was turning out to be passionate about the same things he was.

And Sideswipe tried to pay attention, he really did, but it was just so dull. Besides, if Sunstreaker figured it all out, then that was the both of them covered already, so not like he needed to put in all the effort to understand every last bit. They could just sync their memory files later and he could integrate all the stuff Sunstreaker had learned and that would be that.

He did still follow all of the instructions when Knock Out made them do some things for themselves, or help each other out when they couldn’t reach something.

Sideswipe was sure it took them far longer to have the full routine completed than what it would’ve taken if Knock Out had just done it on them, but the medic seemed to take their ability to perform it on their own very seriously. Was it because he didn’t want to help them again, or just because he thought it was important enough that everyone should know how to do it? Somehow Sideswipe got the feeling it might just be the latter. Knock Out definitely seemed vain enough that he might just extend that expectation to others.

It worked in his favor that Sunstreaker was starting to head down the same path. Now that he had the option to go all out on his looks, he was absolutely reveling in it. 

Even despite… The surrounding circumstances.

But it was a good distraction if nothing else. Sideswipe tried to let it sweep him away too. Focus on the moment, forget about the rest for a minute.

Yet all too soon they were done. Completely done—painted to a master’s degree and shined to a ridiculous extent. 

They glowed.  

“Thank you, Knock Out,” Sunstreaker said before Sideswipe had even finished picking his jaw off the floor. And he had thought they looked good freshly painted… Pssh.

Look at them now. And to think they were nothing but guttermecha. It was a life they’d likely just return to after they’d escaped this place. They might never again look like this.

But the memories would last and he’d always look back at this with nothing but marvel.

“You’re very welcome. Some of my best work, if I do say so myself. You two make excellent canvases.” Was that a compliment on their looks? Sideswipe grinned, because yeah, their hard features weren’t that bad, were they? From their armors to their facial markings, the things that didn’t change as easily as plain color had always looked just fine.

Now though, with what Knock Out had done to them, all of that was just emphasized. If they’d been somewhat striking with their beauty before, now they were sure to draw all optics on themselves just by existing.

And Sunstreaker carried himself just a little bit straighter.

“Yeah, thanks. Frag if I knew paint could even look this good,” Sideswipe said too, to which Knock Out smiled all knowing like. 

Like he’d gotten that sentiment before. And if he’d painted other newcomers, he probably had.

“I’m a miracle worker, I know. Now, why don’t you go grab some energon and show yourselves off a little? Something like this deserves some admiration, doesn’t it?”

Sideswipe laughed, but he couldn’t wholly disagree with that. Knock Out’s motivations were probably to just have his work shown off, but it was on their frames, which meant they were the ones getting the attention even if the thanks went to Knock Out.

And Sideswipe had always liked attention.

Pits, though, if he’d set up with his little table and cards looking like this… He had no fragging clue what would’ve even happened. Probably he’d have had an easier time with his tricks at least, his looks just distracting the audience too much for them to pay attention to what his servos were doing.

But it would probably end up with him mugged. He looked like a damn wealthy target right now, that was for sure.

Even if they still had next to nothing to their names. Just their surroundings had changed, and their outward appearance with it. It was like the glory of the palace was contagious, and had now stuck on their shells.

But inside it was still all the same. No… Worse than what it had been before. It didn’t matter how pretty the palace, how pretty they were, they’d still gotten raped too many times over for him to even keep count.

Looking better than ever didn’t erase that, and he was sure as pit it wouldn’t protect them either. If anything, it just made them bigger, more appealing targets, although at least everything suggested they’d only have to worry about Megatron, and not about his cronies anymore. 

That was still bad enough though.

It was so fucking bad enough.

And no matter how he tried to fight those thoughts, they kept coming back. How could they even stay away with their whole current situation? They were running on borrowed time as far as not being forced into Megatron’s berth again went. 

He didn’t really have an appetite, but… Everything would probably be even worse if he wasn’t running on full reserves.

So he nodded to Knock Out’s suggestion. Refuel and show themselves off. He could do that.

And Sunstreaker was downright eager to do it. The latter bit anyway.

Yeah, it’d be nice to see everyone’s reactions, wouldn’t it? Especially those who had already seen them, before Knock Out’s rework of their paint jobs. They could appreciate the before and after.

“Thanks again,” he said in parting before he and Sunstreaker exited the washracks.

Starscream strode towards them the moment they set a pede outside the doors. “Knock Out is done with you? Good. Here.” Brusque, a datachip was shoved at them and Sunstreaker took it reflexively. “Kaonite language files. No one wants to speak standard around you forever.” He said that like it was a dirty word, and maybe it was, with how closed off Kaon was according to the little education they had. It didn’t exactly give the impression Kaon was at all welcoming towards the outside world.

Why a Vosian Seeker would think the same way was a mystery, though. 

They stared at the datachip Sunstreaker had gotten a little too long, prompting Starscream to speak up with an impatient, “Well?”

That probably meant they weren’t supposed to install the files when it suited them, but right now instead. Sideswipe glanced at Sunstreaker and Sunstreaker glanced at Sideswipe, before Sunstreaker shrugged and inserted the datachip into the port on his wrist. A security scan proved its contents to be harmless and nothing that it didn’t say it to be on the tin, and Sunstreaker proceeded to download and install them before ejecting the chip and handing it to Sideswipe for him to do the same.

Sideswipe gave the chip back to Starscream afterwards, who nodded at them. “Integrate those quickly, you’ll need them. I suggest the library.”

And once again the Seeker took off without further fanfare, striding down the corridor and leaving them to stare after him.

Sideswipe prodded at the new files in the quiet after the flier’s departure. They were… Really thorough. They probably wouldn’t be left wanting after they’d integrated even half of them; the other half just seemed to be some fancy words he didn’t even have the translations for.

The hallway wasn’t seeing a lot of activity right then, but one mate passed them with a grinned, “Looking good there!” in Kaonite that immediately put their new files to use, and Sideswipe was reminded of their assigned task. Go to the dining hall and show themselves off while getting some energon.

He glanced down at his frame and was once again struck by the new glory of his paint job.

Primus, that would take a while to get used to.

“Shall we?” Sunstreaker asked, focusing back on the present from his own familiarization with their new downloads. It was a novelty to even have new downloads. They definitely hadn’t been able to afford any that didn’t come free from the datanet.

And you couldn’t ever trust those would even be safe to install.

“Yeah,” Sideswipe nodded, and together they continued down the empty hallway. There was only one other mate to see them, standing at the doors to the berthroom. He raised his voice to address them with a cheerful, “Knock Out got his hands on you, eh?” followed by a laugh and a double thumbs up.

So far so good. Sideswipe didn’t manage all the way a grin, but a smile pulled at his mouth despite himself. 

Then they came to the dining hall door. There were a few mates scattered about, one bigger group and a couple of smaller ones, as well as a pair of loners. Optics briefly glanced their way as they entered, then did a double-take.

This time Sideswipe outright grinned at the chorus of approval that rose around the room. The overarching sentiment was that Knock Out had done excellent work once again, and that the results spoke for themselves—that they looked good.

He’d known that already, but the affirmation was pretty nice all the same. 

Conversation broke out about Knock Out’s skillset and the makeover he’d given to all of them, from what Sideswipe was able to make out of it without eavesdropping too much, and from the slower pace of understanding that came from having to search his new files for every other word. Starscream hadn’t been kidding when he said they’d need the installs. Everyone seemed to speak Kaonite by default, even though most of them couldn’t have been natives.

But they were in Kaon, so. It made some sense.

He and Sunstreaker walked past the tables and to the energon dispenser to grab themselves a little something to top off their already beyond decent fuel levels, and… Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he was this well fueled.

It was a nice feeling, as much as he hated the underlying reasons for it.

Only problem with that plan was that the energon dispenser was really, really fancy. There were more screens and buttons and flavors and options than either of them had ever seen, and definitely more than they knew what to do with. 

That button probably created the cubes themselves, and it looked like that scale was for the warmth of the energon, and those seemed to be the list of flavors to choose from and… Combine even?

This thing really needed some better instructions, seriously.

They were still staring at the whole apparatus a little helplessly when a field burst out behind them to alert them to another’s approach. When they turned to look, a solidly built black and red mech came to them, masked and visored. He made up for the lack of expression with his field though, flaring it in friendly greeting. “I can help you with that. It’s kinda daunting the first time, isn’t it? Heh, or maybe the first few times even. But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it quick.”

Coming in Kaonite, it took Sideswipe a moment to understand what was being said, but the mech waited patiently until he was able to formulate an answer in the same language. “Yeah, uh, that’d be appreciated,” Sideswipe smiled back after a moment’s delay. He and Sunstreaker shuffled to the sides to give their new instructor room.

“You start here, choose the grade and the size, like this,” the black mech started, pressing the buttons with familiarity and walking them through the whole, depressingly long process. Sideswipe was sure it would become easy enough eventually, but he really didn’t want to be here long enough to figure it out.

Everyone treated them like they would be here for a while, though. Like they were here to stay.  

Like pits they were! They’d fragging well figure out a way to get out.

But first it would be helpful if they were left alone for a second that they could spend exploring their options. As it was, it felt like someone constantly had something to say to them or do to them or have them do.

“...And that’s that,” their instructor finished, pulling out his cube and raising it at them. “I’m Runabout, by the way. You’re Sideswipe,” he pointed at the red twin, “and Sunstreaker,” he pointed at the gold twin, “right?”

“Right,” Sideswipe confirmed with a small smile.

“Hah, got it right! Your colors give you off, Sunstreaker. Real nice paint jobs by the way.”

“Thank you,” Sunstreaker said, preening under the attention. Sideswipe snickered, and Runabout’s field burst with amusement too.

“It sometimes feels like Knock Out knows all the tricks of the trade, eh? Well, haven’t yet run into anyone who would’ve complained about it,” the black mech shrugged. “You’re twins too, aren’t you? Split-spark? Your spark signature...s? Kinda give you off.”

Sunstreaker huffed and Sideswipe’s lips pulled into a full on crooked smile. “Yeah, it does that.” It was Runabout’s turn to laugh.

“Must be nice. I’ve got a twin too, goes by Runamuck. You’ll see him around, but we’re only bond twins, not split.”

“Split-sparks be pretty rare, no?” Sideswipe asked a little cautiously. Again, lacking education on that matter—and every other matter—but it was the impression he’d been left with.

Runabout confirmed it with a nod. “Rare as frag. We’ve got three other pairs of twins here that I know of, but never met split-sparks before.”

“Who are the others?” Sunstreaker had turned to man the dispenser, but glanced Runabout’s way with his question.

“Topspin and Twin Twist are here in the harem, and Soundwave has a symbiote pair, Rumble and Frenzy, both bond twins,” Runabout told, watching Sunstreaker go through the long ass process of getting a single cube and giving him tips when it looked like he wasn’t sure what the next thing to do was.

Overall Sunstreaker was handling it pretty well though, in Sideswipe’s opinion. “Soundwave has frame twins in his flock too, Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw,” Runabout continued.

“...That’s a lot of twins,” Sideswipe noted. He had sort of known that frame twins and bond twins in particular weren’t that rare, but having four other pairs of twins around still seemed like a lot.

And now they were the fifth ones.

“Not so much if you consider how common other types of twins are, though,” Runabout said as Sunstreaker finished getting his cube. Lightly flavored, warmed midgrade, which just seemed all kinds of luxurious to Sideswipe, and it wasn’t even that fancy. At least not compared to what the dispenser could do. 

He went to take his turn next as Sunstreaker took his first experimental sip of his fresh energon. Taste like nothing they’d ever experienced burst over his sensors and made his optics widen in surprise. The midgrade Megatron had given them had been high quality, and this was too, but combined with the light flavoring and the warmth that snaked into his tanks, the experience was… It was beyond just fueling because you needed fuel.

It was enjoyment.

Runabout’s field flared with amusement again. “Tastes good?”

“Yeah,” Sideswipe breathed, then went back to fiddling with the dispenser, intent on getting the same experience with his own frame. Runabout stayed to help him too, and Sideswipe managed to create a cube for himself as well. A little faster even than Sunstreaker. Hah, take that!

It was nothing too fancy for him either, because he really didn’t know what combination of things would’ve worked and what wouldn’t have, but it had flavor, it had additives, and it was warm too.

Sideswipe hurried to take a sip under the amused gazes of Runabout and Sunstreaker, and he wasn’t disappointed. Well refined, it was quality fuel like they’d never had on the streets, and combined with all the extra in it, it was a trip down the road of luxury that now surrounded them. It warmed his mouth and sore throat and bloomed across his sensors with taste he wouldn’t have ever even imagined.

Which was maybe a little dumb, it wasn’t like the rich were the only ones with flavored energon. But they had never had it even close to regularly. As little extra as it would’ve cost, they hadn’t been able to spend even that much.

This was another little experience he would think back to fondly once they got the fuck out of here. He might even miss it.

But it wasn’t worth even entertaining the idea of staying. Nothing would be after what they’d been put through.

“Enjoy,” Runabout said with a laugh before he wandered off with his own cube. Sideswipe watched him go join a white mech with a near identical frame.

Probably Runamuck, then. 

The dining hall was big enough that even with the mecha scattered about it, they had no difficulties finding a more private spot just for them in one corner. They sat down with their cubes, side by side, and…

Then it was quiet. Sure, there was the background noise of conversation and laughter, alien with its harsh tones, but their newly acquired language installs were hard at work making them understand all of it.

But they didn’t focus on any of it, just let it all flow over them. In through one audial, out the other. No one was talking to them, no one was particularly even paying attention to them. Aside from their night in the library, it was as alone as anyone had left them since they… Since they’d arrived.

It was a time to sit down with their reorganized memory files, their defragged processors. And… Honestly, going through with their defrag cycle really hadn’t helped much. Things were still awful, their frames still ached in reminder of the rounds Megatron and the others had had on them, and they were no closer to a plan of escape.

Though that last one was mostly because they hadn’t gotten a chance to go explore and see the place for themselves. Once they knew the way of the land, then they could start planning. 

It would be hard, he had no doubts about that. But they’d worked their way out of a lot of shit during the course of their short life. They could make it out of this too.

Somehow.

To get started on that… They fueled in companionable silence, enjoying the energon finer than anything they’d had before. Like, really enjoying it, savoring every mouthful, drinking slowly to lengthen the experience.

Their cubes had completely cooled down by the time they were done. Just in time too, because the mecha in the dining hall had changed during their long fueling process, and a few were getting a little… Frisky.

It was unbelievable how easily and quickly things could devolve into that, and Sideswipe couldn’t stomp down—nor did he really want to stomp down—the stirrings of straight up disgust. 

Or maybe that was Sunstreaker. He didn’t bother to try to track down the source.

But whatever depravity the others were going to get up to, they wanted nothing to do with it, and to the tune of a quiet growl from Sunstreaker they dispersed their cubes and hastily left the dining hall just as panels started to snap open.

Fragging pits these mecha were messed up.

His spark was a whirling ball of anger without a target, and lots of other emotions he didn’t even want to make sense of or address. He and Sunstreaker strode down the hallway and towards the only place they knew where they could escape all of that… That.

The library. It was quiet now too, aside from the rattle Sideswipe’s armor had taken on as they entered.

He was venting heavily by the time they’d made it to the back of the room and the sofa they’d recharged on. He didn’t sit down, instead took to stalking up and down the corridor between the shelves. Sunstreaker claimed post as a silent sentry at the halfway point of his path.

For a moment neither of them said anything, the only sound coming from the angry revving of their engines and Sideswipe’s pedesteps as he marched back and forth. Emotions blurred. Mostly anger.

Anger at the injustice of it all, of everyone’s complete disregard for the situation they were—like their feelings didn’t matter at all, like their experiences didn’t matter, like the slag had been done to them was… Was… Okay, or right, or something. Acceptable.

It wasn’t! None of it was acceptable. No living being should go through the kind of shit they had within the span of a couple of orns. Had it been that long? Longer? Not as long?

Primus, he didn’t know.

He didn’t fragging know.

Sideswipe stopped at one end of the corridor and buried his face into his hands. How the pit had things gone so wrong so fast? They’d had their quiet life, and it hadn’t been much, but it had been theirs. They’d belonged to themselves, had no one tell them what they should and shouldn’t do. Not even the law, when it came down to that or survival.

Here nothing belonged to them, not even their own frames. They’d been shown that pretty thoroughly.

They had no say in anything anymore. Any say they did have—illusion, easily stripped from them if the higher powers decided so. 

Sunstreaker’s servo landed on his shoulder, a steadying weight. Sideswipe hadn’t realized his engine had started hitching, but it had. Now he took several ventilations, forcing them deep, even, fighting back the torrent of emotions. Shoving it all down.

It would be no use to give them a foothold now. He had to be able to think clearly.

