#NON OF YOU get the same condition(?) like me. please please begging on my knees. that's no fun

[scraemoo]

you WILL drink water do you hear me *grabs you by your shirt collar* you fucking will, there is no choice.

drink water.

Please drink water right now

[mikalara-dracula]

😰🩸 The Diaboys + Karl try the period simulator—

Warning: 18+ content below; don't read if you're a minor and aren't comfortable with this topic. This is a fictional work and should not be taken seriously.

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Made these with: @liannelara-dracula

Bruh, I swear Kou's is my favorite lmao xDD.

Note regarding videos: Scenario inspiration comes from the videos linked. We own nothing. Credit goes to the original owners.

Shu:

When you first approached him with it, he was honestly confused.

He was sort of reluctant to do it due to him being lazy, but he figured he’d make you happy so he decided to try it.

He thought it was a joke.

And of course, he had to try it while laying down on the couch.

Didn’t start to feel pain until he got to level 5 and this is where he shot up.

“Fuck . . . .”

And by level 6, it was over. He was clutching his stomach and rolling up into a ball.

“Y/N, turn it off! I can’t do it!”

“But there’s still like four more levels.”

“I don’t care!”

And when this event reached Reiji’s ears, this gave him new ideas as to how to get Shu up to do things.

Reiji:

“What is this contraption?” He’d say when you first showed him it.

He thought it was silly and didn’t believe it could cause severe pain, so he decided to give it a go.

And plus, he wanted to see how far science has come and wanted to fully understand what you were complaining about every month.

So, after putting it on him, you cranked up to level 4 and he flinched, making him hit his hip against the table—kinda like this guy (@ 2:16 if the video doesn’t work).

And at one point, this machine put this bitch on his knees.

Like, it took him out.

He was dying by level 6, crawling up next to your legs like a cat and begged you to turn it off.

And if his brothers are around, they encourage you to crank up the pain, while Reiji does his best to convince you otherwise.

Laito:

Started screaming hysterically at level 3.

You honestly can’t tell if he’s laughing or dying from the way it sounds. It’s probably both knowing him.

He’s begging you to stop the pain because he simply can’t take it.

He’s twisting in so many ways because he feels so much pain and he is complaining non stop.

“Bitch-chan, please. I’ll do anything! Make it stop!”

“Alright, but on one condition.”

“Anything!”

“No fedora for a week.”

“No, not my hat!”

“Alright then, I guess I’ll just have to crank it up.”

“Nooo!”

Afterwards, when he no longer has the machine to bother him, he just stayed there laying on the floor because he became so sore.

He was never the same afterwards and learned to never mess with you when on your period.

Well sounds like someone learned their lesson.

Kanato:

He couldn’t quite understand what it was at first, but when you explained it, he thought it was stupid.

Since vampires can take on more pain compared to a human, he thought he was invincible to it.

“Do you really think that something like this can take down someone like me? Fine, I’ll play along.”

He started screaming at level 2 and begging you to turn it off as he rolled onto the floor curled up into a ball.

And was actually in tears.

Oh, poor little purple leprechaun.

“Can’t you see you’re hurting me? How could you do this to me? In front of Teddy?”

In the end, he got fed up with it and tore it off and slightly electrocuted himself.

Ayato:

He was confident, he thought he had it in the bag.

“Ah, please. I can take this shit on no problem.”

At level 3.5, he started to groan a little bit.

And when he got to level 5, he was definitely feeling it, but was trying to play it off. Kinda like this guy here (@ 1:05 if the video doesn’t work).

“Damn,” he’d say clutching his stomach.

Begged you to unplug it at some point cuz he just couldn't take it . . . and he was still at level 5.

Subaru:

At first, he thought it was stupid and that it wasn’t a big deal.

But boy was he wrong.

Started complaining at level 4.

“Damn . . .”

But it got even worse when you cranked it up to level 7.

There he was dying.

And it was honestly so bad that he tried chasing you in order to snatch the remote to turn it off, but he ended up throwing himself on the table because the pain was unbearable, kinda like this guy (@ 2:40 if the video doesn’t work).

He was literally begging you to turn it off like the guy in the vid. xDD

“Subaru, the table! Reiji’s gonna get mad!”

“Turn it off!” He groaned. “Oh my god!”

Kino:

Thought it was a joke, but figured he’d try it because you wanted him to.

“C’mon, it’s just a little machine. What can it do?”

And boy was he wrong.

The first few levels he was fine, but then it started to get real around level 5.

But he wasn’t going to call it there because he wanted to prove he could endure much more.

So he keeps encouraging you to crank up the pain.

“But you’re already at level 7!”

“Babe, I got this. C’mon!”

And at this point, he began making the weirdest noises to cope with the pain. Kinda like this dude (@ 5:44 if the video doesn’t work).

And level 9 was the end for him and resulted with him on the floor, literally gasping for some type of relief.

After that, you crouched down and scooped him up into a hug from all the pain he just endured and he stayed cuddled up like a baby.

Aww :’)

Ruki:

He was actually supportive of the idea.

He knew girls had a tough with periods in general, but he never thought it’d be this bad.

He’s generally a very composed person, but to see him get this vulnerable was something else.

You skipped the easy and just blasted it up to level 8, and it was taking him out, kinda like this guy (@ 7:29 if the video doesn’t work).

He was complaining in ways you’d never seen him, like he was at your mercy.

“Shit . . . how do women do this every month? This is horrible.”

“Oh baby, this is just cramps, you’re missing all the headaches, mood swings, the knife feeling in your uterus, weakness-,”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” He’d beg, being breathless. “Just turn it off.”

Yuma:

He thought it was weird but he figured he’d try it anyways.

“I mean, I don’t think it’s gonna hurt me that much.” He’d say.

But it wasn’t like that when he got to level 3. He literally had this guy’s reaction (@ 7:02 if the video doesn’t work).

And from there, you just kept increasing the level, and through each one, it just kept getting worse.

His body tensing up more and more though each level.

And when he hit level 8, it was game over.

In fact, the pain got so bad that at one point it actually made him scream.

It startled everyone in the mansion to be honest, and when his brothers came in they started laughing.

“You’re such a wimp, Yuma.” Kou would mock, finding this funny. “Didn’t know a simulator could take you out like that.”

“Why you!” Yuma would say, getting up with the simulator still attached to go chase Kou, ignoring the pain while you chased after them.

Kou:

Has been wanting to try this with you for the longest time and was more than open to it.

“Are you sure about this, Kou? Periods are not exactly pleasant.” You’d warn.

“Aw, don’t worry about it, kitten. I’m sure I can handle it.”

He started screaming at level 1 kinda like this dude (@ 6:50 if the video doesn’t work). Wimp.

He was in so much pain at such a quick rate. It was honestly unbelievable.

“Y/N, turn it off!”

“But we’re only at level one.”

He looked at you dumbfounded and just couldn’t believe it.

Azusa:

He didn’t know what it was at first, but figured he’d try it because you wanted him to.

Azusa knew how painful your period was every month, but never fully understood painful it actually was.

You explained what the simulator was for and he grew pretty interested.

“I get to . . . feel pain?”

“No, Azusa, it’s not like that. I just want to show you what girls go through every month.”

“Ok . . . .”

During the first levels, he was slightly laughing and giggling because he thought the pain was nothing.

But then it got serious.

And because he’s a masochist, he keeps telling you to increase the intensity of the pain even though you don’t want to.

“Azusa, no more. You’re already at level 15!”

“More . . . pain . . . .”

“Nooo!”

It honestly wouldn’t unless one of his brothers came in and stopped, and luckily one did before the machine would short-circuit.

Shin & Carla:

Now, there’s a reason why they’re grouped together here.

It’s because they actually did it together with their girlfriends (like the guys in the vid coming up).

At first they thought it was silly because they’re Founders, what pain couldn’t they take?

Or so they thought.

They were at level five and Carla lost composure first, kinda like the guy in the white pants here (@ 8:14 if the video doesn’t work).

And as King of the Founders, you can imagine how funny this looks on Carla right now xDD.

And to Carla’s surprise, Shin could take more pain than him but he was also dying.

Shin eventually got to level 10, but that’s when he couldn’t take it and ripped the simulator off.

Carla hit his limit at level 10 as well, but ended up fainting as a result.

It literally took hours to get him to wake up.

And now, Shin won’t let Carla live down the fact that a period simulator took the king out.

Bonus~

Karl:

Okay, to your surprise, he was actually remaining composed and pretty unmoved.

And as you cranked up the levels, you kept asking him what it felt like and he just kept telling you it was nothing.

Like at one point, the dude was on level 10 and felt little to no pain, kinda like this dude (@ 7:04 if the video doesn’t work).

And like the guy in the vid, he asked if there were any more levels and when you said no, he was just shocked that that was the limit. Damn Karl.

It literally was a piece of cake to him xDD.

[dancing-in-a-yellow-dress]

Trapped Little Angel (part 1)

Welcome to the first part of the first fanfic on this account.

Child!reader x the Avengers

Word count: 2900

Trigger warning: Imprisonment, nightmares, non graphic descriptions of violence and injuries, possible trigger for eating disorders

--

You were a 14-year-old orphan living alone in New York, since your family had died in the explosion that gave you your powers. Your powers were similar to Wanda’s (telekinesis and all that jazz). You got them when you were 7, but for whatever reason they hadn’t been active before that day.

It was a basic September day with all of its rain and fog and clouds. You were walking on the street when suddenly you blacked out and your powers exploded out of you destroying property and hurting people everywhere around you. The Avengers were called to action and they evacuated the block and when you’d cooled off a little they took you into custody and to the Avengers tower.

You had passed out and they didn`t really know what to do with you, so they laid you down on the couch and began a debate about the subject.

Tony believed firmly that you were dangerous to the team and the best thing for everyone would be to lock you up isolated and unstimulated to avoid new outbursts until a better option would be available. Steve backed Tony up to an extent, although he did believe the isolation to be unnecessary. Bruce didn’t really voice his opinion on confinement that much, instead focusing on the medical aspect of the situation.

Clint doesn’t really say much during the argument, before Tony raises the possibility of indefinite imprisonment in isolation. That is what finally gets to him, since you are just a kid and remind him of his own daughter. Wanda argues firmly against any form of forced imprisonment. In her opinion you needed medical attention, after which instead of locking you up the team should be focused on helping you control and develop your powers in a beneficial way.

Natasha is uncharacteristically quiet for the whole debate. Something about you had got to her and she found it hard to think of the situation objectively without a massive bias. Peter was on ‘your side’ for sure. To him you were a troubled kid who just happened to need some help. In a way he saw himself in you.

You start to regain consciousness about halfway through the argument. The Avengers are taken back at first, but when you are very confused and scared, Nat and Clint (who are the most ‘neutral’ participants) tell you what happened. When you have gotten the big picture you ask shakily: “How many people did I hurt? What’s the damage?” The others are hesitant to tell you, but Tony is highly pissed at you, so he takes his tablet and shows you some pics of the place where the accident happened. Wanda shoots him a death glare, but he continues and reads the statistics to you: “At this exact moment there are 9 people dead, 27 in critical condition and 56 with milder injuries. All because of your little stunt.” At this point you have pulled your knees to your chest and are struggling to breathe. Steve and Clint look at Tony like he has lost his mind and Nat tries to calm you down. You are repeating the same things over and over again: “I didn’t mean to- It’s all my fault… I don’t know how- What- I didn’t mean to…” Nat was approaching you, her hand reached out ready to stroke your back and pull you into a hug. She says: “We know. Everything will be alright, it’ll be alright. It wasn’t your fault, we’ll sort this out. It’s okay, you’re okay. We don’t blame you, but right now you need to calm down.” You flinch away from her, panic shining in your eyes: “No! Don’t touch me! I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t control it… I don’t understand- I didn’t mean to…” Suddenly you look desperately at Tony “You have to lock me up. I’m dangerous. I can’t be trusted. I have to be put away. Please”, you beg, surprising all of the other people in the room. Peter is about to say something, but Tony cuts him off.

You stand up and Clint shows you the way to a quite big cell. You step in and he shuts the door behind you. You sit on the floor in the corner and pull your knees to your chest. You just blankly stare at the wall. You noticed that there was a camera in corner of the room near the roof as you stepped inside, but you didn’t care. What did it matter. As you stayed on the floor the team was reheating the discussion whilst keeping an eye on the monitor that showed footage from your cell.

Wanda and Peter were shouting at Tony for locking you up in an isolation cell. Natasha and Clint were a bit calmer, but they were backing Wanda and Peter up. At some point Tony says: “You heard the kid. She wanted to be locked up. Even she thought it would be the best option”. And that sets Natasha off: “Yeah, after you had scared the poor thing on the verge of a panic attack. That wasn’t fair play. You drove her to that decision and you know it.” Then Peter fires: “Besides the whole ‘she decided herself’ excuse is bullshit. She’s a kid. SHE’S 14. I’m 17 and you don’t trust me to do anything yet, so how again is she any different?” That shuts Tony up.

In the end the team comes to the conclusion, that they will be monitoring you strictly and willing people will be allowed to go talk to you. All except Peter (just for the first few days) who is infuriated to no end by the decision.

The first person to come talk to you is Wanda. She comes and talks for a while, but you can’t make any sense of what she’s saying. After a while she leaves shutting the door behind her. Steve also comes to question you, and even though this time you understand what he is saying you can’t find the energy to answer him in you. Clint brings you something to eat and drink, but you don’t move a muscle to acknowledge the act. Time sort of looses its meaning to you as you sit on the floor and stare into nothing, alone with your thoughts, the same thoughts over and over and over again.

Nevertheless, you know some time has passed when Natasha comes through the door with another tray filled with food. She places it carefully on her untouched bed and sighs deeply before speaking: “You should really start eating on your own. It’s been two whole days and you haven’t taken a bite. I get that its hard, but you’ve got to try. Otherwise we’ll have no choice but to put a feeding tube down your throat and trust me kid, that does not feel good.” She gives you another look, then turns around and walks out. Slowly you straighten your legs on the floor.

You hadn’t really noticed how much your muscles were hurting for being in the same position for so long before someone pointed it out. You stretched your legs first and then stood up slowly. You went through your body, stretching every muscle one at a time and then sat down beside the bed to eat. You weren’t really hungry, but the threat of getting a feeding tube stuffed down your throat was enough to get you eating.

After you were done with the meal you went back to your corner and sat back down, leaving your legs laying on the floor instead of curling up to a tight bundle. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door and Wanda walked in. She picked the tray up and looked down at you, clearly assessing the situation before finally saying: ”Hey, I was wondering if you needed to use the bathroom.” You didn’t answer her but stood up and stepped timidly few steps forward so that she knew you’d be coming along. She guided you through the hallways and into a bathroom. “There is a towel on the counter and shampoo on a shelf in the shower. Take as long as you need. I’ll pick up some clean clothes for you and bring them here. Okay?” You didn’t say a word but nodded and opened the door to the bathroom. After half an hour you were back in your cell but feeling significantly cleaner and comfier.

Instead of sitting back in the corner on the floor you sat on your bed and crossed your legs. You didn’t know why, but you felt like it, so you started singing, first just humming quietly, then adding the words to the song. It was an old lullaby your mom had sang to you more than once. Some things just had a way of sticking with you.

`Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

nyt kuuluu keijujen äänet

Ne tanssivat taas koko yön laulaen

koko yön laulaen.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

taas syttyy tähtöset pienet

Ne oottavat taas läpi yön loistaen

läpi yön loistaen.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

nyt sammuu keijujen äänet

Ne liitävät taas ylös luo tähtien

ylös luo tähtien`

Then you sang it over again, this time in English

If your quiet, very quiet,

you can hear sound of the fairies

They’re dancing again through the night until day

through the night until day

Very quiet, almost silent

the stars are lighting the sky

they’re waiting again till the night fades away

till the night fades away

If you’re quiet, very quiet

you can hear sound the fairies

they race through the sky so they’ll be near the stars

so they’ll be near the stars

You sang the song a couple times over and finally you got to the last part you had made up on your own. You always ended it there, since you could never continue singing after that.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

ei kuulu keijujen äänet

Ne lähtivät taas minut yksin jättäen

minut yksin jättäen

Even if you’re very quiet

you won’t hear sound of the fairies

they flew up the sky leaving me alone behind

leaving me alone behind.

You broke down sobbing. Clint was sitting at the monitor, and he thought it’d be best not to disturb you, so you were left alone as you start humming another melody your mom taught you.

Joka ilta kun lamppu sammuu ja saapuu oikea yö Niin Nukku-Matti nousee ja ovehen hiljaa lyö On sillä uniset tossut ja niillä se sipsuttaa Se hiipii ovesta sisään ja hyppää kaapin taa

”I didn’t know she was finnish” Nastasha said to clint as she sat next to him with two cups of tea. “Finnish?” Clint asked as they listened to the beautiful melody coming from the lonely cell. Nat was quiet for a while before saying “Yeah. The language is absolutely bizarre.” They sat in silence for another while, until Clint said: “She sounds miserable” “Yeah, but who wouldn’t. I’m guessing she has no family, since no one has come asking for her.”

Ja pieni sateenvarjo on aivan kallellaan Ja sinistä unien kirjaa se kantaa kainalossaan Ja unien sinimaahan se lapset autolla vie Surrur, surrur ja sinne on sininen, uninen tie

Ja siellä on kultainen metsä, ja metsässä kultainen puu Ja unien sinilintu ja linnulla kultainen suu Ja se unien sinilintu se lapsia tuudittaa Se laulaa unisen laulun joka mielen uneen saa

Your mum never taught you that song in English. You had tried translating it, but it always turned out so peculiar you had eventually given up.

When you felt like you had cried enough you stopped with the finnish and started going through songs you had heard somewhere else, altering the lyrics as you went.

You hadn’t sung anything in weeks and now you just couldn’t stop. It felt good. You went over your favorites altering lyrics and making up new verses, not wanting the song to end. As you sang you thought about mum and home. In the outside world they were forbidden things, because they made it hard to focus on surviving. But here she had all the time in the world to think. After hours and hours she finally laid down on the mattress and drifted to sleep

Tony had just started his shift watching you through the monitor and you were having a nightmare. You were curled up in a ball and whimpered and muttered quietly, as tears ran down your face. You dug your nails into your back and started scratching leaving bloody red marks behind. Then you started screaming. The sound echoed through the halls, but Tony didn’t know what to do, so he ended up doing nothing, just staring at the screen paralyzed. It went on for a while, until you finally flinched so violently you woke up.

You were in a state of panic, but as you realized where you were it started to wear off. Little by little you started to feel the pain from the bloody scratch marks on your back and arms. You examined your injuries to the best of your abilities and then looked at the floor while talking sheepishly at the camera in the corner of the room: “If you don’t mind I’d like to have something to wrap these cuts with. I might also need some help with the ones in my back. Its not a big deal, but I don’t want them to get infected.”

The screaming had woken up Natasha and Steve who were now standing behind Tony, looking at the screen over his shoulders. Tony cleared his throat before turning around in his chair and facing the other two. They both had their arms crossed on their chest. Steve looked surprised as hell, but Natasha was quick to recover. She threw Tony an icy stare before saying: “Should we think the imprisonment over again, or is she still too dangerous for you to handle?” Tony raised his hands before saying: “Let’s think that over in the morning, when the whole team is up. Now, would you mind going to help her with the injuries?” Natasha threw Tony another dirty look, before grabbing the first aid kit and heading to your cell.

Nat came, and you laid on the bed on your stomach. She lifted your shirt, poured antiseptic solution on a cloth and warned you: “I’m sorry, but this is gonna hurt like a bitch.” She pressed the cloth gently on your back and you shrug. “It’s not that bad. You get used to pain as a homeless kid. Once I had to remove a bullet from my own shoulder.” There Nat saw an opportunity get little bit more information of you and continued the conversation: “Must be tough. I suppose you don’t have any family left?” “Yeah, mum and dad and Tom died… in an accident” you tensed up visibly. Nat continued unbothered but didn’t bring up the deaths again. “I heard you sing the other day. Didn’t know you were finnish.” “Oh, I’m not. My mom was.” “So, can you speak finnish or what?” “Nah, not anymore anyways. I used to, but I haven’t used it in a long time. Some things just stuck with me, like the songs, or silly pet names mum used to call us.” For some reason you felt really safe with Natasha. Her touch reminded you of home as she worked to clean your wounds and then wrap them with clean gauze. You knew it was silly, but it just felt so good to finally talk to someone, so you kept answering her as she continued asking questions. “Pet names, huh. What did she call you?” “She used to call me Lumikki. It’s the finnish for snow white. It’s cheesy as hell, I know but we lived in a little cottage in the woods, and I was obsessed with Disney.” Natasha smiled at you. “Do you remember anything else about your mum.” “She had the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. She sounded like an angel. Sometimes I hear her in the wind.” You pause for a minute “And she was a dancer. She used to be a ballerina, but then she had us and her career ended. She never quit dancing though. Once in a while she’d put on her slippers and go through some old routine, like she had never stopped. She even taught me some basics.” Natasha was quiet for a moment. Then she cleared her throat and continued: “Did you have any siblings?” “Yeah”, you were quiet for a moment, not rushing to continue “One brother. His name was Tuomas, but we all called him Tom. Three years older than me. He was my best friend.” A tear fell down your cheek. Natasha was almost done with wrapping your back so she asked one more question. “How about your dad” You shrugged. “He was a hunter. Spent most of his time with Tom out in the forest when I stayed in with mum.” Nat packed the medical supplies back to the first aid kit and pulled your shirt down so that it covered your back. Then she helped you sit up and said: “I can’t promise anything yet, but we’re having another meeting with the team about your… condition and I believe you might get out of here.” She saw the unsure look you gave her. “Don’t worry” she said as she took your hand “Everything will be alright. I promise”

--

Sorry, I have absolutely no idea what is going on with the spacing, tried to fix it but it wont budge... Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 VI

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers (this chapter, oral, violence, degradation)

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The king proves to be mercurial and you prove to be foolish.

Note: Masterlist update coming today @darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor​. Updates might be sporadic from here on out because despite the world being utter shit, Black Friday still exists.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The air was fragrant as you sat on the low bench, wrapped in only a robe, and stared out the window. On the other side of the room, Loki dressed with the help of the young boy, Hal. The steam of his bath still dissipated in the air as he grumbled now and then, often drinking deeply from his glass and pouring another slosh of water from the pitcher.

It was as if you weren’t there. How easily the king forgot about all but himself. He dressed in dark blue that day, trimmed in an ivory cape and boots. He swatted Hal away and touched his temple as the sunlight made him squint. He sighed and brushed his fingers through the ends of his dark locks.

“Today will be the riding events. I did excuse myself from those lists.” He spoke, almost as if to himself. “Tomorrow I will be in better condition to win at the blade.”

You were quiet as you drew your legs up onto the bench. You slouched over your knees and rested your chin on your crossed arms.

“I will be gone much of the day but I expect you ready upon my return,” he neared and his shadow loomed over you, “You will undoubtedly be eager for it… From what I recall of last evening, you might even be begging for it.”

You glowered up at him as he smirked and winced then tapped his forehead.

“What am I to do? I have nothing but to walk the boards and stare out at the grass. I will be mad by the time you return.” You muttered as you turned your head away.

“All the better,” he slithered. He lifted his toe and swiveled his heel. He exhaled deeply. “Well, what should you like to do?”

“Besides the obvious?” You sneered.

“Perhaps, if you behave, I will see you to a stroll among the corridors when all are retired, but for now I cannot offer much more.” He sniffed, “So, what is it you peasants occupy your time with?”

You blinked and rubbed your cheek as you thought. You hadn’t much besides your work and your occasional adventures with Gilla. Neither would be viable now.

“I might try to sketch?” You looked up at last.

He considered you with a wrinkle in his brow and nodded. “I will grant you the favour upon the promise of one in kind,” he said, “...upon my return.”

You bit down. You expected as much but it still irked you. You turned to the window again.

“As you wish, your majesty.” You stared out at the green leaves that crested the branches of the palace yards. You felt him watch you a moment longer before he retreated.

“Hal, you will fetch her paper and some charcoal,” his soft soles approached the door, “Tend to her meals as you will and draw her a bath. She is starting to smell a bit… common.”

“Your majesty,” Hal chirped and followed the king through to the receiving chambers.

You listened as the doors opened and closed and you dropped your legs over the edge of the bench as you leaned against the wall. You grunted in frustration and hit the bench with your fist. It was exactly what Loki wanted; you at his mercy. Those small requests would grow to desperate pleas. His ploy was working but you could do little to keep him from controlling you entirely.

🐍

You weren’t very good at drawing but you managed a sloppy image of the scene through the window. The trees were slightly crooked and the gate uneven but it kept you busy for a time. You turned to a blank sheet but couldn’t focus enough to draw as you could hear the distant audience from the other side of the glass.

The common folk didn’t often attend these events. If they were present, they were selling wares to those lords and ladies who gathered for the pageantry. Still, trapped in the endless monotony, you longed to join the festivity. Anything but to sit within those walls and wait until your tormentor returned. Even if he could make you feel splendid, the king was little more than your warden.

As the sun reached its peak, Hal appeared to draw your bath with several attendants. You washed alone and dressed in one of the gowns provided by the king. You hate how the satin clung to your torso even with its boning and how the skirts tickled your legs as they swished.

You ate a little. Your tedium turned to impatience turned to agitation. The day faded from yellow to a calm blue and slowly dimmed beyond the stone walls. The din quieted as the sun descended. The king’s presence loomed in your mind.

You attempted a sketch of a lion statuette and relinquished the charcoal in frustration. Hal appeared with two covered plates on a tray and set them on the table. He placed a bottle of wine and some goblets alongside them and left you without a word. The boy seemed nervous since your prior conversation.

The king entered without fanfare. You looked up at him as you were distracted from the trance that had you staring into the unlit hearth. He glanced over at you and frowned. He tutted and removed his cape.

“I am aware your etiquette is unrefined but you will rise and pay your obeisance to me upon my arrival,” he uttered, “Do not think I grow negligent in my expectation of you, little mouse.”

You stood stiffly and bowed. He sat at the table and huffed.

“Well, get over here,” he pointed to the other chair, “Pour some wine.”

You crossed to the table and filled a goblet for him. Your own, you only filled to the half point. You sat and uncovered your plate as he did the same. He poked at the food. He was annoyed already.

“Are you not hungry?” He asked as he twirled his fork. “I am informed your plates are left barely touched as late.”

“I am,” you scooped up a potato, “I will eat.”

He tilted his head and considered you. He dropped his fork and leaned back in his seat. “Do not force yourself on my account,” he said, “If you do not appreciate the fare, then you may forego your supper.”

“Your majesty, I will--”

“No, no, as I recall, you owe me,” he glanced at the paper on the edge of the table and the sticks of charcoal, “And as I do anticipate an early morning on account of the competition, I would rather we sort this out sooner.”

He dropped a hand down and picked at the laces of his trousers, “Come, under the table,” he bid, “If you will not eat then you may use your mouth for other means.”

You glared at him, mortified. You brought your fork to your lips and he was quick to rise and bat it away. The top of his pants drooped as you dropped the silver and you blanched at him. He dropped back into his chair.

“I do not issue requests, I give orders. Now on your knees or I will have you even quicker on your back.”

“Then do it already,” you snarled, “I tire of your boasting.”

He stood once more, this time so abrubtly that his chair toppled behind him. He was upon you in a moment, his hands around your head as he forced you to your feet. His eyes flared down at you as you grabbed onto his arms and wrestled with him. You stumbled as he dragged you around the chamber he angled you toward the settee.

He shoved you down and slipped a hand down to your throat as he straddled you beneath him. He slid his hand down the front of his open trousers and pulled out his hard member. He lifted his knees and moved up to pin down your shoulders. He squeezed your throat tightly as he bent over you and guided his cock to your lips.

“You bite me and I will have your teeth on the floor,” he threatened, “Now open for your king.”

You clenched your lips but as your breath dwindled, you gasped and he quickly slipped inside your mouth. He sank down your throat as he brought his hand up above your head and thrust his hips roughly. You choked and kicked out. You slapped his thighs as you struggled to breathe.

He groaned as his hips slammed down harder and harder. You gagged and your eyes lolled back as your vision swam with tears.

“You do push me when I am already… inflamed,” he grunted, “When my temper has already been stoked by incompetents.”

He fucked your face without relent as you were trapped beneath him. His fingers stretched over your head and he sped up once more. He panted as he chased his end and when it rose, he flooded your throat without warning. He continued to rock into you until you swallowed around him. He shivered at the sensation and sat back as he slowly drew himself from your mouth.

His cock glistened as he rested his weight on your chest and steadied himself. He swallowed and hung his head back. Without looking, he poked two fingers into your mouth. Without thinking, you gnashed his digits between your teeth. You were met quickly with a strike across your cheek.

He wiggled his fingers, further pained by the slap, and growled.

“Must you insist on difficulty,” he pushed himself off of you and tucked away his cock. He grabbed your arm and wrenched you onto the floor. “There you are.” He jabbed you with his toe. “You can spend your night there.”

He shoved you back with his boot and spun away from you. He went to the table and took the heel of bread from his plate and the entire bottle of wine. “No supper for you. If I see that you’ve so much as stolen a crumb, I will whip you myself.”

He stomped to the bedroom doors and looked back at you one last time. “And leave the boy alone. He is not your friend.”

🐍

You stayed on the floor but didn’t sleep much. Little hazes but nothing more. Loki stirred in the next room and you turned to face the wall. You didn’t move as a knock sounded shortly after. The young boy seemed to always sense when he was required. He entered and hesitated as he passed you before the settee. He carried on and you let out the air in your lungs.

You heard the king’s voice and the activity that followed his awakening. When he emerged, you remained as you were. He ordered Hal around as he sat to tie his boots. He scoffed as he rose and swept towards the door.

“I know you are awake, mouse,” he said, “Let’s not make deception a habit.”

You refused to respond and he huffed. The door opened and he paused in the doorway. “See to her meals, boy.” His voice shifted direction, “Sir, you will watch the door.”

A grumble came in response to the orders as the door snapped shut. You rolled onto your back and sat up. The morning light made your head pulse and your eyelids drooped heavily. You pulled yourself up onto the settee and buried your face in the cushion. You hadn’t the energy to stay mad, you only needed sleep. It wasn’t long before it came.