They needed to find a way out. Start that process, long as he expected it to be. There couldn’t possibly be an easy way to do it.

And they couldn’t talk about it out loud, could they? If the mecha here were smart, they would expect they wouldn’t just lay down and take it all. They’d already fought back. They hadn’t accepted things. 

If others had been brought here like they were, they had probably tried to escape too. The place had to be prepared for that.

Escaping wouldn’t be easy, he was sure of that. But they would do it.

One way or another, they would do it.

That would mean leaving the harem wing. It was their first obstacle. Get out the door somehow. The rest of the palace would follow after that, but they’d need to get through the doors to the wing itself.

Couldn’t be that hard, right?

He was pretty sure it was going to be that hard.

Sideswipe cycled one more ventilation before letting his arms drop and glancing back at Sunstreaker. His brother nodded at him. He nodded back.

Time to test the damn door.

The library wasn’t completely empty anymore, there was another mate returning book files to the shelves. The twins snuck out without bothering him and turned down the dim, lush corridor to the looming double doors that functioned as the only entrance into the wing that they knew of. Maybe there were servants’ passages, and if there were, they’d need to find those too—they’d probably be their best bet at escaping, at any rate.

But basics first. Test the limits of their cage. See how far they could go.

...Not very far, it turned out. No one stopped them from getting all the way to the door. The guards didn’t even glance at them when they approached.

They got all the way to touching the doors, but they wouldn’t budge. Locked.

“We’d like to pass,” Sideswipe tried saying to the guards.

They still wouldn’t even glance at them, just stared straight ahead. You’d think they were fragging drones or something, but no, he could scan their spark signatures just fine.

They were really good at acting like drones, though. “Hello?”

Nothing.

No reaction whatsoever.

Sunstreaker frowned and waved a servo in front of the optics of the guard on the right. They didn’t so much as focus on his hand.

It was like they were completely braindead or something, but that couldn’t be. They’d seen other guards moving just fine. Never saying a thing, but the way they had held them down to be branded—it hadn’t been the drone-like approximation of motion that characterized non-sentient machines. It had been fluid. Like they had all of their senses still.

Either these mecha were programmed like nothing he’d seen before, or they were trained for their role really well. Their dark colors alone blended right into low light. Combined with their stillness and silence, it was so easy to just ignore them.

That was probably the entire point.

They probably weren’t potential allies though, and he doubted there would be any going through the doors without explicit authorization from someone more important than them.

So… Either they needed to get that authorization, or they needed to find an alternative route.

Which would be faster?

Which would be easier?

Which would come with higher chances of success?

They were likely to get only one chance at this. Their plan would have to be rock solid.

They needed to know all of their options before they could decide on the one most likely to work.

Most likely to see them the fuck out of here.

And somehow… Somehow they would need to make it look like they weren’t desperately plotting a way to escape. They couldn’t afford to come under any more scrutiny than what he was sure their status as newcomers already brought them.

The library seemed to be the least used location, the quietest. 

Might as well start there.

With that thought they abandoned the main doors and the good for statues guards watching over them and retreated back the way they’d come from. The library was abandoned again, the one mech that had been shelving things gone. The mecha here really didn’t seem to appreciate the peace and quiet, or else they didn’t feel like they needed it. 

Unbelievable.

But it worked in their favor. They split ways to explore the shelves running along the walls, searching for any signs of hidden passages. Not that they really knew what the pit they were looking for exactly. Seams? Any signs that things folded or moved, transformed this way or that? That was their best guess, having never actually seen a hidden passage that wasn’t a simple alleyway tucked in an unexpected place.

He didn’t think they’d find anything even that obvious around here. Servants were supposed to come and go unseen, weren’t they? The rich that could afford them didn’t actually want reminders of them, wasn’t it like that? They were just supposed to do their job and stay out of the way.

Maybe. That was their theory. Primus, he wished they’d even gotten to read some fictional book files on the topic, that would’ve already been a better start than knowing nothing more than what they could guess at—nevermind having any concrete knowledge rooted deep in reality.

But, even if they had known something of how these things worked on Free Cybertron, could they have expected it to function the same in Kaon? Maybe it would have, maybe it wouldn’t have.

They didn’t know jackall about that either. Was there anyone who did know, though, with how closed off and secretive Kaon was? Probably some expert like that existed.

Didn’t benefit them at all right then, though. All they had was their own limited knowhow, about as limited experience, and their own smarts.

But it would need to be enough to get them through this.

They met back together at the back of the library, none the wiser to any hidden passages that might’ve existed. Maybe there were none here, could just be that. The bookshelves were huge, and you know, full of book files. It would probably be a bit of a hassle to have some sort of secret passages hidden in the middle of them, when there wasn’t an inch of bare wall left aside from the fake windows sitting at the back in steady intervals. Sideswipe stared at one of them now. It showed the cityscape of Kaon, from high up. Fliers flitted between the towers, and far, far below them you could just make out the tiny dots of lights of the grounders traversing the roads.

It was probably streamed through some actual cameras. Didn’t benefit them though. Neither did the actual, real windows they’d seen in the berthroom. For one, because they were grounders, and couldn’t have just flown to freedom through them.

And second, it was unlikely they would be able to break the glass in a million years.

They’d have to search the other rooms too, but that would be more difficult with the other mates around. Maybe during the night, if even just the majority were recharging, if not all of them. 

But it was the middle of the morning and most of them were going to be wide awake. Bad time to go snooping around.

What did that leave for them to do? Kill time? Try not to think about everything that had happened?

It would help if they could understand the language fluently though, no matter what they’d end up doing. Starscream had suggested the library, and they were in the library now, and it was a solid piece of advice. They’d either need to listen, talk, or read to integrate the new files, and reading was the most likely to provide them a wide range of vocabulary to integrate a larger portion of their installs.

Hushed voices came from the entrance as several someones entered the library, and that was probably their cue to start acting normal. At an unspoken agreement both brothers started browsing the shelves in a genuine search for something to read.

It looked like they were in the history section, though he would’ve used the term loosely based on the titles. Among ones that were probably history, there were others that just sounded like… Propaganda.

‘Abandon the Uniform’

‘Death to Individuality’

Probably referring to Free Cybertron, was his guess. Didn’t really cast it in a positive light.

‘Uniform Cybertron: Rise of the Primacy’

Hey, that one might even have some hope of staying objective!

‘Kaon’s Great Conquerors’

‘Thunderwing – High Protector of Kaon’s Cultural Heritage’

The last one caught his interest. It still had a strong whiff of being biased as all pits, but there was no denying Thunderwing was an important figure in Cybertron’s history, even as far as Free Cybertron was concerned. He had his own history files on the mech.

But what was Kaon’s take on the mech Free Cybertron liked to paint as a villain? After all, Thunderwing had been the one to lock up Kaon. That was a pretty big move against freedom, wasn’t it?

What he found shifting through the pages of the bookfile was an entirely different story. The events leading to the Unification were quickly covered by the beginning of the book, and already the angle taken when describing them was just negative. Bad this, bad that, things went wrong.

It went completely against the history files he had integrated. 

And it only got worse once they got to describing Thunderwing’s response to Zeta Prime’s maneuvering. It did come with a lot of details Sideswipe’s files didn’t hold—though how true those details were was an entirely different question. It could just be Kaon knowing more about what had happened in Kaon, or it could be made up stuff to make Zeta Prime’s campaign look worse. Either way, it definitely framed Thunderwing’s actions having been entirely in the name of preserving Kaon’s independence and culture, like the title said. 

You’d think locking up an entire city, no one in, no one out, would’ve been an extreme measure just to protect your culture.

The book didn’t much agree with that assessment. It talked about the heroism of Thunderwing’s stand against Zeta Prime and Unified Cybertron’s troops, the event that both the book and his own history files agreed was the point where all cordiality between Free Cybertron and Kaon had been severed.

But not once did the book talk about the Cybertron outside of Kaon as Free Cybertron. Instead it talked about Free Kaon. The rest of Cybertron was only called unified at best, indoctrinated at worst.

Considering Kaon was the damn city that had closed its gates all those eons ago, not Free Cybertron having done it for it, he was really struggling to see how Kaon was free in any way. Free Cybertron was where you could go wherever you wanted without being stopped by massive walls with more guns than any sane mech would mount on them.

If you had the credits to travel, anyway. If you didn’t… Tough luck.

They’d know something about the unkindest cards Free Cybertron and Iacon could hand you. Off to gutters with you! Good luck scraping by, forgotten by all officials. Enjoy the splendor of the city from the perspective of a vermin.

A little disturbed, Sideswipe closed the book file and carefully placed it right back where he’d picked it up from. In the meantime Sunstreaker had wandered off to the fictive section’s romance shelves, and was puzzling over one starcrossed lovers story about a Kaonite and a mech from Crystal City. Instead of the Kaonite being desperate to escape Kaon or despairing about the closed gates of his city, he was instead… Worried for his long-distance lover. Worried that he’d believe the lies Unified Cybertron was feeding him.

And in the book’s happy ending, the Crystal City mech was “freed” from Unified Cybertron’s corruption and joined his Kaonite lover in Free Kaon.

Sunstreaker put that book file away too, but something gave Sideswipe the feeling that the same theme would repeat in any and every bookfile they’d pick up.

“Megatron’s called for an orgy tonight!” someone announced from the library doorway before rushed pedesteps signaled the same mech’s departure, and the exclamation sounded again from further down the hall.

They sounded almost excited about it, but Sideswipe froze in place. His spark started spinning wildly as the implications of that rampaged into his head.

More interfacing.

More interfacing with a lot of mecha.

More interfacing with Megatron.

His ventilations quickened despite himself, and before he knew it Sunstreaker had appeared next to him, equally anxious but hiding it infinitely better. 

“What are we going to do?” Sideswipe whispered at him, catching his bottom lip between his denta and worrying it aggressively. He couldn’t handle more fragging with Megatron. He couldn’t.

Before Sunstreaker could answer with anything, more pedesteps had them turning their attention to their right. Skywarp appeared soon after, waving at them.

He was so cheerful. How could he be so cheerful? “Hiya! I was thinking, do you need any help preparing for the orgy? I mean, it’s your first.”

“Preparing?” Sunstreaker asked incredulously, before Sideswipe had even come up with any theories of what Skywarp meant.

Skywarp didn’t keep them theorizing for long. “You know… Megatron’s pretty big,” the Seeker said, approximating the width and length of Megatron’s… You know, with his hands.

And Sideswipe really, really didn’t need any reminders of it. He cringed towards Sunstreaker, his brother snarling lowly before he snapped at Skywarp, “No, we fragging well don’t need help preparing.”

“Oh.” He didn’t want to feel sorry for Skywarp, he really didn’t, but the mech looked like a kicked puppy and Sideswipe couldn’t help himself. “You do plan to prepare though, right?”

Sunstreaker stayed quiet for a moment before he growled out, “No, not really.”

Skywarp frowned. “It’ll go a lot easier if you’ve prepared though. You’re even smaller than me and Star.” And the pair of Seekers were about the biggest mecha they’d seen in the harem, yeah yeah.

“No,” Sideswipe found his voice to say, frowning right back at Skywarp. No, they weren’t going to prepare and just… Accept what was going to happen.

Act as if they had no way to escape it.

Even though they probably didn’t have a way.

“Oh,” Skywarp repeated, scuffing the floor with his pede. Sideswipe got the feeling he thought he was acting in their best interest, but he fragging well wasn’t for as long as he wasn’t slagging planning a way to escape right with them. 

And as nice as Skywarp seemed, Sideswipe was sure he wasn’t anyone to be trusted with their plans of getting the frag out of here. Skywarp was… Okay with what was happening. He hadn’t shown any signs that he wasn’t.

He treated it all like it was normal, like fragging well everyone here did.

It wasn’t normal! How could anyone think it was normal? Or something that shouldn’t be fought against at every turn. Every mech should have the right to self-dictate, you couldn’t just… Take all of that away from them.

But that was exactly what everyone here was doing.

“Um…” Sideswipe started despite the refusal and denial he stubbornly clung to, that tenacious hope that said they could still escape the orgy, “Who all… Participates in it?”

Skywarp seemed almost relieved that he was getting something other than no’s from them. “The orgy? Just the harem, and probably Soundwave,” he answered quickly, and Sideswipe in turn felt some relief that the likes of Motormaster and Vortex weren’t going to be present. 

The harem and Megatron, and apparently Soundwave too, those were bad enough.

Especially Megatron.

And probably Soundwave. Everyone in the harem itself seemed pretty nice, but Megatron definitely wasn’t, and for Soundwave to have gained as high a rank as he had, Sideswipe highly doubted he was a particularly nice individual either. 

“How does it work exactly?” Sunstreaker asked. Sideswipe glanced at him and at the deep frown etched on his brother’s handsome features.

That was a good question. His optics shifted back to Skywarp.

“Everyone gets together and frags,” was Skywarp’s answer, which was all kinds of duh, but the Seeker continued before Sideswipe had the time to berate him for stating the obvious. ”Megatron will activate a signal that makes your interfacing protocols go haywire. It’s a lot of fun, makes ‘facing a lot more rewarding, and you know, it’s pretty fun even normally.”

“...Haywire in what way, exactly?” Sunstreaker prodded further, sounding several degrees below happy.

Sideswipe couldn’t say he was feeling very happy either.

“Makes you horny,” Skywarp clarified with a shrug. “Like, really horny.”

Yeah, Sideswipe was definitely feeling unhappy right now. 

And Skywarp called it “rewarding”.

Sideswipe wanted nothing to do with it. Neither did Sunstreaker for that matter. His brother growled. “Sounds like mind games to me,” Sunstreaker said, and Sideswipe nodded in agreement.

Skywarp didn’t look like he really knew what to say to that. The flier shifted his weight from pede to pede, his gaze drawing to the side, and again Sideswipe almost felt sorry for him.

But he couldn’t just ignore the way Skywarp normalized all of this. Enjoyed it even. 

He was as fucked up as the rest of them. 

“Well…” Skywarp said after an awkward moment of silence that the twins refused to break, “I guess… If you change your mind I’ll be in the entertainment room.”

With that he wandered off, his thrusters clicking on the floor until he retreated too far for them to hear. 

Sideswipe halfway collapsed against Sunstreaker with Skywarp gone and no one there to witness them. “We’ll just stay right here,” Sunstreaker murmured to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

And… That sounded good. Hide away in the library. Let the rest of them have their fun, but they would stay in the maze of shelves and not participate. 

He hoped they could do that, anyway. There weren’t a lot of other places to go.

Out of lack of anything better to do, they continued to browse the literature, and the same theme continued. Free Kaon, a fooled Cybertron outside of it, terrible Primacy, all hail Kaon’s rulers, yadda yadda. There was nothing that deviated from that norm. Was it because really no one wrote that stuff, or because it just wasn’t let into the harem’s library?

Or was it not let anywhere? Was this how they brainwashed their citizens? Because you would’ve thought the people would’ve revolted against the oppression of their government and tried to regain their stolen freedom.

But that had never happened. At least, not as far as Free Cybertron knew—Sideswipe was pretty sure something like that would’ve made it into their (very basic) education.

No Kaonite book spoke about any uprising like that either, though. Would they have written about it, or pretended it never happened? He really didn’t know.

He didn’t know how much of anything here he could trust. But… It all was a new perspective to their existing history files, if nothing else. Who knew, maybe there was a smidgen of truth to all of this and those that genuinely believed this version of events—everything about the villainy of the Primacy and the savior Thunderwing had been, succeeded by a line of tyrants that had followed in his footsteps and kept Kaon locked down tight.

All the way to Megatron, their personal tormentor. 

His servos shook as he deposited his latest bookfile back to the shelves. Time had turned and it was closing in on evening.

‘Tonight’, it had been said. It wasn’t an exact measure, but maybe there never was. Maybe Megatron would just show up when he pleased and start the whole thing. He was sure the tyrant would’ve had every right to that, at least. Even telling his plans ahead of time was probably just… What? Some weird gesture of thoughtfulness so everyone could be prepared?  

If nothing else, the hours they’d spent in the library had done a great job of integrating their language files. They shouldn’t have issues with understanding Kaonite anymore, so… Yay.

It hit him like a freight train. One moment he was standing there, reading the titles at the backs of the bookfiles.

The next he was on his knees, gasping, his engine quickly revving higher and higher and heat pooling in his frame—concentrating in a spot down under. Sunstreaker groaned somewhere off to his side, in much the same predicament as him, although his brother was still on his pedes.

Just leaning heavily on one of the solid shelves.

It took Sideswipe a good amount of time to clear his mind through the haze of arousal enough that he at least had his senses about him again. This was… Probably exactly what Skywarp had been talking about. The sheer arousal coursing through his lines made him grind his denta as he staggered back to his pedes. His valve slicked despite himself, his spike thumping against its cover.

He was panting, fast ventilations that failed to do shit to cool his frame. It was hard to focus. At least, hard to focus on anything that wasn’t how turned on he was. 

But even through it, he knew he didn’t want to interface. His frame wanted to, Primus, it needed to, but he didn’t want to. It was nothing but an unwanted invasion on his senses, something to further rob him of his right to control his own frame. An attack from the inside, this time.

This was worse than having his frame abused by external forces. This was like how Megatron had forced him into arousal with his damned hand. Just as unwanted as that time.

Sideswipe heaved one ventilation after another, fighting down the need. His interfacing protocols really were going haywire, just like Skywarp had said they would. They kept firing, convinced by something unseen that he was aroused, making him aroused, and there was nothing he could do to make them believe otherwise. Something overrode his every attempt.

He hadn’t known anything like it was even possible. Forcing arousal through interaction with the frame, yeah, sure.

But arousal forced upon him without anyone or anything even touching him?

Just who had come up with this? For what purpose? For this alone, to make harems desperate for a spike or a valve to facilitate orgies?  

It probably had some other uses too, but he was a little too preoccupied to start thinking about those other things, no matter how he wanted to. Anything to distract him from the heat suffusing his frame and muddling his thoughts, hammering him with that need need need.

Sideswipe moaned, but kept denying his frame. He wasn’t going to– Fragging touch himself or whatever. And he wasn’t going to go out there with the others. He hung onto his force of will stubbornly, exercising the self-control he’d never had a hell of a lot of—but it would have to be enough now. He was a hedonist, but this wasn’t about pleasure alone.

This was forced upon him. This he didn’t want.

It didn’t matter how long this would last. It couldn’t matter. He wouldn’t admit failure even if his frame overheated from his obstinate denial.

Was that his thought, or Sunstreaker’s? Sunstreaker had always had more control over himself. He could deny himself.

Sideswipe latched onto that strength now to power himself through this too.

But time absolutely crawled by, the both of them holding onto the bookshelves to even remain on their pedes, and every second of every minute their interfacing protocols kept running, making their engines rev, their arrays throb.

It couldn’t have been too long though, before there were mecha entering the library. The twins could hear them walk around until they found them, and with some effort Sideswipe glanced off to the side.

It was the guards. Both of them. “Megatron has ordered you to the berthroom,” one of them spoke up, voice even, but not the empty monotone of drones.

The confusion over their real nature managed to distract Sideswipe for a precious second that wasn’t spent circling around his own heat.

Sunstreaker growled, his engine revving with anger as well as arousal. “Frag off!” he barked at the guards, who didn’t even shrug as a reaction to the vitriolic fields flaring in warning.

They just walked to them without any hesitation or any excess gestures. The first one went past Sideswipe, but the second one grabbed him. Sideswipe wished he could’ve said he put up a fight, but instead his frame arched against the other mech and he gasped at just that completely innocent touch.

His mind didn’t care what manner of touch it was though, everything registered as potential relief to be sought for.

Sideswipe bit back his moans as the guard bent his arm behind his back, straining his shoulder and elbow and by that taking good control of his frame—especially seeing he didn’t have his full faculties.

And that thought scared him. He still had enough of his mind to fervently not want any of this, but too much of it was addled for him to completely deny his protocols. 

Sunstreaker was cursing, and although his state was no lesser than Sideswipe’s, he had enough wherewithal to fight the guard taking a hold of him. And that was exactly what he did when the guards started to push-drag them from the library, Sideswipe’s pedes terribly uncooperative and his interface array pinging him incessantly. There was a frame touching him, and right now his processors were convinced the only right thing to do was frag them.  

A method of torture, that was what this could be used for as well.

They were marched all the way to the berthroom, and the longer the walk went on, the harder even Sunstreaker found it to keep struggling against the hold on him—the harder it got to not push against it for reasons that were the very opposite to breaking free.

The berthroom doors opened for them to a scene that Sideswipe had feared and dreaded and feared some more: mecha, all of the harem, fragging. There was moaning, there were overloads, the stench of lubricant and transfluid was heavy in the air, everyone had a partner or several.

And overlooking it all from the massive berth on the raised dais, was Megatron. And Soundwave next to him, as Skywarp had predicted. They both had their spikes out, Soundwave stroking his own and… Starscream’s helm bobbing over Megatron’s. The Seeker was fingering his own valve even as he worked Megatron’s spike, and pits, if he was as affected as Sideswipe felt, it wasn’t a wonder he didn’t have the patience to focus on just servicing someone.

How he could just kneel there and service Megatron though, wings fluttering like he enjoyed it… That part Sideswipe didn’t understand. Not at all.

Megatron’s optics fell on them as they entered, and with a simple flick of his claws he summoned them over. Of course, they wouldn’t have gone if they’d had a say in it, but the guards still kept their hold on them and dragged them to the dais.

With another arrogant gesture Megatron had Starscream draw off his spike with a final parting lick on the tip, and with a glare at them—that Sideswipe also didn’t understand—the flier hopped off the berth and wandered off.

Sideswipe didn’t pay attention to him, because Megatron and Soundwave had all of their attention on them. “These the new acquisitions?” Soundwave asked with an oddly mechanical voice that momentarily distracted Sideswipe from the heat in his frame.

“Yes,” Megatron responded with some satisfaction ahead of his piercing optics focusing on the brothers. “I trust you were given your new language files?” the tyrant asked in Kaonite, as he already had conversed in. Its harsh tones fit his demeanor a lot better than Standard did.

Sideswipe found himself nodding before he could think better of it. “Good,” Megatron said before he let his optics travel down their frames in a way that made Sideswipe’s plating crawl and Sunstreaker growl. “And I see Knock Out got his hands on you two.” Amusement? Definitely amusement, but Megatron’s engine also rumbled in something that was nothing but approval.

Sunstreaker growled harder, but before Sideswipe had the chance to join him in the sound, Megatron had already turned to Soundwave. “Take your pick,” the grey mech said with a genteel gesture at them, and Sideswipe really didn’t like the thought of being handed off to–

Be abused all over again. And Soundwave got to choose which of them he wanted to violate.

The dice fell on Sideswipe, because Soundwave pointed at the red twin before turning his hand around and flicking the extended digit.

The gesture was clear as day.

This time Sideswipe had the time to snarl.

Megatron’s field extended briefly with amusement, right before the guard holding him stepped closer to the berth—close enough that Megatron could reach to grab him by an arm. The guard let go of him as he was hoisted onto the berth, scrambling on its surface as he was dragged across it only to be shoved in Soundwave’s lap.

His arousal skyrocketed at the contact. Sideswipe’s engine hitched, his vocalizer spat a little sound of static.

“Come here,” Megatron said to Sunstreaker, but Sideswipe’s focus went to the mech whose spike was touching him. He was frozen in place for a moment too long, because Soundwave didn’t waste time grabbing him, manhandling him onto his back and pinning him in place. Soundwave wasn’t as big as Megatron, but he was still larger than Sideswipe.

And once again Sideswipe himself at a disadvantage against someone larger and stronger than him. 

“Open,” came the command, Soundwave’s spike nudging against his closed valve cover. Lubricant was leaking through the seams, and Sideswipe stared sightlessly at the ceiling as his frame reacted. There was a spike so close to him, a promise of a relief, of interface, and he couldn’t do more than gasp after gasp at the torrent his mind turned into.

But he kept his cover closed. He didn’t want this, no matter what his frame thought.

He didn’t want this.

His frame didn’t listen to reason. Soundwave rubbed his spike over his cover, and Sideswipe keened as the need and desperation assaulted his senses. It was all he could think about. It was all he could do to keep his cover closed. His fans were spinning madly, but it wasn’t enough to cool his frame. Nothing was enough.

Nothing would be enough and there would be no relief until he gave in.  

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Sideswipe shook his helm, side to side over and over again. Tears started to run from the corners of his optics again as his arousal suffocated him. It all became about this moment, about the spike teasing so close to his valve, and oh Primus he wanted it so badly.

No. No, he didn’t want it. His frame did. His frame wanted it like he’d never wanted anything before and his tears flowed as he kept denying.  

“I know you want to,” he could dimly hear Megatron’s voice say, and he suspected it wasn’t directed at him, but it rang true regardless.

He wanted to.

He didn’t want to.

Sunstreaker wanted to.

Sunstreaker didn’t want to.

The golden twin snarled where Megatron kept him poised right above his Primus damned spike. His hold was tight, so tight it didn’t matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t break free. Heat was wafting from his frame—even with all of his vents blown open, he was still hot. So, so hot.

And Megatron was smiling at him. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, what was happening, but by all appearances Megatron was completely unaffected by whatever ailed him and Sideswipe and the rest of the harem. There was no desperation about him.

Just the sense of smug superiority Sunstreaker had already come to associate with him.

He growled at the tyrant, but his vision was shimmering and glitching from the amount of signals his interface protocols were sending him, overwhelming his processors. Heat pooled in his abdomen, in his groin, and he was desperate for the spike he was held above. At least, his frame was. The rest of him couldn’t have wanted it any less.

He didn’t want to give in to Megatron’s games, admit defeat in the face of the tyrant’s ploys. Sunstreaker held onto his inhibitions with an iron grip, but the longer he resisted, the more amused Megatron grew.

A strangled groan escaped him when he was lowered just enough for the tip of Megatron’s spike to flirt with his scorching cover, lightly slipping in the lubricant leaking out of him. He was so wet. His frame was so ready.

Yet he held back, closing his optics in his effort that he refused to call doomed. There had to be a way to withstand this, and he would find it.

There had to be a way to deny Megatron what he wanted. 

Sideswipe didn’t find it. His brother’s engine hitched, then revved, and his cover snapped back. Soundwave buried himself to the hilt at that moment, and Sideswipe screamed.

Pleasure rocked their core as the infernal protocols were satisfied, and Sideswipe sobbed in relief even as self-loathing burst in their spark.

It wasn’t enough to override the sheer satisfaction of giving in, though, the alleviation, release from the little hell that their frames had been turned into.

Sunstreaker’s mouth fell open, though no sound came out. His frame shook from the conflict of need versus will—his armor rattled.

And he could hear Megatron’s laugh, feel the pulse of approval in his field. It seemed that no matter what they did, Megatron liked it. Whether it was them fighting him or them giving in to him, for Megatron it was always victory.

And for them it was always loss.

His spark sank with their utter helplessness, and when Sideswipe received a particularly hard thrust courtesy of Soundwave—Sideswipe moaned, drunk from the pleasure shattering his world—Sunstreaker’s valve cover opened without any conscious input from him, a gush of lubricant falling onto Megatron’s waiting spike.

Then he was dropped down, Megatron’s spike tip finding the entrance to his valve and sinking in. His weight impaled him all the way, the tyrant’s girth stretching him open so wide. Sunstreaker grunted at the pain his internals complained with, but the fact it didn’t hurt quite as much as before was a terrible realization to come to.

He didn’t want to get used to this.

But the pain became an afterthought with the reward Megatron’s spike was, as far as his frame was concerned.

Disgust. Disgust with his frame, disgust with the way it had been turned against him.

Sideswipe was crying in earnest, pleasure, humiliation, and that same revulsion coiling together until they strangled their spark, and Sideswipe couldn’t take it.

Pit, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if he would be able to take it either, not when Megatron drew him up, lighting sick pleasure in his frame as his spike dragged over the wet sensors in his valve—and then let him drop back down, and the pleasure multiplied.

He didn’t want any part of him to want this, and he fragging well didn’t want to enjoy it, but here he was, a prisoner in a frame that was lighting up as Megatron repeated the same motion over and over again. Sparks started to spit from the gaps in his armor, and Sunstreaker overloaded embarrassingly fast, groaning as his frame locked up tight. Megatron revved at the way his calipers clenched around his spike, Soundwave jerked when Sunstreaker’s overload pulled Sideswipe over the edge too and had his frame doing the same, and the both of them kept fragging them all through their release, only extending it.

Disgust. So much of it he thought he would drown, and he wasn’t sure which of them thought that. Both of them, maybe. The sentiment echoed in their spark even as their frames reveled in what was being done to them. Sideswipe’s reluctant moans joined the ones already sounding from all around the room, adding to the noise of debauchery that dominated everything.

But Sunstreaker could barely focus on anything except the slick sound of his valve being penetrated time and time again—and the fact the pain of it was quickly receding, replaced with nothing but his affected mind’s approval of what he was doing.

Not that he was doing anything. Megatron kept a hold of him, Megatron fragged him, Megatron did things to him. He used his frame, and it wasn’t important that he was forced to enjoy it as well.

Or maybe it was. Maybe Megatron drew perverse pleasure from knowing he was forcing him into experiencing pleasure from the unwanted violation of his frame.

Soundwave humped Sideswipe harder, drawing ever louder noises from his brother, until he thrust in deep one more time and overloaded without a sound. Then it was over—Soundwave didn’t play games, just pulled out and scooted back, leaving Sideswipe laying there, leaking transfluid and lubricant and fighting to make any sense of the state of his helm.

Megatron wasn’t far behind, his engine rumbling louder as he neared his own completion. It couldn’t come fast enough if you asked Sunstreaker, but still, before Megatron got that far, Sunstreaker reached his limit and ground his denta as another overload wracked through him. Next to them, Sideswipe arched off the berth with a surprised cry as the pleasure crashed through their spark to him and shoved his overly sensitive frame straight over the edge with no external stimulus.

But the way his valve tightened and clenched down was enough for Megatron to shove him down on his spike. Sunstreaker could feel the hot pulses of transfluid at the very back of his valve, but as much as his frame rewarded him for it…

He wasn’t relieved. This wouldn’t be it, he knew that much with absolute certainty.

They were just getting started if the past was any indication.

Megatron shoved him off his spike and Sunstreaker fell forward, catching himself with his arms. His frame still shook, his interface protocols far from satisfied—still telling him to keep going, to continue, frag his way into oblivion.

And he doubted that would change before Megatron decided they were all done. 

“Give him here,” Megatron spoke up, and Sunstreaker glanced his way just when the tyrant reached an arm for Sideswipe. Soundwave grabbed his brother, pulled, and just like that, Sideswipe was handed from one rapist to another. Megatron caught him and maneuvered Sideswipe until his twin’s face was right next to Megatron’s massive spike. “Suck.”

Sideswipe shook his helm even as Soundwave moved to snatch Sunstreaker before he had the time to get the frag away from there. Despite his cussing the gilded twin was still pulled to the second in command, and in short order Sunstreaker found his valve invaded all over again.

At least Soundwave wasn’t quite as big as Megatron. Not that it would’ve really mattered at this point, their frames were far too eager to translate everything into pleasure. Even the pain from penetration by a too big spike.

“Suck,” Megatron repeated with more weight, his servo landing on the back of Sideswipe’s helmet, and he could remember all too well how that same servo had begun to crush when he’d defied too much.

Despite the memories, Sideswipe shook his helm again, the best he could under Megatron’s hold.

It didn’t begin to tighten though, as he had expected it would. Instead Megatron brought his other servo into the game and pried his mouth open, pulling him up until he could insert his spike straight into Sideswipe’s mouth, and shoving him down as deep as he could get with the angle. Sideswipe gagged when it rammed into the back of his throat, and his faceplates stung, and he hated it, and he wailed. Megatron’s engine rumbled with satisfaction at the vibrations his vocalizer made.

“Suck,” he said again, lightening his hold enough that Sideswipe could pull back—but not all the way. He stopped him before he could get the tip of Megatron’s spike from his mouth.

Sideswipe didn’t do as he was told.

He was shoved back down. He cried out.

Megatron let him pull partway up again, enough that his spike wasn’t harassing his gag reflex anymore.

Sideswipe refused to please him.

He was pushed down, Megatron’s spike practically smashing into the back of his intake.

And Sideswipe caught on.

Tears streamed down his face, but when he was allowed partway up this time, he put his mouth and glossa to use and did what Starscream had been doing. His glossa lashed across and around the spike, probing at the tip, and he pulled his helm back only to push back down. All the things he’d done when he’d willingly given oral to any of the many berth partners he’d had over the years. 

He was so far from that life. So far from home.  

But Megatron didn’t take control of his helm again. His servo didn’t leave his helm either though, a steady sign that he wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere even if he wanted to.

And he wanted to so badly. He didn’t want to be doing this, and he kept his optics tightly shut to keep himself from having to see the grey armor. Pretend it was someone else. Someone he didn’t hate.

It didn’t work too well when the sheer size of the spike he was forced to service was too much of a reminder in and of itself.

At least he was allowed to go at his own pace, a small mercy. It was almost overshadowed by the fact his frame was still throbbing with need even after the round with Soundwave. That hadn’t gone anywhere, and half of his tears were from the near pain of a frame denied. 