When you woke, you were groggy. A plate awaited you on the table and the same buzz floated from outside the walls. Another day of sport and you were, as ever, pent up inside on the king’s whim. You slunk over to the table and ate without tasting. Your stomach ached until it was satisfied.

You stood and paced. You stopped at the window as you tried to get a glimpse of the tents erected around the tourney grounds but the silk offered little sign of what was unfolding. You hated that you had to wait, it was all you did. The king had chosen your punishment well. This purgatory was worse than any dungeon.

You marched back and forth. Your anger began to bubble over. Well, if he should have you do nothing, you will find something to keep yourself occupied. Perhaps you might tear down the drapes or dismantle the framed pictures of his smug ancestors. What worse could he do that he did not intend already?

You kicked the door as you passed it and your toe throbbed. Your slippers offered little padding and you swore. Further enraged by your pain, you punched the door. You stopped and listened through the wood. You could hear the drafty emptiness of the halls. Cautiously, you rested your hand on the handle and pressed until the lever lifted. 

You pulled the door an inch inward and waited for it to be forced back into place. But you met no resistance and poked your head into the corridor. There was no guard, no passing resident, no spy you could see. You retreated and steadied your nerves. Was it a trick? A trap? Either way, it was too much to deny.

You went to the wardrobe and took down the grey cloak hung within. You tied it at your throat and peered back into the halls. Still, no keeper to stop you from your escape. Well, it would only be a brief sojourn. You only wanted to see the games. To know what made the crowd so raucous.

You hesitated. If the king discovered your flight, you would be in dire trouble. Yet, he was competing himself and wouldn’t even know. So long as you were back before your guard. Where was that lug anyhow?

You put your foot down lightly. You slowly leaned your weight on it and stepped out into the hall, testing its vacancy. Still, you were alone. You pulled up your hood and closed the door behind you. You weren’t certain which way to go in the immense palace.

You lost yourself several times over before you found the stairs. You scurried down the steps and hid your face as well as you could as you passed by servants in their aprons and caps. You felt as if they all knew, as if any would accost you and report your offense back to the king.

But they didn’t and you kept on until you stumbled in disbelief onto the green. You followed the scent of roasting beef and the wall of voices to the cluster of tents along the sporting field. There were benches set on platforms to house the observers; the ladies waving their handkerchiefs and the older lords cheering on their favourites.

You stood before the steps of the stands and glanced around. Surely you were being followed. You couldn’t have just walked out onto the green so easily. It felt too simple. It felt a snare but yet you kept going.

You climbed up and pushed down your hood as no other wore theirs. You needed to blend in with the crowd. You walked behind a row of ladies as they stood and called out to the field. You stopped behind them and stood on tiptoes to see past them. Two contestants in armor charged at each other with blunted blades. The tourneys had long since traded real steel for training weapons. The forgers often complained of the flimsy designs.

You edged past the line of ladies and upon a closer look, you recognised the fighters. The prince, Thor, fought in red armor with a lion on its helm, and his brother, the king, faced him with serpents across his breast plate. As you heard it, the custom was to allow the monarch a victory.

Still, the audience held its breath as the swords crashed together once more. The much larger royal barely missed his brother with a fearsome strike. Loki was quick and kicked out Thor’s leg. The elder slipped but recovered easily as he batted away the next swing. The two danced around each other; Loki, graceful and light, Thor, lumbering but effective.

As Thor struck down with both hands, Loki deflected him but found the dull blade snapped by the force. He stumbled back and dodged his brother’s next attack. The king was fast but defenseless. He ducked and dove all around but at last found himself cornered by his burly brother. You saw the desperation and the realisation in his posture.

He made an attempt to disarm his brother only to be thrown back. He landed with a thud on his back and the crowd went silent. Thor sheathed his sword and offered his hand to his brother. There was a moment before the gesture was accepted and the king was hauled onto his feet. The men clapped each others’ shoulders politely but all knew there was little comradery between them. Only the prince would dare best the king. And he had dared.

The king waved to the crowd and the competitors were led from the field. The king reached to remove his helm as he walked towards the stall and looked out into the crowd. His jaw was tense and even at a distance you could see his spite. And, you swore, he could see you.

You carefully took a step back and hid behind the figure next to you. You let out a shuddery breath. He could know, now from so far away. You were just another body in the crowd. Well, you had come and seen the fuss. You would have to go before your absence was discovered and the alarm sent up.

You retraced your steps and staggered onto the grass. After such a loss, the king would be even angrier. He did not lie when he said his brother provoked him like no other. A dark foreboding stabbed you.

You already regretted your mistake. A moment of impulsivity had taken you too far. But he hadn’t seen you. He couldn’t have. You were just paranoid. 

You ducked your head down and raced up the palace steps and followed a servant until you found the stairs. You were lost again as you reached the top. The corridors seemed to only lead into each other in circles but at last, you caught your bearings.

You turned the corner that led to the king’s chambers but were suddenly jerked back as a painful grip closed around your arm. Magnus sneered down at you as his hand threatened to crush your bones. He slammed you against the wall and you gasped.

“The king will not be happy with you, wench,” he snarled, “Oh, I think he might just toss you back where you belong.”

“Let go of me,” you rasped, “Ow!”

He shook you with a sharp hiss.

“Shut your fucking mouth. You know what he will do when I reveal to him what you’ve done?” He taunted. 

You gulped down air and croaked out as squirmed helplessly. “And what… about you? What will he think of the guard who let me free?” You trembled as his grey eyes bore into you, “When he learns that your absence allowed for my escape?”

His nostrils flared and he squeezed your arms. His jaw ticked as he stared you down then all at once, his hands dropped. He shoved you away from the wall.

“You keep quiet and go back,” he stomped behind you, “And I won’t snap your neck and tell him you asked for it.”

You went to the door and he was close behind. He reached past you and opened the door so that it hit the wall. He grabbed the back of your neck and dragged you inside. He kicked the back of your legs so that they collapsed and he forced you down to the ground as bent over you.

“I know why the king keeps you, whore,” he spat, “He will tire of you soon and I will delight in throwing you back to the dungeons.” He pushed until your face met the floor. “When he is done, he might just let me finish breaking you.”

He pushed away from you and flipped you with his foot. He clutched his pommel and sneered down at you as he circled you. His chest puffed out and he stopped sharply on his heel.

“A little rat like you will be back to the gutter soon enough,” he backed away as he seemed tempted to draw his blade. “I’ll make sure of it the next time you stray.”

He slammed the door behind him and it shook in his stead. You laid on the floor, paralysed with adrenaline. You blinked up at the ceiling and breathed at last. You were truly out of your depth.

[thenextchapter22]

Mail Order… Kitten Girl

Part 7: Bath Time

Description: Satan accidentally orders a special type of ‘cat’ online after having a few too many drinks…

Tags: Past Abuse, Past Non/Con, Slavery, Pet Play, Cat Hybrids, Fluff, Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content

Pairing(s): Reader/Everyone (but Luke)

Link to my AO3: Click Here

In this chapter: Continuation of the last chapter... Asmo gives Kitten a bath, featuring some fluff and hurt/comfort...

Part One  Part Two  Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

+++++ MINORS DNI +++++

Asmo carried you into his bedroom first, and then straight into his bathroom which adjoined it. It was one of his favorite places, he always told you.  

The smells that hit your nose were sweet, and the air was warm and pleasant on your exposed body. You began to purr, tail flickering lazily, occasionally brushing against his body to make him shiver. The continued contact with another person always brought you comfort, so you curled up into him, pressing your breasts to his shirt, feeling small in his arms like you did with all your Master’s when they held you or carried you. They were large demons, after all, and you loved to be coddled.  

"Smells nice," you commented quietly.  

Asmo smiled down at you. "I was hoping that these aromas wouldn't overwhelm that sensitive little nose~" he leaned down and eskimo kissed you, making you giggle.  

He set you on a cushioned bench along the wall. As he sat you down, you squeaked and reached up for him immediately, your bum tensing up. "Ngg!"  

The demon made a sympathetic sound. “Oh Kitten, does it hurt?” He lifted you up again into his arms, careful to hold you at your thighs and back with each arm. You did, after all, still have that plug nestled inside of you, your hole throbbing around it.  

You shook your head, pressing into his neck. “S-sore, ‘s all.”  

“Here, let’s lie you down instead.”  

He got a pillow and placed it at the edge of the bench, and lay you down on your side. The leash was still attached to your collar, and so you moved it to drape it so that didn’t get in your way. Your Master would take it off, you were not permitted.  

There were still some aftershocks from before, and you blushed remembering what happened. Cumming in front of all your Masters... So obscene, and really fun, too.  

But now, as you watched Asmo pouring oils of different colors into the large tub, you made the realization of just what was about to happen, and it honestly started to scare you.  

You had a fear of water. Or rather, a fear or taking baths. Of being dunked in deep water. So far you had only showered, and the warm rain-like water made you clean and felt nice—you liked the rain, it was calming—and you had room to breathe inside the shower.  

The fear was like a dark smoke clogging your lungs, and every inhale made it harder to breathe. Memories of past baths at that terrible place began washing over your mind, and you whimpered, bringing a claw-extended hand to your mouth to keep quiet. Your Master wanted you to take a bath, you had to do it...  

But Asmo heard your groan. His head popped up to face you from where he was kneeling over the giant tub. “Kitten?”  

His soft-spoken concern had you crying. You sniffled, and your voice echoed in the room, “No bath, please!”  

His orange-yellow eyes widened. “Baby, no, don’t cry,” he begged, quickly rushing to you. He took your hand from your mouth and held it tight, stroking over your knuckles with his thumb. “What’s wrong, do you not want to have a nice bath?”  

Your mouth stretched open into a wail, “Nooooo-”  

He hushed you, and pet your hair with his other hand. “Love, it’s okay, I’m here. Please tell me what’s troubling you, so I can help.” His hands kept caressing you, trying to alleviate your anguish. From your head to your cheeks, he was continuously touching you, grounding you.  

Eventually he took a seat on the bench by your head, and you crawled into his arms, the plug in your butt was uncomfortable but it took a backseat to the emotional distress. Your hands curled around his neck, and your legs outstretched one way over his, and you cried for a little while, his arms rubbing your back and neck, his lips kissing your head and cheeks, shushing you softly.  

“Darling, I have you,” he would say over and over.  

Soon enough you were just shaking, and breathing slowly and with minimal trouble. Your face felt raw, as did your throat. You leaned back a bit from his body to breathe, and glanced at his face. His kind eyes stared into your own, and you gathered the courage to speak on the past that haunted you.  

“They-” you stuttered out, “w-would make m-me go un-nder. Hold m-me, h-hurt me...”  

“You’re talking about where you came from?” he said, tense as he held you.  

“Y-yeah...” you sniffled.  

Flashes of ‘before’ came behind your eyes. Dunked in a large basin with cold water, or too hot water. Your ears got wet and it hurt. They tore your tail with rough scrubbing, and your skin was fire hot and itchy.  

You sobbed dryly. “I-I’m scared...”  

Asmo kissed your head. “Do you want me to go in with you? I can put on my swimsuit, or not. Whatever my Kitten needs.”  

You nodded. That would be better, you thought. Having him close, your Master by your side. “Please, in with me? Um, n-no clothes? But I don’t wana play... Is that okay, Master?”  

He cooed. “Of course, dearheart.” He reached around and grabbed your collar, the bell ringing, “let’s get this off, and then we’ll go in the tub.”  

The collar and leash were taken off, and he lifted you up as he stood. You gasped, not expecting that, and frantically gripped his neck, claws digging in a bit. He winced but said nothing. Then he set you down on the edge of the tub, and you stood on shaky legs. “Put your feet in and tell me if it’s too hot or cold, okay?”  

You did as he asked, dipping a toe in, and it was perfect. You looked up at him and nodded shyly. “The water is fine...”  

He grinned. “Perfect!” He held out his hand, and you took it, and he helped you step in. “Careful, there are steps here to get in.”  

You took a deep breath, each step making it harder. Eventually you were up to your breasts, and he got his clothes off quickly and slipped in the tub, too.  

“Why don’t you go over here, beautiful, so I can take out your plug,” he pointed to the side.  

You bent over the side of the tub, knees on the outer seating but still in the water, just a few inches of your back out of the warmth. He put his hand on your inner thigh and pulled you open, and then grabbed the plug to gently twist and pull. It hurt a little, and you clenched down.  

“No, no, love, you need to loosen up so I can pull it free. Bare down now,” he whispered.  

You did, and it was easier then, and the plug came loose. Your bottom felt open and loose, and he softly rubbed his finger over your abused hole. “Does it feel good, or bad?” he asked matter of fact.  

You shifted from side to side, and winced. “Hurts, not a lot, though.”  

“Hm, that’s very good. Satan used plenty of lube. When we’re done, I'll put some lotion on it to help the aches.”  

You settled back down, sitting carefully on your bottom. He came over and maneuvered behind you, and you felt him against your back, his cock wasn’t hard but it was there, and you suddenly had a thought that you should please him.  

“I-I...”  

He understood, and placed his hands around your body, skin to skin, chest to your back, his head fitting to the side of your face. He was soft and warm. “It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything. Let me wash your hair, and your tail if you’d like that.”  

You were glad of that. You loved pleasing them, but the non-sex stuff you did with them was fun, too.  

“Please... I-I'd like that, Master...”  

“All right then, lovely kitty, we’ll get your hair wet first.”  

He cupped a hand over your eyes, and water was pouring over your head, and he was mindful of your ears, too. You were tense, though, and he paused after he did it the first time. “Kitten, are you okay if I keep going?”  

You swallowed with eyes shut tight. “Y-yes. Just... my ears, please...”  

“I’ll be careful not to get water in them, I promise.”  

He used a cup and poured it over your head, and was patient when you tensed up. He kissed your cheeks, and said how proud he was of you, how brave you were. It made you blush.  

“So sweet~”  

“Master, please...”  

He laughed, and nodded. “Okay baby, now for the shampoo.”  

He lathered up a sweet-smelling shampoo that was on the outside of the tub in a basket and scrubbed it on your scalp. You immediately leaned back into it. “I put some calming oils in the tub for you, and this is one of my favorite shampoos. It softens your hair and smells like cotton candy. You like sweet things, don’t you, Kitten?” he teased.  

You blushed. “Yes, Master, I do...” It was known by now that you liked sweets. Cakes, candy, anything with cream. It was all tasty and you never got to have much.  

“I love sweet things, too. Especially sweet Kittens like the one in my arms,” he bent to kiss your neck, and you shivered. It was a sensitive spot for you, your neck. He just hummed, “Let’s rinse this out, and then we can condition your hair.”  

You were thankful he was telling you what he was doing. You still felt a nervous but having his hands caress you and guide you was perfect.  

He finished rinsing your hair, and it was done. Then he did the same with conditioner, and it was all good, no water in your ears.  

He pecked your cheek. “Such a good job,” he praised. “Can I touch your tail?”  

You nodded, and lifted your tail out of the water. “Here... ‘m sensitive at the base of my tail.” They sort of knew that, but you wanted to double check.  

“Okay, thank you for telling me.”  

He did the shampoo and conditioner and was very gentle, and it was nice to have your tail pet like that. Usually, it was just your ears that got pet, so this was a nice change.  

“Okay, my dear, all done. Do you want to soak, or do you want out?”  

“Out.”  

He didn’t laugh at how quickly you replied and instead helped you stand up. The water dripped down your nude body and the air felt cooling on your skin, your nipples hardening. Asmo didn’t pay mind to that, either, and led you to stand on a rug. He put on a robe and tied it around his waist. You did see his mild erection, but right now you didn’t want to do any of that. Your head wasn’t in the right place, and thankfully your Masters were kind enough not to force you into doing things.  

Asmo was rifling through the closet for towels, picking at them and shaking his head, looking for a specific one obviously. “I have a nice fleece robe for you, and cozy slippers. Do you want me to blow dry your hair, or let it dry naturally?”  

You didn't like the sound of the blow dryer. “No dryer,” you said adamantly.  

He chuckled. “Got it, love.” He used a towel to dry over your body, and you let him, feeling pampered. The towel was so soft and fluffy. You purred, leaning into his touch. “Ugh, you are the most precious little thing ever,” he cooed, kissing at your cheek. Then he grabbed a bathrobe, pink and fluffy, and put it around you loosely.  

“No underwear?” you asked with a frown.  

“Do you want some?” he asked back.  

You pursed your lips, and swished your tail back and forth. The robe was snug and felt soft on your body, so no, you actually didn’t want underwear.  

“No thank you.”  

He nodded. “We have to put cream on your bum anyway, so come this way,” he held out his hand, and took you to his bedroom and had you lay on the bed on your belly. He left for a quick second, and then he was back and lifted the robe up and spread your cheeks open with one of his hands, your puckered hole tensing from the cool air.  

“Master...”  

He hummed, and a cold finger glopped with something rubbed over your hole, dipping inside just so in order to curl and rub. He did this for a few seconds and then his finger was gone. “Good, that’ll help you feel better.”  

You turned your head, and then decided to just roll over on your back. He came over to kiss your nose, and you swiped at his face with your tongue playfully, catching his chin. You felt warm and soft and floaty from the last hour of sex time and bathing, or it could have been longer or shorter, you were not totally sure.  

“Playful Kitten,” he teased. Then your stomach growled. He giggled. “Hungry Kitten, too. It is dinner time.”  

He frowned a second later, and sat on the bed next to you, grabbed his phone and started texting. You leaned over to see him messaging Beel for food. You whined. “Can I have sweets?”  

“After dinner, lovely. We can all have some cake that Barbatos made.”  

Your ears perked up. “Barb made cake?” your stomach growled louder, and your cheeks reddened.  

Asmo cooed. “He came by while we we’re in the bath to drop it off. I'm not sure why or what it was for, but it looks good. And Beel promised to save some for you.”  

There was a knock on the door, and Beel peeked in after Asmo gave the okay to come inside. He held a plate of food, steaming and aromatic. His eyes ran over you, and he seemed satisfited with what he saw and stepped in fully.  

“None for me?” Asmo blinked, but he had a small smile on his face.  

Beel frowned. “Sorry, I only brought food for Kitten.”  

Asmo sighed. “That’s okay, I've been watching my figure lately anyway.”  

Both your Master’s sat on either side of you, and took turns feeding you. It was nice. You leaned back against the soft pillows eventually and yawned.  

Beel’s large hand went to your head, and he smiled. “You should sleep now after eating all that food. Your stomach isn’t as big as mine.”  

You yawned again, and smiled sheepishly. “Yes, Master. Can I have a hug before bed?”  

Beel grinned. He held you to his chest, smoshing you perfectly. He smelled like warm spices, and his hugs were some of your favorite hugs out of all your Masters’ because he was so big—muscles, you meant, not fat. He did work out, and you also liked to lick his sweat from his pecs or neck.  

The red-headed demon kissed your forehead, humming. Then his lips pressed to your cheek, and slid over to your lips. You licked at them for a second, tasting him, but he didn’t let you in. That was okay, though.  

“You get hugs and kisses, little kitty. Always,” Beel said, and he pet your wet hair from your ears and smiled.  

Cheeks flushed, you reached up to peck his lips in one last kiss. “’night.”  

Beel took the plates and turned at the door to smile at you, “Good night, Kitten. Sweet dreams.” He shut the door as he left.  

Asmo wiggled on the bed and whined. “My turn for kisses now!”  

You laughed. “Yes, Master,” you leaned over and gave him several kisses on his soft lips, and one on his nose, your fangs grazing ever so slightly.  

“Kitty has such a lovely mouth,” he sighed.  

You yawned, and reached for him. “Cuddle me?”  

He did not hesitate. “How can I resist that face?”  

He curled himself around you, his fingers went to your bare belly to rub circles, and it soothed your full stomach. His hair was wet at the ends and dripped on you, but you didn’t care. This was exactly where you wanted to be.  

“Sleep tight, lovely,” Asmo whispered in your ear, right as you shut your eyes to enter dreamland.  

[jenonctcity]

Stepping Into The Moonlight

Charia Kingdom – Jeno

Smut, Fluff, Angst.

Fantasy!Au, Supernatural!Au

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Explicit Content, Graphic Sex, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Virginity Loss, Fighting.

Word Count: 13.3k

(All of this series links up. The timeline of the story runs in the order of the master list from top to bottom, Mark - Jisung. Each members part can be read as a stand-alone, but I would recommended reading all the parts in order so the story adds up.)

Charia Kingdom - A place that has equal amounts of sunshine and rain, hot and cold, rich and poor, and, humans and creatures that couldn’t be identified as that of human status. Ruled by the Lee family with a king whose cutthroat and unforgiving nature is feared by many. The poor not cared for by people who have everything, where disease takes the lives of those unfortunate enough to not have the funds to purchase medicine. A place where humans live among  creatures many would find terrifying. It’s no secret that Vampires, Werewolves, Wizards, etc live amongst them like normal people. Unless you murder someone, you’re considered normal. Everyone lives their own lives, whether it be a happy life, or a sorrowful life…

Being the crown prince of Charia Kingdom was never something that worried Jeno. He was raised by his mother to smile when talked to, and to have a kind heart so that he would rule the kingdom differently to how his father had. At 16, he’s unexpectedly hit by a powerful curse after hearing a ruckus going on in the echoing halls of the castle. It flips his life around, his new status as a werewolf being a challenge he hates with all his heart. It turned the kingdoms sweetheart into an angry, brooding boy. Now 19, Jeno has learned how to control when he phases with the help of the remedies Mark brews for him. The only thing he can’t control is bursting into a gigantic wolf every time a negative emotion takes over his mind. No one apart from the workers of the castle know that he’s a wolf, it being kept a secret from the public. He runs in the forest in his wolf form calm him down, until he comes face to face with a rogue wolf who threatens his life with her piercing glare. After imprinting on each other, Jeno has to learn how to balance his new love, his duties as prince, his burning rage, and a secret that is revealed to him that changes his life once again.

“I’m your brother…” Renjun’s words had Jeno’s eyebrows furrowing, a mix of confusion and betrayal curdling in Jeno’s stomach. He couldn’t understand why Renjun was comparing himself to a brother since he was the one who had cursed him. Friends close enough to be labelled as brother’s don’t do that to each other. He’d clearly misunderstood Renjun’s words.

“No you’re not. We used to be like brothers, but not anymore. You ruined my life. So don’t use how close we used to be as a way of trying to get out of this because I want to hurt you so ba-” Jeno growled out but was interrupted by Renjun.

“No! Jeno you don’t understand!” He gripped at his shaggy hair in frustration, his eyes squeezing shut as he let out a long sigh. “We have the same father! We are brothers by blood! That’s why your father killed my mother because I found out about his big secret. I confronted him, and he killed her. I was on my way to murder him when you got in my way, that’s why you ended up the way you are now.” Jeno could feel the heat inside of him rising as Renjun, his apparent brother, talked. He didn’t know whether to believe him or not. But why would he lie? “I’m sorry Jeno…I never meant to do this to you.” Renjun’s voice turned soft in his sincerity, the girl behind him approaching him and taking his hand into her own. Jeno frowned as he watched them, jealous that Renjun was living a normal life despite what he did to Jeno’s. Jeno didn’t say anything, instead tried to focus on his breathing as it spiked, his chest rising and falling fast and his shoulders tensing up as he felt the wolf inside of him ready to take over. It felt like he needed to throw up, his knees shaking and his fingers trembling as the warmth spread from his stomach. The warmth turned into a gruelling pain that he had never gotten used to, it still hurt just as much as it had the first time that his body had ripped into a gigantic wolf.

“Renjun!” The girl beside him squealed, pulling Renjun back in fright as she saw how Jeno’s eyes turned from a deep brown to a glowing amber, identical to the ones she’d seen through the cabin just before Jeno had made his entrance. Watching Jeno change into a wolf made Renjun wince, a horrible feeling flooding his gut as he knew how this was his fault. One second Jeno was stood on two feet, the next he was stood on four. The changing process always made his mind go hazy as his instincts turned from human to wolf, but his mind remained the same. He still had the same thoughts and opinions, and he remembered who he was. He was just more likely to fight and hurt someone with his wolf instinct. He briefly thought back to the way that Mark’s girlfriend had looked at him with the same fear in her eyes that Jeno could see in Renjun’s girlfriend and it made him sick that he had that impact on people he didn’t want to harm.

“Jeno, I beg you…you can hurt me but please don’t touch her.” Renjun’s voice wavered as he held his hands up in surrender. Jeno squeezed his eyes shut and let out a low growl, thoughts flying around his head but not even one of those thoughts were to harm the woman stood beside his brother. It hurt Jeno that everyone immediately thought he was going to intentionally harm them when he turned into a wolf involuntarily because of his emotions. It caused his heart to ache. He had never been an aggressive person until he had to live with the cards he’d been dealt. Deep down he was still the soft, kind, warm-hearted Prince his mother had raised him to be. He just found it hard to overcome the constant burn of angst and anger he felt towards his condition and lack of normality on his life. It led him to feel the heavy cloud of depression over his head that he struggled to cope with, especially when everyone he knew was so cautious around him now. His paw raised to step towards the pair, and as he did, a scuffle of leaves and snapping twigs caused his ears to perk up. But before he could look towards the sound, a wolf skidded to a stop on the mud in front of him, putting herself between him and the couple. Her teeth bared and her emerald eyes glowed as they narrowed at him. He could tell she was a female purely from her scent, which was a lot sweeter than any of the male wolves he’d come across.

“Snowy!” Renjun’s eyes widened as he addressed the wolf. Jeno was slightly confused, as he hadn’t smelt any nearby wolves, but he pinned it down to him before distracted by his own head to even notice his senses. The wolf in front of him was considerably smaller than his large frame, her fur as white as snow and he could see why they called her Snowy. She smelt different to all the other wolves that Jeno had encountered before, her scent not making his nose crinkle in disgust from the earthy scent he usually smelt around wolves. Not that he’d met many other wolves, and when he did, they’d simply ignore him in passing and respect each other’s boundaries. But she smelt like the sweet flowers he’d only ever smelt inside of the castles garden because they didn’t grow in the wild, his nose raising slightly in the air as he sniffed to smell the scent deeper. He smelt the undertone of what he remembered to be rain when it hit trees. The fresh scent sitting happily against his nose and making his head tilt in confusion.

You stared at Jeno with narrowed eyes, keeping your teeth bared at him to show him that you wouldn’t allow him to get close to the only human’s you could trust. You kept a low growl vibrating from your throat, but it didn’t seem to be affecting him as he continued to stare at you non-threateningly for a few minutes. You’d been watching the interaction from the safety of the brush, keeping low so that your appearance would come as a surprise to him. You saw how he turned into a wolf, and his scent surprisingly stayed identical to the warm smell of something you couldn’t quite identify instead of the smell of dirt and wet dog that you usually smelt around male wolves. You stayed low as you growled at him, ready to pounce at him at any moment to protect Renjun and his love who you still didn’t know the name of, despite how much smaller than him you were.

Jeno snapped out of his reverie, feeling a strange pull to you but not knowing what it meant, so he lowered himself, copying your stance and baring his teeth at you too. When you didn’t back off despite smelling the pheromones he was now emitting as he tried to assert his dominance in being a large male over you, he barked, trying to make you feel threatened. Your heart was racing, not wanting to act on the pull you felt. It was as if gravity was trying to push you to him, but you didn’t want to admit the inkling you had in your brain as to what it could be. You weren’t scared of him, you’d fought plenty of other wolves in your lifetime, ones who were purebred wolf and others who were a human and wolf mix like yourself and the wolf stood in front of you.

“Snowy don’t!” Renjun shouted as you lunged at the wolf you remembered as Jeno, as you’d heard Renjun call him. Your teeth latched onto his neck, not penetrating the skin but gripping onto him as you stayed latching onto him. You weren’t big enough to knock his heavy frame over, but you used all your strength in fighting him. He thrashed around, trying to rid his body of you without harming you. He didn’t want to fight, but it was in his natural instincts to protect himself. So you found yourself tumbling with him in a mix of white and black fur into the dense trees. He threw you off of him, but that didn’t stop you. Your claws dug into the earth as you jumped at him again, he jumped at you at the same time and you felt your body hit a tree trunk hard from how you ricocheted off his strong body. He pinned you down to the floor, his mouth caging your neck to the floor as he tried to control you in his act of self-defence. You stopped moving, knowing you had been defeated because of the size difference, waiting until he pulled away and backed off, his body still in a defensive stance, his claws making marks in the soil from how hard he was gripping the floor as he stared at you.  

You stayed laying on the floor as you caught your breath. Jeno felt the need to rub his head against you and help you up, but he didn’t know you, and he most definitely wasn’t going to attempt to do that after you attacked him. You wanted nothing more than for him to nuzzle your face and lick at all the cuts that stained your white fur a royal red, but you also wanted him to stay away from you. The conflicted feelings you both felt dawned on you both at the same time.

You’d imprinted on each other.

You felt sick to your stomach as the fact you’d imprinted on someone and knew that your wolf would be restless forever until you both caved to the feelings and joined your souls in the way they wanted to merge. Jeno only knew of imprinting from books he’d read about werewolves, but he could easily diagnose it from the symptoms matching everything he remembered from the books. He never thought he’d feel the feelings he was feeling in that moment as he stared at your limp body. He was overjoyed, but worried. You knew one day you would find your ���soulmate’, but you never expected it to be so soon, and certainly not in this kind of circumstance. You could remember the day that your brother imprinted on a human and left you to live alone in the woods when you were sixteen, opting to live in his human form to be with his love. You’d been alone since then, learning how to take care of yourself and struggling to resent your brother because you knew he couldn’t fight the burning desire his instincts thrust upon him.

You didn’t know what to do, so you jumped up. Standing on shaky legs for a moment before bolting off between the trees as fast as your four legs could carry you. You didn’t have to turn around to know that Jeno was hot on your heels. You could hear his heavy paws against the earth and the way he panted as he tried to keep up with your nimble body. He was catching up with you, his long legs giving him the advantage. But you knew the woods like the back of your hand, so you found it easy to dodge between trees and take sharp turns. Soon losing him amongst the trees, but you that didn’t stop you from running. You ran until you reached the cave that you used as your den, huddling against the wall, and staying in your wolf form in case he followed your scent and suddenly popped up out of nowhere.