As if reading his thoughts, Megatron switched the servo holding him and reached down his frame with his newly freed one, sticking two thick digits into his sopping valve. Sideswipe couldn’t quiet his moan despite how he knew it would only pleasure Megatron further—and he didn’t manage to stop his frame from jerking backward against the intrusion.

If nothing else, he did stop himself before he started to outright rock on the digits. 

“Everyone,” Megatron said suddenly, raising his voice until it dominated the room. The noise quieted down considerably, everyone paying attention as he continued, “Come greet your new confrères.”

Sunstreaker revved hard somewhere outside of his field of view, and not just from his arousal. Sideswipe stilled, hoping he was misunderstanding the implications of Megatron’s words.

But obediently—because you didn’t say no to Megatron, did you?—the mates disengaged from each other and crowded towards the dais. “Skywarp,” Megatron called first, and the Seeker quickly jumped onto the berth, and–

On Megatron’s further beckon, came up to Sideswipe.

Behind him.

Megatron removed his digits from his valve, only for smaller servos to land on his aft.

Sideswipe jerked away at once, or tried to, because Megatron’s servos tightened on his helm and kept him from pulling off, leaving. He tried to speak too, to voice his refusal, but Megatron shoved him down on his spike and muffled any sounds he might’ve wanted to make. 

He tried to reach back instead, twisting his frame this way and what to keep Skywarp from going through with what he knew was coming, tried to shove him away–

But Megatron intercepted his servos and pulled them forward, pinning them against his thigh.

It did mean he let go of his helm though, and at once Sideswipe pulled off and fought against the hold on his arms. “NO!” he yelled, clear as day, yanking against the hold on him, trying to move his lower frame away from Skywarp—he couldn’t make it any clearer he didn’t want this.

But his engine revved with excitement, his ventilations came fast and hard, and arousal clouded his thoughts until nothing but want and no remained. 

His valve dripped.

He met Skywarp’s optics, the Seeker’s servos steady on the plating of his aft, unwelcome—but then Skywarp glanced up, at Megatron, nodded quickly, and without any further stalling, his spike found Sideswipe’s valve.

Sideswipe screamed his denial. It didn’t hurt, the fragging opposite: his frame arched in overload just from that first entry, but he’d said no. He didn’t want it.

No one cared. Not even Skywarp, as nice as he had seemed.

The flier might’ve been larger than he was, but he was nowhere near to being Megatron’s size. His spike was nothing but unwanted pleasure when he began to move. Fast.  

“Starscream,” Sideswipe could hear Megatron rumble, and in a flash the other Seeker was just there, leaning down to lick up the length of Megatron’s spike.

Right next to Sideswipe’s face.

He should’ve felt angry, he was sure he should’ve felt angry.

Instead there was just despair. Starscream kissed his way up Megatron’s length until he reached the tip, where he took the massive girth into his mouth and sank smoothly down it, all the way to the base.

And Sideswipe was forced to watch the whole process while Skywarp fragged his valve.

Sunstreaker growled expletives off to the side when he was flipped onto his back. Soundwave was there, dipping his digits into his leaking valve and using his thumb to rub along Sunstreaker’s spike cover until it snapped back to a strangled groan from his twin and his spike pressurized rapidly.

But right next to Soundwave were other mates called forth by Megatron. One positioned their own soaked valve atop Sunstreaker’s spike and sank down, another took position behind them and lifted Sunstreaker’s hips enough to sink into his valve. Sunstreaker overloaded hard between the double use of his array, pulling Sideswipe into another screaming overload of his own. Skywarp made a surprised sound above him, before Sideswipe could feel hot splashes of transfluid against his valve sensors.

The Seeker pulled out only for another hot frame to replace him. Sideswipe glanced back even against the good sense that told him don’t look.

Runamuck.

His claws sank into his hips and Sideswipe jerked from the sensation a second before Runamuck’s spike invaded his valve and the mech set up a pace even faster than Skywarp’s.

He wished it would’ve hurt, but with his valve so fragging wet, it only lighted his sensors in wholly pleasant ways. 

Runabout went for Sunstreaker, but with his spike and valve already in use… What did that leave?

Sunstreaker told in no unclear terms he didn’t have the permission to do it, but ignoring his brother’s protests entirely, Runabout shoved his spike into Sunstreaker’s mouth.

No surprise, he got bitten.

He only laughed it off though, pulling out with the air of no hard feelings. Except there were hard feelings. There would be a lot of hard feelings by the end of this.

There were heated fields all around them and equally heated frames that took their turns with them. Sunstreaker’s spike and valve were free range, as was Sideswipe’s valve.

And Starscream mouthfucked Megatron until the tyrant came and turned around to switch to using his valve afterwards.

Right in front of Sideswipe’s face.

He didn’t want to have the front seat view of Megatron’s spike disappearing into the Seeker’s valve and coming back out almost all the way before Starscream came down again. Megatron enjoyed it, his field a thing of arrogance and enjoyment, and by all accounts Starscream enjoyed it too. And not in the… Forced way, but genuinely. 

Like he wanted it.

And now Sideswipe could feel anger. It wasn’t enough that Megatron himself had his way with them, or that Soundwave did.

The whole goddamn harem needed to have that same right.

Another overload crashed through him, triggering one in Sunstreaker too. Megatron kept a hold of his arms even as Starscream fragged his valve on his spike, keeping Sideswipe right there where he had to witness it all. Even if he didn’t look, he could hear and smell it. 

And behind him, the mechs kept switching. Everyone only stuck around for as long as it took them to overload, and every time Sideswipe overloaded it felt like he dragged an overload out of someone else too. His fans had been running high for so long already, straining to keep his frame cool even somewhat.

Pits, but it felt so good.

He wanted none of it, but his frame was singing with pleasure, every sensor turning more and more sensitive with every overload wrung out of him. 

Megatron overloaded two more times too, before he ordered Starscream off his spike and the Seeker went, almost reluctantly. As much as he didn’t fragging need the closeup view, he still wished Starscream had stayed when Megatron’s attention switched to him next. “Suck.”

He swore the bastard was on the verge of laughing when he said that. Suck his transfluid and lubricant covered spike? Suck him off at all?

Fat chance.

Sideswipe growled, a second before his frame seized in another crest and fall of ecstasy. Megatron really did rumble something that sounded an awful lot like a laugh before Sideswipe’s helm was maneuvered until he was in a perfect position to take Megatron’s spike into his mouth.

Which he wasn’t going to do, no fragging way.

Megatron’s optics shifted over to where Sunstreaker was getting fragged even more thoroughly than Sideswipe was, although everyone had stayed away from his mouth in further practice.

Up until now, because Megatron nodded, and instantly Soundwave had his digits in Sunstreaker’s mouth, probing at the back of his throat until Sunstreaker was struggling to keep the contents of his tanks down all over again.

And Soundwave didn’t let up.

Because Sideswipe didn’t cooperate.

“It’s you or your brother,” Megatron explained, and the fragger was almost smiling. “I do remember how eager you were to service my spike in your brother’s stead. Now you have the chance to do that.”

Sunstreaker’s frame bucked up, the little he could with the weight of another mate atop him. Soundwave kept thrusting his digits in, uncaring of Sunstreaker’s denta.

And Sideswipe couldn’t put his brother through that whole thing all over again. Sunstreaker hated using his mouth. Hated it.

When it came to Megatron Sideswipe didn’t exactly like it either even if he hadn’t really minded doing it with partners he’d chosen, but better him than Sunstreaker.

If he didn’t, who knew how much further Megatron (and Soundwave) would’ve still gone to get what Megatron wanted, anyway.

Sideswipe bit back his revulsion and opened his mouth. As soon as he did, Megatron pushed him down and Sideswipe had to shove back his instinct to fight it.

Instead he took the spike into his mouth, transfluid and lubricant and all, and tried not to think about what he was doing.

Tried to ignore the taste of other mecha’s interface. 

Soundwave removed his digits from Sunstreaker’s mouth, and that was all Sideswipe needed to think he had made the right decision even as he had to force himself into motion. His glossa wanted to recoil, he wanted to recoil, but he kept a hold of himself even when yet another mech took a turn at his valve. Their thrusts rocked his frame and made it that much harder to service Megatron’s spike, but he tried. He used his lips, he used his glossa, he even dared to use his denta a little bit—just enough to satisfy Megatron with the extent of his cooperation.

No more than that.

Or so he hoped, anyway. 

“Swallow it,” Megatron ordered, and Sideswipe’s hopes that this might even stay tolerable were summarily crushed. His throat constricted just at the thought of having to force the thick length down it.

Wasn’t his mouth enough?

“You saw how Starscream did it,” the tyrant continued, with that fragging amusement in his voice. He knew how much Sideswipe hated this. How much Sunstreaker hated this.

And Megatron was enjoying it. Found their distaste of the situation entertaining.  

The mech at his valve overloaded, another’s release fell on Sunstreaker’s gleaming paint and his brother growled in offense—and then it was turn for the next ones. Who hadn’t had a round with them yet? Don’t be shy, step up to the queue for your turn to rape them!

“Now,” Megatron said, and that was all he needed to say for Sideswipe to hear the threat in his voice. No doubt he had something unpleasant in mind for Sunstreaker if Sideswipe didn’t obey. 

Sideswipe swallowed thickly, fighting with himself. He didn’t want Sunstreaker to suffer any further, and he was sure Megatron would find a way to make him suffer, but Primus, he didn’t want to do this. Not even the arousal in his frame was a factor, because arousal didn’t magically want to make him perform oral. 

But when Megatron’s engine growled in final warning, Sideswipe steadied himself, cycled a deep ventilation and lifted his frame enough to have the room to sink down on Megatron’s spike—let it press into the back of his throat, then down it.

Fresh tears welled in his optics as the damned thing stretched his intake until nothing but pain and discomfort was left, but Megatron was satisfied. His servo rested at the back of his helm, his other one going so far as to release Sideswipe’s arms.

Not that it mattered. As impaled as he was on the tyrant’s spike, there was nowhere he could’ve gone. It was still a relief, some illusion of freedom, and he propped himself up with his arms to– To maintain a better angle. “All the way,” Megatron told him, and biting back his keen, Sideswipe obeyed and sank down the rest of the way, until his face touched the tyrant’s groin. “Move,” was the next order, once he was through with the previous one, and Sideswipe closed his optics tightly. It didn’t stop the tears from streaming down his faceplates.

Here he was again, told to service their tormentor’s damned spike under his own power. It wasn’t like he had to. Megatron would make Sunstreaker feel it if he didn’t cooperate, but he might not force Sideswipe. Right?

So he was almost doing this willingly.

At least, that was what it felt like when Megatron’s servo remained nothing but a weight on his helm. Nothing that was forcing him down, or forcing him into motion or– Forcing him into anything.

Just there.  

But he didn’t want Sunstreaker to hurt if it was in his power to prevent that. He didn’t want to find out what manner of methods Megatron would still use to get him to do as he was told. Instead, under the tyrant’s heavy servo, Sideswipe pulled back until his aching throat was free of the spike’s intrusion, only to push back down.

And repeated the motion, just as Starscream had done.

He hated it. Every moment of it, having to fight his gag reflex every time he took the spike to his throat, the short-lived relief of pulling off again—having to fight himself just to convince himself to swallow the massive length again after every time.

If nothing else, it effectively took his mind off the continued use of his valve. Too many spikes to count had already emptied themselves into it, transfluid practically pouring out of it by now.

But it didn’t hurt. If his arousal hadn’t been stomped down so effectively by what his front end was made to do, no doubt he would’ve had plenty of overloads from it.

Sunstreaker was having plenty of overloads from the unwanted use of his equipment, but even that wasn’t enough to pull Sideswipe over the edge with him anymore.

But he did what he had to do to keep Sunstreaker from going through something worse than just getting fragged up his valve, or someone using his spike. Soundwave was still there, having other members of his harem see to him. If what they’d seen so far was any indication, the blue mech wouldn’t hesitate to act as additional servos for Megatron, as preoccupied as Megatron was with Sideswipe.

With his damned brother. Wasn’t anything enough for him? How many times already had he forced one of them onto his spike, just to watch them struggle to take it and taking his pleasure from their pain? It wasn’t Sunstreaker having to throat Megatron’s spike right then, but he felt no relief at the fact when Sideswipe’s ache of having to perform the act skipped from one spark-half to the other.

And it was more welcome than the pleasure. He’d rather have pain, at least that would remind him he wasn’t willingly subjecting himself to any of this.

Instead of being allowed that, though, his frame kept arching off the berth, charge kept zapping across his armor—one grand overload after another from having both his valve and spike used in ways that were nothing more than pleasurable.

It was a small comfort everyone had kept away from his mouth after he’d bitten Runabout. He still couldn’t understand how the other mates—mecha in the same situation as they were!—could do this and show no hesitation or regret, give no apologies. Maybe Megatron would have made them all do it regardless—he got the impression the tyrant always got his way one or another—but the least they could have done was show remorse. It wasn’t a secret they didn’t want this, to be the center of the attention of this… Orgy.

It was nothing but an orgy, because as much as they all took their turns with them, they were all equally busy fucking each other while they waited, or after they’d had their turn.

But they were the main event. Megatron had made them the main event.

Another overload crashed through him despite the abuse Sideswipe was going through, and he hated himself just a little bit more for it.

It seemed, though, that at last all of the harem had had their turns with them, because no one else moved to take the place of the last two mecha on him. Sideswipe’s valve was similarly abandoned, and…

Megatron didn’t overload. He removed his servo from Sideswipe’s helm and tapped the red twin’s chin instead. After a moment of still confusion Sideswipe experimentally pulled off Megatron’s spike, and indeed he was allowed to do that. In fact he was allowed to go so far as to scoot away from the tyrant, stopping once he was outside of reach and… No one prevented him from doing so.

Was it over?

Sunstreaker propped himself up with his arms, but froze when Megatron’s gaze shifted from his brother to him. “I do so enjoy your valve,” their prime abuser near purred, and Sunstreaker would’ve gotten the fuck out of there if Soundwave’s servos hadn’t landed on him and pinned him in place. Megatron looked off to the side, and Sunstreaker followed the path of his optics to find Starscream glaring at the lot of them. The expression smoothed off quickly though, once Megatron’s attention fell on him. The Seeker was beckoned with a simple, “Starscream,” and that was all the invitation and direction Starscream needed to return to the berth and take a hold of Sideswipe.

His brother squeaked in surprise and tried to pull away, but the larger mech shackled him in place with his hold, bracketing Sideswipe with his legs and securing him against his chassis.

It was clear enough that Starscream did just what Megatron told. Just like everyone here seemed to do, but the tricolor Seeker took a more… Active role than the other mates, somehow.

That didn’t matter right now, though, because Megatron was also moving, coming for him and Soundwave let go of him only for Megatron’s servos to take a hold of him instead. Sunstreaker’s engine growled, from aggression as well as the arousal raging in his lines—and now that the twins weren’t on the menu, the other mates had gone back to happily fragging each other silly—but it didn’t dissuade the tyrant one bit. “Keep your servos off of me,” Sunstreaker added in for good measure, trying to jerk away, but of course it didn’t work. 

“You don’t give the orders here,” was all Megatron said, and wasn’t that the truth, enforced with physical superiority. Even now, despite his struggling, Megatron simply flipped him around until he was on his front, and pulled his hips up.

Annnnnd they had been here before. “Are you going to break my back again?” Sunstreaker growled even as his frame sang hallelujah at him for the proximity of another spike near his valve. His ventilations ran even hotter at the promise of being entered again, yet all the while his spark spun wildly from how much he didn’t want this.  

It was of no consequence, though.

“That is up to you,” Megatron responded, and Sunstreaker hated, he hated the false choices the tyrant kept giving them.

His spike shoved into his valve, and the stretch was as immense as ever, but it wasn’t the first time he’d already taken it tonight. His valve stung, but that was all.

He wished there would’ve been more.

And what was he going to do about it? He could submit to the treatment, or he could fight and be made to submit to it eventually anyway.

He would have fought anyway, if Soundwave hadn’t positioned himself in front of them right as Megatron set up an even but relatively calm pace.

He knew exactly what Soundwave was planning.

He was having none of it. “Pit no!” he barked even as Soundwave grabbed him by the chin and pulled his upper frame off the berth, bringing his helm level with his spike.

Sunstreaker tried to jerk away, but the second in command merely tightened his hold.

“We can do this to you,” Megatron spoke up behind him, gaining his attention with a harsh thrust into his valve, “Or to dear Sideswipe.

“Your choice.”

Choices! How dare he call these choices?

Sunstreaker’s gaze shifted off to the side, to his brother. Sideswipe was staring at them with wide optics, wet tear tracks staining his pale cheeks. It wasn’t much of a decision to make. If he could spare his twin this, he would, no matter how Sideswipe tried to convince him otherwise. Their spark pulsed with his pleas.

Sunstreaker ignored him and let his optics shutter.