Jeno mentally beat himself up at how easily you had escaped him. His mind was clouded over from the realisation at what had just happened. He decided to go back to the castle instead of going back to Renjun. He could deal with that another day now that he knew where Renjun was residing. He dragged his feet, sulking as he walked through the forest. He used the cover of the trees to make his way home, letting out a short howl that Jisung knew meant he was back home and needed some clothes before he could show himself. The younger boy opened the gate and rushed into the trees to Jeno, giving him some loose clothes so he could hide his modesty as he entered the castle.

Jeno went to sleep that night, knowing his life had just drastically changed once more.

 ---

The forest felt different to Jeno as he desperately sniffed at the floor, trying hard to pick up your scent that you’d left behind the day prior. In his mouth he held a bag of clothes, two pairs of clothes just in case he managed to find you, so that your first encounter with him as a human wouldn’t have to be naked. He’d been searching for hours, going in circles in his desperation to try and find you. Eventually he caught scent of what he remembered you to smell like, his ears pricking up and his nose twitching at the euphoria your scent had on him. He stood still for a moment, basking in the feeling that had overcome him, before his legs started moving, his body subconsciously following the scent as it became stronger.

The scent took him to a stream, the shallow water hitting the rocks on the bed of the meandering water and making a comforting sound. He crept up quietly, making sure his paws hardly touched the floor so that his footsteps remained silent. He could see your white fur through the trees, your feet submerged in the flowing water and your head bowed, staring at your own reflection. He dropped the bag, changing to his human form and hurrying to put on his loose white shirt and baggy tan pants. He took a deep breath in anticipation, slowly appearing from the trees and holding his hands up in surrender. He cleared his throat to gain your attention, and your head flicked up immediately. You backed off, crossing to the other side of the stream and lowering your body to the ground in caution. You had only seen his face from the side, and even then, you didn’t see it very clearly. So his beautifully handsome face was enough to take your breath away. He had a strong jawline, kissable pouty lips, and wide eyes that were staring at you with a soft look.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was deep, and you were trying so desperately to ignore the invisible rope that felt like it was tugging you towards him by your heart. “I think we got off to a bad start, my name is Jeno…” His eyes stayed on you as you visibly relaxed but didn’t make any effort to approach him. He gulped as he thought about his next words. “Are you like me? Or do you only have your wolf form?” He desperately wanted you to tell him that you were like him. If you weren’t and only had your wolf form, then he knew that his wolf would never be fully satisfied unless he was with you all the time, which would mean living as a wolf permanently, something he didn’t want to do, nor could do as he still had the responsibility of being a prince sitting on his shoulders. When you turned away from him and walked between the trees, he felt his heart sink and his shoulders drop in disappointment. But when he saw a small hand wrap around a tree trunk and a pair of glowing emerald green eyes, the same as your wolf, he felt his heart flutter. The only way you could tell if a person was born with the ability to turn into a wolf was if their eyes stayed the same colour in human form as they were in wolf form. If they were born as a normal human but had been cursed, their eyes would return to normal colour in their human form. “Hey…” He smiled, but as he took a step forward you hid behind the tree again. “I won’t hurt you; I promise…take this.” He crossed the stream, his feet getting wet, but he didn’t care. He then balled up the cotton dress in his hands and threw it, so that it landed by your feet. You pulled it over your head and let the white material fall down to your knees. You stepped out from behind the tree, finally showing Jeno all of yourself now that you weren’t naked.

After taking your first step, you felt your knees buckle, your hands about to come in contact with the grass but Jeno had stepped forward and caught you just in time. “Are you okay?” He sounded worried, his voice soft and his grip on your hips firm. You looked up at him with wide eyes, nodding to him when you opened your mouth, but no noise came out. He looked into your eyes, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears and his mouth going dry. His touch felt warm and you felt the need to curl up in his hold and never let go. “I heard them call you Snowy, is that your name?” You shook your head, clearing your throat and opening your mouth once more.

“My name is (Y/N).” Your voice was as pure as freshly laid snow, it sending a ripple up Jeno’s spine and he smiled widely. If he didn’t have wolf senses, then he wouldn’t have heard you, your voice so quiet that it couldn’t even be classed as a whisper. You hadn’t been in your human form in over a year, so your human body felt stiff and weak. Your voice not warmed up and your limbs shaky.

“Beautiful…” He murmured subconsciously and then felt his cheeks heating up at his confession. “So, I’m assuming you’ve realised that we’ve imprinted on each other…” You nodded at his statement, his hands still gripping at your hips more softly, feeling an odd satisfaction that he’d never felt before as he held you. His body felt strong, your hands placed timidly on his broad shoulders and you stared at his lips as he talked.

“Mhm.” You made a quiet noise and nodded your head.

“Come back to the castle with me.” He phrased it as a command, not a question. You tilted your head in confusion and raised an eyebrow.

“Castle?” Your voice was getting louder as you spoke, it sounding almost normal but still as gentle as a cloud.

“I’m the Prince of this Kingdom, I live in the castle, and I want you to come back with me. We can get to know each other, because either way neither of us will be happy if we’re apart.” You pulled away from him after he finished speaking. It made his stomach sink and he reached out to you, but you took another step back. You furrowed your eyebrows and shook your head. You didn’t want to leave the forest; it was were you grew up and all you knew. Of course you’d spent time with humans in the town, but you hadn’t been there for long periods of time, always ending up in the forest with your family where you preferred. You were also shocked that he was a Prince. Of all the people you could have imprinted on, you thought it was typical that you imprinted on someone who would have a difficult life.

“I don’t want to leave the forest…” You shook your head, watching as his face darkened, his eyebrows knitting together and mouth parting almost as if in disgust. It was clear to you that he was used to getting his own way as soon as he demanded it.

“Why? You could live a life of luxury and never have to worry about anything again!” His voice was louder, and it had an aggressive undertone to it as he got irritated at your refusal. You took another step back, your own face hardening as you tried to show that he didn’t scare you.

“I don’t want that. I don’t even know you. Back off.” Your eyes started to glow, as did Jeno’s. His soft brown eyes turning amber as his emotions got to him. He was upset that you didn’t comply to his wants. His sadness always turning into anger as he had no control of his emotions.

“We’re meant to be!” He growled, feeling his hands start to shake and his shoulders tensing up.

“Go away!” You shouted at him, turning away and about to start running off, but your legs couldn’t handle it and you fell to the floor, your body thudding against the grass. Jeno gasped, his eyes dimming back to brown and all of his anger flooding off of him like he’d been hit by a wave of freezing cold water.

“(Y/N)!” He rushed to you, scooping you up into his arms and holding you to him. You felt a burst of tingles inside of your stomach, his scent flooding your senses and making your pupils dilate. You gripped onto him and nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck like you’d been wanting to since you’d met him the day before. You took in a deep breath, your nose trailing against his skin and you felt the overwhelming urge to sink your teeth into his neck, marking him as yours. All of your previous anger and resistance turning into lust and want. It was what your wolf and instincts wanted, and you couldn’t control it.

“Jeno.” You moaned, licking a stripe up his neck, and nipping at his warm skin. He moaned lowly, dropping down to his knees and laying you on the floor in front of him. His eyes were nearly black from how dilated his pupils had gone, staring down at you like you were a meal he was about to devour. He didn’t know how to control himself, never having felt the need to claim someone as his own. He felt his cock harden the second you licked his neck, then the smell of your arousal hit his nose, he got stiffer, grinding his crotch against your own. “Take me.” You whimpered, tugging the cotton dress up so that your lower half was completely bare in front of him. You knew about how feral wolves could be once they found their mate, but you’d never expected the pull you felt towards him to be as great as what it was. You wanted nothing more than for him to bury himself inside of you and claim you as his. On the other hand, you didn’t want him to touch you because then you’d not be able to leave him, and you’d end up going with him to the castle, which you didn’t want to do. But your wolf senses were beating your human senses. Jeno stared down at your dripping core, his mouth watering at the sight and he felt less human than he’d ever felt before, wanting to completely destroy you but knowing he shouldn’t because he was raised to respect women.

The two of you completely disregarded your hesitance, looking into each other’s eyes as they almost glowed with desire and want. Jeno pushed down his baggy pants, his cock harder than he’d ever witnessed it to be. It was a violent red and looked like it was going to explode with cum at any second. You bit your bottom lip so hard that you got the bitter metallic taste of blood on your tongue as you watched him take his cock in his hand. It looked so big that you wanted to drag your tongue over it and taste him, but you couldn’t push the desire away to have him inside of you, so that would have to wait. Jeno’s human side couldn’t believe how fast this was happening. He’s supposed to be the sophisticated, eloquent Prince of the Kingdom who’s supposed to marry a Princess and rule the Kingdom one day. But instead he’s about to lose his virginity on the dirty floor of the forest to a girl he’s known a day who lives a rogue life.

He pushed his cock into you once the shiver up his spine caused his body to move without his brain working. You let out a loud moan that sounded almost like a howl, your fingers gripping at the ground, your nails digging into the dirt as your back arched up into Jeno’s touch. Jeno’s jaw dropped open, his breath being ripped from his lungs as he gripped your hips tightly. You looked up at Jeno, noticing his eyes were almost black, the lust swimming around behind his dark irises as he started to thrust his cock into you at an almost inhuman speed. You’d never had sex before, but your body was made to take your mates length and your core stretched perfectly to his size. You whimpered as he lowered his body over the top of your own, his lips finding purchase on your neck. You wound your arms around his back, digging your nails into his damp skin and dragging them down, leaving bright red trails behind. He bit your neck suddenly, a scream leaving your lips as you started to roll your hips up into his thrusts. His teeth broke your skin, and he left his mark on your skin, claiming you as his own. You felt like if he pulled away from you at all, you’d die from loneliness. His lips pressed rough kisses to the mark he’d left, tracing his tongue over the mark to heal it.

A rustling coming from between the trees behind your head caused Jeno to stop. He looked up, sniffing at the air, and letting out a low growl, it rumbling from his throat as his eyes scanned the trees. The sound stopped, then sounded again further away as if something was retreating after hearing Jeno’s warning. His eyes quickly flicked to you instead and he leaned in, capturing your lips with his own, pushing his tongue into your mouth and exploring it as his hips started to move again. Your silky walls sucked his cock in, squeezing over him as it felt like he was made for you, it not feeling painful despite it being your first time. He moaned into your mouth, his hips slamming into yours harder as you felt like the universe was inside of you and it was about to explode, a completely unfamiliar feeling washing over you as your orgasm washed through you like a red hot fire. You clung onto Jeno, not wanting to let go of him as hot ropes of cum shot from his cock inside of you, coating your walls as his head fell to the crook of neck. He relaxed on top of you, the bliss of his orgasm and being in your arms was making him feel lightheaded. You tried to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling as you held each other in your arms. His cock softened but he left it inside of you, not being able to let go of you.

“I’ll come back with you.” You whispered against his hair, placing a kiss to your mate’s head as his grip on you tightened. The thought of him going back to his home, the castle, and leaving you behind made your heart tear at the seams. You couldn’t let go of him, and you had a feeling it was something to do with the mark he’d left on your neck.

“Thank you. You’ll be treated like a princess, I promise.” His words echoed around your head as your eyes slowly closed, exhaustion from changing into a human and being so close to your mate causing you to pass out underneath him.

---

Living in a palace felt odd. You were completely out of your comfort zone, and it had only been two days. The only thing keeping you from running back to your home in the forest was the tie you felt to Jeno. You knew your wolf would go crazy if you were to leave Jeno behind. It still felt strange living in your human form, but you knew there was no way you could be a wolf inside of the castle grounds. Jeno hadn’t left you alone, and he pretty much always had his hands on you, rubbing your skin affectionately and burying his face in your neck or hair. The night you’d gotten back to the castle, Jeno had taken you to his bedroom. You’d never seen a bedroom before, and Jeno’s was huge, the bed feeling soft against your naked back as Jeno fucked you for hours, the both of you getting a feel for each other’s bodies. You hadn’t spoken much, the majority of your relationship being your physical need for each other. All you knew was he’s the Prince of the Kingdom and first in line for the throne.

You stood in front of a full-length mirror; your hair pulled around your shoulder, so it was out of the way for Jeno to lace up your dress from behind. A maid had tried to lace up your dress, but Jeno had stared at her with eyes that could kill and hastily dismissed her when he realised he couldn’t deal with watching someone else be so close to you. You stared at the baby blue material as it brushed against the floor, the silk shining against the natural light as it flooded into the room from the large window. Jeno’s fingers nimbly laced up your dress, his eyes occasionally darting from the back of your dress to stare at your face in the mirror. He was completely in awe of your beauty, and he couldn’t help but want to drag your body over to the bed behind you both and make you so wet that he could lick up your thighs to bury his tongue in your heat like he really wanted to. His eyes started to glow amber as his lust swam through him. You could smell his arousal and cleared your throat.

“Will your parents like me?” You spoke quietly, fiddling with your hair and looking at Jeno through the mirror. Jeno snapped out of his daydream, tying the material in a bow and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, settling his chin on your shoulder.

“My mother will…My father probably won’t, but don’t worry about it princess.” His voice was quiet like your own, and he smiled, placing a wet kiss to your cheek.

“I’m not a princess yet.” You turned you head, your lips brushing against his plush ones as he let out a gentle laugh.

“You’re my princess.”

“We’ve only known each other for a few days…” You couldn’t help the slight hesitance you felt, everything overwhelming you.

“It doesn’t matter, we were meant for each other. I am a prince, so that means you are my princess.” His words caused you to shudder, and he pressed his lips to your own. You wanted to pull away from his searing kiss, but you couldn’t find it within you to drag your lips from his. His arms tightened around your waist, his tongue pushing into your mouth as his fingers gripped at the material on your body.

“Mmm!” You moaned into his mouth but quickly pulled away. “You’ll rip it!” You pushed his hands away and stepped back, noticing his eyes were glowing amber like they did every time he got aroused. He walked back towards you with the lust swimming in his eyes, his hands reaching out for you, but you backed off. “No, we have to meet your parents!” He didn’t seem to be listening though, as he backed you up to the wall and brought your lips back to his own. His kiss was rough and had your stomach dropping at how it made you felt, his arousal sparking up your own. But someone had to take control and you had a feeling that Jeno couldn’t. “Stop.” You growled against his lips, his own breaking from yours.

“Okay.” He complied easier than you thought he would, his head nodding up and down like a submissive dog. “Let’s go.” He brushed the creases that he’d made out of your dress, laying a gentle kiss on your lips that was a complete contrast to his previous kisses. He took your hand in his and guided you through the palace, greeting random members of staff as you travelled around. He stopped in front of big, oak doors that you assumed his parents were behind. “It’s okay.” He pushed the doors open and his eyes locked immediately on his parents, trying to gauge their reaction from afar and taking a deep breath to calm his own nerves. He could feel your anxiety rolling off of you and it was making him feel sick, the negative emotion admitting off of you making him want you out of the room and to protect you from how you were feeling. You glanced at his parents, your eyes shifting from the evil stare of his father to the soft gaze of his mother. He placed his hand on your lower back and guided you further into the room, following the royal red carpet up towards the solid gold thrones his parents were perched on.

The queen was wearing a beautiful dress, it was a deep emerald green that brought out her natural beauty, her hair flowing in curls down her shoulders, with a golden crown perched on top of her head. She looked kind, but you’d learnt throughout your years that looks could be deceiving. The king on the other hand, looked at you with a stare that could kill. You couldn’t deny that he was handsome. He looked a lot like Jeno, but with signs of aging and his black hair greying underneath his crown.

“What is the meaning of this Jeno?” The king spoke before you’d even finished approaching them. You heard Jeno let out a sigh from beside you, the both of you coming to a stop at the stairs leading up to the thrones. “I do not approve of this.”

“Father please ju-”

“Is she a wolf?”

“How would you kn-”

“Is she a wolf?!” His father’s voice raised in dominance.

“She is…You don’t understand, I can’t control who I love, because of my…condition. You have no choice but to accept it. Besides, I didn’t come here for your approval, I simply came here to introduce the future princess of the kingdom to you. Charia Kingdom will be lucky to have her as a member of the royal family.” Jeno’s voice was strong through his speech to his parents, his confidence in your relationship making your heart flutter. The queen had a smile on her face, and you immediately knew that you wanted to know more about her. Your own mother hadn’t ever been maternal towards you, and as soon as you could fend for yourself, she had left you and your older brother alone in the forest. So you hoped that she could feel the void your mother left.

“Jeno, I will not allow this!” His father’s voice started to raise and his face hardened.

“You have no choice!” Jeno’s voice rose to compete with his father. You could feel the anger radiating off of Jeno and you moved your hand to grip gently at his bicep, wordlessly telling him to calm down.

“I can assure you that I do.” The king’s voice lowered dangerously, and it sent shivers down your spine, your breath catching in your throat as you thought about all of the bad things that man could potentially do to you and your mate. “Don’t make a decision you’ll regret.”

“If anything happens to me, or her, then you won’t have an heir to the throne. That’s right, you’ll let your family bloodline lose the throne. Because you already got rid of one of your sons, didn’t you?” Jeno’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes narrowing at his father. The kings face faltered before he quickly recovered his hard look, it looking harder than ever. “That’s right, I know about what happened with Renjun. You’re the reason I have this curse, so you’re the reason I am marrying a wolf like myself. Get used to it.” He snapped, grabbing your hand and dragging you from the room with long strides, causing you to jog after him so that you could keep up.

“Jeno, calm down.” Your voice was soft, but it fell on deaf ears as Jeno took you through the palace to your shared bedroom. His hand was shaking in your grip, and you could hear his heart pounding in his chest. You smelt the odd smell of arousal, your eyes widening at how he was horny in a moment like this. “Jeno!” He pushed you into the bedroom, slamming the wooden door shut so hard that it almost came off of its hinges, the wood shaking against the frame. He forced you up against the wall, and you knew if you were average like a human, he probably would have broken your back from how hard he shoved you. You let out a whimper which fell into his mouth as his lips smashed to your own. His teeth bit at your bottom lip, tugging at it before sucking it into his mouth. His hands sat on your waist as your hands came to rest on his shoulders, feeling the tension of his anger underneath your fingertips. The kiss was filthy and left you almost dripping down your thighs, your legs almost quivering at the need to feel his cock inside of you, filling you up perfectly how he had been since you’d met.

“You’re dripping for me already aren’t you baby girl?” He growled into your mouth, his fingertips gripping at your silk dress so tightly that the material ripped underneath his hold. You felt dizzy under his hold, his ministrations causing your hormones to rage around your body like a blazing fire. The fogginess of your head meant you’d missed when he lifted your body and threw you onto the bed like a ragdoll. He stood at the end of the bed, staring down at you with glowing amber eyes, his chest rising and falling fast as he tried to catch his breath, your scent making his head stir to the point where he couldn’t even think straight. You stared at him, feeling like prey underneath his flaming eyes. Crawling up the bed on his hands and knees had your legs automatically spreading, his body caging you against the bed as his lips came in contact with your chest. He’d tore your dress from your body, but you still had on your corset and panties.

“Jeno.” You moaned, his teeth nipping at the skin of your breasts as they bulged from the tightness of the corset.

“You smell so good, turn over.” Even though he instructed you to turn over, he didn’t give you a chance to, as he flipped you over and made quick work of the silk holding your corset together. His fingers were shaking so much from his eagerness to buried inside of you that he let out a dangerous growl, forgetting about untying the rest of your corset, pushing your body into mattress and shredding the material of your panties to get access to your soaking pussy. Your face smashed into the soft pillows, your hands laying against the mattress as you pushed your ass back into Jeno’s crotch. Jeno rid himself of his clothes, throwing them to the floor as if they were nothing but cheap rags as he buried his cock inside of you fast. He was in a complete trance of sex and need. You still had your corset on, but Jeno decided it didn’t matter anymore now that he had you where he needed you.

“Jeno,” You felt like the corset was constricting your body like one of the lethal snakes you’d came in contact with many of times throughout your life in the forest. Jeno was thrusting his hips at a fast pace, his cock hitting your insides at the perfect angle and making your eyes roll into the back of your head from the euphoric feeling bursting throughout your nervous system. “take it off of me!” You still weren’t used to wearing clothes, and it was the first time you’d ever experienced something as uncomfortable as a corset. You didn’t understand why women would want to wear something so horrid just to get a specific shape to their body. Humans really did confuse you. When he made no effort to pull the corset off of you, you felt yourself start to freak out. “GET IT OFF OF ME!” You screamed, pushing back against Jeno, and letting out another moan from his cock working wonders inside of you. He stopped thrusting when the scent of fright wafted through his air and infiltrated his senses.

“Okay, calm down my love.” He pulled your body from his own, gently pushing you back to be pressed against the bed as his used his strength to rip the silk holding the corset together, his biceps bulging. He plucked the corset out from underneath your chest and tossed it to the floor. “You’re okay, I wouldn’t let anything ever hurt you. It’s just material.” He understood why you freaked out. Whenever he was in his wolf form in the forest, he felt like the rural areas of the kingdom didn’t exist, and he became accustomed to forest life, so he empathised with how you were trying to adjust. You’d lived in the forest your entire lift and knew nothing else, so Jeno could understand why you would freak out over something as small as a piece of material too tight around your chest. You let out a sigh of relief and melted into his hold, his lips pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as his hips rolled into yours in a slower pace. You pushed back into his thrusts, your eyes drifting shut as his pace picked up again, the sound of skin slapping against skin and your sopping walls sucking him in perfectly, echoing around the room and making the heat of the room rise.

“Jenoooo.” You whined as he wrapped his arms around your body, lifting you to be pressed against his strong chest as cock hit new angles inside of you. You gripped onto his hands with yours, your nails digging into his skin so hard that blood trickled down onto the sheets underneath you. Jeno reacted by burying his face into your neck, breathing in your scent, and licking his hot tongue over the permanent mark he’d made on your neck the day you first made love.

“Mine.” He growled, and when his teeth nipped at his claiming mark, your orgasm washed over you with such a euphoric feeling that your body shuddered in his tight hold. Lightning struck behind your eyelids as you bathed in the bliss of the feeling of Jeno’s affection. You felt so sleepy from your high that you went limp in his hold, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as he tensed up. “Going to fill you up.”” His teeth nipped at your earlobe as his voice grumbled lowly, his words causing a small whimper to leave your lips at the thought of his seed spilling inside of you. “You’ll look so fucking beautiful when you’re carrying my baby, the future king or queen of this kingdom.” You knew he didn’t mean his words, well at least not at the moment. It was well known that wolves had a keen need to mate with each other, especially when it was nearing a full moon, the need to continue on with the wolf bloodline and nurture your own babies was so overwhelming sometimes that you could cry from the want of being a mother. But other times you could gag at the sight of children, them being your worst nightmare. Jeno had expressed his want for children only a handful of the times that you’d been intimate, but had made sure to tell you when his head wasn’t swimming with lust that he was happy to wait until you were officially married to start making babies. It was lucky that you were only fertile a handful of days every other month, the wolf breeding different to humans and other species, and you hadn’t experienced any of those days since having met Jeno, so you knew you were in the all clear of pregnancy.

The two of you fell flat on the bed, his breath ghosting over your neck as he panted to catch his breath. He let out a soft laugh and circled his hips into yours once more, eliciting a little mewl from your parted lips and a smile to tug on your lips. He stayed inside of you as he rearranged you both so that you were laying on top of him, your head buried in his chest as your nails scratched lightly at his skin.

“My little princess caused some damage.” Jeno held his wounded hand up to assess the damage that you’d done. It was only weeping with blood now because wolves tended to heal slightly faster than humans. You stared at it and then flicked your eyes back to his own adoring eyes.

“I can cause more damage than that if you get on the wrong side of me.” Jeno let out a loud laugh at your words, his hand coming down to lay on your lower back, the stir of affection pooling inside of you as you stared at his angelic features. His lips were a vibrant red from the abuse your lips had inflicted on them, his hair messy and cheeks tinged pink, the afterglow of sex looking divine on him.

“Get some sleep.” He whispered, his hand trailing with a featherlight touch up your back to play with your hair. You relaxed in his hold, feeling incredibly tired and needing to shut down. “Please don’t worry about anything that happened today with my father, you know you have my protection and forever my love. Rest well my angel.” His soothing voice was enough to have you passed out within minutes.

---

It was a few days later, early in the morning when the sun had hardly begun to make it’s ascent in the sky when Jeno woke up, sensing something was wrong. The heaviness he should have felt of you tucked up against his chest was missing, making him alert with panic striking through his veins. He gulped, his chest starting to rise and fall fast as his senses heighted, his palms sweating and his throat feeling like it was closing up. It felt like his head was being held underneath water as his hearing and sight started to blur, his own voice echoing around his head as he sprung up. He grabbed the nearest clothes he could find, throwing on the loose baby blue shirt and black trousers as his legs carried him out of his room. He paused, taking in a deep breath to try and pinpoint your scent, his lungs feeling like they were burning from the weak scent of your body that he could pick up.

“(Y/N)!!!” He bellowed through the echoing halls of the palace, his legs carrying him as fast they possibly could. People started to emerge from the rooms, concerned expressions marred on their faces as they watched the prince stumble down the hall, his body slick with sweat and his skin pale.

“Jeno!” Once Jeno heard the familiar voice of the castle’s wizard, Mark, he turned towards the source of the voice. “Jeno what’s going on?!” He grabbed Jeno as he about to run past him, stopping the panicked prince and holding him firmly by the shoulders.

“I-I don’t know where (Y/N) is.” He stuttered out, gulping down the lump in his throat to allow the air to flow through to his wheezing lungs.

“We’ll find her! Calm down, you know it’s not good for you to get worked up.” He didn’t want to verbally remind Jeno of the time he’d injured Mark’s significant other from getting worked up, but Jeno got the hint. “Can you track her scent?” Jeno nodded, the heat in his body making him lightheaded.

“It’s weak.”

“Track her.” Mark urged him, giving him a gentle push forward. Jeno gulped down his emotions, trying to get your taste on his tongue as he looked at his surroundings. He felt the burning inside of him before he could stop it, and his body suddenly erupted into his wolf form. He sniffed the air, your scent completely overtaking his head and causing his legs to take off before he could even think about it. It was as if he could see your scent, the only colour through his black and white vision sitting above the floor like a vibrant mist. His journey took him through the castle grounds, all the way to the gate. Jisung saw Jeno approaching and had opened the gate, letting Jeno run through as fast as he could. He could feel his heart in his chest, the adrenaline pumping through him like a spark on a trail of gunpowder. Your scent got stronger. He knew he was getting close. But seeing your body hidden behind a pile of barrels on the outskirts of the forest had him changing into a human faster than he ever had. You were peeking over a barrel, staring at the town folk as they went about their normal business. He didn’t care that he was barer than the day he was born as he ran up behind you and pulled your body against his own, your back hitting his chest so hard you let out a grunt.

“I thought you were gone.” He whispered into your neck, his lips scaling over your skin as his hands ran over your body, checking for any injuries. “Never do that again.” He held onto you tightly, relishing in your body heat and scent. You relaxed into his touch, your eyes never leaving the scene in front of you though. Jeno sighed, looking up and following your gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“My brother.” You mumbled, pointing at the tall man stood with a petite lady that had a child sat on her hip. Jeno’s eyes followed your finger and his grip softened on you. “I want to go home.” You turned in his hold, burying your head into his chest and letting out a soft sigh.

“Okay baby.” The trip back to the castle was slow. You both phased into your wolf forms and took a slow run home. It still felt strange for you to call the palace your home, but you knew you had to look to the future and stop dwelling on the past. When you got back into the castle grounds the both of you changed back into your human forms and were met by Mark, who gave you clothes to change into. After you were both dressed, Jeno took your hand into his tightly and directed you back to your shared bedroom, sitting you on the bed and taking his place beside you.

Silences ensued between you both for a few minutes, Jeno waiting for you to speak up first, but you just stared at your hand linked with his own. His hand was considerably larger than your own and fit perfectly in yours. You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before starting to tell him your story. “My mother left me and my brother when we were young. It was just the two of us alone in the forest until we took a trip to the town. He met a girl, fell in love, and told me that he was going to live his life as a human. He left me alone and today was the first time I’d seen him since he left five years ago.” Your eyes drifted up Jeno’s arm to eventually settle on his face. He was staring at your hands until he noticed that you had started looking at his face. He stared you straight in the eye and gave you a sad smile. “I couldn’t help myself. Now that I live as a human most of the time, I knew I had to see him.”

“You traced his scent?” Jeno asked even though he knew the answer already. You nodded, confirming his suspicions. “You remembered his scent five years later?”

“He’s my only family Jeno, of course I remembered it.” You leaned in, laying your head against his shoulder which took him slightly by surprise. It was often him who had to initiate all displays of affection between the two of you, as you sometimes felt strange putting all of your love into him.

“I’m your family.”

“You’re my mate, there’s a difference.”

“We’ll make our own family.” Jeno moved you around so that his lips were pressed to your neck, his mouth parted and his tongue darting out to trail around in circles on your skin.

“Jeno you never told me your story.” You felt his hand land on your thigh, his fingers slowly massaging at your skin as his tongue pressed harder to your neck.

“You smell so good.” He clearly wasn’t listening, letting his hormones take over his brain to fog up his subconsciousness.

“Jeno.” You said sternly, ignoring the fire that he was causing to ignite in your stomach from the strong scent of hormones he was emitting. He growled into your neck before drawing away from you, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as his eyes scanned your bedroom.

“My father fucked the witch, had Renjun as an illegitimate child that he hid from everyone, until Renjun’s mother told him, Renjun then confronted the king and the king had his mother killed, and then he tried to attack my father. Long story short, I got in the way and ended up being cursed as a wolf until I die. My father had a bounty put on Renjun’s head after Renjun ran away, and you saw me find out about the truth on the day that we met. Any questions?” He licked his bottom lip as he turned his head to stare at you. You gulped as you took in the information, your eyes wide at the drama that had gone on in the castle whilst you were living your life in the forest. It suddenly occurred to you that if Jeno hadn’t been cursed, then he would never have wolf instincts and you wouldn’t have been mates, so in a way you were glad that it had happened, even if you felt horrible selfish for feeling that way.

“Do you regret that it happened?” You leaned in, placing a timid kiss to his parted lips.

“No, it brought me to you…can I put my babies in you now?” He almost growled, dipping his head and running his tongue up your neck, his hormones and wolf instincts fogging up his head so much that he couldn’t supress his need for you. You knew that he didn’t mean his words, but the impending full moon had a huge influence on his instincts, and his head wasn’t thinking before his mouth was talking. You knew that it would be down to you to stop the baby making happening, because males suffer from the influence of the moon worse than females do. You took a deep breath, trying desperately not to succumb to his pleas, but before you could answer, the door swung open and hit the wall. You both glanced up fast, and you could feel the anger and annoyance radiating off of Jeno as he looked to see who had interrupted you.

“Prince Je-” Mark started; his eyes wide as Jeno cut him off with an annoyed bark.

“What?!”

“The King wants you. Now.” Mark’s face looked pale, and his eyes were wide, like he was afraid of something. You tilted your head, furrowing your eyebrows and looking to Jeno.

“Stay here.” He wasn’t asking you; he was telling you, and you didn’t want to piss him off when he was already on edge from the moon.

“He wants to see you both.” Mark gave you a lopsided smile almost as if he was silently apologising. Jeno visibly tensed, his nostrils flaring and his jaw clenching as he tried to suppress his anger.

“Fine.” He gently took your hand, a complete juxtaposition to how his actual mood was, and held onto it tightly as Mark lead you both through the castle halls. You noticed that Mark had his wand in his hand, which caused your head to tilt in confusion. In the whole time you’d been at the castle, you hadn’t once seen Mark use his wand or even have it in his hand as if he was ready to use it, and you’d seen Mark nearly every day of the short amount of time you’d been living there. You narrowed your eyes and stopped dead, feeling Jeno gently tug on your arm as he also stopped, glancing at you in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Something’s not right.” You had a bad feeling in your gut, and you gulped, trying to fight the inner urge to run and leave the castle. You smelt something suddenly and quickly turned around as if whatever it was were behind you. You glanced around and felt the air leave your lungs in shock as you realised the smell. It was a smell you’d smelt many times in the forest, and it sent shivers down your spine, now it made sense as to why you couldn’t see anything. “There’s a demon in the castle…I can smell it.” Your words had Jeno’s eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he sniffed the air. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head, pulling you firmly. Demons were one of the only creatures of the night that shook you to the core. You knew how dangerous they could be, and even being in the vicinity of one was making you cling onto your mate.

“There isn’t, come on.” You highly doubted Jeno even knew what a demon smelt like, but you weren’t about to argue with him, especially as his grip on your hand became a lot tighter, signalling that even you were starting to irritate him. You both walked after Mark, your heart thudding so hard in your chest you felt like it was going to burst out. Walking into the grand hall, the first thing you noticed was that the King and Queen were perched on their thrones, opposite of the large double wooden doors that you were entering through. The next thing you noticed was that Mark didn’t enter the room, instead he stayed by the door and motioned for you and Jeno to approach his mother and father. Then you took note of all of the knights that lined the outer side of the room, making a makeshift walkway for you both like you were walking up the aisle on your wedding day. Even if Jeno noticed the panic and anxiety radiating off of you, he made no effort to mention it or acknowledgement.

“Nice of you to join us, son.” The King spoke in a sickly-sweet tone putting emphasis on his last word, his lips curling up into a smile that had your stomach swirling. Jeno let go of your hand once you reached the stairs leading up to the thrones, and you reached out to take his hand again but one daring look from the King told you not to.

“What do you want?” Jeno clearly didn’t care to uphold formalities, his tone coming out brash and demanding, like he wasn’t talking to his King. Also he had been interrupted during a time that he didn’t wish to be interrupted, and his excess of hormones flooding throughout his body didn’t make anything easier. The King simply chuckled, nodding his head towards someone out of your line of sight. At the King’s silent request, you felt someone grabbing you from behind, two pairs of hands taking one arm each and holding you tightly. Jeno reacted immediately, about to tear their hands off for touching his mate when he was grabbed himself and forced to kneel on the carpets.

“What are you doing?! Let her go!!!” He roared, his voice echoing through the hall like he was the only person occupying the room. You struggled against their hands, desperately looking to Jeno as they pushed you hard onto your knees. You wanted to change into your wolf form, at least that way you at least stood a chance, but before you could the King piped up.

“If either of you change into your mutt forms. I’ll have all of my men behead her in front of you.”

“Father! Please don’t do this!” Jeno resorted to pleading, his entire body starting to quiver in fear and repressed power. He was trying so hard not to change, he always struggled with his emotions causing his body to react before his brain could, but your life was on the line.

“I told you not to make a decision you’d regret.” The King stood up but made no effort to move from his spot. “Now’s your last chance Jeno. Make it quick.”

“I choose her! I don’t care if you disown me and kick me out. I’d rather that than lose her.” Jeno glanced at you, his eyes glistening as they glowed amber, his inner wolf ready to burst out. Your bottom lip wobbled as you held back tears, seeing your mate in distress was causing you distress, and you felt touched that he chose you over everything he’d ever known. You’d only known him for just over two weeks, yet he was choosing you because his instincts wouldn’t let him live if he chose otherwise.

“Who said anything about disowning you or kicking you out? No no my sweet boy.” The King laughed sinisterly, his smirk growing as he stared down at his son. “I wouldn’t do that to you, you’re my son!” He turned his head towards the guards holding you and nodded his head once more, his face falling into one of no emotion. “Kill her.”

“NO!” Jeno couldn’t hold it in any longer, and his body ripped into his enormous wolf form that had the knights holding onto him flying across the floor from the power. He let out a loud growl as he turned towards you, but by the time he had his eyes on you, one of the guards had their dagger to your throat. The cold blade pressed so tightly against your neck that you felt hot blood trickle down your chest, but it didn’t hurt, you had too much adrenaline rushing through you. As Jeno’s eyes focused on the scarlet liquid running down your throat, he swore to himself he would rip anyone to shreds that hurt you. All the surrounding knights drew their swords and pointed them towards you and Jeno, circling you like a pack of hungry wolfs about to devour a deer, only you never thought you’d be the deer of the situation. Your body was shaking, terror quaking your soul when you realised this could be the end. All because fate made the Prince of the Kingdom your mate.

Everything went silent and still as an emerald green light flew through the hall, it light up the room like a fire and hit a group of knights with such a hard impact that it sent them flying into the opposing wall. You couldn’t see what was going on, as you were being held so tightly, but you heard shouting and saw many more sparks in an array of colours flying through the air. Suddenly you were thrown to the floor, your body hitting the cold tiles hard, but it didn’t stop you from jumping up and taking a stance beside Jeno. You looked over towards the door where the sparks were coming from and you saw Mark holding his wand out with Renjun beside him, and Jisung on his other side. Renjun had his wand drawn, and Jisung’s eyes were glowing golden. Jeno had informed you before that Jisung was a dragon, but you had yet to see his other form, you’d heard stories about dragons and wondered if he could even fit in the grand hall in his dragon form. You soon found out, as Jisung’s body was swallowed up in flames and in his place grew a dragon that nearly touched the untouchably high ceiling. He used his tail and swiped at many knights, knocking them all to the floor hard enough that they didn’t get back up again. The other knights didn’t last long, as Renjun and Mark took most of them out, and Jeno lunged at the ones who had been holding onto you. You turned your head away, but the sounds of their bloodcurdling screams didn’t last long once Jeno had gotten his teeth into their necks.

Mark and Renjun rushed to you both, leaving Jisung in the entrance of the room to stop anyone else from entering. The King’s eyes went as wide as a full moon, his mouth opening and parting in shock at the sight of his runaway bastard, he also knew that he had no one to protect him now that all of his knights were either unconscious or dead.

“R-Renjun?” The King stuttered out, his fists clenching tightly as he looked at you all.

“Hello Father, did you miss me?” Renjun smirked, gripping his wand tighter as the thought of revenge for the death of his mother played on his mind. The King’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darted to the boy stood beside Renjun.

“Mark, how could you betray me like this?! You will be hung for this, after I hang your little bitch of a maid first.” He sneered, still thinking he had the right to throw his orders around despite being outnumbered.

“I was never hired to help you. My specific orders were to make sure your son was safe. I’m just doing as I’m told your highness.” Mark deadpanned, unaffected by the threat of being hanged. You looked over at Jeno, seeing how the fur on his back was rising as he growled. Without any more being said, he took off, running at his father with his teeth bared. But he suddenly stopped dead. The King had withdrawn a knife, and had the Queen in his arms, the shining blade pressed against her throat.

“One more move Jeno and your mother’s blood will be spilling on the floor.” The King said lowly with so much threat in his voice that it sent shivers down your spine. Jeno whimpered, his undying love for his mother ceasing all of his plans to kill his father. She looked panicked in his hold, her hands gripping tightly at his arm as large tears rolled down her pink cheeks. You would never have expected the King to turn on his own wife, but the evil glint in his eye proved to you that he had completely lost his mind, mad with power at his sons’ defiance. The King was too busy staring his son in the eye that he didn’t notice Renjun raise his wand. The spell hit the King in face, the magic black as night and not giving the King any chance to dodge it. The knife fell to the floor with an echoing clang, the Queen breaking free of her husband’s hold and running down the stairs to her son’s side. The King staggered back, his hands coming to his throat as he struggled to breathe, his mouth gasping for breath until his face turned purple, which quickly turned to an icy blue, just before he collapsed to his knees, and fell face fire onto the floor, lifeless.

Renjun had gotten his revenge, and he couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at his lips as he saw the man who took his mother’s life away, dead on the floor in front of his own throne.

“Jeno!” You rushed to him as his body shrank back into his human form. His body sweating and his skin looking paler than you’d ever seen as he stared at the body of his father. You wrapped your arms around him and buried your head into his neck, hoping that your scent would calm him down, which it did, and he visibly relaxed in your hold.

“Baby…” He whispered, burrowing his nose in your hair, and inhaling your scent, thanking all the gods that ever lived that he wasn’t holding your lifeless body. He held you tightly, his chest rising and falling fast as he tried to catch his breath. You were still in mild shock at what had happened, and your neck was starting to hurt from the minor cut you had received, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore thankfully. Once Jeno had ran his hands all over your body to check for anymore injuries and had declared you safe, he turned his head to Mark and Renjun, also noticing that Jisung had changed back into his human form, covering himself up with Mark’s cloak that he’d passed to him clearly to keep his pride intact. “Renjun, how did you…?” He couldn’t find the words, but Renjun knew what he was implying.

“Mark has known where I’ve been since he started working here. He came to me and told me that you were in danger…I didn’t even think about it, I had to be here for you.” Jeno felt his eyes brimming with tears, the lump in his throat almost choking him as he stared at his brother. He no longer cared that he’d cursed him for life, because it brought him to you, and because in the end, Renjun, the person he’d grown up besides, was his brother, and he knew he should be happy about it. He then looked at Mark and raised an eyebrow, silently asking the question that was playing on your mind too.

“I had heard from someone that the King was planning on killing (Y/N), I knew I couldn’t take him down on my own, and you’re a big bundle of fur and emotions so you couldn’t do it alone,” He ignored the scowl that Jeno gave him as he said that. “So I got Renjun, however…I didn’t think it would escalate this much.” Jeno gulped and smiled, grateful that he had people who would put their own lives at risk for his life and his happiness.

“What about Jisung? Why is he here?” The Queen asked quietly, not happy that they brought the young boy into something that would surely turn into a fight, her maternal instincts flaring over the boy who wasn’t even her own son.

“I heard Mark talking to his girlfriend about it and there was no way I was being left out!” He grinned from ear to ear, clearly excited about the whole thing.

“Mother, did you know that father was planning this?” Jeno stayed sitting on the floor so that his mother didn’t see his private parts, he still wanted to keep his modesty. You clung onto him tightly, your hand rubbing his arm slowly to keep his emotions stable. The Queen shook her head with wide eyes, gasping at the question.

“Of course I didn’t, if I had then I would have warned you to run away. Nothing I could have said to him would have changed his mind, but at least I could have potentially saved your lives.” She took off her own cloak and handed it to Jeno, letting him lay it over his lap to hide himself better.

“Jeno.” Mark called out, gaining everyone’s attention as he walked past everyone over to the King’s body, picking up the golden crown from the floor by his head. “You know that this makes you the King, don’t you?” Jeno hadn’t even thought of that, and his mouth popped open in shock. Then it dawned on him, and he shook his head quickly.

“No. Renjun is the Kings son too, and he’s older than me. That crown belongs to him.” You could feel Jeno’s muscles tensing underneath your palms, indicating that he was getting uncomfortable. You weren’t sure how royalty worked, so you had no idea if what Jeno was saying was correct or not.

“But I’m a bastard Jeno, the Queen isn’t my mother…you have more of a claim to the throne than me.” Renjun’s eyes widened as he stared at the crown.

“You killed him, it’s yours.” Jeno argued softly, shaking his head as he glanced down at your delicate hands on his skin, letting his head hang. Renjun walked up to Mark, taking the crown from him, and inspecting it in his hands. He shook his head, walking up to Jeno and placing it on his younger brother’s head with a smile.

“You always wanted it, it’s yours Jeno.” He placed his hand on Jeno’s shoulder and patted it gently. Jeno looked up with wide, innocent eyes brimming with tears. You could see how much Jeno wanted that crown, and you had no idea that he was that desperate for it until that moment. “I always thought that King Jeno sounded a lot better than Prince Jeno anyway.”

---

A week later Jeno was coronated as King. The entire Kingdom rejoiced that the cruel King was dead and replaced with his son. The Queen had decided to stay in the castle, but she gave up her title as Queen to live a peaceful life, now ready to enjoy watching her son rule the Kingdom. Jeno had introduced you to the Kingdom as his Queen, but you weren’t officially the Queen until you married him, but neither of you cared for that yet, and that didn’t stop Jeno from putting the Queen’s crown on your head. The full moon came and went fast, and both of you had recovered from it with ease. Jeno had fucked you in your bedroom until the sun came up to release the pent-up instincts lingering inside you both, keeping you both away from the moonlight in an attempt to stop your bodies changing. It felt strange not going on a run in your wolf form during the full moon, but you’d both agreed to do that on the full moon after, since this was your first one as mates so you couldn’t take your hands off of each other.

Renjun had returned to the castle with his girlfriend, the bounty over his head completely abolished so he could live safely and peacefully in the castle where he was raised. Jeno had appointed him as his right-hand man, letting Mark keep his position as the castle’s wizard. It couldn’t hurt to have two wizards on hand, and Jeno was more than happy that he’d let go of his past anger towards Renjun and was instead loving having a big brother. The past four months had gone by like a dream, and you were still in mild shock at how much your life had changed just from protecting strangers in the forest from the man you now cuddled up to every night in bed.

As you stood on one of the castles balconies staring out at the setting sun as it shone across the Kingdom, you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift towards the forest to the side of the Kingdom, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you watched the shadows dance around amongst the trees. You sensed Jeno approaching you from behind before you felt him. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind silently, and he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck before settling his chin on your shoulder, staring out at his Kingdom with his love in his arms. You felt comfortable, like nothing could harm you when you were wrapped in his strong embrace.

“Do you want to go on a run tonight?” He spoke quietly in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe playfully and giving you a tender squeeze. You giggled and leaned your head back against him, humming in contentment.

“Can we stay here?” You lifted your head up when he made a strange noise in confusion, his eyes widening at your request.

“But you love going on runs?” He couldn’t quite understand why you’d choose staying in the confinements of the castle over running free and stretching your legs in your wolf form.

“I can’t change forms Jeno. Not for a while.” You whispered, slowly taking his hands from around you and instead placing them both on your flat abdomen. Jeno’s eyebrows knitted together as he thought over the reasons why wolfs can’t change forms. But the only one that poked out amongst the options was one that had the wolf inside of him yearning for you and causing his face to nuzzle into your neck more.

“How long have you known?” He rubbed his hands against your stomach gently, the pride inside of him making him feel like he was on top of the world at finding out about the baby he’d gifted you both with. He had noticed that your scent had changed recently, but he hadn’t thought much of it, as he didn’t know what a pregnant wolf would smell like.

“Not long, I assume it happened on the last full moon…I know this is a lot faster than we planned but it’s only natural for us to move fast, it isn’t about what our minds want-”

“It’s about what our hearts want.” Jeno cut you off and took the words right out of your mouth. You smiled and melted into his hold. “It’s also hard to control your urges, I’ve found it a lot harder to resist things since living like this.”

“I wouldn’t know any different.” You giggled, staring out at the courtyard of the castle.

“I much pr-” Jeno started talking but you cut him off quickly, gasping loudly and pointing out at one of the wooden doors that lead to the inside of the castle.

“There!” Jeno was on high alert now, his eyes following to where you were pointing, but he couldn’t see anything.

“What is it?” You started to shiver in his hold, your hand trembling as you gently pulled it in against your chest with your heart racing faster than it does when you go running in your wolf form. You continued to stare at the door as it swung open once more, before closing again, but there was no one opening and closing it. Jeno then noticed the door moving with no one making it move, his breath hitching in his throat as he dared to speak. “How is the door doing that on its own?”

“It’s not doing it on its own…” You whispered, dragging your eyes away to turn around and look Jeno in the eye.

“But…what could be doing that then without us being able to see it?” He frowned in confusion; worry littered across his face as he stared down at your own worried expression. You took a deep breath, knowing you were right all along about what you’d smelt on the day the King died.

“A demon.”

---

 (Wow it’s been so long since I posted Renjun’s part so sorry about that! Anyway I hope this isn’t flop city like the other two parts lol. I hope you enjoyed it and I’m so sorry about how fast paced this was and how much smut there was, but it’s vital to the story! Love you, thanks for reading and as per usual, feedback is wanted! If you reblog this pleeeease write your thoughts in the tags, as I check every reblog and get sad when I see no taggies. Also let me know if you spotted the hint in this story about the next story ;) Thanks!)

[egoiistas]

jewel of the sun (10) - heady

ffxiv - (ShB -EmetWol) The Warrior of Light shares a blanket under the stars with Emet-Selch. explicit

ao3

---

The night scatters across Il Mheg with regularity now and the light from Titania’s castle makes for a wonderful and quiet respite on the grassy knolls. The pastels are calming, the flowers are alluring, and the Warrior of Light can take a moment to simply breathe. Idly, her fingers play with the grapes from the basket she packed and absent-mindedly eats from it while losing herself in thought.

Yet she worries her lip because Bijou feels different when he’s not around; a gnawing sensation like when she’s forgetting something and doesn’t know what. Here, she knows exactly what she’s missing. It perplexes her because her lovers never left her like this. She’d break her own heart first rather than expect that they will wait for her or even ask it of them. It’s a resilient little thing, adamant and wonderful - probably the only thing about her that she can say is born of her and not manufactured or molded by someone else.

She knows her heart will not allow itself to be denied. From so many tragedies endured, it will take what it can get - even if it is at the hands of the enemy. To her, love is curing; a living, vibrant concept that most of her enemies lacked. Atop the Royal Menagerie, she would have chosen love and understanding over brawl and death.The Garlean prince, however, was different from her in that regard - or perhaps the notion was so foreign to him it did not register as a reasonable possibility. Something twists in her that sends a shudder knowing now that she’s dealing with his biological great grandfather, if only in image.

A sigh leaves her, heavy in her chest from how hollow it currently feels.

Last she saw him was in the Cabinet of Curiosity and she teleported from his grasp to the Crystarium aetheryte before the kiss could transpire. She knows she does not love him, but it’s as close as that kiss was

Bijou hums but it sounds more like a whine as she lies flat on her blanket to admire the stars above. What a nuisance.

In Il Mheg, the aether is always shifting from the Pixies’ mischief, so she doesn’t notice the warp of a portal spawn but she does hear the approach of footsteps. As if conditioned, her heart accelerates in her chest, but she half-expects it to be one of the Pixies. “You found me,” she says to the open air, reigning in her hope.

“With your aether calling out the way it is, it’s hard to neglect.”

Her body jolts to a sit and confirms what her ears received, and, sure enough, he stands at the foot end edge of her blanket with a hand on his hip. Emet-Selch bears an unimpressed look on his face as they stare at each other for a few more heartbeats.

As if to erect a barrier, Bijou brings her knees to her chest, coiling her arms around them and locking it with a grip on her wrist. “I wouldn’t know about that,” she replies.

“And yet, you are doing it all the same.” He gestures to the spot next to her. “May I?”

She shrugs and replaces the basket on the grass to allow him room. “Be my guest.”

Emet-Selch takes half a step forward before stopping himself. “Ah.”

“What is it?”

He looks as if he’s thinking with an index finger pointed skyward. “The royal attire makes it difficult to sit casually.” A snap cracks through the night air and his Garlean robes are gone. In its place is a loose, white tunic that dips into his sternum and regally flared sleeves, tucked into black breeches and boots. He looks tall, lean, and yes - somewhat handsome in the less formal outfit.

“I see,” she chuckles, nodding as he takes his place next to her. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Do you find yourself seducible this evening?”

“I suppose that remains to be seen.” Already, an ease washes over her from him, just from the light hearted banter.

In the dark, they sit in comfortable silence until he speaks again.

“Are you really unaware of the call to your aether?” He doesn’t ask this with disdain or condescension, but curiosity begging to be sated.

Bijou looks at him, in the middle of chewing another snack, and lets the question process. When she swallows, she shakes her head and says, “No, I wouldn’t have a clue about what you’re talking about. Are you sure it’s not the mischief Pixies in Il Mheg roping you into a joke?”

“No, you did it in the library too. This call.” He doesn’t look at her.

“I hate to be the one to disappoint you but I can assure you I’m not consciously doing anything of the sort. Perhaps you’re the one playing pranks on me?” She playfully rocks on her bottom to nudge her shoulder to his elbow when something electrifying courses through her at contact, but she doesn’t think anything of it.

Solemnly, he looks at his elbow and then to her with a side-eye glance.

“Well, what does it mean? Is it like a mating call or something?” she asks, popping a grape with a piece of cheese in her mouth.

“I’d hate to refer to it as something so banal, but in a way, yes.”

“Then how can I change the signal to bring forth non-Ascians?”

“You can’t.”

“Figures.”

Suddenly, Emet-Selch has something he wants to say, but refrains from doing so. She can see it by the look in his eyes. Instead, he exhales and adjusts his body to engage with her better. “Lend me your hand.” He leans on one palm and extends the other towards her.

Bijou glances between his open hand and his eyes - they’re imploring her to shelf her guarded skepticism for a moment. She humors him as more has happened between them already. When she does, his finger dwarfs hers as they curl around. He presses her knuckles onto his lips, muttering something unintelligible to her ears. It’s unfair how her heart leaps because of it. “What are you doing?”

“Responding to your call,” he says softly into the skin of her wrist and leaves a kiss there. “Telling your soul not to fret, because I’m here now.”

“My soul..?” Thoughts are expunged from her mind. She does feel at ease like she noted before, but now, she melts into him, under his lips blazing a trail up her forearm. With this intimate proximity, her fingers caresses the lobe of his ear sliding her way down to the clavicle and then his chest just as he reaches her neck. The spots he knows well are revealed to him once more as he uses teeth to scrape along her skin, igniting her body. His touch is unlike anything else; the simplest of brushes exhilarating her beyond belief.

As if her body calls out to him.

Emet-Selch shifts to bolster himself on his other arm now, angled across her frame, as the other hand finds hers at his chest and holds it there. His face becomes precariously close to her, but she feels the pull as natural as an intense magnetic pull. She can feel the tickle of his breath on her lips. “Do you feel me?”

“Yes,” she replies breathlessly. Her fingers close over his chest as if to claw into him, yearning for more of him to be nearer. “What is it?”

“I can’t tell you until you kiss me.”

“Then it must wait for another day.” Bijou laughs dryly, though she knows he’s serious.

Something registers in her ears that sound almost like a whine. He nudges her head to expose the other side of her neck that hasn’t been subjected to his teases. “Will you still let me have you here?”

How can she say no? She is barely upright as it is, eyes hardly even open. “Yes, of course.”

Whatever it is between them, she doesn’t have to have a name for it. Bijou feels this chemistry, this aetherial mingling of sorts, acutely. He dampens the corruption of the light, fills in the spots that are missing in her. His hands brush over her breast and then slide in between her legs to find her ready and ripe. She moans into him, as if she’s been waiting for his hand to be there all her life.

Whatever it is between them, it affects her physically. The presence alone activates a heady yearn and she can’t help herself any longer when he tempts her with his touch. Somehow he’s different too. His kisses on her shoulder are less bite and more loving caress than anything else.

She loosens his breeches and again, before she can think about pleasing him, he grabs her hips and pulls her on top of him. She grabs onto his shoulders before she can sink into him. She rubs herself along the length of his cock and he bites her wrists at one of his shoulders. All until she can no longer take her own teasing.

Bijou sighs into the air with bliss. Groaning, he fills her beyond what she thought she could handle given their differences. He moves her hips for her while holding her flush against him. The pace is slow and deliberate as if he’s basking in every ilm he’s allowed to touch her with. It’s tender. He’s tender. And their sex doesn’t make sense to her but she knows it feels right .

At the bottom of her abdomen, the coil is wrung tight from how she’s allowed to drink in every nerve pleased at that moment. She even moans his name which has him clutch her tighter.

The urge is there. The urge to kiss him rings true so loudly, but she bites her lip instead as the crest of her climax reaches its peak. She wants to kiss and know him and his taste; to grab his hair and have him moan into her mouth. She yearns for it.

Her arms clutch around him as her orgasm breaks through and shudders through her body. Without a moment to lose, he groans more audibly than she’s ever heard of him, nails raking through her outer thighs, as he spends himself inside her for the first time.

When she regains her bearings with him still inside, she looks at him and he smiles sweetly, sweat glistening on his brow from the light of Titania’s castle and the stars above. “Worry not, if you can’t get a hold of prophylactics - I’ll be sure to help you out.”

“You mean you can’t just snap it away?” she says, snapping her fingers by his ear.

“No,” he chuckles. “Not with matters such as these.”

[amyscascadingtabs]

look at where we are, look at where we started

He’s seen Amy sleep before, but never quite this close. She’s never slept on him, and he wonders if they’ve ever been this physically near each other for longer than a few seconds at a time. Her head is a warm weight on his shoulder, heavy without being uncomfortable, and he could probably smell her hair if he just leaned down slightly and it didn’t feel like a creepy thing to do on purpose.

Five times Amy fell asleep on Jake, and one time someone else did.

a.k.a. happy (two days late) birthday @johnny-and-dora​! 💛

read on ao3

2014, april.

 “This stakeout is a bust,” Amy huffs, throwing her binoculars on the moss-green bedspread that covers the twin-size beds in the cheap motel room. Jake begs they won't actually have to sleep in them later. He tried one out for mattress trampoline and it was rock hard, no bounce at all. His knees are still hurting.

“At this point, I bet there isn't even a drug-smuggling ring and Terry sent us out here to mess with us.”

“Woah, woah. Did I just hear this correctly?” Jake grins, turning his armchair towards her. “Amy Santiago, complaining about an order from a superior? This I gotta get on tape.”

“There's a difference between complaining and disobeying,” she remarks. “Come on, you know you agree with me. Nothing's happening over there!”

“Maybe, but now I have the high ground.” Jake stretches out his legs, putting his feet on the wall below the window. One perk of a gross motel room; no one notices if you make it dirtier. “So I’m going to brag forever.”

“Ugh. I thought this stakeout would be better if you talked so I’d have something to listen to, but it's worse.”

“That's hurtful.”

“Shut up, Peralta.”

“Fine.”

  She goes silent. Jake tries to focus on what’s happening through the window they’re watching, but as much as he hates to admit it, Amy’s right. The parking lot they're watching is dead as can be, not as much as a sight of any suspects. He and Amy have spent most of the last hour placing bets on which birds will fly first from the nearby dilapidated tree. Amy won. Jake accused her of cheating, to which she simply responded that there was no possible way she could have been in cahoots with the birds, as he had put it. Jake muttered that he didn't trust her. She rolled her eyes at him. She also gave him a smug smile which, for the record, did not give him butterflies at all. It must have been hunger.

  Amy giggles at something on her phone, and the weird probably-hunger-feeling flutters again in his chest as he watches her type a reply. Someone - he guesses Teddy - is making her laugh, and Jake feels the sting of some other gross and ugly emotion next to the non-butterflies. He wishes he was the one making her laugh, but this shift is too boring and they're both too tired and the closest he's come today is the cute snort she did when he used his worst French accent to narrate the process of a pigeon strutting around on top of a car for several minutes. It's not enough. He thinks of digging out the peanuts from his stakeout bag and suggesting another nut-throwing competition like the one they had on that roof two months ago, but as gross as the motel room is, Amy's definitely going to ask him to clean up if he gets peanuts all over the carpet, and that's just not worth it.

   “How long until the relief’s team here?” He asks her, trying to hold on to the thought of his bed with its good mattress lump and pillows that at least don't smell vaguely of mold.

“Two hours,” Amy groans. “Ugh. That's an eternity.”

“We could sleep for an hour each?” Jake shrugs. “Nothing's happening anyway, and if it does, we just wake each other up.”

“Only if I get the first hour.”

“But it was my idea!”

“I’ll do your paperwork if I get the first hour.”

“Then sold.”

Amy smirks, looking pleased with herself. Jake feels his cheeks heat. The room’s air-conditioning must be busted, he figures, and hurries to pick up the file with information about their suspects before she can see him blushing.

  He keeps his focus on the window, on the view of the desolate parking lot, anywhere that’s not on Amy curling up in the armchair next to his. The streetlights have gone on, lighting up the concrete and old cars and allowing him to see clearly just how depressive a view it is. This stakeout truly couldn’t be over soon enough. Jake turns his head to comment on this to Amy, only to find she’s already asleep.