He didn’t voice his acquiescence, but Soundwave took it for what it was anyway. Sunstreaker didn’t fight it when clawed digits opened his mouth and a spike was slipped inside. Smaller than Megatron’s, but still too large, he gagged when it hit the back of his throat and forced its way down the channel that just wasn’t designed for this kind of use.

Soundwave didn’t care about minor details like that any more than Megatron did, and as soon as he was penetrated from both ends, both Megatron and Soundwave began to move properly. Megatron was rough, every thrust hard and rocking his frame forward, to Soundwave’s spike. Soundwave was barely any gentler, grabbing a hold of his helm to keep him in place for him to take his pleasure of his mouth in the way he wanted to.

Neither cared about his comfort, but that was nothing new. They put in no effort to coordinate their motions, and Sunstreaker struggled to ride it out when his frame was jostled back and forth with no proper rhythm to any of it. The calipers at his valve ached from being pushed so far, but overall that didn’t hurt no matter how heedless Megatron was.

His mouth was an entirely different story. His only consolation was that at least it wasn’t Megatron—Soundwave wasn’t in the same size class as the tyrant he served, but the fact remained his intake and its calipers simply weren’t made to expand as far as they were made to do right then. Every thrust that sheathed Soundwave’s spike into his throat brought a fresh wave of pain from components protesting the abuse, but he couldn’t have pulled away even if he’d wanted to with the hold Soundwave kept of his helm. He struggled against his gag reflex.

He’d already emptied his tanks enough times from treatment just as this. Could he avoid doing that this time around?

But despite it all, his engine revved, and as Megatron continued to thrust into his valve, Sunstreaker’s overload built until it peaked and left him freefalling on the other side. He groaned as charge burst in his frame, the tightening of his valve calipers drawing Megatron over the edge as well.

As he’d done during their first days with them, he pulled out and let his transfluid splatter onto Sunstreaker’s back. He shuddered in disgust, but was it a good or a bad thing that he was distracted from that almost instantaneously? Because Soundwave sped up his pace, ramming into his throat with a single minded intensity that had Sunstreaker’s frame reacting before he could stop himself. He tried to pull away at the same time as his servo came up to push Soundwave away from him, a pained whine building in his throat. His throat constricted with the attempt to force the intrusion out, out, out–

But Megatron caught his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, holding him in place for Soundwave to do as he pleased. 

And Soundwave pleased his own overload, which he roughly took from Sunstreaker’s intake until his frame was convulsing from its desire to expel the contents of his tanks all over again.

Finally though, and before his frame won the battle he was having with it, Soundwave smashed in one more time, buried himself deep—and overload crackled over his plating, transfluid shot down his throat, and yet the blue mech made no sound. Pits, he was making Sunstreaker look like a loud one with how well Soundwave held onto his silence. 

But at least Soundwave didn’t linger. As soon as his spike had emptied itself, he pulled out, leaving Sunstreaker to swallow down his load. His helm hung; he tugged at the arm in Megatron’s hold.

To no avail. Megatron kept his hold on him, keeping his aching, heated frame in place. 

Primus, it didn’t matter what he did or what was done to him, his frame still yearned for more. There was no end to it, every overload wrung out of him just making his body thirst for another one.

Sideswipe was no better, and he’d been left alone for one precious moment. There was relief in their spark for that, but his frame found it unbearable. He was rocking in Starscream’s hold, tortured by the tantalizing proximity of another’s interface array that was not given to him despite his frame’s demands. His engine was revving on high, fans spinning madly.

Sunstreaker knew exactly what that felt like, just like he knew the mind and the spark’s absolute hatred of their frames’ physical betrayal. Their spark cried no more, their mind begged for it to stop, and their frames kept running like they were drugged.

“Have I neglected you?” Megatron asked, and Sunstreaker turned his helm to see the tyrant’s attention squarely on his brother. Sideswipe was staring back at the grey mech, optics still wide and engine whining from both arousal and fear.

No matter the need in their frames, nothing could make them want Megatron’s attention.

“Let us fix that,” Megatron carried on, uncaring of their actual opinions. “Starscream.”

His name was all the instruction the Seeker needed, and Sideswipe was released only to get shoved in Megatron’s direction. His spike was still standing proudly, showing no signs of being done despite his apparent immunity to whatever was plaguing the rest of the harem, and Sideswipe tried to scramble away before that tool could be used on him again.

It didn’t work. Megatron released Sunstreaker only to snatch Sideswipe instead, and in short order his brother’s legs were spread wide around Megatron’s hips and he was screaming from the intrusion into his frame.

Soundwave laid his servos on him in the meantime, and Sunstreaker’s spark threatened to entertain defeat. Starscream was fingering his own valve as he watched the show in front of him, frowning anew, and behind him the rest kept fragging each other or themselves as if they could genuinely enjoy any of this.

And as Soundwave entered his frame all over again, Sunstreaker’s moans joined all of theirs as his frame was drawn into yet another overload.

-------------------------------

( Previous / Next )

[big-chaengus]

Hybrids!Yeojin and Hyejoo not getting along very well, Sooyoung and Haseul having to try to find a way to help them tolerate eachother.

this is my first time writing hybrids, i hope you enjoy :) this kind of takes place in an au where everuone lives in a big house and the younger members are in college (my idea of hybrids is a lil different if anyone wants to hear my hcs)

hyejoo is a wolf. a lone wolf one might say. sooyoung tells her that she made that nickname up for herself, and she might not be wrong but still, hyejoo doesn’t like many people. she tolerates pretty much everyone in their house because she has to, and sooyoung says that if she would stop being so cranky all the time then she would even find she likes most of them. maybe she could be right. however, there is one person in this house - a kitten named yeojin - that hyejoo really cannot stand. she’s younger than hyejoo, and she is just so loud. aren’t cats supposed to be quiet and solitary? hyejoo really wishes that yeojin was.

instead, yeojin likes to follow the wolf around, grabbing at her tail, yelling, knocking things over, and just being an all around nuisance. she insists to haseul (her primary guardian) that she just wants to play with her, and of course who could resist such an “innocent little kitty”. as soon as haseul turns her back, yeojin is whipping her head over to hyejoo, sweet smile gone and an evil grin in its place. ok maybe not evil but it’s definitely not completely innocent. haseul of course sees more than the hybrids think, she just keeps hoping that they can figure it out on their own. however it seems that hyejoo has finally decided to fight back, seeing as she is holding the kitten’s left slipper way above her head with a bored expression on her face all while yeojin screams and tries to climb the much taller hybrid’s body.

now here they were, haseul and sooyoung that is, sitting together trying to figure out a way to get their respective petty children hybrids to tolerate each other without driving anyone insane. the two have really gone through any possible options, but these two particular hybrids have very little in common. they (haseul) decide that no one can resist a little bit of baking, so they each call in their hybrids. they don’t know if they should be surprised when hyejoo walks in being closely followed by a certain kitten.

“unnies, yeojin won’t let me do my homework she keeps trying to grab it. she even put a hole in my paper, look!”

haseul looks over at yeojin to see if she has anything to say, but her mischievous little friend is just grinning at her like nothing happened, tail slowly flicking behind her. with a sigh, haseul turns to sooyoung nodding for her to take it away.

“alright you two,” she starts “we have a little group project to do right now. we are going to bake some cupcakes! yay!” sooyoung is using her excited voice but it’s pretty obvious she is dreading this as much as the two hybrids. before hyejoo can start protesting, sooyoung interrupts telling her she can finish her homework later. seeing as she usually makes hyejoo do it right away, the wolf decides she might as well do what she’s asking.

yeojin is excited, because she already loves to bake with haseul. as soon as sooyoung says what they will be doing, her ears flick around and a big smile - an actual smile not an evil grin - comes onto her face.

hyejoo pretty much just watches the whole time. the two older humans try to get her involved, but she is too worried about getting flour all over her beautiful black ears and tail. (maybe she is the real cat here)

yeojin is actuallybhelping though, getting out all the ingredients and cracking the eggs. when they are getting ready to mix everything together, sooyoung insists that she do it because she never gets to bake. as soon at she turns on the electric mixer, a cloud of the dry ingredients fly up into her face. yeojin stares in shock as one of her more stoic unnies tries to blow some of yhe flour off of her face. then, a giggle. not from yeojin but from hyejoo. sooyoung looked over at the wolf to scold her when she hears another laugh - this time from yeojin. the human freezes for a second, expecting hyejoo to snap or accuse yeojin of copying her, but the two just laugh at her. her eyes drift over towards haseul who has her own eyes wide open in shock as she watches the two hybrids grab each other’s arms as they laugh at sooyoung.

“i think we might have found something they have in common,” haseul whispers “they’re making fun of you.”

sooyoung shoots daggers at haseul

“do not even think of using this to make them friends, i am not going to keep humiliating myself just to make them laugh! we can find somethin-“ sooyoung stops speaking at the sound of a camera shutter. she is absolutely going to take hyejoo’s phone away. she is about to turn around and yell at her when haseul grabs her arm and hands her a paper towel.

“let them be, i think they are going to exchange numbers so she can send yeojin that picture!!”

“yes, and? why should that stop me from deleting it?” sooyoung grumbles as she wipes off the flour from her face. haseul just slaps her arm. as she watches the two sitting on the couch together, leaning their heads over hyejoo’s phone

“they are finally interacting in a normal way! at least for them i guess. if that comes with a little embarassment on your part then so be it” she finishes with a smile

sooyoung does have to admit, the two already seem to be getting along better. from the way they are both giggling on the couch, she is sure hyejoo is showing yeojin the plethora of embarrassing pictures she has of all the unnies. she just sighs and turns to make her way to the shower, catching a picture of hyunjin with an entire bread roll stuffed in her mouth on hyejoo’s phone.

at least it’s not just me

[disruptedvice]

Taking angst prompts and turning them into something happy

(from this great angst prompt list)

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Amy held her hand to her forehead, shaking it like she was just giving up. She didn't understand why he didn't just say something, and was completely overwhelmed by the disaster in front of her.

“I- I didn't think it was a big problem at first,” Jake explained, looking utterly heartbroken about all of this, what had happened, and her reaction. It was always the worst- when somebody wasn't mad, just disappointed. And now Amy looked so defeated, and he felt so, so guilty, and all he wanted to do was fix it, but that was half the problem here. “I thought I could take care of it myself…” he trailed off, his voice still apologetic in that little kid who broke something on accident and felt horrible about it sort of way.

Suddenly, Amy started laughing. Not light laughing, or chuckling, or even the hysterical laughter that some victims at a crime scene have when they're in shock- which would've been completely fair since this place looked like a crime scene right now. 

But nope, Amy was just cracking up, like this was the funniest thing she had ever seen.

“We are never getting the deposit back on this place. These floors are ruined,” Amy toed at the curling of the cheapy laminate kitchen floor, already coming up around the edges thanks to water damage. There were about 7 soaked through towels on their kitchen floor right now, very bubbly too, and all the evidence led back to their dishwasher that still had bubbles lining the perimeter. That was only half of it though. He still had two fans going, apparently trying to dry their kitchen. She was pretty sure that the rest of the mess came from Jake trying to clean up the first part. She'd come into the room to the sight of Jake sweeping glass off the floor- apparently he'd knocked something off the counter in a panic and broke it. So there was water damage, towels thrown haphazardly on the floor, broken glass, something bright orange that she wasn't even going to speculate on, two fans, some unidentified powder that seemed to have calcified, bubbles everywhere, and- it was a lot, basically. A pretty spectacular disaster.

“How did this even happen?” She was pretty sure of the source, but not the exact cause.

“We're out of dishwasher tabs, so I just put dish soap in the little compartment thing. But all your fancy imported all natural soap stuff have all their labels in French or something. It wasn't until I walked back in the kitchen like half an hour later and saw the dishwasher foaming that I realized that was probably fancy French laundry detergent. So I hit cancel, duh, and then I opened it, which in hindsight might have not been the smartest thing to do. And then,” he motioned vaguely, sweeping his hands over the whole area, because he honestly didn't have a more complete explanation for the rest of this. It just happened.            

“We're gonna have to replace the floor,” Amy said, confirming what he had been dreading. That was gonna be expensive. Like what- 500 dollars? The cheapy laminate was already warping in areas, mostly under the dishwasher and the cabinets, and there definitely wasn't any saving it. An impressive amount of it was absolutely ruined. It wasn't worth trying to salvage the farthest bits of the floor that hadn't been flooded with sudsy water.

“We'll get a nicer one,” Amy assured him with a light and forgiving smile, since it was already pretty clear Jake felt awful about all of this.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. “I'm sorry about this, I really am.”

“I know,” she chuckled, nodding. “To be fair, if you didn't even notice it until half an hour later, I don't think there's much I could've done about soaked floors either. We might not be down one glass though,” she teased, since she still had to give him a light ribbing because they were Jake and Amy after all. He should've called her in for help, because she certainly could've done something about the rest of this mess- seriously, what was that orange stuff? But what's done was done, and their kitchen was done for.

It was an accident. A pretty big one, but nothing for him to look so wretched over. No need to be all sad puppy dog face like he tore up the place because she left him alone for too long.

Amy scanned him over. “You're a mess,” she said, lips quirked up, referring to him in a literal state of things. “C'mon babe,” she tugged on his wet shirt sleeve, “Let's get you cleaned up.”

Jake followed obediently to the bedroom, initially planning on just changing out of his soaked clothes, but then Amy informed him he should probably take a shower, since he was kinda orange.

“Don't worry, I'll take care it,” she promised, kissing him on the forehead.

Jake's face softened. “You're the best.” He meant every word of it.

“Yeah, I know,” she smirked, thumbing his nose. He crinkled it in reaction at her playful little swipe, but he truly couldn't complain.

“Now you go get cleaned up. If you don't get this orange stuff off you, you might just stay this way. Looks like it stains.”

[niallsfoolsgold]

Thin Walls and Fireworks

it’s been months since i last posted any work and i’m really sorry for that, i just haven’t been feeling my writing. this story is probably filled with typos because i haven’t edited it yet, and i have really mixed feeling about the whole thing (mainly the ending). thanks for reading at your own risk!

(not my gif!)

There are three things you should know about Emery before you really start reading this: 1. She wakes up at exactly 7:13 am every morning (she has literally timed how long it takes her to get ready and get to uni so that she can get a maximum amount of sleep every night while still having five extra minutes in case a traffic jam happens). 2. She listens to her spotify playlist specifically made for her morning showers everyday and she sings along because it helps her wake herself up faster. 3. The walls in her apartment are extremely thin. She quickly found the third thing out when she consistently heard music—different guitars and pianos mainly—blasting throughout her home at 1 a.m. within the first month she lived there. She tossed and turned on the frigid December night, and prayed to whatever god there was that the music would quiet down. Yeah... her prayers went unanswered.

She was annoyed to say the least. Her boss had called about an hour ago and said that she would have to work the next day after she had asked for one day off after working every day for the past three weeks. So she had pulled her thick grey comforter over her shoulders to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose, and took a quick glance in the mirror to make sure that she didn’t look too hideous. After that, she trudged her way out her door and down the carpeted hall, hoping that whoever lived next door wasn’t a complete asshole—her old neighbors in her previous apartment were which was one of the contending reasons for her moving elsewhere. She raised her hand to knock on the door, and mentally stopped herself, taking a deep breath and wondering what the fuck she was going to say. She hadn’t mentally prepared enough to meet someone new, especially not if they were rude, but she knocked on the door anyways; softly, but hard enough that it would be heard even through the music. When the door opened up, it was not what she expected, not at fucking all. Standing there was a tall, decently-muscular-well-built, gorgeous, greek god of a looking guy. He looked like the type of person she would allow to stab her twenty times if he asked nicely; hell, she would let him stab her even if he was rude. And if she wasn’t already ashamed of how messy she looked before she had seen this guy—it didn’t help that she remembered her landlord mentioning that he was famous—she really was now. “Can I help you with something?” She’s pretty sure he has the most angelic speaking voice she’s ever heard. He literally seems like he could possibly be a walking angel, coming second in the “perfection” genre only to Jesus Christ himself (she only thinks that because she’s almost certain that Jesus must’ve been decently perfect... being the son of God and all). She feels like she’s almost lost her voice, like she’s all choked up and unable to breathe just at the sight of this guy. Her eyebrows are raised only in the slightest before her lips begin moving and words are created. “Um—yes actually,” she speaks softly, “I really don’t mean to be rude or come off as pushy in any rude way, b—“ She’s cut off before she can even finish, but she doesn’t even care because she’s cut off by a breath of laughter from him before he looks back up at her. “It’s the loud music mixed with the thin walls, yeah? I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been gone since you moved in I guess so I’m not used to having a neighbor,” he spoke. She nods her head lightly at him. “That’s exactly it, actually. I’m sorry for asking,” she begins, “it’s just that I’ve got a early shift in the morning and rest is needed, ya know?” “It’s fine, don’t worry,” he offers another polite smile, and fuck, she nearly melts like a popsicle on the Fourth of July. She mutters “goodnight” to him and he does the same back as she’s turning to speed walk back to her apartment down the hall. Her heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. *** Emery had a long day so far. That’s really all she wanted to say about it; it had just been a really fucking long day. It started out by thinking she overslept, and therefore freaking out about being late for work, only to find out that her boss had forgotten to tell her that her shift had changed to a night shift and she didn’t have to be in until five this evening. That threw her incredibly off track for the days activities. She went from there to get some last minute things from the store that she forgot when she had done her grocery shopping, but she realized in the checkout isle that she had left her wallet at her place and all she had was about $7 in her pocket. She decided to use that money to buy some coffee to wake her up, but then some asshole bumped into her in the shop and spilled her coffee all over her white shirt, and then proceeded to yell at her like it was her fault. And fuck, by the end of all this happening, it was only ten in the morning. So yes, she was absolutely batshit pissed at how fucking terribly her day had been going. She had finally managed to make it back to her apartment and wanted nothing more than a hot shower to relax her, and then maybe take a nap before going to work later on. She slings her jacket onto the dining table and kicked her shoes off by the front door. She really didn’t even bother to get clothing to change into in the bathroom (living alone really had its perks; she could walk around naked if she pleased, just not on the balcony, and not with the curtains opened). Stripping herself from her clothes and making sure the water was the right temperature beforehand, she hopped into the shower with her bad day playlist that’s titled “for your stressed-out-bitchy days”. She hummed along softly, singing the words softly as she got farther into the song. She was really confused when she started hearing singing from the other side of the wall; singing the exact words at the same time she was. Shawn—her devilishly handsome neighbor—was someone that she had only talked to a few times since she had asked him to turn his music down a couple of weeks earlier. He was nice, literally almost always. She had never seen him in a bad mood, and he often talked to her if they happened to get into the elevator at the same time, or if they passed each other in the hallway. He asked simple questions about her, like how old she was, how long she had lived here, stuff like that. In some cases it could have been weird, but he seemed nice enough and simply a friendly person. There was no doubt in her mind that her greek god of a neighbor could actually hear her, but it made her giggle just a bit when he had even joined to sing along (although it wasn’t that surprising since she had recently learned from her landlord that the reason he was famous was for singing). It was dumb that something as stupid as her next door neighbor singing along to her music—who we can’t forget is absolutely gorgeous—made her day seem a little bit better than it was before. She dries the wet drips of water off of her body with the white, fluffy, hotel-like towels that she loves more than her own life. Everything was quiet when the music was off. No more singing through the thin walls with Shawn, just quiet. In all honesty, she was kind of happy for the quiet, even though his voice was still kind of angelic. It had been such a long ass day, she was just ready to lie down before going to work. So after drying her body off and changing into her most comfortable items of clothing—her favorite pair of leggings and a sweatshirt that was much too large for her—she crawled into her bed, turned on her most relaxing music, and drifted off to sleep. *** Words are unable to describe how much she dreaded to go to work later on that evening after she woke up. It was still a bit rushed getting ready for work, but thank fuck that the owner of the bar was chill and her work attire consisted of jeans and a black shirt (of any kind, just no graphics), and having her hair up. After changing and slipping on her favorite coat, she put her hair up, put on one of the best faces of makeup she probably ever had in a short amount of time—honestly though, her eyeliner is on fucking point—and left with her keys and purse in hand. The backdoor to the bar squeaked a little bit when Y/N opened it up, setting her things in her designated shelf that the manager had bought so that the employees things wouldn’t be unorganized and disheveled everywhere. Her name tag was on the same shelf and she pinned it onto her shirt after taking her coat off. “Hey darlin’,” one of the workers, Tess, spoke to her, Tess’ sweet southern accent dripping from her lips. Tess was a twenty-something year old girl that had moved from Georgia in order to try be closer with her dad (her parents had divorced when she was young, and she had always described her mother as “a backstabbing, no good, pussy-ass-bitch, who deserves to choke on her boy toy’s dick”... she really has a way with words, okay?-). Tess had been there for Y/N since they had started working together, the both of them becoming close friends quickly due to not knowing another soul within a hundred miles. They weren’t necessarily sisters, more like each other’s favorite cousins at family reunions; they gossiped about other people, shared problems, and talked about the cutest guys and girls (because honestly fuck people who say you can’t love who you want to) that came in and spilled all the tea about each interaction with said guys. (Tess actually has a girlfriend named Margot, but honestly the two in the relationship knew that Tess was a natural flirt and couldn’t stop herself even if she tried, despite the both of them being very in love with one another.) “Hey love,” she responded, giving a small grin to the girl that she adored. Tess gave a small wink in return, making Emery’s grin grow wider. The bar wasn’t very busy right now, but that was mainly because it was only five o’clock and most people were just now getting off work while Emery was just getting started. It was weird to have a working schedule like that, and it sucked ass when it came to studying during the school year. But once again, her manager, Mark, was pretty chill—besides the times when it was obvious that the place was going to be busy, just like on Friday nights like this one—and allowed her to get off in time or come in late, just so that she could get some of her school work done. The first two hours of her seven hour shift were brought as hell. People shuffled in and out, maybe buying a drink or two, and then leaving immediately after paying. It annoyed her that people did that sometimes. If people were only going to buy one drink, then why not just buy a bottle of whatever they wanted from the store? Then they would be able to have one drink every night for a long time. She was certainly surprised when Shawn walked in the bar, a couple of guys following him in and she assumed they were probably his friends. They were all laughing about something that must have been said outside and cracking more jokes to go along with it. She did her best to ignore all of it—more specifically just all of them in general because she refused to get internally flustered with Shawn like she had when they first met—and went back to combining some of the partly used alcohol bottles with others. It was boring but it would also maybe get her out of socializing with someone that made her really fucking nervous for no reason. She almost did it too, almost got away with pretending to be distracted until— “Hey, neighbor.” She looked up from the two bottle in hand and nearly choked on thin air. There he was, Shawn, looking fine as hell and all he was doing was standing there. “I didn’t know you worked here,” he commented again. She placed she bottles on the bar and leaned against it, fake confidence taking over he features. “If you come here often then I’m not sure how. But then again, I’ve worked here for seven months this and this is the first time I can remember seeing you around,” she replies. Her cold hands were so close to shaking but she did her best to still them. “Hmm,” he hummed, “Well this is the first time I’ve been home for more than a couple days in about seven months, and I didn’t know about this place up until one of my friends,” he paused, turning around and pointing to one of the guys in the group that walked in with him, “told us all about it last month.” She raised her eyes at his comment, slowly nodding her head once, letting him know that he must’ve been correct. He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at her for a minute and now she’s really fucking nervous with her fake confidence fading away into a imaginary black hole. “Oka—Uh, well do you guys want anything to drink, or are you just really wanting some conversation?” she’s freaking the hell out inside. She wonders how she got those eighteen words out of her mouth. He nods, looking back at his group and does a quick count of how many people were in it before turning back. “Just 6 beers is all.” When she takes the tray of beers to the table he and his friends are sitting at, she can her them laughing again, and the doubt makes her wonder if they’re laughing at her or at something else, but she hopes it’s the latter. She gives a quick smile as she places the dark glass bottles in the table before turning around and going back to behind the bar. *** The night didn’t seem to last long enough. Contrary to what she had assumed, the shift she worked tonight wasn’t that bad. It was filled, but not overcrowded—despite it being New Year’s eve, but then again, most people were at clubs instead of actual bars—which made her job eighty-five percent easier than usual. Plus, most of the people didn’t care how long they waited; they were just waiting for the year of suffering to be over with. Shawn and his friends ended up moving to the actual bar counter and made conversation with her while she made drinks. They had all been curious to know what it was like living next to Shawn, to which she responded with “fine, besides him blasting music late at night when I have to work the next morning.” He had playfully rolled his eyes at that, to which she winked at him when no one else was paying attention (and fuck when that happened she was so confused because where the hell did that little bit of confidence come from?). That’s what the entire night consisted of; laughter, questions, and subtle flirting between Shawn and Emery. A pang if disappointment came inside her when they announced they were leaving after only about an hour and half of staying, but it felt a little better when they had promised to come back, and even better when Shawn winked at her on his way out the front door. She did her best to clean up as fast as fucking possible in order to get back to her apartment, promising Tess that she would do everything in her power to stay awake long enough tonight to call her and tell her why and how she knew the “super hot famous dude that looks like he could be a fuck boy but is most hopefully not” (a.k.a. Shawn). She knew she drove fast on the way back; and it wasn’t to see Shawn even though she almost hoped that he would blast his music loudly again so that she could go over and just see his face again, but he didn’t. He was pretty quiet, actually, and she almost thought there was a possibility that he wasn’t even home until she heard faint humming from the other side of the wall. She smiled, rolling her eyes at the fact that he seemed to love music so much that he couldn’t go without listening to some for of it (even if it was himself) for more than an hour. But the humming didn’t seem to stop, and then music was turned on, and then the music was turned up just enough to keep her awake. Her feet patted across the tiled floor and into her her slides, the top half of her body engulfed in a hoodie that was much too large for her, her hair falling loosely and messily, and her face clean and free of makeup. She knocked on his own door, and it swung open almost instantly. He was still dressed in the same clothing from earlier, looked almost the exact same, but his eyes were a little bit more soft and sleepy (basically just fucking adorable, but what’s new?). All he had to do to know what she needed was look at the slightly raised eyebrow; it was the same look she wore just a couple of nights ago. Emery opens her mouth but Shawn beats her to it, “Turn the music down?” There’s a small smirk on his face. She slowly blinks with a nod. “You got it,” he says. She turns around to walk back to her place with her hands in the pockets of her black Adidas sweatpants when he catches her attention again with his voice. “Hey, um,” he pauses and she turns to face him again, “fuck, this may sound really weird and kinda creepy ‘cause we’ve only talked like, I don’t know maybe five time, but do you wanna come in?” She raises her eyebrows at him with the tiniest grin at how nervous he seems to be with his rambling. If this is how she is, then she really understands why he seems to be smiling at her so much, but she doubts she’s actually this cute while doing it. “It’s just that it’s New Year’s Eve, and I have no idea if you’re alone, maybe you’ve already got people or a person at your place, but I know that it sucks to be alone because you see everyone together and shit... but if you are alone, you’re welcome to come over. Only if you want to, obviously,” he rambling again and she doesn’t even bother to hide the little grin that’s growing on her face. “Yeah,” he looks at her with his eyebrows raised just a little bit. “I’d love to come over. Let me grab my phone and I’ll be right back?” He nods and she practically speed walks back to her place, grabbing her phone from her room and going back out the door, but not before looking in her little mirror to make sure she looked at least somewhat decent. Fuck, she was freaking out. *** Emery decided that Shawn is possible her favorite person now (and for sure her favorite celebrity, even though she knows he’s so much more than that). It was a little half past eleven, and both Emery and Shawn were half drunk/a little tipsy on an unknown type of champagne that Emery insisted was amazing—and obviously Shawn trusts her word on alcohol because she’s a fucking bartender. It’d be weird if she didn’t know—and Shawn just happened to have a bottle of it. They were giggling at the stupidest things, sitting next to but facing each other on Shawn’s sectional, and waiting for the ball drop in New York. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me that your brother was choking on a lego, and you didn’t do anything about it?” “I was five, Shawn! I didn’t know what to fucking do!” Emery exclaims back. “Plus, he was fifteen years old, he knew better than that anyways.” He shakes his head at her jokingly and she looks up at him. “What about you?” she takes a sip of the sparkling drink from her glass. “Do you have any siblings?” She can see his eyes light up slightly when she asks him this. “Yeah, a little sister. Her name’s Aaliyah, she’s five years younger than me, and she’s fifty times more awesome than myself,” he chuckles. Emery smiles at how much he seems to care about her, even if he’s hardly talked about her. She’s about to open her mouth to say something when cheering from the tv that was mounted up on the wall erupted, taking the attention of both of them. It was the countdown. She started mouthing the numbers along with all the people in New York, shifting in her seat to get a better look while Shawn does the same, the ball slowly dropping until— “3... 2... 1...” and suddenly everyone went crazy. A smile take over her face and she looks over to Shawn, and it almost seems like he might have been looking at her already, but it’s hard to tell because it’s dark and she’s still a little drunk. She does know one thing though, he’s smiling back at her, and he’s a little drunk too. “Happy New Year,” she smiles, her voice is quiet and soft and sweet. And once again, even though she a little intoxicated off of champagne of all things, she thinks she might melt when he smiles drunkenly right back at her. “Happy New Year.” She wants to kiss him just a little bit. She’s not really sure if that’s because she drunk, because he pretty, or maybe because she’s had a little crush on him for a while, even though she doesn’t know everything about like some girls do. But she knows that she wants to know him like that. She wants to know his favorite color, and how much cream and sugar he puts in his coffee (or if he does at all). She want to know why he plays music so fucking loud, and if he likes sunrises or sunsets more. Fuck she just want to know it all, because this crush she’s got is so fucking big, and she want to have it even after she knows these things. But she doesn’t kiss him, because she remembers that she was supposed to call Tess when she got home, and that was about an hour and a half ago. So she pushes her self up from the couch, and she stumbles just a bit but catches herself. “I should probably go,” she says. “I was supposed to call Tess, so she could be freakin out.” Shawn just nods, and she wants to say he looks disappointed, but like it was said earlier, she’s a little drunk and it’s really dark. He stands up too, walking her to the door and even going as far as “walking her home” even though her apartment was only about fifteen to twenty feet down the hall. They stood outside of her door, his hands in his pockets while she fiddled around with her keys (her door had an automatic lock on it; safety first obviously). She finally managed to get the door unlocked, opening it slightly, then turning slightly to wish him goodnight, and that’s when they both realize how close they actually are to each other. Her breath gets caught in her lungs just a little, and she can see that his breathing has increased. They’re both nervous, at least nervous enough, and seems like years pass with how close they’re standing to each other while the both stare at each other, eyes only flicking to each other’s lips when the other isn’t paying attention. He’s the one that leans down, and she knows that she can’t be imagining it, because when his lips meet hers it’s like the New Years fireworks have started all over again, and she’s freaking out. It’s soft, and slow, and she feels like she’s dying inside, but only in the best way possible. But then he pulls away, and she’s a little disappointed, but at the same time she can’t be. She offers another small smile, and he gives one back, and their both muttering “goodnight” to each other at the same time while blushing profusely. Next thing she knows, she’s shutting her door door with a heavy sigh, but a huge smile on her face. And all of this is because Emery has a huge fucking crush on her greek god of a neighbor that blasts music through the thin walls.

[talix18]

November 2

I just want a word processing program. I'm not trying to be difficult. A word processing program that will estimate for me how many words I've written. Which requires a computer Operating System to run said program, preferably with an Internet connection in case there are updates to said program. The computer on which I'm typing this is an unknown number of years old. I know I got it when my ex lived with me, and he's been dead for several years.

That's a hazard of loving people in recovery, especially from drug addiction as opposed to alcoholism. The drugs out there are not those of your elders and they are nowhere near as forgiving of overdoses. My ex became my ex when he relapsed. A couple of years later he got some fentanyl with his heroin and it killed him. Drugs are bad, mmkay?

Anyway, the computer. I am...working with an OS that's 10 years old and have 6 gigs of RAM. (That's before I stuck my 2 gig thumb drive in to use as extended memory.) I'm clearly fighting hard for something to write about here. I'd rather get this done early in the day so I don't have to dread it, but writing about myself is almost as tedious as being myself.

Today is a good day, so far. I made it out the door to yoga and got my eyebrows done on the way home. Eyebrow waxing is my only consistent beauty practice. I'd like to keep up with my hair and not just put it up wet every day but let's face it – I'm stingy with my time and money and can't commit to something eight weeks from now. My hair is going gray and makes me look my actual age, which I alternately don't care about and am horrified by. Now I have extra guilt doing home color – my adopted niece graduated from Paul Mitchell hair school and would happily accept my money for getting to practice on my head, but she's located just far enough away to be inconvenient.

Plus getting out of bed is hard enough. I'll gladly take 15 extra minutes to check the Internet that will still be there when I get to work over putting on make-up and drying my hair. Is this about depression, laziness, or feminist resistance to society's expectations? I'd like to have fun with my appearance and my wardrobe but dammit – do I have to start so bless-ed early in the morning?

(This whole “early in the morning thing” is BS, by the way. I learned how quickly I can get myself showered, dressed, and out the door at my most depressed and now resist any attempt to plan further in advance.) Yes, I want to look nice in pictures but I don't want to do the work necessary to achieve that.