  She has shrugged off her shoes and curled up in the chair, hugging her legs for warmth in a way that makes her look less like an adult and more like an overgrown child looking for safety. She’s resting her head on her own shoulder, her mouth slightly agape, and Jake is gripped by the sudden urge to take a picture of her. He has been running low on new photos to humiliate Amy Santiago with recently, and an embarrassing shot like that would make for excellent leverage at some point. He reaches for his messenger bag on the bed, grabbing his phone from the outer pocket, and is just about to open the camera when Amy leans slightly to the side in her sleep so that her head falls on Jake’s shoulder.

 Jake freezes. The camera opens to selfie mode, and he sees his own face staring back at him, paralyzed with surprise. He puts his phone back in his pocket instead.

  He’s seen Amy sleep before, but never quite this close. She’s never slept on him, and he wonders if they’ve ever been this physically near each other for longer than a few seconds at a time. Her head is a warm weight on his shoulder, heavy without being uncomfortable, and he could probably smell her hair if he just leaned down slightly and it didn’t feel like a creepy thing to do on purpose.

Amy hums in her sleep, a soft, content noise that shapes the corners of his mouth into a small smile. Part of Jake wants to record this, use it to tease her mercilessly for the rest of their days, but there’s another voice in his head that is quietly whispering about how pleasant it feels. Not just pleasant; it feels natural, somehow, like they’ve done this a hundred times before and have a million more to go. It’s an insane thought, yet it’s persistent.

  He wonders if Amy does this with Teddy. Then he scratches the thought, because he’s not supposed to be jealous of Teddy. He’s not supposed to care, or even like Amy at all. Really, he’s furious with her for falling asleep like this, because she’s way too close and way too cute and it’s making the irrational hope in his chest bubble when it should be dormant. If he turned his head right now, he could reach to kiss her forehead. Jake wonders what would happen if he did. Maybe she’d never find out, and it could stay his own secret, but there’s also the overhanging risk that she’d wake up and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. It’s too big of a risk, especially considering he’s not sure of the answer himself. He doesn’t know what he’s doing a lot of the time, and when it comes to Amy Santiago, he never seems to be able to figure it out.

  It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself. Amy’s with Teddy. Jake’s alone. It’s not like he’s in love with her or anything, and he should just move so she’ll have to change her position and he can focus on something else than the way her breathing sounds and how her hair is tickling his neck. If something ever happened between them romantic-styles, this could be his ordinary life, but nothing’s happening and he can’t go around waiting for it to. He shouldn’t be thinking about it. He can’t be thinking about it.

  Jake doesn’t know for how long they sit like that, him staring out the window like the firework display of the century was happening outside to keep from glancing back at his sleeping colleague every other second, but it’s both too long and not long enough before Amy yawns and leans to the other side. It’s too long, because he’s hyper-aware of every passing second, and it’s not long enough, because his shoulder feels cold the second her head leaves it.

  “Did I miss something exciting?” She asks when the shrill alarm on her phone goes off, waking her from slumber. “Did anything happen?”

“Nope,” he says, keeping his eyes stuck to the still eventless parking lot to avoid meeting her gaze and trying his best to sound nonchalant. “Nothing at all.”

    ~

   2015, august.

 “So tonight’s a big night for you,” Jake states before tossing his girlfriend the plus-sized bag of sour cream and onion chips and the bag of sour candy he bought just for the occasion. “Tonight’s the night you lose your Die Hard-virginity.”

“Gross.”

“What? It’s true! After this, Amy Santiago, you will be a changed woman, never to see the world the same way again. Virginity’s a social construct, but Die Hard-virginities?” Jake waves his index finger at her. “Those are real. I can't believe you haven't seen it!”

“I already told you, I’ve seen parts of it on TV, and I’ve heard you describe the plot at least once a week for the last six years. Feels like that's virtually the same thing.” Amy opens the chips bag, stuffing two into her mouth. She's already changed into the optimal movie night-outfit - pajama pants, black hoodie, and an old NYPD shirt - and is looking unfairly attractive to him right now. Only Amy Santiago could make pajamas look sexy.

“Oh, Ames.” Jake shakes his head. “You're sweet, but sadly wrong. As excellent as my summaries of Die Hard are, you are soon to be made aware of just how much they pale in comparison to the real thing.”

She rolls her eyes, but there's a certain twinkle of excitement there. “Just play the movie, babe.”

 The usage of the word babe, like most other parts of their relationship, is still brand new. They've been dating for three months now, which is as long as Jake was with Sophia before they broke up, and he finds himself comparing the two relationships in his head sometimes, terrified this one will suffer the same fate. He's more careful this time, more vigilant to not let an accidental I love you slip out in case Amy doesn't feel the same way, more hesitant to randomly invite himself over in fear of intruding on her privacy. Most of the time, he's letting Amy lead the way, enjoying the steady growth of their relationship one day at a time. Because it is growing; every day it feels safer, more natural, much like the word babe has gone from feeling like a daunting and heartfelt declaration of love to a casual pet name that makes him feel all warm inside when he hears it.

  He presses play on the remote and slumps down on the couch next to his girlfriend, grabbing one of his blankets and draping it over both of them. He found out early on in their relationship that Amy refuses to watch TV without a blanket, partly because she gets cold and partly just out of habit, which he finds kind of charming. It's fun to get to learn all these little details about her - he thought he knew so much, but it turns out he’d barely scratched the surface - but it's just as fun to introduce her to his world when she's actually showing enthusiasm about it.

“I'm just watching this movie because you made me,” she mumbles as she moves closer to him under the blanket, throwing an arm around his neck. “And because I'm a great girlfriend.”

“Nah, you're excited,” he grins. “You can try to hide it, but I know the truth.”

“I mean, I am kind of curious to see what it is you've been obsessing over for the last thirty years.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Whatever,” she sighs, but then she pecks his lips and Jake can't hide the blushing that creeps up his cheeks, distracting him from watching John McClane get off the plane and grab his luggage before going to meet Argyle.

  Jake loves Die Hard. He’s loved it since the first time he saw it, at a way younger age than any child should probably have been allowed to, and he can - and often will - quote it by heart. He knows every scene, every line and next to every little mannerism displayed by one of the characters, and yet he’s equally transfixed by it every time. Die Hard, to Jake, is safety. When almost everything else managed to hurt him somehow - when Roger ditched their planned father-and-son days to go have sex with some new woman whose name Jake would never learn, when he and Gina fought over something trivial that would pass in a few days but hurt like a bitch until then, when his mom was forced to work overtime to keep them afloat and he had to make his own dinner for the third time that week - Die Hard never did. Die Hard was Jake’s safety blanket, his escape each time the real world disappointed him, and it remains effective to this day. It cheers him up on a bad day and makes the good ones better. Some would call it hyperfixation; Jake calls it instant life improvement.

  It’s kind of like Amy, he supposes as she snuggles into his side, her thighs resting against his and her head leaning on his shoulder the way it always does when they’re watching a movie together. Amy’s an instant life improvement, making bad days easier and the good ones even better. Even Die Hard seems more awesome when he’s watching it with her, which he frankly didn't think was possible, and he turns his head to tell her so when he realizes she's fallen asleep.

 At first, Jake’s offended. This was an important night, and he had been looking forward to it for the three days it’s been since she promised him it would happen. You can’t discover the magic of Die Hard if you’re asleep while watching it. Plus, if Amy doesn’t watch this movie, she still won’t be able to understand his dope references, and the confused looks she gives him when he tries one are getting seriously repetitive. He considers waking her up, but then she nuzzles her nose against his neck and lets out a little yawn, and nothing in the universe could make him want to bother her.

  Carefully, just because he gets to do those kinds of things now, he turns his head so he can press a kiss to the top of hers. He runs his hand through her hair, silky and smooth against his skin, and smiles as Amy hums in her sleep when he begins to draw hearts with his fingers against her neck.

 He almost loses track of the movie for a while. For once, it doesn't bother him, because Amy Santiago is sleeping on him like he's her own personal safe place and Jake doesn't ever want her to move.

  He can't remember if Sophia ever fell asleep on him when they were watching a movie. If she did, he knows it didn't feel like this. This feeling is intimacy and honor, something tender and vulnerable that's new and familiar all at once, and he's still getting used to it but he already knows he never wants it to end.

  Amy doesn't blink herself awake until the end of the movie. She keeps her eyes open for the last few scenes, watching John and Holly kiss as the limo drives away from a burning Nakatomi Plaza, and doesn’t acknowledge the fact that she’s been out cold for most of the last two hours. Jake decides to have fun with it.

  “So what’d you think of the movie?” He asks as he keeps the credits running, knowing she’ll complain if he turns them off.

“Oh, it was great,” she says, a little too cheery. “Loved it! For sure!”

“Really? What was your favorite scene?”

“When John saves Holly from being shot by Hans Gruber,” she decides, not missing a beat. “I think. I mean, there are lots of great scenes.”

“Mm, right at the end. Classic. So what more scenes did you like?”

“The one where John McClane says Yippee Kiyay, Motherfuckers?”

“Also a classic. Any more scenes?”

“The helicopter explosion?”

“Oh yeah, that one’s dope. But what about the luggage area shoutout?”

“It was great,” Amy says quickly. “Super cool. I get why you love it so much.”

“And when Holly knocks out a reporter’s front teeth?”

“Mm, she’s a total badass.”

“And when it’s revealed that Hans Gruber’s real name is actually Craig?”

“Oh, yeah - no, wait, that doesn’t seem right.” Amy pulls away from him so she can stare him in the eyes. “Jake, are you trying to trick me?”

“Hah! I am trying to trick you! The luggage area shoutout and the front teeth are from Die Hard 2! The second movie! And get this - the Craig thing wasn’t even real!”

“I got that, thanks.” Amy groans. “Sorry for falling asleep. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay. I mean, I’m a little offended you think I’m that boring company, but it’s okay.”

“I don’t think you’re boring company,” she tells him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I promise. It’s just been a long week, and I was tired, but I didn’t want to cancel on you because I know how much you looked forward to this. It’s not Die Hard’s fault.”

“Ames, it’s okay.” Jake gives her a reassuring smile. “I promise. But you get what this means, right?”

“What does it mean?”

“It means we’re rewatching it again tomorrow. I’m not giving up until you’ve seen the entire movie without falling asleep, and that’s a Peralta guarantee. I’m not letting you remain a Die Hard-virgin.”

 She throws a pillow in his face for that comment, but then she laughs, and it’s melodic and contagious and making him even more certain that dating Amy Santiago is the best thing in his life, even when she falls asleep during Die Hard.

   ~

   2016, october.

 Jake’s been on airplanes before, but he doubts he’s ever been this excited about it. Not even the dull pain in his leg that never quite leaves bothers him right now, nor the old lady in front of him talking way too loud about orchids. Even the fact that a kid has the seat behind him and is kicking him repeatedly in the back is okay this flight, because every single thing that could possibly annoy him pales in importance next to the beautiful woman in the seat next to him.

Jake is leaving Florida to go back to New York today, and Amy Santiago is right by his side. It's a wearier, maybe a little skinnier in a bad way, Amy than he's used to, one that's reading the flight security information with her stress-eyes while chewing nervously on her lip, but it's Amy. She insisted on staying by his side for every day he spent recovering at the hospital, sleeping on an uncomfortable foldout couch if not on the chair next to him, and he wonders quietly to himself when she last had a full night's sleep in a bed. The bags under her eyes and the built-up grease in her hair tells him she desperately needs it. He’s tried to tell her so - every night she stayed, he encouraged her to take in on a hotel to get some proper rest - but every night, she refused and said she wouldn't be able to sleep without him there anyway.

(“God, you're cheesy,” he’d told her once, but she had just shrugged.

“I shot you in the leg not even a week ago. Just let me have this.”)

  His protests had been half-hearted anyway. Without her there, the pain was all he had to focus on, but as long as she made him company, nothing else mattered. They’d spent a week just talking, her telling him all about life at the precinct and cases she’d worked in the last six months while he tried to share the odd entertaining story from his Florida exile. When they got tired from talking, they snuggled in his hospital bed while trading soft kisses, and despite the pain from his bullet wound, the week had quickly soared to the top of the list of Jake's best weeks in the last six months.

 He's had a good week alright, but now he's finally, finally going home with his girlfriend, and he's never been happier. The moment the airplane lifts, Jake's leaving Florida behind, and in just a few hours, he will be back to breathing regular, non-humid Brooklyn air again. He will be back to his tiny, worn-down but charming one-bedroom apartment, to dinners consisting of proper New York pizza instead of Florida’s crappy excuse for it, to real detective work, and, most importantly, to spending every free moment he has with Amy.

“I love you so much,” he whispers to her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and watching her smile as she looks up from the safety instructions.

“I love you so much too. Are you sure your leg is okay?”

“It's fine, Ames.” He’s trying not to think about it. It's easy as long as she's there.

“It's just an hour until you can take more painkillers. Hang in there,” she says, gently patting his non-injured thigh as the aircraft starts moving. “You ready to say goodbye to Florida?”

“I was ready to say goodbye to Florida the second I landed,” Jake says, a little too loud. A blond, middle-aged woman on the aisle across from gives him an angry look. He ignores it.

“I'm ready, too.” Amy takes his hand. “Let's go home, babe.”

  They hold hands as they lift, watching through the airplane window as the ground gets farther and farther away, Coral Palms shrinking to a tiny speck. Jake vows to never go back. Everything and everyone he needs is in New York, and he can’t wait to sit at his desk again or see his mom or have a bro’s night with Charles. He’s missed it all, even the overpriced coffee and the crowded subway trains, but he’s already starting to feel like himself again, because the thing he missed most is currently leaning her head on his shoulder as she watches them rise above the clouds.

  He presses a kiss to her forehead. She smiles, reaching up to kiss his cheek, and then she closes her eyes as the plane keeps rising. It’s only a minute or two before Jake can hear her breathing slow, and not much longer before she’s fast asleep with her head on his shoulder.

  She sleeps for the rest of their three-hour flight, snoozing even through the alarm about his painkillers and every pilot announcement. His shoulder goes numb after a while, and he wonders if she’ll have a crick in her neck tomorrow from the awkward angle, but it’s the most peaceful he’s seen her in days, so he lets her be. He’s missed her falling asleep on him, missed being able to breathe in the scent of her hair and hold her so close while she rests. He’s forever grateful to have gained it back.

 Amy flinches awake when the plane hits the tarmac, and Jake thinks to himself that it doesn’t matter how excited he is to be back in New York. In truth, he’s already home. He’s been home since the moment he first laid eyes on her again and she accidentally punched him in the throat, and if he has anything to say about it, he plans on never leaving.

    ~

    2017, october.

 Jake hates the nightmares.

He hates how realistic they are, how even though he should recognize them by now, they make his blood freeze to ice and his heart pound each time they return. He hates how often they appear, that his record without them isn't more than three nights in a row since he came home, and that not even the sleeping medication prescribed to him by the psychiatrist he was forced to visit can seem to prevent them. He hates how vulnerable they make him feel, waking up in a cold sweat trying to catch his breath, feeling like he's having an asthma attack and a bad fever all at once.

He hates every single thing about them, but most of all, he hates how they always seem to wake Amy up.

  He just can't seem to learn how to suffer through them silently, or maybe Amy spends the nights guarding him, because he swears she's there every time he wakes up from one. Every time, she's there to stroke his hair and whisper to him that it's all okay; that he's safe, he's home, and he's not going anywhere. He loves her for it, whispers it to her when he calms down enough to speak, but he's ridden with guilt. He can handle his own sleep being ruined - he lost that fight long ago - but he draws the line at Amy having to suffer for it.

 This night is no different. The dream seems new at first, hurtling him into a green landscape where he's sitting on a bench waiting to meet up with Charles, but when Charles appears, Melanie Hawkins is with him. Jake tries to protest, tell Charles he dreamed of never seeing Hawkins’ face again and could he please make her leave, only to find Charles has turned into Romero and is angling a sharpened shiv at Jake's neck. He tries to take a step backward, hoping to run away, but he falls and lands on his back in the wet grass. Hawkins and Romero are leaning over him, Romero still holding the weapon. Jake feels Melanie’s hair tickle his cheek, flinching as she seems to hover uncomfortably close to him, and it's first when she speaks that he realizes it's not Melanie, it's Amy.

  “Jake? Jake, are you okay?”

The wet grass isn't grass - it's his sheets, damp from sweat and tangled around him. Romero is nowhere to be seen, and the figure he thought was Hawkins is really his girlfriend, leaning over him and repeating his name in an attempt to make contact.

It takes more self-control than he knew he had in him, but he manages a nod.

“Another nightmare?” He manages another, reaching for her hand and squeezing it tight.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, pressing it back. “I’m here. You’re safe. Can you take deep breaths? In for four, out for four,” she coaches him, and he follows her instructions, breathing along with her as he’s pulled back to reality.

  “It’s warm,” he mumbles when he thinks his voice won’t falter, but Amy shakes her head.

“I think that’s just the panic making you sweat, babe. I can get you a new shirt -”

“No, it’s… I think I’m going to take a shower,” he decides. He’s been taking a lot of nighttime showers lately, trying to wash away the fear and panic that seems to cling to his skin like a physical sensation after each nightmare. “You can go back to sleep, Ames.”

She nods, but he can see her turning on the nightlight as he leaves for the bathroom.

  He stands in the shower for a while, letting the warm water run over him and counting the ways in his head that it’s different from prison. One, he doesn’t have to share this shower with a bunch of strangers staring at him. Two, the water pressure’s good and the temperature doesn’t randomly shift from icy to burning. Three, he’s free to steal Amy’s shower gel that smells like pink grapefruit and doesn’t contain as much as a trace of meth. Four, someone’s laid out a towel and a new t-shirt on the floor for him when he gets out. Five, Amy’s waiting for him in the next room. It’s the fifth point that makes him dry off quickly and throw on the shirt before returning to the bedroom.

  He finds her sitting up against the headboard, a book open in her lap that she may or may not actually be reading, and the guilt washes over him another time as he notices her trying to stifle a yawn.

“I told you to go to sleep,” he says, and she gives him a half-hearted smile.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to guard me, Ames. It’s fine.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not guarding you. I’m being your partner and making sure you’re okay, and I’m doing it because I love you and I want to.”

“I love you, too.” He sits down on the bed, putting his part of the comforter over his legs and his pillow against the headboard. “And I’m okay. I might be awake for a while, but please, babe - you can go back to sleep.”

Amy watches him closely, giving him the worried look he’s become used to in the last few weeks, but then she nods.

“I’ll try.”

  She turns off the nightlight, and Jake settles for playing a mindless game on his phone, letting the repetition of matching colorful figures distract him. Amy rests her head on his shoulder, and it’s almost reflexive when he turns on the yellow light-setting on his phone so it won’t disturb her. The weight of her head grows heavier, and two rounds of Candy Crush Saga later, he can tell she’s asleep.

  He helps her lay down, adjusting the pillows so he knows she’ll be comfortable. Then he tries to sit up again, but she reaches out for him in her sleep and frowns, so he puts his phone away and lays down next to her, wrapping his arms around her and smiling as she squishes her nose in the crook of his neck.

  They sleep like that for the rest of the night.

   ~

    2020, april.

 There's been a lot of changes in routine in the Santiago-Peralta home since they first found out they were having a baby. Some have been unintentional, such as Amy sleeping in every morning she can and napping at least once per day because pregnancy is exhausting. Some have been planned out in advance, like one night per week being designated to going through a topic from Amy's detailed list of things they need to discuss before they become parents - a list which ranges from nursery themes and sleep training to family holidays and babysitters. Some have been a mix of both, single events becoming patterns, like Jake rubbing the fancy stretchmark-preventing oil on Amy's stomach near every evening or them spending weeknights on the couch drinking tea and reading parenting books together. Their lives are transforming before their kid is even born, after-work drinks at Shaw’s switched for researching the best cribs and strollers online, and Jake is finding that it doesn’t upset him in the slightest. Rather, it’s exciting, and it feels right.

  With Amy just having entered her thirteenth week of pregnancy, the arrival of their baby seems far away still, but it’s starting to feel all the more real. Last week’s framed sonogram now takes pride of place on the dresser in their bedroom, put there so they’ll have time to hide it in case Charles decides to stop by on one of his many unannounced visits, and each morning when Jake grabs a new t-shirt he stops and looks at the monochrome picture for a moment.

That’s their child right there, no more than a few centimeters long and only just having gotten all their important organs in place, but somehow already holding so much of his heart.

  He’s still nervous about fatherhood. The list of things that could go wrong, unlucky mistakes and faulty decisions he could make, seems endless. He’s scared of not knowing what to do, scared his kid will hate him, and scared he won’t be able to protect them from everything he’s supposed to. He’s scared he won’t feel the instant and overwhelming love that everyone seems to speak of upon seeing their baby for the first time and he’s scared he’ll feel too much of it. The more real it becomes, the more terrifying it gets, and it’s only the excitement that’s stronger. For every tiny onesie he buys, every suggestion they add to the growing list of possible baby names, and every new weekly size comparison to a fruit or vegetable, Jake looks even more forward to meeting this child. He wants to see them, feel them, hold them, and learn everything there is to know about them. He knows they’re the size of a lime this week, that they’re healthy with a nice and strong heartbeat and that they’re wriggling around like crazy inside Amy even though she claims she can’t feel anything yet, but he wants to know more. The 194 days left until their due date seem like an eternity, and at the same time, it’s surreal to think he can count the days until they could be sitting on this couch with their baby.

 Tonight, though, it’s still just the two of them. Amy’s parked herself in one corner of the couch and is reading a book on hypnobirthing, while Jake’s at the other end flipping through Bruce Willis’ book on parenthood. He’s not sure if all the advice in it is sound - or in some cases, fully legal - but he figures the more parenting books he reads, the better equipped he’ll be to figure out what’s sane and not. Jake trusts Bruce Willis with his life, but he does have some doubts about whether playing the Die Hard-soundtrack on maximum volume really is the best way to calm down a screaming baby.

  He’s watching Amy over the edge of his book, making note of how she’s doing, if it looks like she needs anything. It doesn’t seem like she’s going to be sick, she’s not shivering nor sweating and her lip’s not trembling like it tends to do before she starts crying, but every now and then it seems like her eyes are falling and she has to shake her head to keep from nodding off. He decides to ask.

“Are you doing okay, Ames?”

“I don’t think I like being pregnant yet,” she huffs, closing the book and putting it on the coffee table with a thud. “I’m so tired, I can’t even read. What’s the point of anything if you can’t read, Jake?”

“Sounds rough,” he says, trying not to grin. He probably shouldn’t be making fun of her, but it’s such an Amy thing to be upset with, he can’t help it.

“It is! I’m trying to read up on breathing techniques so I can get this baby out eventually, and that’s what I get in return? It’s like this kid doesn’t want to be born,” she grumbles, touching the top of where her stomach has started to curve ever-so-slightly.

“I’m sure it’s not their fault, babe.”

“I know it’s not their fault, “ she replies, giving him an apologetic smile and a shrug. “It’s okay. I’m just tired of being exhausted, and feeling constantly motion-sick, and I miss being able to have more than one cup of coffee per day. All my clothes are becoming too tight, but I don’t really look pregnant yet, so it just looks like I gained a bit of weight.” She sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining about this.”

Jake frowns. “Why not?”

“Because we tried for so long! I spent ages thinking I’d give anything if we could just get pregnant, and now we are, and I’m whining like some ungrateful toddler who just got told they can’t have ice cream for dinner.” Amy goes silent for a moment, staring longingly at their freezer. “I shouldn’t have said that. Now I want ice cream.”

“Is that code for me to get you ice cream?”

“No. Maybe. Yes. Later. ”

“Just say the word.”

“Do you think I’m being ungrateful, Jake?” She bites her lip the way she does when she’s nervous, twisting her hands in her lap. “Because I feel like I am, and I hate it. I’m so happy about this baby, and I can’t wait to meet them. Pregnancy’s just way more annoying than I thought it’d be.”

“You’re not ungrateful,” he assures her, putting down his book before reaching for her hands and taking them in his. “I promise. I don’t know what it’s like to grow a human with my body, but if it’s as tiring as you describe it - I swear I don’t know how you do it. I’m pretty sure I’d be awful at it if I ever got to try.”

Amy giggles. “Yeah, you would.”

“Thanks for the confidence.”

“Anytime.”

“Point is, babe, you get to complain as much as you want. I know how much you’ll love this child, and that doesn’t disappear because you think pregnancy is hard some days. You’re still doing it. And,” he looks to where he can see her belly beginning to take a rounder shape, the corners of his mouth instinctively turning into a smile. “You look adorable. Full stop.”

She blushes. “I do?”

“You’re the cutest pregnant person I ever saw,” he promises, repeating the same thing he thinks every time he sees her.

“Even when I sweat through my clothes or puke my guts out because I found a new smell I couldn’t stand?”

“Even then.”

“Wow,” Amy laughs. “You really must love me.”

“I really, really do.”

  She leans forward, cupping his face the way she likes to do when she kisses him, the way she’s done since the first time she pressed him up against a tree when they were undercover and the way he hopes she’ll do for many years to come. It’s soft without being lazy, firm without being demanding, and his heart flutters as he feels her smile against his lips.

“Do you want me to read aloud to you?” He asks when they separate, Amy leaning her head on his chest. She nods, and he picks up the book where she left it, continuing to read something about the power of wording that doesn’t fully make sense to him while Amy turns around so she’s laying in his arms.

 Jake reads until he can hear her breathing slow and even out, telling him she’s fallen asleep. Once he’s certain it won’t wake her up, he lets her hand stray to her stomach, pulling up the tank top slightly and stroking gently over the tiny bump that’s started taking shape.

That’s their child in there, he reminds himself, marveling over the insanity of it all. He still has to pinch himself sometimes to remember that any of this is real, but whatever the future holds, he knows he can’t wait to experience it with them; Amy, and the lime-sized little bean growing inside of her.

   ~

     2020, november.

  Leonel Jacob Peralta isn’t anything like Jake thought he’d be.

He's bigger than he had guessed - Amy won the bet on who could be closest to guessing their son’s birth weight and height - but smaller than he pictured in his head, almost drowning in the newborn-size pajamas with a pattern of grey stars and striped hat. He looks less like the copy of Amy that he’d visualized, but he's not a copy of Jake either, despite Charles’ claims. He's calmer than they expected, having slept through most of his first day aside from the occasional feeding attempt and diaper change, but they know from the moment he took his first breath that he has a powerful voice.

Most strikingly, he is infinitely more perfect than Jake could have ever imagined.

 After coming into the world with the sunrise, his son has had a long and eventful first day of life. He’s had visitors, Charles and Holt and Rosa being first in line to meet and hold and fawn over him. He even opened his eyes for a moment while Holt held him, causing Jake to tear up as he dutifully followed Amy’s orders to take a picture. He’s facetimed with his maternal grandparents and several of his uncles, gotten well-wishes on social media from just about every employee of the 99th precinct and has received more gifts than Jake supposes any newborn could really need. Looking at their list of visitors scheduled for tomorrow, he’s come to the conclusion that his and Amy’s son is already way more popular than either of them has ever been.

  Leo’s parents have had a long day, too, and a long night before that, but somehow, Jake doesn’t feel tired. Amy’s finally sleeping in the hospital bed next to him, passed out on her side with her mouth open and a little bit of drool on her pillow. Her hair is a mess and her hospital gown has the two top buttons undone, and yet the first word that comes to mind when Jake looks at her is badass. Not a single day goes by that he’s not proud of his wife for everything she does, but after today, that level of pride has skyrocketed past the moon and sun and the entire milky way. His wife is a superhero and their son is magic, pure and undiluted magic that is resting in Jake’s arms.

  If this had been an ordinary evening, he might have been focusing on the discomfort of the stiff armchair he’s sitting in, how the temperature of the room is slightly too warm or how he’s getting kind of hungry, but tonight, he’s barely registering anything else. His son is in his arms, opening and closing his fists with full concentration, and he’s watching him with the most focused gaze Jake’s ever seen in a baby. This kid is staring right into his soul like he’s trying to learn every detail and secret about him, and Jake would have been unnerved by it if it hadn’t felt so right.

 Jake spent a long time wondering if he was the right person to have kids. He was so scared of being a bad parent, he didn’t dare to dream of what he could have if he were to be a good one. He’s still scared, has accepted he might always be, but he looks into his son’s eyes and knows deep in his bones that he’ll do everything to make sure this child grows up knowing exactly how beloved and important he is.

Jake doesn’t know what fathers and sons do, but he gets to find out, and finding it out with Leo is the only thing he’s ever wanted.

  He still doesn’t know a lot about his son, but he’s trying to learn everything. He has his stats memorized, knows he’s six and a half pounds and nineteen inches of absolute perfection. His camera roll is already filled with close-up pictures of his round cheeks, button nose and thick, dark hair that curls a little near his neck. He knows he’s changed their lives forever, and that it’s guaranteed to be for the better.

  Leo stretches his legs inside the blanket, trying to wave his arm, and Jake laughs.

“Too excited about the world to sleep, huh? I get you. Sometimes I feel the same way.” Leo gurgles, which Jake decides to interpret as an okay to keep talking.

“I love you so much,” he whispers to his son without breaking their eye contact. “So, so, much. It’s kind of insane. You were so longed for, and so wanted, and it’s crazy that you’re finally here. Especially considering you weren’t supposed to come out for another week,” he jokes, grinning. “I’m just kidding, that was totally expected. It’s your Santiago genes. It’s still crazy, though. I can’t believe you’re here with us.”

He leans down, kissing both of his son’s cheeks for the fiftieth-or-so time that day.

“It’s a scary world out there. I’m sorry about that. But it’s a little less scary when you’re surrounded by the people you love, and your mom and I will do our everything to keep you safe through the scary parts.” Leo yawns, sticking his little tongue out, and Jake can’t help but smile at the overwhelming cuteness.

“We love you. I love you. More than you understand. Honestly, I don’t think I understand it myself yet, but I don’t care. It’s all good, buddy,” he says, nudging Leo’s fist with his index finger until the newborn grips it. “It’s all good, because you’re here with me, and we’re going to be okay.” Leo lets out a tiny squeak. “Yeah, we are. I promise.”

  Either Leo’s unconvinced, or something else is bothering him, because the squeaking noises continue. Gently, as if he was handling the finest of porcelain, Jake holds one hand under his son’s head and lifts him so that he’s upright against his chest instead. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, but he’s read that babies like to be close, and Leo does seem happier as his nose presses against his neck. Jake strokes the baby’s back through the blue-and-pink hospital blanket, humming the first Taylor Swift song he can think of - Shake it off, always right. It’s only a minute, maybe two, before the newborn stops fussing, and Jake realizes that his son has fallen asleep.

It’s late in the evening of the early November day Jake will forever have written down as their son’s birthday, and he’s sitting in an uncomfortable armchair in a hospital room in Brooklyn, the love of his life still passed out in bed next to him. Their son is sleeping with his head resting on Jake’s shoulder, like Amy has done so many times before, and he can’t remember ever feeling this peaceful in his life. Leonel is warm and soft and smells as if heaven had a scent, and Jake is so in love.

There had been a time, not too many years ago, where Jake had dreamt about dying a heroic death trying to save the city from evil or working himself to the bone trying to become the most successful cop in New York. Now, every single one of his dreams circle back to the same focal point - a boundless, incandescent hope that he gets to keep being a safe place and favorite sleeping spot for the two people who hold his entire heart.

  ~

[gauloiseblue]

The Man Who Stood By The Ocean

[Chapter 4]

March, 1997

"Carina, come here. I bought us some sfogliatelle."

"Coming!"

You pat your hands on your skirt as you get up,

"Mimmo! Make us some tea."

"Sì, nonno."

Walking out from the shop, you smile as you hurriedly help signore Enrico setting up the table. You told him to sit and let you do the rest, but the old man just laughed.

"My knees aren't hurt at all, carina. I want to enjoy it while it lasts."

You rolled your eyes.

The table is finally set after you placed the last plastic stool by the table, and it didn't took long before Giuseppe came with a tray on his hand. The three of you immediately took a seat and begin to indulge in the hot beverage and sweet pastry. The weather is still cold, but at least the sun has started to show itself. Signore Enrico hums lightly as he sips the tea, he seems happy that he didn't need his cane for today's walk.

The snack he bought is being placed on the old ceramic plate, it's lightly dusted with powdered sugar for extra sweetness. You took a bite, and the flaky pastry crunched before the crumbs fall onto your palm. This sfogliatelle riccia is quite sugary, but there's a hint of citrus in its cream, balancing both sugar and ricotta cheese.

You begin to enjoy your tea while looking at the busy sidewalk. The weather is nice, and it seems to put everybody in a good mood. City cars passed the street once in a while, and some passerby greeted signore Enrico when they saw him. Occasionally, some of them even had a light conversation with him about the weather.

After finished up the snack, you excuse yourself to go back to the shop.

"Why are you in such a hurry? Stay for a little longer, cara." Signore Enrico begged, "The work can wait."

"I have to go home at 5, and I want to get everything done before that." You replied, "Thank you for the snack, signore."

He doesn't seem pleased by the answer, but he didn't insist you to stay either.

"Go help her, mimmo."

Giuseppe snapped his head towards him before he protests, "But nonno, she can do it herself—"

"Ay! Non parlarmi così! Essere un gentiluomo e aiutarla." (Don't talk to me like that! Be a gentleman and help her out.)

The younger man groans, but gets up from his seat nevertheless. His old man acts out by sipping his tea, but he couldn't hide the wide grin on his face. He's messing with his grandson, and he didn't even try to cover it up. Giuseppe scowls as he reluctantly follows after you.

You were just starting your work before you hear a rustling sound. Looking over your shoulder, you spot your friend lifting up the empty boxes you'd use for later.

"Here." He muttered as he delivers the boxes, "Where should I put them?"

"Oh, just put them here." You pat the free space beside you, he immediately places them down on your command.

He watches you taking a pile of book and begin to sort them out. The first book on the pile is a thin novel, and you didn't have to read them as you place it into the tall box. The second one is a children's book with a pristine cover, so it goes to the same box. But the third one goes to the smaller box, and it's an old illustration book of flora and fauna in Italy.

"So uh..." He scratches his head, "How do I help you with the book? Do you have a specific guide on how to sort them?"

"Well, it's pretty simple." You point at the tall box, "That box is for the books we're gonna keep, and the smaller one is for donation. But this—" You reach for the shortest box, "This is for the damaged books, or any book we couldn't sell or donate."

"Huh, alright." He frowns, "How do I know if it's no longer good enough to sell?"

You look at him dead in the eye, "... Are you serious?"

"Beh, I'm sorry I don't know anything about books like you! I never read them as much as you do."

"Pino, you—" You burst out laughing, "You—you're so silly, stop being so dense!"

The boy's face turns crimson when you laugh, "Hey, I'm trying to help you." He pouts.

"I'm sorry, it's—it's just funny." You stammered while chuckle, "You've spent most of your time in this shop, but you didn't know anything about books."

"It's not like that," He huffed, crossing both of his arm, "I just think that every book we have here is still worth selling, because mio nonno has taken a good care of them."

"Aww, that's sweet." You cooed, "I didn't expect it could come out of your mouth."

He looked away while rubbing the nape of his neck, seems flustered by your words.

"Just ask me if you're unable to decide it."

He nods before he sits near the empty boxes, the heavy books surround him with a few of them piled high on top of each other. You glance at him to see if he's having trouble, but he doesn't show any difficulty on sorting the books. He doesn't seem to need any help, so you resume your primary work. The two of you falls into silence as you focused on organizing the stack, but there's an occasion exchange of words when Giuseppe asked you about some books.

The 3rd box of saleable books is finally full, you close the top of the box before sealing them with weak adhesive tape.

"(Y/N), how about this one?"

You turned your head to him before your body went rigid. The book isn't in a good condition anymore, as a few pages of the book has come off. But that wasn't the reason your heart stopped, it's because of the illustration of a sleeping woman with a prince by her side is starting back at you.

La Bella Addormentata.

"I found it on the very bottom of the pile, do you think it's still good enough for donation?" He flipped the book to inspect the ruined cover, "I'm not sure if it's okay to give it as a donation, I mean, it's already in a pretty bad shape."

He tries to tidy up the book while waiting before he realize you were practically stunned, he furrows his brow in confused manner.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Oh! It's, it's nothing." You bit your lips as you showed a troubled expression. He raises his eyebrow but before he could ask you once again, you already speak up, "Can I—uh, can I keep the book?"

"Sure, but why though?" He handed you the book, and with a stiff smile, you receive it as you reply,

"It's my favorite book."

—

The work was done faster than you though, thanks to Giuseppe. He ended up taking most of your portion when he got the hang of it, and he's surprisingly good at judging the book condition.

You already left the bookstore minutes ago, and now you've been walking around the town. It's still pretty early for you to go home, so you just wander aimlessly.

Sadly, it's no longer sunny. The clouds has been covering the sky with its thin veil, and turning the sun into a bleary round-shaped of light. Despite the lack of sunlight, you could still enjoy the weather. It's not as warm as spring, but you didn't need a second layer of clothes either.

It should've been enough to put you in a good mood, but it's rather the opposite. The weak sunlight isn't bright enough to illuminate the city, but the sky isn't dark enough to make people turn on their lights. Though it wasn't the reason behind your sour mood, you just hate cloudy day.

Slowly coming down from your thoughts, you chuckled when you realize where you've been heading to.

The dock.

The very place you swore you'll never set foot in again.

You shook your head in disbelief, what's up with you today? Even your mind couldn't stop tormenting you, as if the book inside your bag isn't enough.

Fine, you snapped at yourself, if that's what you want.

Standing on the lonely pier, you begin to feel the horrible emptiness gripping on your chest. This place overwhelms you with so many emotions, that you couldn't grasp nor understand.

What makes is so hard to forget? Why couldn't you even let go a piece of him? It's just a silly book, with a tale that's so impossible to happen, even in your wildest dreams.

Wiping off your tears, you curse while clutching your bag tightly. Maybe it's easier for you to just throw everything away into the sea, and just forget.

You unzipped your bag and reach for the 'La Bella Addormentata'. Why did you even beg to keep it? It's not even worth the pain. The thin, fragile book feels heavy on your hand as you grip it tightly, ...You couldn't throw it away.

You slump in defeat as you cried, four years, four years without a single word coming from him. How could you not think of the worst? If you know where he went, perhaps you'd just eat your heart out and you'll be fine the next day. But you didn't know anything, and you're foolishly in love.

Deep inside, you know you'll never be able to erase him. Because no one has ever looked at you so adoringly, as if you matter the most to them. No one could ever love you as much as he did, no one would ever give you their heart—with a smile and unconditional trust in such way that even you were afraid you'd incidentally break it.

If you would never had a chance to see him again, then so be it. You'll accept it, and you'll never love again.

You sat there for a while, drowning in your thoughts. Your tears were no longer come out, and a strange calmness washes over you. You snort, I knew it, it's just a coping mechanism.

The sea is pretty calm, even though there was a storm yesterday. You stare at horizon in daze, you didn't know what makes the sunset so beautiful. After all, it's just a daily occurrence.

You were too occupied by your thoughts that it took you more than a second before you feel the footsteps on the pier, you were not alone.

The wooden pier softly creaks everytime the man step closer, and the time seems to stop when you turn your head. Your blood drained from your face as your eyes widen to the point you almost believe they could come out. He seems to be in the same shock as you, but he recovers more quickly, you didn't know what to do.

"(Y/N)."

His voice is so intense, yet so delicate that you almost cry when you finally hear him called your name.

"Bruno."

The man in front of you is no longer a timid boy with his head slightly down, he's no longer the same boy you'd always teased about his height. He's now different, with his hair carefully combed, and standing tall in white suit with black dots. You fight the urge to rub your eyes, you couldn't believe it.

"Bruno, is it—is it really you?"

He smiles.

"Where have you been? Wh—why did you never send me a letter?" You begin to fumble with your words, "I've been searching for you, I searched for you everywhere! I—i..." You took a step towards him before you rose your hand to touch his face, his skin is warm under your touch. "...I missed you, I missed you so much..."

Bruno leans his face onto your hand, almost as if he could melt into your palm. And that gaze, the unwavering gaze filled with love and adoration that reflects his whole heart. It almost suffocate you.

He runs his fingers over your knuckles before he grasp them softly, kissing the inner surface of your hand. "Cara mia," He murmurs sotto voce, "I missed you, sono così dispiaciuto per tutto quanto." (I'm so sorry for everything)

"You—you have so many things to explain to me." You sniffle as you caress his cheek, "You have to tell me everything."

A gentle smile adorns his face, he softly nod and holds your hand tighter. "I will, cara mia. I promise you I will."

And as if pulled by a magnet, you find your hands wrapped around him tightly when you threw yourself into him. He holds you in his arms with the same hunger, and just like a puzzle, you can finally feel whole again.

[reynesofcastamere]

Surface Breach(2/3)[β]

(A/N: Good grief but it has been a while since my last contribution to the ship. Sad to say I’ve been caught up with several irl things, including moving and settling in to the new place. Rest assured, I do have several drafts in the works for other projects and I am hoping to set up a regular writing/submission schedule. Now that that’s out of the way...Warnings for: possessive behaviour, emotional manipulation, (negotiated) bondage, blindfolding, edging, cockwarming, blood, masochism and mentions of polyamory, coitus interruptus, and non-consensual play.  Unbeta’d and NSFW.)

Ahsoka knows the second she sets foot on her ship that time is up. She could still flee, drag this game out a bit longer and drive up the level of his frustration...But what would be the point, really? It’s been months since they parted ways, and while she hasn’t avoided his calls, she’s also made a point of not meeting with him in person. A reprimand for his behaviour, and a reminder of the challenge she’d issued.  She recalls the first, trembling breath of relief she’d taken after the medical scans were complete. He has no further hold over her than this. Nothing burrowed and secreted away beneath her skin to...Do any number of things, really. Most of which she’d rather not consider right now.

Maul is of course perfectly at ease in the pilot’s seat, already turned to face her. “Lady Tano. I trust that your last assignment was successful.” He’s being neutral, bordering on pleasant, even. But the tension is there, kept in check by the slimmest thread of restraint. “And I trust that you’re not here for small talk.” Ahsoka makes certain to keep a few feet of distance between them, arms crossed. The corner of his mouth twitches, the speed of it leaving her unsure of whether he meant to smirk or grimace. “You have business on Nar Shadaa, and I have certain...interests that need tending there.” “So you decided to catch a ride. Without asking.”  “You would have refused even if I had offered compensation. This is the most expedient method of travel.” Maul’s eyes narrow, attempting to pierce through and determine her intent. “Unless you plan to run in order to spite me.” “I’m not running anywhere.” Ahsoka retorts. “But I’m also not going to spend three whole days in hyperspace...entertaining you.” “Naturally. However, when we are not occupied with tasks and other essentials, you will make good on your promise, my Lady. Now please, sit.”  She takes up residence in the navigator’s seat, given that he’s obviously not willing to move. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What does it matter, if you are not truly mine? Just a monster’s delusion. Unless...”

“Don’t. Start. You can use either of my names. Just not...that.” “As you wish.”

Nothing else is said for some time. Even after the ship takes off, the course is set in, and space has blurred into blue lines, there are other responsibilities that need to be taken care of. Ahsoka has to stop herself from dragging out the time. She’s not looking forward to this. The discussion she needs to have with him, not what might happen afterward.

“Look, if this is going to continue, there need to be some ground rules.”

 “Explain.”

“First off: Unless I’m badly injured or in immediate danger, you’re not allowed to just...carry me back to your lair, no matter what your reasons are.” He’s more than capable of coming up with a multitude of excuses to do so. Which is why she’s cutting him off at the knees, figuratively speaking.  “Second: This arrangement doesn’t interfere with work. Ever. Third: I decide when anything starts. You’re not allowed to grab or molest me in any way before that.” 

Maul appears mildly amused, but the small tics that betray his impatience are growing. “This seems rather excessive for a casual arrangement.”

 Ahsoka pins him in place with a look and a hint of a Force hold. “I’m not finished. Fourth: Any marks left behind have to be concealable.” She’d walk away from this ‘business trip’ with more visible punctures in her than being dropped into a giant cacti forest on Yavin 13 otherwise.  “Fifth: No matter how far along we are, if I say ‘kyber’, we stop what we’re doing. No questions, no persuasion, nothing. If you don’t have a safeword, then pick one and tell me.”

“Is ‘stop’ somehow inadequate?” The question is soft as she releases her unseen grasp on him. Even seated, something in him reminds her of a hunter in the moment before a kill; tense with anticipation and bloodthirst.   “No.” She wets her lower lip. There’s no going back from this confession, hard as it had been for her to admit it to herself. Much less him.  “When I use ‘stop’, it usually means ‘go harder’.”

Maul’s grip is practically throttling the armrest at this point. He is trying, from the shudder in his breath, to follow the rules she’s set out so far. That’s a good sign. His eyes, though? There’s a flicker in them that she used to see from the people she’d helped or rescued during the war. The ones who fully believed that the Jedi were capable of miracles and could do no wrong. A kind of...awe. Achingly soft, and in his case, almost buried beneath avarice and raw desire. She fights the urge to squirm, and it’s not entirely from discomfort. “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Good, ‘scimitar’ should suffice. I have some conditions of my own.” Every word is a caress, heavy and deliberate. “You are, of course, free to object.” He produces the blindfold she’d given him from within his shirt. She remembers exactly how he’d taken her apart; bound by choice and utterly enthralled. “So long as you wear this, you will obey.” Maul purrs, heat suffusing her body as he winds and pulls the fabric taut between his fingers. “I’m not going to call you ‘Master’.” Ahsoka is certain he’d like almost nothing more. She gets far too much pleasure out of denying him, however. So he’ll have to earn it first.

“Yet.” Maul responds, overconfident ass that he is. “I have no desire for you to dull your tongue. But you will submit to my commands.” He leans in, nearly closing the gap between them, but not quite. “Such as if I tell you to get down on your knees and show me how you pleasure yourself.” He’s only saying it to provide an example, yet her thighs rub together all the same at the thought. Sightless, her cunt exposed and dripping while he watches, giving obscene praise and instructions on how to bring herself to orgasm.

“Should you want to take control, all you need do is remove it. Or ask that it be taken off.” Of course he’s not done yet. Has to finish having his say first, and bring her arousal to a fever-pitch with the only options currently allowed. “Any amount of marks you receive from other paramours, I will match in number, and I will take first priority.” There is a jealous glint, a madness in his eyes that should terrify her. “Regardless of your position and how close your mutual release is.”  Ahsoka sucks in a sharp breath. “You really expect me to just...make someone leave while they’re-”  “Yes.” Maul snarls, hushed and vicious in a way that brooks no refusal. Much as she might like to, if she does not compromise, give some inch of ground...He will lash out. Ultimately, he’s not asking for much. So far. “And should you draw a weapon on me again-” His left hand circles her jaw without actually making contact, though the intent is clear. “-be prepared to use it.” Her gaze falls to his throat, his markings almost concealing the burn scar she’d given him. But not quite. That he’d chosen to keep it at all is- “Do we have an agreement, Ahsoka Tano?”

 A small eternity seems to pass between her indrawn breath and the resulting answer. “Yes.” Ahsoka looks at him again without fear. Straight into the eyes of the monster, the murderer, the tyrant she has and will be taking into her bed for the forseeable future. “Go ahead.” The first kiss is nothing short of a conquest, taken with broken vocalizations and sharp bites. She lets him pull her in, straddling his lap in the pilot’s seat while they break for air, and offering no resistance when he ties the blindfold securely in place. “Undress. Completely.” Softer now, his lips ghosting along her jawline. It takes a bit of effort, but before long she is bared to him, nipples pebbled from arousal, the air, and the cold presence of the Dark Side. The body beneath her, the bare hands that trace and mould her form are nearly white-hot by comparison. “Perfect...Turn around, and place your hands behind my neck.” Ahsoka obeys, shuddering in pleasure as he purrs. The cuffs he attaches to her wrists are made of some kind of leather, and she instinctively tests the give of the metal chain between them. Sturdy, but nothing she can’t break out of.

The position leaves her undeniably exposed and at his mercy. She expects none, yet he grants it anyway. With each stroke, squeeze, and tug of his fingers down her body, he steadily tunes her nerves to exquisite sensitivity. He never quite touches her core, preferring to caress and grip her inner thighs and the curve of her breasts even as she pants and shifts restlessly. She can feel him against her, hard and unyielding, the cloth barrier separating them gradually being saturated with her essence. And still he makes no effort to hurry things along. “I thought you wanted to -haaaaahhhh- punish me for making you wait this long.”  “You made a game of testing my patience. It is only fitting that I return the favour. I will keep you here, on the precipice between agony and bliss...Until, in your desperation, you beg me to ‘stop’.” Maul pinches her throbbing bud and she whines an incoherent stream of vowels. “Although...Hm. Your impulsive side is endearing.”

“What are you rambling on ab-AnnnnnH!” He bites down on her shoulder while slightly twisting the bundle of nerves held captive between his digits. She’s bleeding and the pain between her legs is pure torture, but she still wants-

‘I will grant your release early. If you ask to be fucked.” “You can’t be serious.” “Three simple words are all that stand in your way.”

“Why not just order me to say it?”

“Why should I, when you so clearly want to? Despite your self-denial.”  There’s no longer anything gentle about his touch, how his nails dig in and rake across her inner thighs while her shoulders and upper back gain a rapidly-growing collection of teeth-marks. His shaft is still there, still covered and rigid, rubbing against her hot and sodden core. Ahsoka is on the verge of sobbing. Or breaking her restraints to just seize what he’s dangling in front of her. But if all it takes is a couple of words...”Please, fuck me.” She whispers, rough from repressing her whimpers.

“Again.” His lips on her throat, feeling the command rumbling against her vocal cords.

She grits her teeth and snarls. “Fuck. Me. Please. You smug, overbearing bastard.” Maul’s fingers curve over and tug her recently-abused pearl, and she is lost, sent tumbling and screaming into the abyss.

Her body is still quivering in the aftermath when he presses in. A slow invasion, one that encounters no resistance until he is fully secured within her walls. At first, she thinks he just wants her to ride him. Yet before she can start... “I will give you a choice.” Maul’s voice is low enough to feel in her bones. “If you can keep relatively still for fifteen minutes, you will be taken against the control panel. And if you are very good, Ahsoka-” Her name on his lips is electric and scandalous, her body arching as if pulled by unseen strings. “-I will get down on my knees and devour you first.” She should never have given him permission to use it in the first place. His other...’endearments’ are easy to brush off. Somehow, hearing those three syllables in this moment is more intimate than having him inside her, feeling the incremental shifts between their bodies with each breath. 

Ahsoka raises herself up, almost to the point of letting his shaft slip out, then drops back down. She can feel him hiss, how his hips jolt up on instinct once before he stops himself. “Mmmm. Think your other option is bad enough to stop me from putting this to better use?” She’s teasing now, circling and rolling her hips in a way that takes him deep, but not all the way in again. Having Maul relatively immobile is a new experience. Even when he’s not being rough, he’s hardly still. It probably won’t last, but so long as his patience holds out...Using him like a sex toy is doing a lot to rev her up right now. He seizes her head-tail and pulls, bending Ahsoka’s neck back at an uncomfortable angle, free hand grasping one of her thighs to force a stop to her movements. “Keep this up and I assure you, ja’ti mirtis{my death}, you will not enjoy sitting when I am done with you.” Maul rasps, his mouth so close to her left montral that she can feel his lips brushing against it with every word. Her core trembles, breath coming in short, sharp pants. “I wonder which would bring you more pleasure? Being bent over the edge of your cot to be mounted and used...Or disciplined until that option becomes a mercy?”  Something like insanity seizes her. It’s the only explanation for what she says next. “Both.” Ahsoka breathes. “I want-Take these off, please.” The light is harsh for the few seconds it takes her eyes to adjust, wrists slightly chafed from the cuffs as she carefully turns to face him. “I need both.” Her hands gently circle his face. “Can you do that? Get me ready with your mouth, and take me nice and slow right here?” He seems transfixed, almost unable to believe the words falling from her lips. “Think of how wet I’ll be, when you’ve finished your ‘discipline’ and I’m just aching to be ruined.” Ahsoka can taste the hunger when he captures her mouth, how similar it is to her own. Her nails claw at his shoulderblades, seeking purchase, to bury herself in him, anything. “Yes, Ahsoka.” Maul whispers, between their lips meeting in repeated, feverish collisions. “You have only to ask.” (A/N: Some of you may have noticed a slight change in the numbers up top. So yes, there will be one more chapter to this particular story. 8D Cheers, everyone!)

[ericsonclan]

A Face Once Dead and Gone

Summary: Sophie and Brody walk through the town of Halverport when Sophie notices a face that she never thought she'd see again.

Word Count: 3900

Read on AO3:

Sophie lifted up her arms, stretching as she walked alongside Brody. The leather straps on her thumb braces shone in the sun as she made a happy sound. The auburn pirate glanced over at the taller pirate with a warm, gentle smile. It was nice to see Sophie so happy.

“That was so good.” Sophie tilted back her head before lazily placing her hands behind it.

“Yeah. I love Omar’s cooking but you can only eat the same dishes so many times before you get sick of them.” Brody replied as she looked around the town of Halverport. It was a beautiful seaside town where the people seemed to mimic the vibes given off by the water surrounding it: calming and charming. “So, where to next?”

“Well, it would be great if I could get some more art supplies. Tenn and I are running low and I should have enough to cover it. Maybe there will even be some new colors I haven't seen before or even some new types of art supplies,” Sophie’s pale blue eyes danced with excitement at the thought. The two pirates looked around at the town square in which they were passing through, noticing that it seemed pretty busy. The people of Halverport shuffled around, pushing past each other and apologizing  as they made their way to their varying destinations. Sophie and Brody navigated their way through the crowd, their hands interlocked as the pair of friends weaved past the next batch of people.

“Alright.” The auburn turned her head to look back at Sophie. “I think I just spotted a stand or something over by the western section of the flower district.” Brody’s hand moved up and she linked arms with Sophie, pushing further through the busy streets of Halverport. She wanted to get out of there as soon as she could; Brody hated crowds.

Sophie tried to keep up, her footwork sloopy as she stumbled this way and that, apologizing as she bumped into people. When suddenly out of the corner of her eye she saw a familiar silhouette. A tall, red-headed girl dressed in a simple puffy white shirt was heading in the opposite direction. A burn mark covered her left cheek that shone lightly in the bright sunlight. Her face turned left and right; a vaguely confused expression displayed on it before the girl walked forward. Sophie felt her heart stop in that moment. Then it reappeared in her chest as it tightened and turned as the girl slowly disappeared from her view. Without thinking she let go of Brody’s arm, pushing through the crowd roughly as she sprinted forward, trying to catch up with the redhead that had vanished down an alleyway.

“Sophie!” Brody called out, brushing back a strand of hair that had covered her face as she forced her way through the crowd. “Wait up!”

But Sophie couldn’t hear her, all the sounds around her were dull and numb. The only constant sound was the blood pumping in her ears. Her head was spinning as she followed the redhead around the corner. Sophie slipped and fell, her braces scuffing against the ground. The girl the red-headed pirate had been following stopped in front of a small building, her hand already on the doorknob.

“Wait!” Sophie’s voice cracked.

The girl froze, her hand glued to the doorknob as her body lightly flinced.

“Minnie…” Sophie’s voice shook as she stumbled forward. Her throat felt like it was on fire but she didn’t care. “I don’t believe it… Is it really you?”

The girl slowly turned around, her body language tense and unsure until she looked at Sophie. Her blue eyes softened and her body relaxed when she saw Sophie.

“Sophie?” Minnie’s face scrunched up in confusion and disbelief. Her mind seemed unable to comprehend that the person that was standing in front of her, the one she had longed to see, was standing in front of her. “You’re alive!?!” Minnie’s soft voice wavered as she ran forward, gently hugging Sophie. Minnie held onto her twin tightly, putting all of her emotions and love into the hug as though she was afraid that her twin would disappear without a trace.

Sophie gave a short sob and wrapped her arms around her sister as tears started to cover her face. They stung her pale blue eyes that shone with shock while her mind tried to process that this moment, one she never dreamed she would get to experience in this world, was truly happening. The world around them became non-existent as the twins lived in that moment, both of them sobbing as they took in this impossible miracle the world had gifted them.

Their attention was quickly drawn elsewhere, however, when the oncoming footsteps grew louder as Brody appeared around the corner. The auburn pirate clutched her knees and emitted short, uneven gasps, catching her breath. “Sophie. Thank goddess I found you! You can’t just-“ Her smile disappeared in an instant when she saw Minerva standing right beside Sophie. Brody’s hand instinctively went to her blade and began to unsheathe it.

“Wait! Brody, it’s okay! She’s not going to hurt us!” Sophie yelled. Quickly sliding in between the pair, she stood in front of her sister, her arms outstretched.

Minnie stood defensively as she stared at Brody. Her pale blue eyes searched the pirate’s face with uncertainty. The tall redhead looked closer to a frightened animal than a bloodthirsty pirate. Brody glared back at Minnie before looking towards Sophie. The auburn’s eyes were filled with concern and confusion as they locked with Sophie’s. A silent conversation took place between the two friends as Minnie stood there, unsure what would transpire. With an angry sigh, Brody took a step back and placed her blade back in its sheath. The hilt clicked into place, the only sound that was shared between the three of them.

Sophie gave Brody an appreciative smile before turning back to Minnie. “How are you alive?” Sophie’s eyes looked into Minnie’s, hoping to find answers there. “How is this even possible? I heard the tales from my crew. The ship… it didn’t make it and you were below decks.”

“I’m not sure.” Minnie shook her head. Her red locks swayed forward, covering one of her eyes. “The ship started to sink when Lily and I were fighting. Both of us were so focused on the fight. All I felt was anger at her, at myself, that it wasn’t until the floor was submerged that we stopped. Soon the sea overtook both of us and my vision went dark. The next thing I know I’m on a boat and the people who saved me dropped me off here. I’ve been living in this home - well, maybe “facility” is a better word for it - ever since I came here.” Minnie’s voice was quiet and somber.

“The facility?” Sophie’s voice took on a tone of confusion. Her eyes glanced back at the rather plain-looking building behind her.

“It’s to help me with my condition. I got pretty fucked up from the ship and now my body can barely handle a few hours of movement at a time before fatigue takes over.”

Sophie looked down with sorrow etched on her face. She didn't know what to say. Both of them had sustained harsh injuries from that batlle.

“Tenn!” Minnie’s eyes grew large and she grasped Sophie’s shoulders firmly, causing Brody to nearly reach for her blade once more. “Is he okay?” The older twin’s voice grew shaky.

Sophie shared a quick look with Brody to let her know she was fine before she answered her twin’s question.

“Yes. He’s fine, he’s back on the ship with the others. It was hard after that day. We didn’t think we could make it through after...” Sophie’s voice caught in her throat, “After we thought we had lost you. After the battle, it looked like some of our crew wouldn’t make it, but we’ve been getting better. Taking it one day at a time,” Sophie gave her sister a gentle, reassuring smile that made Minnie relax as she returned it in kind.

“The…” Minnie stopped her sentence, debating whether or not to continue with that sentence when she discarded it. Taking a deep breath the redhead began to ask another question, her voice taking on a quieter, worried tone. “Are Violet, Mitch and Willy okay?”

“What the hell gives you the right to ask?” Brody spat, her eyes holding nothing but hatred for the person in front of her.

“Brody, please.” Sophie begged, looking back at her friend who seemed annoyed with the stance Sophie was taking. “They’re okay. Mitch, Violet, Willy. They all made it out safe and sound.”

Minnie’s eyes were filled with relief before their attention got drawn to Sophie’s thumbs. The warm brown leather braces shone in the sun. Minnie’s eyes traveled up and noticed the scars that plagued Sophie’s arms. Long, heartless scars that were caused because of her naivety, because of her desperation.

“I’m so sorry, Soph. I…” Minnie’s words got caught in her throat. Tears began to slip down her face, her eyes becoming red-rimmed as sobs overtook her. “You shouldn’t have those scars. You shouldn’t have to go through so much pain and hardship.” Minnie’s eyes swum with guilt as more tears made her pale eyes glassy. “You shouldn't have to live the life of a pirate.” Her voice was bitter on the final word. All her years of suffering, of confusion, of heartache bled into that one word. Her pain and hatred were so powerful that it made the hair on both Brody and Sophie’s arms stand up. Sophie shook her head in disagreement at her twin’s words.