This is a theme in my life – there's a lot of things I want to do and be without taking any of the steps that might lead me in the correct direction. Sometimes it's a question of not knowing what those steps might be. Recovery has blessed me with the crazy notion of finding someone who has (or knows how to do) something you want (to know how to do) and ask them how they did it. I'm not sure if this is as mind-blowing to everyone as it was to me. It may be one of those things that falls into the category of “it feels like I missed some fundamental How To Be A Person class that everyone else took.”

This is a common feeling among recovering people. None of us feels like we fit in; everyone else knows something we don't; we are missing some fundamental quality that would have made life fall neatly into place. (Which brings me to the topic of the people who just needed to put the drugs down and be pointed in a productive direction vs. people who are still disasters clean. Guess which group I fall into.) Which reminds me! Last night the Internet gave me the link to an article in Oprah's magazine that describes the midlife-crisis currently hitting the women of Generation X. So this here writing project? Completely unnecessary. But I've set this challenge for myself and I love no motivation like shame and guilt. So I'll keep writing and see what I end up with.

Where was I? Oh – the things I want without wanting to do the work to get them. I've always wanted to play guitar but only enough to take a handful of lessons. My last attempt was valiant – I bought myself a beautiful guitar and showed up pretty consistently for group lessons at a friend's house. After a few months, there was pain in my strumming arm almost constantly. Especially painful were things like gripping the scoop I use to clean litter boxes, which is a thing I try to do every day. I went through physical therapy twice before the pain went away, and it's still not completely gone. My intention is to go to the adorable guitar shop where I bought my guitar (where they also give lessons) and ask someone (who knows how to do something I want to know how to do) if there is a way I should be doing it differently. That has been my intention for many months now.

What is it? What is the problem? 1. Think of a thing to do. 2. DO THE THING. That's it, right? There's not some 1.5 secret step I'm missing? There must be. Unless this is that executive function thing they talk about? There are the things I know I want to do (currently: clearing out yet more of my wardrobe so I can get rid of my TWO broken dressers [why do I have two broken dressers?] and acquire a new piece of storage for my clothing; taking my books off the bookshelves so they can be moved and I can get new flooring and also get rid of some books)(besides the regular stuff like exercise and eat foods that make me look and feel good and learn how to program and garden and oh maybe clean my damn house) and there is the crushing lack of motivation and energy.

(I'm thinking this whole NaNoWriMo thing coincided with an increase in the dosage of one of my meds which has given me a temporary “up” sensation? Like I sat through my laptop trying to repair itself so I could write rather than wandering off and doing something [or nothing] else. Honestly, me getting a thing done sooner rather than later is not a thing. I still haven't emptied the litter boxes from yesterday.)

(It occurs to me at this point to wonder if my expectations aren't set unrealistically high. Hi, my name is Teri and I was in Gifted & Talented classes and was told I had Such Potential, and have done no impressive or soul-fulfilling thing with my life. Welcome to my expectations. Not to mention this existential dread that I didn't even have words for until college when I took philosophy and learned that existentialism is a thing. This is my ONE opportunity to be alive and ultimately the only rules are those I choose to follow and This is what I've done with it? This is my life?)

(Which brings me to capitalism, specifically late-stage capitalism. I was born to the grandchildren of farmers and immigrants without the financial means to pick and choose which hobbies would distract me from my inescapable death. I watched my mother survive two divorces and [unbeknownst to myself] decided that I would be able to take care of myself. I wouldn't depend on anyone else for lodging or food or miscellaneous entertainments; I would do it myself. [This has a lot to do with why I am Single. Unmarried. Don't get too close – you may offer to take care of me and I might weaken and let you and then my guard will be down and then life will have me where it wants me.]

Late-stage capitalism. In which I, a consumer, trade my time and energy for money, which I then trade for comfort, convenience, and distraction from the awareness of my inescapable death. Knowing that, sooner or later, NONE OF THIS WILL MATTER bumps up against my desire to look younger and be attractive and matter in some absolute sense. I have a “safe” government job [thanks, Dad] with good insurance which is a Big Deal when you have a chronic condition like mental illness. I have a small home, a car that's paid for and still runs, and two cats for whom I am responsible. That there are no children is partly on purpose; partly because I never wanted to be a single mom, and partly because I didn't meet their other parent while I was young and foolish enough to consider parenting.)

Where was I? Expectations. In recovery, expectations are set-ups for resentments. Hmm. I may have to think about that. If nothing matters, expectations are silly. There are no shoulds. There Is No Way To Derive An Ought From An Is. (My favoritest of all the things I learned in philosophy.) Except that my best idea, recreational drug use, got me in legal trouble, put everyone else at risk, and (now that they know about it) makes my loved ones worry about my health and well-being. So it benefits all of us that I remain clean. And it increases the likelihood that I'll stay clean if I treat my mental illness, which requires (in this ever more dystopian hellscape) money and/or insurance. Which requires a job. Which is easier to maintain if I have a safe place to sleep and food and clothing. All of which requires effort to maintain. We haven't even mentioned recycling and volunteering and staying informed about the current state of the ever more dystopian hellscape. There are a lot of plates to keep spinning, despite the fact that eventually they are all going to shatter and it won't ultimately matter to anyone who will endure. (Existentialism is heavy.)

But haha! Daily word count achieved! Now I can get my active minutes in (exercise boosts both physical and mental health) and figure out how much time I have before I need to be where I'm supposed to be next. Because social activities and meetings make living more meaningful. Lather, rinse, repeat.

[flamereign]

[ dry ]  your muse drying mine off with a towel after a shower , bath , swimming , etc . 

non-sexual acts of dominance / not accepting / @enigmatias

at the tell-tale sound of a portal opening behind him,  lea let out an irritated breath.  he didn’t even need to check: there was really only one person annoying and arrogant enough to keep inviting himself into lea’s home without ever even bothering to use the damn door,  no matter how many times lea showed him to it. it’d gotten to the point where started feeling too wary to invite his friends over, already dreading the inevitable fall out ; and perhaps lea could make a little more effort to kick him to the curb,  protect his home from letting him enter at all but –

kinda pathetic, wasn’t it, that even after all these years he was still apprehensive, yes, even scared to defy xemnas outright? never mind the fact that the guy had a heart of his own now, one that even had him behaving – aside from being a royal pain in his ass. never mind that lea’d somehow found himself getting used – and even, bizarrely, looking forward – to these interruptions. he’d keep telling himself he was allowing this solely to escape whatever retribution would come his way if he didn’t until he was blue in the damn face. after all, they weren’t friends.  he didn’t care, beyond protecting his own hide. 

didn’t quite explain the unbidden pang of concern when he finally turned and saw the state xemnas was in, however.  

“ ya know, one of these days i am gonna teach you how to use —- the fuck happened to you? “ his brows rose, lips thinning as he took him in:  soaking wet from head to toe and visibly shivering, dripping rain water onto his floor. the man’s thin button-down shirt was plastered to his torso and abdomen, wet enough to become see-through,  silver hair now deepened to a dark grey, hanging limply into his face.  the squelch of wet socks in wetter boots when xemnas shifted from one foot to the other made lea wince,  and though that expression of angered confusion was all too familiar, the pallor of his skin sure as hell wasn’t. “ hearts, xemnas, your lips are blue.  the hell were you thinkin’? “ you absolute idiot was tacked on mentally, as he stood up, took a tentative few steps closer. part of lea wanted to tell him to leave, to tell him to deal with his idiocy on his own. a dismissal, vicious and barbed, was ready on the tip of his tongue —- yet xemnas looked just this side of bedraggled enough lea couldn’t help but feel a flare of sympathy tugging at his heart strings.

adding to his ever present well of guilt by sending someone out there to potentially freeze to death, no matter who that person was, wasn’t really something he wished to do. 

“ y’ know what, never mind, save your energy, “ he waved a dismissive hand when xemnas tried to speak only to get interrupted by a violent shudder instead, teeth audibly clicking together. fuck, he’d seen wet cats look less pathetic. “ start by gettin’ out of those clothes,  i’ll get you a towel. “ except he’d only taken a few steps before it became clear from the way xemnas’ fingers trembled that there was no way he’d be able to undo those buttons without tearing the shirt – one of the shirts lea bought him and thus probably one of the few ones he owned. hearts knew the thought of helping xemnas undress wasn’t particularly relishing, no matter the potential fodder for later, but just …

he swallowed against the instinctive rush of panic, blowing out a steadying breath to steel himself before decisively crossing the divide between them. yellow eyes were staring at him equally apprehensive, those broad shoulders tensing as lea’s hands hovered mid-air between them and though lea wasn’t quite sure how he managed to keep his voice calm, calm it was, “ let me.  be easier and faster if i do it. “ 

a tense pause stretched between them, brittle and fragile, lea feeling his own muscles tense and ache with the stiff way he held himself. pride kept him from pushing, stubbornness from turning his gaze away or backing down. for a moment, he thought they’d just keep on standing here, trapped in this stare down of wills and then … the flash of victory felt when xemnas lowered his hands was short and quickly tamped down in favor of reaching for the fabric. true to his words, the buttons were opened with quick, methodical movements, eyes firmly fixed on his own fingers rather than the wet, tan skin being bared. neither did he try to fixate on how cold it felt as fingers brushed over xemnas’ shoulders to pull off the shirt.  instinct stopped him short from turning his back on xemnas just yet, so he dropped the shirt over the nearest surface, putting back some of that earlier distance by a few brisk steps backwards. 

the pants remained, but lea wasn’t even gonna touch that with a ten foot pole even if his life depended on it. “ gimme your hands, “ he ordered instead, in the same firm tone from before. only a brief hint of surprise touched the taut corner of his lips when xemnas complied with only a short moment of hesitation and for a split second he was stood back in that lab, showing xemnas how to best hold hands, that strange solemnity somehow leaked over to here as lea sent a flare of heat through xemnas’ hands hopefully enough to allow him the mobility to take of his other clothes by himself. 

“ right. towels, “ he broke the touch without further preamble, brushing his clammy palms over his hips, before clenching and unclenching his fingers once, twice, “ you uh, take that off and sit down.  i’ll be right back. “

quickly grabbing what he needed – towels, a bathrobe slightly too large for him which should hopefully fit xemnas somewhat properly, and, as an afterthought, the fleece blanket that’d somehow come with his duvet – lea rushed back to the sitting room. his lips pursed lightly at the sight of the damp heap of clothes on his floor – still better than looking at the naked guy on his couch, really – before passing over the bathrobe and the fleece blanket. “ put this one on, this one for your legs. i’ll do your hair, “ another flash of yellow as the other looked up from his knees, reluctance visible in the tight lines of xemnas’ face and lea halted in his step,  considering, imploring.  “ you’re still freezing, dude. i get that y’ don’t like it, but perhaps ya should’ve considered that before you decided on a leisure stroll through a rain storm. “ a beat, before adding tersely, “ i promise i’ll be gentle. “

xemnas’ eyes flashed, before a sigh lifted his shoulders.  “ very well, “ came the hoarse mutter, gaze flicking back down to his now covered knees.  fuck, and here lea’d been thinking the shopping trip had been the most surreal experience; sure didn’t have shit against him pressing a towel carefully against xemnas’ thick hair, working out the excess water with equally careful strokes. lack of a comb – and probably a lack of thought – had him use his fingers to untangle the knots as gently as he could, blunt nails lightly raking over xemnas’ scalp in the process before passing over it with the towel again. it wasn’t until he idly wondered how soft it’d be when dry that he finally put it around his shoulders and stepped back, oddly winded, his nerves oddly raw.  “ done.  i’m gonna just — hang your clothes to dry. “

any excuse to clear the room. 

[minsyal]

[Frostbite, Link x Reader]

Summary: Frost Talus = meanie. Link = sweetie. You = ouchie. Not edited... Sorry!

           “Come on, Link! Gesane asked us to go kill that Frost Talus in Coldsnap Hollow. Then we have to head to ” You tugged on Link’s sleeve as he finished pulling his Snowquill Tunic over his chest. A soft smile was growing on his face along with a small hint of blush appearing on his nose. He swiftly slipped his gloves on and positioned his weapon stash on his back.

           “You’ve never taken on a Talus before, [Name]. So stay behind me okay?” He held your arms firmly, his gaze full of concern for your well-being.

           “I will. Promise!” You grinned, nodding your head. Leaning forward, he pressed a warm kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before pulling away.

           It was obvious that he was worried about the quest. It was true that you had never taken on a Talus before, at least not a giant one. How hard could it be? The smaller ones were fairly simple to take out, but that can mostly be accredited to the Sheikah Slate. You weren’t a trained fighter like Link, he had taught you most everything you knew and took great pride in how far you had come. A few months ago you couldn’t even knock out a Bokoblin, and here you were heading out to take on a Frost Talus. Just the other day you had defeated a full nest of Lizalfos, and there were nearly 8 of them!

           You had been traveling with Link ever since he saved you in the Faron Region from a stupid Lynel that wouldn’t leave you alone. Well… maybe it was kind of your fault. Like an angel from heaven, he swooped in and slayed it with no problem at all; even gave you the shield. He offered to escort you back to your home, thinking you lived nearby, and was surprised to hear that you didn’t have one. Surely feeling some sort of pity for you, he offered to let you travel with him.

           He didn’t talk much at first, just a quick “yeah” or “no” here and there. On the rare occasion that he would say an entire sentence, you would completely soak up the moment. Overtime, he grew more and more comfortable around you. Eventually, you could carry on fully conversations.

           Supposedly he was the Hylian Champion that had only been discussed in stories. At first, you couldn’t believe it but once you met Impa, Purah, and Robbie, it was obvious he was the real deal. A couple months later he expressed his growing feelings toward you and a few weeks after that you were an inseparable pair. He was the sweetest and always took care of you. You couldn’t have asked for anything more.

           “I don’t recall the mountains being this cold.” You joked, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck as the gusting wind whipped down from the mountain peaks. Your snow boots became stiffer and stiffer in the white blanket that coated the ground. The further up you went, the more snow there was. Link hummed in agreement, his head constantly surveying from side to side. When traveling, he always stayed on high alert.

           “We’re here.” Link held his hand out to stop you in your tracks, he lightly gripped onto the buttons covering your stomach. One of his hands raised to point out a large, almost glowing, rock formation buried in the snow. “That’s it.”

           “That’s it? It looks like a huge block of ice… Can we melt it?”

           He huffed in amusement, a small cloud of white exhaling from his nose. “No,” he knelt down and motioned to the odd colored stone attached to its back. “We shoot that with arrows.”

           “I’m not good at aiming though, you know that.”

           “It’ll be good target practice, just remember to stay behind me, okay?”

           “What if I accidentally shoot you?”

           “You won’t.” he smiled and took out a few arrows, handing them to you.

           “Want to bet on that?”

           He shook his head and rolled his eyes, then grabbed your hand and squeezed it lightly. His eyes changed from his usual loving stare to one of determination and seriousness. This usually happened when you fought anything that could potentially cause you harm. He ducked down and started off in the direction of the boulder. You remained in the back, staying a good 20 feet behind him. Watching in awe, you were shocked to see the thing begin to move and shake. The ground rumbled and small stones fell from the cave above.

           In front of you, the boulder stood up and immediately moved toward you and Link. He withdrew his bow, aimed it at the black colored rock, and let a shower of arrows rain down upon it. It shuttered for a moment, then fell. Link used this time to get in as many shots as possible, causing it more and more damage. You fired a few too, hitting it on the spot twice before missing.

           The Frost Talus hurled stones in Link’s direction that he dodged with great ease. The Talus must have grown bored with this game of cat and mouse, because it turned to face you and started advancing quickly. Your hands grew sweaty, your eyes widened, and your heart rate doubled. From a distance this thing wasn’t that intimidating, but when it was about to crush you it was absolutely terrifying. Your knees locked and all you could think of was the feeling of dread that overcame you when you came into contact with that Lynel. Link shouted, but it couldn’t get you to move. The boulder turned to its side, suddenly growing a new appendage, and sent it propelling toward your body.

           Suddenly, everything went black.

           You woke to the feeling of cool water dripping down your forehead onto your cheek. A smooth hand was pressed into yours, another was gently tapping a cloth to your face. The world was blurry, it was almost as if your eyes had been coated with a layer of frosted glass. Everything was obscured. A burst of color appeared and you could barely make out the features of Link’s face mixed into them. A blazing fire was warming your side, you must be close to it. Things slowly became clear and Link leaned back taking a deep calming breath. Your eyelids fluttered, then closed and opened trying to push the blur away.

           “W-“ you let out a violent cough, your throat was dry. Link reached for a small bowl that had been filled with water, lifting it to your lips and tipping it slightly so the cool liquid could rehydrate your mouth.

           “What-“ you breathed, “what happened?”

           “You took a pretty harsh hit.” He explained, positioning his hand under your body to help you prop up. “Don’t worry, the Frost Talus is gone.”