“Neither of us deserved the hell we’ve been through. You didn’t deserve that shit that Lilly did to you. All that suffering you had to endure,” Sophie’s body shook with emotion. “But we made it through all that shit. You, me, Tenn, we’re fighters. We survived and now we can finally be happy.” Minnie’s shoulders relaxed in that moment, a part of her relieved Sophie didn’t view her as an irredeemable monster, even if she felt that to be true. A moment passed between the sisters before Minnie’s eyes shot up, a look of realization and hope overtaking her features. With an excited smile she spoke up. “You should stay here with me!” Minnie’s hands reached forward and held Sophie’s ever so gently. “You and Tenn both! Together as a family! We can finally start over again. Get a chance at the happiness we always dreamed of.” Minnie’s eyes shone with such a tender hope to them. A hope in a dream that she had been dreaming of for many years, what had driven her forward through all those sleepless nights as a Delta Pirate.

Sophie stared at her sister, her mind trying to register what Minnie had just presented. A chance at a home, a true home, one they had dreamed of since they were kids. Her and Minnie and Tenn all together. A family. Sophie’s mind froze for a moment. Family… The Ericson Pirates were just as much a family to her now too. With this decision what would become of her relationship with them?

“I…” she hesitated, her throat tightening as she struggled to say the words. “I should talk to Tenn.”

“Right.” Minnie’s eyes looked sad for a split second. “ Of course. We can talk again tomorrow when I have some more energy.”

Sophie hadn’t really realized until now but Minnie looked exhausted. Small bags were under her eyes as her energy ran low. She was clearly drained from the overexertion of this interaction and the hours that she had used up before now.

“Okay. I’ll meet you here. Same time.” Sophie wrapped her arms around Minnie again, the pair holding on for as long as they could before Sophie let go and turned to walk away with Brody. Her mind spun at what had just happened. She felt so happy to see Minnie again. She couldn’t believe it; Minnie was alive. Tears misted her sight once more. It felt so surreal that she was here. But a sense of nervousness also swirled through her body at the offer Minnie had given. Brody glanced over but remained silent, a small frown on her face as she led the way back to Ol’ Kickass.

As soon as Sophie made it to the deck she scanned the ship for Tenn. It only took a moment to find her gentle, soft-spoken brother who sat around with the other street rat kids as he sketched them. It still surprised Sophie every now and then just how old Tenn had gotten and how much he had grown both in the years she missed and the ones they had shared together on this ship. As Sophie made her way forward she noticed that Violet was teasing Mitch who seemed rather peeved at whatever she was saying as Willy clutched his sides in laughter.

“Hey, Tenn.” Sophie’s voice was slightly shaky as she tried to clear her throat.

“Hey, Sophie.” Tenn’s face fell in concern. “What’s wrong?” He could tell that she had been crying. His worried tone made the other street rats stop their friendly banter and look up at Sophie. All their eyes grew large with worry, their attention drawn away from their conversation and onto the oldest of the street rats.

Sophie shifted her weight, glancing down at the deck as her fingers fidgeted with the straps on her braces. “This is going to sound insane. I know it will, but I’m not making this up. I… holy shit,” Sophie ran a trembling hand through her hair before looking back at her brother.

“I saw Minnie. She’s alive.”

Tenn’s eyes widened in shock as he dropped his sketchbook. HIs pencil collided with the deck, clinking softly before it rolled in a circle and stopped.

“What the fuck?!?!” Mitch exclaimed, hopping up from his spot with a look of utter disbelief. “That’s impossible!” He studied Sophie’s face, trying to see if it wasn’t true. He hoped it wasn’t true but it was clear as soon as he saw her eyes that it was.

“How?” Violet’s pale eyes looked up at her best friend. “The ship sunk. We all saw it.” Her voice was soft as she struggled to read anything on Sophie’s face with her limited sight.

“It wasn’t super clear how she survived. She got picked up by another boat and dropped off here in Halverport. She’s staying at this place that’s helping her with her injuries.”

“Is she okay?” Tenn focused on his sister as he nervously played with his fingers.

“Yes. It's nothing life-threatening.” Sophie paused, her gaze returning to the deck as she wondered how the next piece of information would be handled. “Tenn, she asked me if you and I wanted to live there with her.” Sophie’s eyes locked with her brother’s and in an instant she knew his answer.

“Wait? Does that mean you’re thinking of leaving?!?!” Willy scurried to his feet, his eyes filled with worry. It was obvious he didn’t want them to go.

The group was silent as the tension rose. Each member of the street rat kids could feel their different friends’ emotions radiating off them, swirling and clashing against the others. All of them waited to see who would have the stones to speak up first.

“We should go.” Tenn stated simply. “She’s our family.” Those words sent a dagger through all the other street rats’ hearts as they processed what was said.

“I thought we were your family too!” Willy snapped. “But I guess that means nothing to you! You’d rather go with Minerva,” Willy grimaced at Tenn, his hurt clear in his eyes. “I don’t know if you forgot, but she hurt all of us!” His voice was filled with venom as he glared at Tenn.

“But-“ Tenn’s voice was quickly cut off.

“But nothing!” Mitch yelled, his arm shooting out as he curled his other into a fist. “Violet’s eyes were fucked up! I was kidnapped and fucking drained like some pig! Sophie’s thumbs and arms were torn to shreds and Minerva cut the shit out of your face!” Mitch pointed at Tenn who hid that side of his face for a moment. Mitch’s eyes grew large as he internally winced at his decision to display Tenn’s injury. Silence overtook the group once more, the tension now more hurtful and pained.

Sophie didn’t respond. Her pale blue eyes were focused entirely on the ship’s deck. She felt her emotions clash with each other. Her thoughts battled it out in her mind, both sides pulling out all the stops as she stood in the middle, torn and confused.

“That was Lily’s fault, not hers.” Tenn argued as he fidgeted with his fingers once more. The rest of the crew slowly gathered around, concerned by all the arguing.

“She joined them!” Willy screamed, a deep frown on his face. “She tried to kill Prisha and even Sophie!” The pirate’s voice cracked on both names; clearly those close calls haunted him more than he had let on.

Sophie winced. No matter what arguments were made, it was still true that Minnie had blood on her hands. Their blood. That would never change and it could never be washed clean.

Violet stood there, her arms crossed as she listened. A frown tugged on the corners of her lips as she decided whether or not to speak up.

“I think you should go.” Violet’s voice was quiet but confident.

The others stared at her in shock.

“How the hell can you say that?” Prisha pushed her way forward, staring at her love in disbelief. “After what she did to you?” Prisha’s voice tightened on the word. “What she did to our friends?” She hurt us. All of us.”

“I know, “Violet replied simply but that didn’t stop Prisha from continuing.

“The injuries you sustained weren’t just some fucking paper cut that a simple bandage would fix! They were permanent! All of the injuries caused by her were permanent. It's unforgivable !”

“I’m not saying she did nothing wrong!” Violet snapped back, her anger immediately dissipating as she glanced away from her wife. “I just,” Violet paused for a second to find her voice once more. “I just think that any of us could’ve ended up like her. If Mitch and Willy had been captured that day instead of Sophie and Minnie, if I was the only one who survived, I don’t know if…” Violet’s voice wavered slightly. “Shit. I can’t forgive her but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve a second chance.”

“She’s too dangerous!” Prisha argued, her eyes hard with anger. “Every time that we’ve run into Minerva one of us gets hurt or nearly killed! So how could we leave Tenn and Sophie alone with her?” Prisha gestured towards the siblings. “They’re our friends!”

“She’s changed.” Tenn spoke with a gentle determination.

“Has she though?” Prisha snapped back. “There’s no guarantee. It’s too big of a risk!”

“But,” Ruby’s voice drew everyone’s attention, “It’s a miracle that she’s alive. If there’s a chance that Soph and Tenn can get back what they lost, then they should go for it. It could be a sign.” Ruby put a hand on Sophie’s shoulder, causing her to look up. Ruby’s warm smile gave her a moment of relief before the fight continued.

“How can you say that, Ruby! After all the injuries you’ve had to deal with!” Brody hissed. “All those nights that Violet screamed in pain as her eyes burned. All the bloody sheets that you had to change when amputating Clem’s leg. We all just barely survived the last fight. Mitch was cut up like an animal! Sophie was nearly dead! Hell, it was a fucking miracle we all made it out alive. Every time we see Minerva death is just around the corner. It's not right to leave Sophie and Tenn with her!” Brody turned her gaze to Tenn and Sophie. “Just because someone is family doesn’t mean you’re obligated to be with them. My relationship with my mother and father was awful. It wasn’t until I joined the Ericson Pirates that I found my real family. Family isn’t just blood!” Tears pricked at her eyes as her body shook. “It's what you make of it. It’s who you choose to trust and to lean on.”

“Louis!” Mitch yelled, his frowning face looking up at the captain of the ship who stood by the wheel. “You’re the captain so why don’t you fucking say something!”

“Oh. Umm, well, my word as captain isn’t the law.” Louis replied, his voice uneven. “It's up to Tenn and Sophie. It isn’t my place to tell them to forgive Minerva or not. Or if they should leave or not. Whatever is true to them I’ll accept.”

“I can’t believe this!” Willy snapped. “This… this is bullshit!” He kicked the side of the ship as he glared at Louis.

“Louis is right.” Clementine's voice was calm as she stood by her husband, her hand resting on his shoulder. “He could have worded it better, but his point is still true all the same. It’s clear that Minerva can never be with the Ericson pirates; we can’t have someone who we couldn’t trust to have our backs. But Sophie and Tenn still could have a future with her if they wished,” She turned to look at the pair. “This choice will fundamentally change your life. You have to ask yourselves if what you could gain from being with your sister is worth parting ways with the crew.”

Sophie felt her stomach twist at Clementine’s words. Was it true? Could being with Minnie, living a life here, possibly be more worthwhile and better for her or should she hold onto her life on the sea with the crew she saw as family? Both were valid in their own way; it felt like an impossible question to answer. Sophie glanced over towards Marlon, wondering if he held any stance on this but his eyes were unreadable, glued to the floorboards. It became clear in an instant, he held no answers to the question.

“It is.” Tenn stated as he stood by Sophie, his hand wrapping round hers. “Right?” He looked up at her, clearly hoping that she would agree with him.

Sophie looked over at him before casting her gaze down again. She didn’t have an answer. Tenn’s face fell. His eyes held the hurt he felt from her lack of support.

“Whatever! See if I fucking care!” Mitch strode forward and stood in front of Sophie. “All I know is that we’ve been by your side and always had your back!” Mitch glared at his childhood friend before turning sharply on his heel. His feet stomped against the wooden beams as he disappeared below decks followed by Willy.

The rest of the crew quickly scattered as well. Some argued as they continued to man the ship, all of them feeling strongly about this decision that at the end of the day was not up to them to make. Sophie felt her heart grow heavier as her chest tightened. A question loomed in her mind that would haunt her until it was answered. Was there even a right choice?

[longitudinalwaveme]

Fortuna Inversis

Kaon. It’s an open, festering wound on the otherwise generally peaceful and prosperous planet of Cybertron; a city-state prostrate under the heel of the tyrannical Lord Straxus. Everyone knows this, and no one knows it more than the inhabitants of its closest neighbor, the city-state of Vos. Kaon is a place of energy deprivation, filth, poverty, and misery; in short, it is a place Vosians go out of their way to avoid. So how did a well-bred Vosian noblemech like me end up in one of Kaon’s hovels? That, I am afraid, is a rather complicated story, and for you to fully understand it, I need to start at the beginning. My name is Succendam Off de domo Domini Cael (or, for those of you who do not speak Vosian, Blast Off of the House of Space), the creation and only heir of Dominus Spatium and Domine Astrum.

My creators were extremely wealthy, arguably even wealthier than the royal family, and they were a regular presence in the court of Rex Ventus, the King of Vos; however, they were also spacefaring explorers, and, as such, they were killed in a particularly unpleasant spaceship explosion when I was four stellar cycles away from the age of legal majority. It was a tragedy, of course, but as they had been away from home frequently for most of my life prior to that point, it did not affect me as much as it might have, and upon their deaths, I became the master of the Cael estate and its workers. Not long afterwards, I hired a mech from Kaon to serve as my clerk. He was quiet and efficient, and generally did good work, but he was always filthy and clearly half-starved, not to mention a war-frame, and that did not fit in with the image I wanted my staff to project. Thus, I fired him; which proved to be stressful for both of us. When I informed him that he was being let go, he started creating quite a scene, begging me to keep him on for the sake of his family and generally acting horribly undignified. In the end, I grew tired of trying to reason with him and had my guards remove him from my estate. After a few days, I forgot about him altogether, little imagining that we would encounter each other again, and my life progressed quite smoothly for the next two stellar cycles. I even arranged a sponsalia (that is, an engagement) for myself with Illusion of the Furtim Line, a female from the Towers District. But my happiness proved to be transient. Just a few solar cycles after I reached sedecim (sixteen) stellar cycles of age, I was baselessly arrested for treason. Sure, I may have made a few….inopportune….statements about Rex Ventus’ ability to rule, but I had never plotted to overthrow him, and everyone knew it. As he soon made clear, his real interest was not whether or not I had betrayed him but rather to see if he could get his filthy hands on my land and holdings….and irritatingly, because he was the king and thus the head of the judiciary system of Vos, it soon became apparent that he could do just that. On the pretext of incredibly flimsy evidence (even the king’s young creation, Princeps Stella Clamor- Prince Starscream- remarked on the flimsiness of it), I was found guilty of treason, and stripped of my title, my lands, and my holdings. Ventus made a show of mercy, claiming that he would spare me from execution because of my youth. Then he banished me to the slums of Kaon with no servants, no Shanix, and no energon….which, had fate not intervened, would have been nothing more than a prolonged death sentence. So much for his mercy. Not long after I was abandoned in Kaon, I was approached by a mech whom, I would soon learn, was one of Lord Straxus’ Enforcers.

“What are you doing out at night, Empty?” he spat. While I could understand Neocybex fairly well, my ability to speak it was rather limited. Most nobles (and their servants) could speak Vosian, after all, so there had been little need for me to practice speaking the language. Thus, my response to his question was less than elegant.

“I do wrong?” I stammered in broken Neocybex.

“What’s the matter, Empty? Can’t you speak?” the Enforcer mocked

“Empty?” I echoed, utterly confused. I knew the word-in Vosian, it was vaccus -but he seemed to be using it as a noun rather than an adjective.

“Yeah, an Empty. That’s what you are…a worthless piece of gutter trash. Although if you’re too stupid to know what that means, then maybe you’re also too stupid to know that no one is allowed out after curfew. If you don’t get inside in the next ten minutes, I’m taking you to prison. You got that, Empty?”

“Yes,” I replied. With that, I bolted away from the mech and started searching for some way to get inside before I got thrown into a Kaonite prison, which I was certain would make the one I had been locked up in in Vos seem like my palatial estate by comparison. After a few minutes, I stumbled upon a small building-a hovel, really-and, in desperation, banged on the door.

“ Fac me introire! Ergot placet mihi! ” (Let me in! Please, let me in!) I was in such a panic that I didn’t even stop to consider the fact that whoever was inside probably didn’t speak Vosian. After a few seconds, the door was opened by an exhausted-looking war-frame, one who was startlingly familiar.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” he barked in Neocybex.

“Need roof...help,” I replied, now desperately wishing that I was more fluent in the language.

“ Vosiane loqui possum. Quod requires? ” (I can speak Vosian. What do you need?) the other mech asked, surprising me. His rough, thickly accented voice was also familiar, but I still couldn’t place him.

“ Et opus tectumque . Quaeso! ” (I need shelter. Please!) I replied. The war-build examined me, and then glared at me coldly.

“Et nota videtur. Quod nomen tibi est? ” (You seem familiar. What is your name?)

“ Succendam Off de domo Domini Cael ,” I replied….and just as I said this, I realized why the war-build seemed so familiar. He was the same one whom I had fired from his position as my clerk two stellar cycles previously. A sense of dread washed over my spark. This was not good.

“Quid si ego auxiliatus sum tui? Et accensus sunt me, cum scires haec non erat familiaris. ” (Why should I help you? You fired me unjustly, even though you knew I had a family.) the war-build said coldly.

“ Paenitet! Paenitet-” (I’m sorry! I’m sorry…) I exclaimed, stopping short when  I realized that I had never bothered to learn his name.

“ Impetus. Impetus sit nomen meum. Cum tibi, ne quidem sciunt nomine meo: ego auxiliatus sum tibi, non. Exite!” ( Onslaught . Onslaught is my name. Since you do not even know my name, I will not help you. Go away.) In complete panic, I fell to my knees.

“ Amabo, noli me manere. Faciam quod vis facere! ” (Please, let me stay! I’ll do anything you want!) I pleaded.

“ Quidquid ?” ( Anything ?) Onslaught asked.

“ Ita, quod, ” (Yes, anything.) I replied. Onslaught seemed to ponder this for a few seconds, then pulled me to my feet.

“‘Ut maneat in domo in tribus conditionalibus. Primo, vos mos reperio a officium, mercedem tuam super me, et convertam. Habeo tres alere velis nobiscum sic oportet operam. Secundam, maneat, si tu non es membrum de familia. Et erit servum, et sic potest haberi. Tertius, et sic loquetur ad me, domine . Mecum adhuc volo?” (You may stay in my home, on three conditions. First, you will find a job and turn over your wages to me. I have three brothers to support, so if you wish to stay with us, you must contribute financially. Second, if you stay, you are not a member of the family. You will be a servant and be treated as such. Third, you will address me as “sir.” Do you still wish to stay with me?) he asked. Naturally, I was horrified by the conditions that he had set, but because the alternative was even worse, I was forced to swallow my pride and accept them.

“ Ita domine. Habeo alia optio, ” (Yes, sir. I have no other choice.) I said. Onslaught nodded.

“In that case, you can come in. You will speak Neocybex from now on.”

“I...try, sir,” I replied. Onslaught nodded, and mercifully did not comment on my broken Neocybex. Then he led me inside the shack of a building he called his home, and I was shocked by the squalor inside. There was a table, three recharging centers, and four chairs, crammed into a space that was smaller than the storage closets on my estate. Other than that, there was no furniture-no washracks, no energon dispenser, nothing! In place of those essentials were a third grown mech who clearly transformed into a tank, a grey youngling whose rotors marked him as a helicopter, and the tiniest sparkling I had ever seen. He was bright yellow and had enormous purple optics, and he appeared to turn into a ground-based vehicle of some sort, though I wasn’t sure of what type.

“These are my brothers, Brawl, Vortex, and Swindle,” Onslaught said, as he pointed to the tank, the youngling, and the sparkling in turn.

“Who’s that, Onslaught?” the tank, Brawl, asked. He was exceedingly loud, and I could tell right from the beginning that he was going to be a major irritant.

“This is Blast Off of the House of Cael,” Onslaught replied.

“The rich jerk who fired you? What’s he doing here?”

“I’m not entirely certain of that, Brawl, but given the fact that he, a very wealthy, very arrogant mech, begged me to allow him to take shelter in what he probably thinks is a shack, I’d guess that he has run into a disaster of some kind,” Onslaught replied. When he said this, I realized for the first time just what I had done. I had agreed to work as an unpaid servant in exchange for being allowed to take shelter in a hovel !  

“We can barely keep ourselves fueled; why’re we givin’ some of our energy and our home to a rich, spoiled jerk?” Brawl asked.

“We aren’t “giving” Blast Off anything. This is probably a foreign concept to him, but rest assured-from now on, he’s going to have to earn every drop of energon we give him,” Onslaught replied. Although he was ostensibly speaking to his brother, it was clear that Onslaught was telling me something as well: namely, that if I didn’t please him, I would not get to refuel.

“Where’s he gonna recharge?” This question came from Vortex. The question being something that I, too, was interested in, I turned to Onslaught for the answer.

“There isn’t enough space for him to recharge on the floor, at least not without us tripping over him on a constant basis, the recharging center you share with Swindle is far too small for another sparkling, let alone a shuttle of his size, and my recharging center barely fits me. Thus, he will have to share Brawl’s recharging center,” Onslaught replied.

“ What ?” Brawl and I exclaimed simultaneously. Vortex giggled.

“Now you know how I feel having to share a recharger with Swindle,” he said to his older brother. Brawl growled, and I backed away from him, but the small helicopter just giggled again.

“Vortex, go back to recharge,” Onslaught said.

“But I’m not tired! And Swindle kicks really hard in recharge,” Vortex whined, gesturing at the unconscious sparkling. How that sparkling managed to stay in recharge with Brawl and Vortex shouting around him, I did not and do not understand.

“I know that sharing a recharger is unpleasant, Vortex, but we don’t have enough Shanix or enough space to get you your own. If you don’t recharge properly, you’ll be at risk for developing a virus that we wouldn’t  be able to afford to treat. Please at least make an effort,” Onslaught said gently. Vortex pouted, but he climbed onto the tiny recharging center regardless. Evidently, he had been lying about not being tired, as, only a few minutes later, he was clearly in recharge. Once he was assured that the youngling was resting, Onslaught turned back to Brawl and me.

“It’s very late, so it would be wise for the three of us to get some rest, too. I’ll see you both in the morning,” he said. With that, he went to his own recharging chamber and was almost immediately dead to the world, leaving my-shudder-new companion and me staring awkwardly at each other.

“Just my luck, havin’ to share a recharger with a prissy little snob,” Brawl muttered.

“I...not like….either,” I replied, mortified by how poor my spoken Neocybex was. Brawl shot me an odd look.

“Why’re you talkin’ funny, Prissy?” he asked. I scowled at him, as I did not at all appreciate him calling me “prissy”. It was hardly my fault that I had been bred to be disgusted by the squalor that these brothers lived in!

“I speak Vosian. I...not good...speaking...Neocybex,” I explained, inwardly fuming at how unfair it was that I was expected to adjust to the language used by these plebeians.

“Oh. Okay then. Which side of the recharger do you want? I ain’t gonna like it regardless, so it don’t matter none to me,” Brawl asked. I idly wondered why he insisted on butchering his own language before replying.

“Left,” I replied. I had no desire to be trapped in between the tank and a wall.

“Fine. Just so you know, Prissy, I snore. Hope you don’t mind,” Brawl said as he got onto his recharging center. I very much did mind, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing I could do but wish fervently that I was anywhere but in the slums of Kaon and follow him to the recharging center. I gingerly joined the tank on the center, glad that the lighting was too poor for me to see how filthy they both probably were, and struggled to enter recharge. It seemed as though every time I was about to do so, Brawl’s engines decided to rumble noisily, and then, as though that wasn’t unpleasant enough, he eventually rolled over in such a way that he pinned my arm to the recharging center’s slab. This was, as one might imagine, quite painful, and I cried out, but no one reacted. Evidently, they were accustomed to recharging through a racket. After what seemed like an eternity of discomfort, exhaustion eventually took over and I fell into recharge.

“Wake up! You have work to do!” I checked my chronometer, and was startled to find that it was only 4:30 in the morning.

“ Suss etiam mane, ” (It’s too early.) I protested. I was not fully awake, and, as such, my CPU had not yet fully registered that I was no longer at home. Then my optics focused, I saw Onslaught, and the events of the previous night rushed back to me. I groaned in a mixture of exhaustion and disgust, and then quickly got to my feet. A quick perusal of the room (my processor simply refused to accept it as a building) revealed that Onslaught, Brawl, and Vortex were already awake. The tiny sparkling was still asleep, but then, he wasn’t even out of his first frame. Clearly, then, and much to my distaste, I was going to have to become an early riser.

“I had better not have to wake you up again, Blast Off. As one of my employers told me, it’s ‘not my job to coddle the hired help’,” Onslaught snapped. The fact that I had been the employer in question made the whole situation even more mortifying.

“Yes, sir,” I replied weakly. I knew that protesting would likely only make my-*shudder*- employer angrier.

“Good. Now, your alternate mode is a shuttle- if a small one- correct?” Onslaught asked.

“Yes, sir. Quare -er,why?” I asked, wondering what my alternate mode had to do with the work that he would expect me to do (whatever that proved to be).

“You have no work experience, and you can barely speak Neocybex. Due to those handicaps, the quickest way for you to get a job is to get you employed as transport of some kind, since, as a shuttle, your alt mode meets the main requirement for that position. Here are the instructions to the transport center; download them to your CPU,”  Onslaught replied as he handed me a small chip. I stared at him, mildly appalled. A noblemech working as transport? It was beneath my dignity!

“Hey, Onslaught, I don’t think Prissy likes that idea,” Brawl observed, sounding mildly amused. Vortex snickered.

“Can I call him Prissy, too?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Sure, kid,” Brawl replied.

“You’re in no position to complain about what they call you, Blast Off; or, for that matter, the job I want you to get…..unless, of course, you’d prefer to find energon and shelter on your own,” Onslaught said coldly. I sighed weakly. Any ludicrous hope I had had that I would be able to maintain a semblance of dignity as the-ugh-unpaid servant of a pauper was effectively dashed by what Onslaught had just told me.

“I….be good, sir.” Onslaught nodded.

“In that case, get going. Brawl and I have our own jobs to get to,” he snapped.

“Energon?” I asked. Surely, they didn’t expect me to go job-hunting on an empty fuel tank! Brawl and Vortex laughed.

“Wow, you’re even dumber than Brawl if you expect energon now! We never get to refuel at this time of the solar cycle!” Vortex exclaimed.

“Dumber than Brawl? I’ll show you dumb, tiny!” Brawl bellowed.

“You always do, bro,” Vortex replied, giggling as he ducked to avoid the punch Brawl threw at him. Such barbarism!

“Enough! Blast Off, not everyone is able to refuel whenever they feel like it. This unit is lucky if we get to refuel once a solar cycle, and at present, I have gone without refueling for three solar cycles. Do you understand?” Onslaught asked. I stared at him in shock, wondering vaguely if this was some sort of joke, before realizing that he was serious. If the unit couldn’t even fuel itself properly, no wonder Onslaught needed my labor! Grimly resigning myself to hunger, I nodded.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Then, for the last time, I will tell you to go find a job. I don’t have time to explain everything to you. Brawl and I have work to get to,” Onslaught said. I nodded and quickly left the hovel, then downloaded the directions to the transport station into my CPU, transformed into my alternate mode, and took off. Roughly forty minutes later, I arrived at my destination, which, although not quite as disgusting as the hovel I was currently living in, was still quite filthy. I transformed, landed, and walked inside the building. The inside was just as filthy as the outside. I reluctantly walked over to the window that was marked as “Employment”. Much to my surprise, I was the only one there, so I winced, swallowed my pride for the millionth time in less than 24 hours, and walked closer to the window. The mech on the other side looked at me with very little interest.

“You a shuttle?” he asked. He had a very strange, slightly echo-y voice.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“You’re awful small for a shuttle,” the mech said. In response, I transformed into my alternate mode, which, although much sleeker than the shuttles typically used for-ugh- transport, was still most definitely a shuttle. Once I was confident that the other mech was convinced that I was, indeed, a shuttle, I returned to my robot mode.

“All right, all right, you’ve made your point. Though why a delicate thing like you is applying to work as a garbage shuttle, I couldn’t begin to guess,” the other mech said. It was at this point that I realized just how much of a grudge Onslaught held against me. It was one thing to expect me to work, but this? This was an entirely different level of humiliating.

“Job,” I replied weakly.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he asked.

“Vosian. Not good at Neocybex,” I replied. His optics brightened in apparent understanding.

“You can’t speak Neocybex? That explains it, then. Garbage transports don’t have to talk much-and given how lithe you are, I think I’ve got a good job for you. You see, the Towers District has been requesting more garbage transports, but they say they think our regular employees look too bulky. A sleek shuttle like you would be the perfect fit, and I can finally get my boss off my back about that. What do you say?” he said. My first instinct was to say “absolutely not”, but then I remembered that my life was very dependent on my getting a job.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying not to sound absolutely horrified.

“Great! You’re hired! Follow me!” he exclaimed. I complied, and he led me to what appeared to be a hanger of some sort. A few other shuttles, all much larger than me, were milling about. They were all filthy and covered in grime, and I shuddered. My beautiful, clean plating….

“Can you transform for me?” a different mech asked. I did so, and then he started gathering cans of paint.

“What...you doing?” The new mech laughed .

“Repainting you. All garbage transports have a specific color, and you don’t match it yet. That being said, this will probably take awhile, so if you want to take a nap, you can. I’ll wake you up when I’m done,” he said. More out of a desire to escape my situation than anything else, I decided to take his advice. I was reawoken about forty-five minutes later.

“All right, I’m done. You can go ahead and transform back into robot mode now,” the second mech said. I complied, and had to hold back a nervous breakdown. My beautiful purple-and-white coloration had been replaced with a hideous shade of brown, and my family crest had been painted over and replaced with Neocybex lettering that read “Garbage Disposal”. Once I had calmed down from panic to mild disgust, I turned to the second mech.

“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t feel thankful at all, but it seemed prudent not to let him know that. The mech smiled.

“No problem,” he replied. He walked off, and the mech who had hired me walked up and took his place, then handed me a chip similar to the one Onslaught had given me earlier.

“Here’s your schedule. Your shift starts at 6 and ends at 5. You make 12 Shanix per day; if you’re late to any of the pickups, it comes out of your pay. Any extra Shanix you earn will come from tips. Any questions?” he said rapidly.

“I...start now?” I asked.

“No, you start tomorrow. That way, you have some time to go over the schedule, though I guess you’ll have to find someone to read it for you if you don’t understand Neocybex very well,” he replied. I didn’t bother to tell the mech that I could read Neocybex just fine; there didn’t seem to be much point.

“I...go home?” I asked. I felt very relieved that I was not going to be immediately thrust into a humiliating, unfamiliar work environment.

“Yeah, you can go home now. But if you aren’t back here by 6 AM sharp tomorrow, you’re fired. Got it?” the mech replied.