           You had been hurt while fighting the Talus?

           “I didn’t help.” Was all you said, your voice lowering and your gaze anywhere but on Link.

           “You did help.” He reassured you, using his free hand to tenderly bring your vision back to him.

           “I locked up… I’m such an idiot! Why’d I have to do that?” You bit back tears that were threatening to spill over. Why had you seized like that? You had been working for so long with Link to get over this stupid fear. All you did was show him that none of his efforts were doing any good.

           Eyes widening, he promptly pulled you into his chest with one arm wrapped around your shoulders and the other cradling your head. His heart was beating fast, in contrast his breathing was deep and paced. His hand rubbed up and down, soothing your racing mind. Link had never been a man of many words, he tended to say what he needed to and express what he couldn’t with actions.

           “I’m sorry…” you breathed into his chest. Your hand had fisted his shirt into a ball, grasping onto him tightly as if he was the only thing keeping you planted on the ground.

           Link hushed you, his fingers running through your hair to smooth it down. He planted light kisses on the side of your head, doing his best to keep you from turning into a sobbing mess.

           “Don’t be.”

           “-but y- you worked for so long to teach me and here I am failing!”

           “[Name], we don’t start out at the top. You’re still learning.”

           “I just want to fight well, I just want you to be proud of what I can achieve.”

           “I am.” He whispered, keeping his voice quiet. “I’m very proud of you, for all you’ve done and how far you’ve come. I’m just glad you’re okay. I can train you all day long, but I can’t lose you.”

           “Were you that worried?”

           “It’s not everyday somebody can take a hit like that and come out with little to no injuries. You’re a little miracle, you know that?”

           “A little miracle?”

           “My little miracle.”

[szopenhauer]

Last thing that made you go “aww!” probably a dog I saw 

Is a crow’s caw annoying to you? hmm... not usually, no

Do you enjoy jazz music? one song, when there’s another and more I get sick :x  

Do you like the topaz birthstone? no What are your thoughts on gas prices? I don’t drive so no idea  Are you an ass? can be Have you ever caught any fish while fishing before? I never went fishing nor want to Do you attend Mass? I listen to the mass online every Sunday even though it annoys me and I can’t focus much What was your favorite class in school? can’t decide, depends on the grade/school/teacher etc. Are you full of sass? I’m not Grav3yardgirl

Do you like razzamatazz ice cream? dunno what that is How often do you pass gas? in the morning - a lot, later - not at all unless I have a flare  Do you have a favorite mug/cup/glass? I use those that I like less because I am afraid I will break those I love lmfao Name anything you own that is made of brass. I don’t think I own anything like that even tho brass is cool, I hate copper tho Does your grass need to be cut right now? I like it long, atural *wink wink* Would you like to live in a castle? Why or why not? too much space to take - that’s unfair as some ppl are homeless and nautre should be more free, it’s also too much space to clean and... to get lost in lol

Do you own a car? What kind? I don’t as I already mentioned I don’t drive

Did you live far from your parents, or close by? I live with them, still

Is it easy or difficult for you to open a jar? depends

Tell us how you got one of your scars. fallen from a clothes horse on a piece of wood and scratched deeply my left leg, wound was full of splinters

Do you wish upon a star? it doesn’t work, I tried...

Have you ever smoked a cigar before? nope, just a cigarette and didn’t like it

Would you ever have boudoir photography taken of yourself? Why or why not? hmm...

Do you know how to play the guitar? If not, would you like to learn? tried and it’s not for me

Have you ever had caviar before? Did you like it? I wouldn’t try that, gross and expensive for such a small amount of food

How old were you when you had your first kiss? 18 or 19

Miss anyone right now? sure

Are there some songs you cant listen to because they remind you of someone? could say so

Have you ever cheated on a partner? nooo

Ever been cheated on? kind of

Do you have a friend who you think you’ll be best friends with forever? my dad I hope

Does it annoy you when you accidentally delete things? very

What`s a movie / book / TV show / band / whatever you highly recommend? I usually don’t recommend anything to anyone without knowing them and their taste first

Are you anticipating or dreading anything? some things both at the same time even

What`s the most annoying thing in the world? can’t choose only one thing

When did you last use one of those water slides you put on hills? never

What does your bedside lamp look like? I have a green night light, used to have a mushroom one but I can’t find a light bulb to replace 

What did you last take a photograph of? I took several today but the last one was of the wild flowers growing near my fence 

When was the last time you got really frustrated with technology? today, my camera didn’t want to cooperate, not even mentioning my computer and cellphone failing me constantly

What was the last funny thing someone said to you? I don’t remember what was last, I know I said some dry/daddy jokes/puns myself

Who taught you to tie your shoelaces? I don’t remember but I know I do that differently than everybody else in my family 

Do you want to move to somewhere else? If so, where? badly, just my own apartment 

What’s your favourite picture of yourself as a child? hmm... dunno

Do you like your neighbours? some I hate

Does your room need to be cleaned? absolutely

Do you have a good relationship with your family? it’s complicated, depends on the family member, my father is my best friend tho

What is something people are surprised to hear about you? the truth? *shrug*

Do you hate any particular groups of people? yup but won’t list them in here

Do you fall up or down stairs usually? I don’t fall often enough to compare

Do you constantly break things? (By mistake or otherwise) luckily not

What was the last bug you saw? plenty of bugs this day

Are there any smells which make you feel nauseous? basically all of them make me feel nauseous

Do you have anything unusual in your bag? I suppose

What`s your favourite key on a keyboard? don’t think I have one, some I don’t use at all tho

Who`s your favourite character from The Simpsons? Or do you hate that show? Lisa I think

Have you ever had any friends who always tried to steal your things? sorta

If you were abandoned in the wilderness, would you survive? maybe How do you make your money? I use my parents money for now :( sometimes I sell my belongings 

What color are your eyes? hazel?

How tall are you? 156 cm short

Which do you prefer, to eat or sleep? sleep

Do you look more like your mom or your dad? mom, besides eyes

How long does it take you to shower? about half an hour?

Are you flexible? in a weird way

Can you speak any other language than English? polish, a bit of russian and used to know Braille’a

What is the last letter of your middle name? I have no middle name, just confirmation one 

Do you wear your seatbelt in the car?: yes

Are you scared of flying? not crashing but smells and noise and puking etc.

What do you sleep in? pajama Who was the last person you kissed? @muziasta​ 

What jewelry do you wear all the time? recently necklace I got from my gf

Is the last person you kissed older than you? younger, almost 2 months hahaha

Do you have a favorite item of clothing? I like most of my clothes

Last movie you saw in theaters? last time I was in cinema I still attend high school, not a fan of that place

What was last thing you drank? water

Are you left handed? am not

What is the last thing you thought about? lots of stuff

Do you want to get married & have children one day? I don’t want any kids!

What is the most recent gift you’ve been given? a mug Did I just roll my eyes out loud Is what you’re wearing comfortable? why not?

Did you leave the house today? twice

Are there bumper stickers on your car? if I had a car...

Are you watching tv right now? What? I didn’t watch TV for months

Do you have a job? not currently

Have you ever shot a gun? in middle school

What do your parents do for a living? my mom is retired and my dad is a guard

Have you ever had a pet that had babies? noooo

What color is the blanket on your bed? blue and yellow with sun and moon

What are your parent’s middle names? they don’t have those

Have you ever broken a bone? just my nose?

Do you wear lasses? nope

What color are they? -

Are you currently reading a book? finished one and didn’t start another yet

When did you last get your blood drawn? not that long time ago

How many contacts are in your phone? about 5

What things do you take with you everywhere? that’s personal

Do you know someone that is/was over 100 years old? nah

Do you own any rings? yeah

Could you list all 50 states? no way

What internet browser do you use? Opera

Do you know someone that’s missing a limb? there’s this guy that sometimes takes a bus with me and he has no leg but that’s all

Are you a bad person? possibly

What was the last swear you said? not sure which was last, I say way too many for my own good :x

Have you ever called the police on someone? not me but my parents, also fire department 

What is the most amount of pets you’ve had at one time? 2

When did you last check your email? last week

Have you ever ridden in an ambulance? few times

How long is your hair? short

Do you lock your doors at night? of course

Does your bedroom have a lock? sadly not

How big is your bed? smol

Do you know someone that was murdered? not personally 

Do you know someone who’s pregnant not now

Do you wear a watch? no

How much jewelry do you own? too much for how often I wear it

Have you ever gotten x-rays? shitload 

Do you wear gloves in the winter? fingerless

Do you consider yourself smart? in a way, I might be

Are your teeth straight? they’re not 

Do you own a bike? push scooter but I plan to buy a bike of some sort this summer

Are you taller than your mom? I am :D

Have you ever been engaged? I have not

What, in your opinion, is the ugliest name? many are to me, especially those I relate to certain enemies

Have you ever come up with your own idea for an app? of a game 

Do you remember to put the caps back on your pens? what for? 

When’s the last time you sat on someone else’s lap? this week

Do you take naps often? once in a few months

Do you like to listen to rap? meh

Do you prefer gift wrap or gift bags? gift bags, gift paper annoys me and it’s worthless

What chore do you wish you could get done just by snapping your fingers? all of them? XD

Have you ever done tap dancing before? pretend

Have you ever felt trapped? always?...

Has a strap on your bag ever broken before? it started to so I changed it

Do you watch episode recaps, or skip ahead? skip

Do you know anyone who owns a Venus flytrap plant? my (now ex) friend wanted to, they’re interesting but you have to clean them and I’m not fond of picking up dead flies, yuk

Do you drink water out of the tap, or does it have to be bottled? bottled or I boil it

[bbwstoriesxx]

Rape and Piss Fantasy

Smoke. I smell smoke. The burnt tobacco fills my senses and tickles my throat. I never allow smoking in the house let alone my room. Yet there's no denying it, someone is smoking in my room. The realization fills me with dread as I try to lay still and keep my eyes closed. My roommates are out of town, it should only be me in the apartment. My heart races as I try to remember if I locked the door before getting into bed. It doesn't matter now, I can hear them talking. All men from what I can tell. They've noticed that I'm pretending to sleep.

 "Look at this bitch, thinking she can outwit us"

"Lookit her, she's sneering"

"Well, this oughta teach 'er"

 I flinch but it is no good. His hand hits my face, bringing tears to my eyes as the sharp pain spreads across my cheek.

 My eyes fly open, my breathing fast and heavy as I get my first glimpse of my room, filled with cigarette smoke, there are three men standing over me, ski masks covering their faces. I open my mouth to scream but they're too quick and stuff something in my mouth. I register the taste of my own pussy, it's the panties I'd been wearing that night! I panic and try to sit up. I can't move, they've tied me to my bedposts. As I try to look around the room to further assess the situation, I see two more men sitting across the room, smirking at me. I'm completely naked, and tied spread eagle on my bed. I already know where this is going, I'm trying to find a way out of it, but it's inevitable. I'm naked, surrounded by at least five men in ski masks. My pussy floods with wetness as I realize there's no escape, how can it be I'm aroused?

 "Hey, bro, if I didn't no any better, I'd say she was wanting us"

"Ha! Yeah look she's even wet"

 My cheeks flush even redder. I'm totally exposed. My breath catches in my chest as one man approaches, fiddling with his belt buckle. I'm caught between wanting him to back away and wanting him to drop his pants. He does neither and runs his hand down my body. He starts with my cheek. I flinch at first, thinking he will hit me again but instead he gently, almost tenderly caresses me. For a moment I forget this is a total stranger, it's been so long since I've gotten any type of attention. I press into him as his hand wanders down my throat to my breast, a chill of pleasure runs through me as he passes over my erect nipple. I hear him chuckle softly as I try to raise my hips to meet his fingertips while they make their journey down. He takes his hand away just as he reaches my lower stomach though.

 "Oh yeah" he almost whispers to the man next to him in a deep gravely voice "She wants it"

 Oh, no. It's happening. They surround me. My moment of pleasure is replaced with fear. They untie my legs and spread them even further apart. I feel the breeze caused by their movements cool against the moisture down below. It makes me feel like I kind of have to pee.

 With my legs re-secured, their hands are all over me. Roughly grabbing at my tits, pulling at my nipples. I want to scream but the panties in my mouth prevent much noise from coming. My screams sound a lot like moans of pleasure. Something rubs along my face. It's not a hand. One of the men must've dropped his pants while I was distracted. His warm, hard cock is being rubbed along my cheeks and eyes. The other men take his lead and suddenly they're all naked from the waist down.

 "It's too bad her mouth is already full, I'd have loved to see her pretty little lips wrapped around this dick"

"Don't get any ideas, man, remember the last house?"

"Yeah, man, that bitch would've bit my cock clean off, coming at me chomping like that"

 The last house? Have they been doing this all night?

I can't suppress my moan as one of the men runs his fingers across my slit

 "We got a real juicy one boys, should be plenty for all of us" he puts his fingers in his mouth "Tastes like a slut too"

 They all laugh and then even harder as he thrusts into me, making me moan even louder. He didn't look that big but because I'd had such a long dry spell, it feels like he's splitting me. Breathe, breathe. Relax. I try to prevent the tears from streaming down my face but it's no use. I'm being molested and raped and I'm crying like a baby. There's nothing I can do about it. The restraints are too well done and the men are too many and strong. He's speeding up, oh god, he's going to cum in me.

 "Damn, she's just like a virgin" I feel his cock erupt inside me "Don't worry boys, I broke her in for ya" he laughs and pulls out. I feel empty without him filling me. I want him to put it back. His cum dribbles out of me as the next man approaches. It's like my pussy is crying to be filled.

 I hear the squelch as he takes his turn with me. The pain I felt initially is turning into pleasure and I'm once again lost in the moment. I feel my body surrender to him but he cums even faster than the first man.

 For the first time, I'm starting to feel glad there are three more men to fuck me. Later I'll wonder what kind of slut I am to enjoy this but for now I'm just glad for the gag in my mouth. If it weren't there I'd be begging them to make me cum.

 Speaking of cumming, there's goes man three. Christ, are they all two pump chumps, is that why they're doing this? Can't get a woman to stay? For a moment I consider asking them to stay with me. If I could have five fast cummers, one of them's got to get me off right?

 Number fours fills me with his ejaculate. Damn, I was getting close. Number five approaches. He's slightly larger than the rest. I'm so sensitive from all the fuckings and being so close that I feel every last bit of him as he slides in. His cock hits my cervix and I moan. I don't care if they laugh anymore, I need to cum. He slides in and out of me excruciatingly slowly. I hear his soft chuckle and recognize him as the one who caressed my cheek so gently earlier. He leans down to where he can speak to me without anyone else hearing

 "I know what you need, bitch" I gasp as he backs out and then thrusts all the way in hard. As he starts to pull out, I realize my muscles have clenched tightly around him, I'm so close to cumming "you're not getting it" he growls. He pulls out all the way and then jacks himself until he cums all over my chest and stomach.

 I've got to cool down. I want to whine and whimper and beg. But as he walks away to join the rest, I remember I don't know these men. They broke into my house and tied me up. Now that they've had their fun who knows what they'll do. So I take deep breaths and start to cool off.

 "The issue with fucking a good pussy is I always have to take a piss afterwards"

"Hey me too!" almost all of them agree

"Well" the larger one says, "we did make a mess of that toy over there, why not give her a shower"

 Oh no. They're going to piss on me? On my bed? Now I'm trying like hell to get free. Absolutely not, they are not getting their piss anywhere near me. As they once again surround me, I realize again how hopeless it all is.

 "What? Are you trying to get free? Just for that, we're going one at a time"

 And with that, the first one aims his dick at my face. I close my eyes tight as he soaks my face, neck and hair. Luckily, his stream isn't too long. I'm glad I'm not going to drown in piss.

 Some of it does start to seep through my panties as guy two aims his stream at my breasts. The taste is not as bad as I thought. And the stream isn't really unpleasant either. It's warm as it hits my sensitive nipples, almost soothing.

 As guy three takes his turn soaking me, I notice I'm getting excited again. I want to reach down to rub myself.

 Guy four comes up and decides to soak my pussy. I moan as the stream hits me. It's almost like using the shower head against my clit. But his stream ends before I can get too close.

 Guy five comes up. It's Him. His larger cock puts his stream right where I need it. I can't stop my hips from moving. My orgasm building. His stream is nice and long, he must've had to go for awhile. My breath stops, my pussy floods, I'm cumming harder than I've ever cum in my life. It doesn't stop, I don't start winding down from it until after he's stopped peeing and put his pants back on.

 As I lay there soaked and panting, I realize I will want to do this again. I wish I didn't have the gag in my mouth. I want to beg them to stay. I need them. But now they've had their fun and they're leaving.

 As the last one closes the door behind him, I untie myself and add my own piss to my soaked bed. I'll have to ask my Dom to surprise me again some night.