“Yes, sir,” I replied. With that, I left the transport station, transformed into my vehicle mode, pulled up the directions that I had used to get to the station, and then simply reversed the directions in order to get back to Onslaught’s hovel. (One of the benefits of being a shuttle is the fact that we all possess a natural skill for navigation.) Upon my arrival, I returned to robot mode and knocked on the door, which was opened by none other than the tiny sparkling.

“Hi,” he said. He seemed a bit bemused, but not particularly frightened. A few seconds later, Vortex joined him at the door.

“That’s the shuttle I told you about, Stumpy, the one who showed up last night when you were in recharge. His name is Blast Off, but Brawl and I call him Prissy because he used to be Onslaught’s boss, back when you were even littler than you are now. He used to be really rich, and he still thinks he’s better than us, but something bad happened to him and now Onslaught says he’s the “hired help”, and that means he has to do what we say. Ain’t that right, Prissy?”

“Yes,” I replied, still a bit shell-shocked by the fact that I-the wealthiest noblemech of Vos-now had to take orders from two filthy little brats.

“Onslaught must think you’ll make a lot of Shanix.” Unbelievably, this particular comment came out of the mouth of the tiny sparkling.

“What?” I asked.

“If you’re living with us, we’ll have to buy energon for you, which will increase our expenses. If Onslaught’s letting you stay anyway, it must be because you’ll bring in enough energy to cover the difference-and also make a net profit,” the little sparkling replied. I stared at him in utter bewilderment. What sort of sparkling had that level of understanding of economics?

“Onslaught says that Stumpy’s an “economics prodigy”,” Vortex explained, as though sensing my confusion.

“I see,” I replied. It was rather unfortunate for Onslaught, then-but quite fortunate for me, conditions being what they were-that the sparkling was far too young to be employed full-time (even in a cesspool like Kaon).

“What are you doing back here so early, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be getting a job?” Vortex demanded.

“I...got job. Job starts tomorrow,” I explained quickly.

“Oh. Okay. See you later, Prissy. Stumpy and I have stuff to do,” Vortex exclaimed. He grabbed his younger brother by the hand and proceeded to pull him outside.

“You go to school?” I asked.

“School?” Vortex and “Stumpy” echoed, apparently perplexed, which in turn puzzled me. Surely a youngling and a prodigy knew what a school was.

“Learning place,” I explained. Vortex frowned.

“We know what school is, dummy. We just don’t know why you think we go to school,” Vortex replied.

“Schools cost money, and Onslaught can’t afford to send us,” the sparkling added. This shocked me. Apparently, my assumption that public education was available across the entirety of Cybertron was mistaken.

“Where going?” I asked.

“Out,” Vortex replied. Before I could ask any more questions, both the youngling and the sparkling scampered away and disappeared. After a few seconds of worry that Onslaught would be upset that I had not kept an optic on them, I quickly realized that, since Brawl and Onslaught both worked, and I hadn’t lived with them until very recently, they were accustomed to Vortex and Swindle taking care of themselves in spite of their youth...and in truth, they were both probably more street savvy than I could ever hope to be. Unfortunately, with their departure, I was left alone in the tiny, filthy hovel, with little to do except reflect on my thoroughly unpleasant situation. Starting the following day, I-a noblemech of Vos!-would be working 11 hours every day as a garbage transport, all so I could pay my former employee for the “privilege” of living in a hovel and sharing a recharging center with a loudly-snoring, filthy tank. How had I been reduced to this? Overwhelmed by the blatant unfairness of it all, I started to weep. Why me? After I finished wallowing in (very deserved) self-pity, I finally downloaded the schedule that I had been given at the transport station, which promptly created yet another cause for self-pity. Because the universe apparently has it out for me, the last stop on the schedule was Amabilia Manor, the estate of my sponsa (betrothed), Illusion of the Furtim Line. In other words, there was a very real chance that Illusion, whom I was still quite fond of, would see me working on her estate as a garbage shuttle ! What had I done to deserve that? A few hours of alternatively wallowing some more in self-pity, vaguely wondering if I was supposed to be responsible for cleaning the interior of the hovel, and trying to ignore my ever-lowering fuel levels later, Vortex and the little yellow sparkling returned with a handful of Shanix and one (very small) energon cube.

“How... you get that?” I asked.

“Stumpy. I dirty him up a little, set him in full view of passersby, have him make his sad face, and bam! Instant Shanix. Nobody can resist helping out a poor, starving orphan, after all. It’s great!” Vortex explained. Wonderful. I was living with a pair of miniature con artists.

“I hate it. Why don’t you ever have to be the orphan?” the tiny sparkling said.

“Because I’m a warbuild, and thus, not small or cute enough to get sympathy. For some reason, you were the only one of us our creator didn’t design as a warbuild, so you have to do the cutesy stuff. Besides, you’re a better actor than I am,” Vortex replied.

“But I have to do all the work!”

“No, you don’t! When your cute face doesn’t bring in enough Shanix, I make up the difference by raiding their subspace containers while they’re distracted. How do you think we got the energon cube today, magic?” Vortex replied. Oh, terrific. One of them was a thief as well. However, much to my surprise, rather than keeping the Shanix for themselves, the pair instead deposited it in a container located under Onslaught’s recharger. The box was largely empty and lined only with a thin layer of Shanix, which puzzled me. Even considering the fact that neither Onslaught nor Brawl was likely to have a particularly well-paying job, it seemed like they should have more Shanix than that. With two grown mechs (soon, I reflected sadly, to be three) working full-time, why were their savings so limited, and why did they have to ration energon so strictly? The answer to that question arrived a few minutes later, when a large red-and-white mech stormed into the hovel, prompting shrieks of fear from Vortex and the sparkling, who both  promptly ran to hide behind me.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“An Enforcer. Do whatever he says,” Vortex explained, clearly ill at ease. Given how confident he had been previously, this was rather alarming.

“All right, Empties. Pay up!” the Enforcer exclaimed aggressively. In response, Vortex ran over to the Shanix container, handed it to me, and instructed me to hand it to the Enforcer, which I did. The sparkling started crying into my leg, and for the first time, I actually felt a pang of sympathy for the two of them. If I was terrified, it had to be even worse for a youngling and a sparkling. The Enforcer emptied the container into what appeared to be his personal subspace compartment and then scowled.

“Is that all the Shanix you have?” he demanded. I looked at Vortex, who nodded. In response, the Enforcer proceeded to upend the hovel, apparently in search of any hidden Shanix, and totally destroying one of the chairs. My fuel pump felt like it was beating out of my chest, and my spark constricted in terror. After what seemed like an eternity, but, according to my chronometer, was actually only five minutes, he stopped tearing the hovel apart, now apparently having determined that Vortex had told the truth. Then he stomped over to me.

“Tell Onslaught that if he doesn’t have at least fifty shanix waiting for me next time, I’ll take your two youngest brothers as payment instead. There’s a titanium mine that would pay hundreds of shanix for a couple of slaves who are small enough to fit in those hard-to-reach crevices,” he said threateningly. With that, he grabbed the energon cube, downed it in one gulp, dropped it back onto the floor, and stormed out of the hovel. As soon as he was gone, I found myself awkwardly attempting to comfort a sobbing sparkling while also trying to work out what, exactly, had just happened. After a few seconds, I gave up and decided to just ask Vortex.

“What happened?”

“I told you that guy was an enforcer, right? Well, all of the Enforcers work for Lord Straxus and make sure he gets to stay the boss. Because of that, they can do whatever they want-short of trying to overthrow him, that is-and almost all of them eventually set up this thingy they call a “patrol fee”, which is a fancy way of saying that they can come into your home and take as much of your Shanix as they like, and you can’t do anything to stop them...unless you wanna get thrown in prison. And if you can’t meet the fee they want for whatever reason, they’ll throw you into debtor’s prison or sell you into slavery,” Vortex explained. This, as one might imagine, was less than comforting news. While it certainly explained the desperate poverty of Onslaught’s unit, the revelation that most of my earnings wouldn’t benefit me even remotely was even more disgusting and unpleasant than the fact that I was expected to work as garbage transport in order to earn them in the first place. Once the sparkling finally stopped sobbing, I reorganized the hovel to the best of my (very limited) ability, as Vortex watched with very irritating amusement. I was trying my best! It was not as though I had ever personally had to reorganize a room before! As soon as he was convinced that his home was (more or less) back in order, Vortex started heading for the exit again, dragging his younger brother behind him.

“No! I’m n-not going out again! The Enforcer might still be around, and if he catches us begging, he might put us in jail!” the sparkling said, clearly terrified. His huge optics somehow seemed even wider than usual. Vortex laughed.

“C’mon, Stumpy. They’ve never caught us before,” he said, remarkably boldly, I thought, for a youngling who had been hiding behind my leg, in apparent fear of an Enforcer, not thirty minutes before.

“‘“M not going. Enforcers are scary,” the sparkling replied, suddenly sounding a lot more like what I had expected a sparkling still in his first frame to sound than a business mech.

“Only if they’re close enough to hurt you. If they don’t know where we are or what we’re doing- which they won’t-they’re no threat,” Vortex replied. In response, the sparkling latched onto my leg again, much to my mild disgust. Although I pitied the pair, I had no desire for them to be putting their filthy hands on me on a regular basis.

“You can’t make me. The Enforcer is too close! And if you do, I’m gonna tell Onslaught,” the sparkling said. Vortex scowled.

“Fine! Stupid sparkling,” he exclaimed. With that, he pouted and sat down on his recharging center. It was at this point that I realized that I had not yet learned the sparkling’s name (or, for that matter, how old he was). Onslaught had told it to me the previous night, but I had subsequently totally forgotten it.

“Name? How old?” I asked the sparkling.

“Swindle. I’m five stellar cycles old,” he replied. “Swindle” seemed like an odd name for a sparkling, but then again, “Onslaught” and “Brawl” weren’t exactly names that I would have imagined a creator giving to their creations either. Perhaps it had something to do with what their creators were like. Since three out of the four brothers were war-builds, it seemed likely that at least one, if not both, of them were also war-builds, amongst whom such names might be common. My curiosity having been aroused, I decided to continue questioning the sparkling to see if I could obtain any further information about Onslaught’s unit.

“Creators?” I asked. Much to my surprise, it was Vortex who answered. I had assumed that he was too street-savvy to trust me with such information, but evidently I had either overestimated him, or he did not think that the information was important.

“Our male creator was named Dragline and our female creator was named Highwall. They were miners and they died in a cave-in two solar cycles after Stumpy was brought online. He doesn’t remember them at all, and I was only three stellar cycles old, so I only remember little bits and pieces. Brawl was eleven stellar cycles when the cave-in happened, and Onslaught was thirteen, so they remember more,” he explained.

“Other members of house?” I asked.

“Well, there was Dragline’s brother, Onslaught. He was a soldier, but he was offlined in battle a long time ago, I think before Brawl came online. Our Onslaught’s named after him,” Vortex replied. Stunned, I started performing some mental calculations. If Onslaught the elder was the only member of their house besides their creators, and he and their creators had all gone offline by the time Onslaught had reached the age of thirteen stellar cycles, that meant two things. First, Onslaught had been raising his three younger brothers, alone, since he was thirteen, and second, if he had been thirteen when Swindle had just come online, and Swindle was five stellar cycles old now, that meant that he was currently only eighteen stellar cycles old, barely any older than me. I had thought he was at least thirty-five stellar cycles!

“I see,” I replied at last. The next several hours passed largely uneventfully (especially in comparison to the shocks that the morning had provided), and, around 7:00 in the evening, Brawl returned to the hovel. (His approach was so loud that I heard him coming several minutes before he actually arrived.) Upon his arrival, he immediately collapsed into one of the chairs, looking absolutely exhausted.

“Hey, Brawl, how was work?” Vortex asked.

“Long. Did Prissy get a job?” Brawl replied.

“Yep. He starts work tomorrow,” Vortex said.

“You stay out of trouble, Tiny?” Brawl asked. Vortex smirked.

“Of course, bro. Stumpy and I would never do anything that would get us in trouble.” Brawl snorted. Clearly, he knew better than to believe his brothers.

“And what really happened?”

 “We got ten Shanix and an energon cube from our usual methods, but then the Enforcer broke in and took all of it, so now we’ve got nothin’ again. I hope you picked up some extra shanix today, ‘cause if not, none of us are gonna get to refuel, and I’m hungry,” Vortex explained.

‘Lousy no-good Enforcers. Ain’t like we got any Shanix worth stealin’,” Brawl muttered.

“How much Shanix did you earn, Brawl? I’m hungry too,” Swindle asked. In response, Brawl actually gave what passed for a smile; which was much more terrifying than his scowls.

“10, plus 6 extra I spent on energon,” he said. Vortex and Swindle cheered, and even I felt a sense of relief. Admittedly, it was disgraceful that I- a noblemech!-felt relief at the prospect of something so basic as being able to consume fuel, but it was still better than dying of fuel deprivation. Vortex started pawing at his older brother, likely in search of the energon.

“None of that, tiny. Nobody’s refuelin’ till Onslaught gets back,” Brawl said. Vortex pouted, but didn’t argue, instead choosing to kick me in the shin to relieve his frustration.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed. Vortex giggled, and I glared at him. Why had I felt sympathy for the filthy little youngling, again? I elected to ignore him and turned my attention to Brawl instead.

“Where...work?” I asked.

“Construction. Ain’t many jobs for a stupid tank like me, but I can lift stuff pretty good. So long as I can do that, my boss don’t care that I’m not so bright and don’t have no ed-you-cay-shun,” Brawl replied tersely. (I am not exaggerating his pronunciation of the word “education”, by the way. That’s exactly the way that he said the word.)

“No...school?” I asked.

“Not really. Our creators worked real hard to make sure that they could send Onslaught and me, but I only went for a stellar cycle. Teachers said I was too stupid to learn anything, and so my creators took me out ‘cause it was too expensive to spend Shanix on school for me if I wasn’t gonna be learnin’ nothin’. My female creator tried to teach me some after that, but she was always real busy, so I never did learn much before our creators died. Onslaught’s real ed-you-cated, though. His teachers said he was the brightest student in his level, and he always made real high scores. Our creators were so proud of him. He was ‘posed to be our ticket outta bein’ poor, seein’ as he was so smart and all. His teachers even said he could probably get a scholarship to Kaon’s Military Academy, but a stellar cycle before that could happen, our creators were killed, and he had to drop out to provide for Vortex and Swindle and me. Don’t bring that up around him, though. Makes him mad,” Brawl explained. I had a feeling that this was the longest that I would hear Brawl speak for a very long time. He didn’t seem particularly chatty by nature. The fact that he didn’t say another word until Onslaught arrived at the hovel about an hour later, even as his younger brothers chatted nonstop around him about a variety of inane topics, proved my suspicion correct. Upon Onslaught’s arrival, he took one look at the room and then glared at me.

“What happened here?” he demanded.

“I...sorry, sir! Not...clean...before,” I apologized. Onslaught didn’t look appeased.

“It wasn’t really Prissy’s fault, Onslaught. An enforcer showed up and tore the place apart looking for Shanix other than the ones in our container. Prissy was just too stupid to know how to put things back right,” Vortex said. Normally, I would have glared at him, but I was too relieved that he was defending me to really care whether or not he was calling me an idiot (which, for the record, I am most certainly not.)

“An enforcer? Are you two all right?” Onslaught asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine, but the Enforcer said that if we didn’t have at least fifty shanix when he came next time, he’d take me and Stumpy as payment instead,” Vortex replied. In response, Onslaught sat down on his recharging center (remember, there wasn’t-and, sadly, isn’t- that much room in the filthy hovel) and buried his faceplates in his hands, clearly quite upset.

“He said WHAT?” Brawl exclaimed as he jumped out of his seat, so loudly that I am surprised my audio receptors weren’t burnt out. Vortex repeated his explanation, and Brawl collapsed back into his chair, his anger evidently spent. Onslaught, for his part, turned to me.

“Did you get the job?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying not to think about how horrible the job was.

“Good,” Onslaught said, sounding utterly exhausted. Then the little sparkling walked over to him, huge optics filled with worry.

“If we don’t give him enough Shanix to pay his “patrol fee”, the Enforcer’s gonna take us away! You won’t let that happen, will you, Onslaught? I don’t wanna be taken away by an Enforcer. They scare me,” Swindle asked.

“I most certainly will not allow that to happen, even if it means working even more shifts than I currently do. Nothing is going to pull this unit apart,” Onslaught replied firmly. At this, Swindle seemed to relax. I, on the other hand, still felt nervous. No matter how hard Brawl, Onslaught, and- *sigh* -I worked, I did not see how it was possible for us to be able to purchase energon and consistently maintain at least fifty shanix for the enforcer on our meager salaries.

“Now can we refuel? I’m hungry,” Vortex asked.

“Yes,” Onslaught replied. With that, he, Vortex, and Swindle joined Brawl at the table (which was, like the rest of the furniture, rather worse for wear), and Brawl retrieved four energon cubes from his storage compartment. One was split between Swindle and Vortex, one was taken by Onslaught, and one was taken by Brawl. Assuming that the last one was mine, I reached for it...only to have my hand slapped by Onslaught.

“You are the hired help, remember? You fuel after we are finished,” he snapped. My circuits heated up with embarrassment, but I retreated back to “my” recharging center and sat down on it to wait anyway. While it was humiliating for me-a noblemech!-to be treated like a servant by my own ex-employee-a desperately poor pauper, no less-I could not afford to raise a fuss. Luckily, Onslaught’s unit refueled remarkably quickly, so I was able to refuel myself less than thirty minutes later….only to immediately gag. The taste was disgusting!

“Energon...bad,” I choked out. Onslaught gave out a harsh laugh.

“I would advise you to get used to it. It may not taste like the delicacies you’re used to, but it’ll keep you alive, and it’s all we can afford,” he said sharply. Although I hated to admit it, he made a good point, and so I forced myself to consume the fuel despite its taste. After all, for all I knew, it might be solar cycles before I could refuel again. Not long after I finished, Onslaught sent Swindle and Vortex to recharge. Both complained extensively, but eventually gave in, and were in recharge in only a few minutes. This being accomplished, Onslaught collapsed onto his own recharging center and was immediately offline to the world, and Brawl followed suit. Clearly, both of them had been absolutely exhausted, and that did not bode well for the career that I would be starting the next day. It was only 8:45 in the evening! Was I going to be that exhausted from work every solar cycle for the rest of my life? However, I still joined Brawl on the recharging center a few minutes later. If I was going to have to wake myself up at 4:30 in the morning, I needed as much rest as I could get. I set an internal alarm to ensure that I wouldn’t oversleep and anger Onslaught again, and tried to ignore Brawl’s loud snoring. I fell into recharge after what felt like an hour (but likely wasn’t). Luckily, the alarm worked, and I was woken promptly at 4:30, then left Onslaught’s hovel to head to my first solar cycle on the job (shudder). I arrived at the transport station at 5:10, and sat around awkwardly for twenty minutes, then departed for the first stop on my schedule. (I definitely did not want to have my pay docked for showing up late, so I felt that it was wise to depart early.) I arrived at the first of the manors of the Towers District at 5:50 and sat around awkwardly once again. At about 5:56, a mech whom I assumed was one of the manor’s servants arrived with a garbage container. I winced, tried not to think about what I had been reduced to, and then opened the door to my cargo bay. The servant then deposited the garbage into my interior, and I shuddered. It was so unfair! I hadn’t been built for work like this! Once he finished emptying the container (into my interior!), he pulled out a few Shanix.

“Hey, you! Transform so I can give you your tip,” he said. I complied with an intense feeling of humiliation. Why me?

“T-thank you,” I stammered, hoping my mortification wasn’t too obvious. The servant handed me the Shanix, and I put it into my subspace compartment. (Shuttles actually have two, one which stores the cargo they can carry in alternate mode, and one which is for personal use.)

“No problem. My boss really appreciates your streamlined design, so he decided to reward it. He says it’s much more “aesthetically pleasing” than the other shuttles he sees,” the servant replied. I nodded, reverted to my shuttle mode, and then took off for my next stop. For the next eleven stops, nothing particularly interesting happened, though my beautiful plating quickly became covered in filth and grime. I did receive tips at all eleven of these stops, evidently because of the sleekness of my alternate mode. I had no idea if this would be a regular occurrence or not, but I wasn’t about to complain about it. The more Shanix I made, the more reason Onslaught would have to keep me around. While it was still humiliating to be tipped like a servant, it was preferable to the alternatives, so I planned to keep my mouth firmly shut on the matter. However, the thirteenth and last stop was not so uneventful (sadly). The flight between the twelfth stop and the manor of Illusion was shorter than the flights between most of the other estates, which meant that I arrived early. Although one of the servants was ready with the garbage (and my tip) when I got there, this meant that I had a full hour before I was expected to deposit the garbage at the dump. As such, I found myself standing around awkwardly on the grounds of the estate, listening to the servant talk about various things.

“Sure, they’re a bit stuck-up, but they’re not that bad, all things considered. And in speaking of not bad, the Lord’s daughter is a beaut...and whaddaya know, she’s come out on the grounds with some of her friends now. Aren’t they lovely? Of course, they’re way out of our league, but a mech can dream,” he said. My circuits heated up in humiliation. I had been betrothed to Illusion less than five solar cycles ago, and now she was “out of my league”?

“Yes,” I said quietly. He grinned.

“Well, I gotta run. Have fun watching the lifestyles of the rich and famous,” he said. With that, he left me and went back inside the manor, and I turned my attention to the conversation Illusion was having with her friends.

“Is your betrothal off then, Illusion?” one of the friends asked (I believe her name is Argenti.) Illusion sighed.

“I don’t know. Blast Off hasn’t so much as called me in three solar cycles, and the King of Vos says he hasn’t seen him for awhile, That doesn’t seem like him,” she replied. I sighed. It was official. The Universe hated me.

“Well, if this is his way of calling off your engagement, then I’d say you dodged a laser blast,” Aurum, another of her friends said.

“No kidding. If he doesn’t appreciate someone like you, he’s crazy,” Argenti added.

“But I know him, Argenti. He’s a bit arrogant, but he’s not inconsiderate of me. He likes me! He would never just fail to call me for three solar cycles. Something must be wrong,” Illusion replied. As you might imagine, I was more than a little relieved that Illusion, at least, didn’t think that I was some sort of irresponsible cad.

“I’ll say something’s wrong. Your conjunx-to-be is a creep,” Aurum said. Suddenly, a blue-and-white mech appeared out of nowhere, prompting shrieks from the females. I recognized him as Mirage, Illusion’s cousin. I had met him once or twice at dinner parties.

“Mirage! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” Illusion exclaimed. Mirage laughed .

“Is that any way to talk to your favorite cousin?” he asked.

“Mirage, you’re my only cousin,” she replied.

“Technicalities. And I have to say, I agree with Aurum. If Blast Off doesn’t appreciate how beautiful you are, he doesn’t deserve you,” Mirage said.

“Me? Beautiful? That’s why suitors have been beating down my door, I suppose,” Illusion replied dryly.

“They don’t know you’re available again yet, cousin dear,” Mirage said.

“And they won’t be the only ones chasing you. I think that garbage mech is sweet on you, Illusion! He hasn’t taken his optics off of you since Tersus left,” Argenti exclaimed.

“And no wonder! You’re probably the first clean, beautiful thing he’s seen in a stellar cycle,” Aurum added. She, Argenti, and Mirage laughed.

“He would certainly make for an interesting story, at least...and you could use the smell to scare off all the other suitors!” Argenti said. This conversation, as you might imagine, was mortifying, and I decided to make myself scarce. I headed for the edge of the estate, hoping that I would no longer be able to overhear the conversation. Much to my surprise, however, Illusion actually followed me to the edge of the estate.

“I’m so sorry for what my friends said about you. You weren’t causing any harm, and….Blast Off?” she exclaimed. Apparently, being covered in grime and wearing hideous brown paint was not sufficient to prevent my sponsalia from recognizing me.

“ Ita ,” (Yes.) I replied quietly.

“ Quid tibi accessit? Ubi eras?’ (What happened to you? Where have you been?)

“ Me expulso rege fictis maiestatis criminibus. Et comprehenderunt omnia mia. Ego autem in Kaon cum pristini ... servum suum servo suo ut nihil minus. Qui autem pauperrimus, et sicut tale, et iussit ut reperio a officium ad terminos occursum. Est nimis ignominia.” (The king banished me on false charges of treason. He seized everything I own. Now I am living in Kaon with my former servant…as his servant, no less. He is very poor, and as such, he ordered me to find a job to make ends meet. It’s very humiliating.) I explained.

“ O, non! Quod sonos terribilis! Quid facere possum?” (Oh, no! That sounds terrible! What can I do?)

“ Proelio nostros dicere videmur. Non possum non enutriet, et non aliquid incorruptelam possidebit.” (I think we should call off our engagement. I can no longer support you, and you will not inherit anything,) I replied. Because Illusion had an elder sister, Apparition, she would inherit very little from her creators. As the younger child, her fortunes were dependent on picking a suitable Conjunx Endura. I, sadly, no longer fit the criteria.

“ Non curo illud! Te amo,” (I don’t care about that! I love you.) she exclaimed

“ Ego autem en uno-locus, magno cum quattuor aliss. Opus mihi quotidie horas undecim. Ibi sus ‘nunquam satis cibum. Illic est non satis manducare. Non possum facere vobis.” (I am living in a one-room hovel with four other mechs. I have to work eleven hours every solar cycle. There’s never enough energon. If you become my conjunx endura, you’ll have to slave away just to stay alive, too. I can’t do that to you.) I said. As horrible as it felt to call off my engagement, I couldn’t drag Illusion into the desperate poverty that I had somehow found myself in. It wouldn’t be fair to her, and living with a Conjunx Endura that I was unable to support would have been unbearably humiliating. Illusion frowned, but then nodded, apparently having realized the full costs of becoming my Conjunx Endura.

“ Saltem accipe pecuniam,” (At least let me give you some money) she said. Then she handed me a pile worth about 500 Shanix. Part of me wanted to reject it, but knowledge of my dire situation won out.

“ Optime. Gratias tibi,” (Very well. Thank you.) I replied.

“ Gratias. Bona fortuna,” (You’re welcome. Good luck.) she said. I deposited the Shanix in my subspace compartment, bid Illusion farwell, and then transformed into my alternate mode and departed from her estate. I dropped off the garbage at the dump, flew back to the transport station, where I received my (pitiful) wages, and then returned to Onslaught’s slum. Swindle and Vortex were waiting there for me.

“How many Shanix did you earn?” Swindle asked.

“Twelve. Thirteen...tips. 500...female,” I replied.

“500? We’re rich!” Vortex exclaimed. I deposited the Shanix in the container, as Swindle and Vortex enthusiastically speculated about what they would do with it all. About an hour later, Brawl returned home, deposited his earnings in the same container....and then stared at his younger brothers and me in shock.

“Where’d we get so much Shanix?” he asked loudly.

“Apparently, a girl gave Prissy a bunch of Shanix for some reason, and now we’re rich!” Vortex replied.

“That true?” Brawl asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

‘Huh. Maybe you ain’t as bad as I thought, Prissy,’ Brawl said. Coming from him, this was high praise indeed. Onslaught, upon his return to the hovel, was just as surprised.

“How did you manage to get this much Shanix?” he asked.

“Can’t explain...Neocybex. Don’t speak well,” I replied. Onslaught shrugged.

“I suppose that it doesn’t matter where we got it so long as we have it,” he said. That was all he said on the matter, and for most of the evening he treated me with the same hostility of the previous two nights. However, after his brothers had entered recharge, he walked over to me and actually gave me a look of what seemed to be respect.

“You’ve worked all day without a single complaint, and you managed to bring more than 500 shanix to my home with you...more than enough to keep Swindle and Vortex safe from the Enforcers the next time they come by. For that, I suppose I should thank you. I still don’t like you, but you’ve proven that you can earn your keep. You’re still our servant, but you’re now a member of the unit, which means that I’m not kicking you out. You do good work,” he said. With that, he went to his own recharging center and was quickly dead to the world, leaving me to my thoughts. As much as I hated the life I was now stuck in, at least I was no longer utterly hated by the mech whom I depended on for shelter. That, at least, was a positive development, and it is one that has stuck. The past six lunar cycles have been dreadfully humiliating, but at least there is one glimmer of hope. If I could win over Onslaught and his unit, then maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance that all of us might be able to escape the festering wound that is Kaon.

[cuorepietoso]

Il primo amore non si scorda mai.

ft. Alessio Rossi & Rainer Gersten Trigger warnings: graphic violence and choking, injury, blood, alcohol use

I. 2010, [LOCATION REDACTED]

     Gersten’s hands are pale, with veins so blue that they look like great stretches of river, sweeping through an icy landscape. The knuckles and tendons jut out, and his fingers are lean enough to look skeletal. They perfectly match the rest of him, pale and a little too long and sharp, right down to the near-white tuft of hair that sits atop his head. Those hands are sunburned, now, as are the high lines of his cheekbones, which Tahan only notices because his neck is so goddamn lily-white, where he’d kept his scarf tightly wound in the blistering sun. 

     He gets up out of his cot, and paces. Opens the chest at the foot of Rossi’s cot, where the man watches with knowing amusement, and gathers a bottle of aloe gel, which he slaps down in front of the older man with force. Gersten, the bastard, has the audacity to grin at him, his cadaverous hands stilled from their task-- sharpening a wicked-looking blackened steel knife. Without a word, he drops the knife and slathers a generous helping of the goo on his hands, rubbing it into the burn and the calluses on his palm alike, before sweeping them over his pinkend cheeks. Tahan turns back to his pacing, restless. 

     Rossi watches this scene pass with the air of a particularly pleased jungle cat, lithe and lean and dangerous, if he weren’t so lazy in the moment. The book in his lap lays open, ignored, no doubt some ancient novel in a language that Tahan doesn’t speak. The man insists they offer great insight into what he refers to as only, ‘the human condition,’ with his nose turned up like royalty. Gersten always laughs at that, and accuses him of reading racy trash in another language, just to hide the fact that he’s a pervert. It always turns him the prettiest shade of pink he thinks he’s ever seen stretching under the light array of freckles, and he can’t help but wonder if the German agrees, the way he ribs him. 

     His pacing is halted by one of those freshly-sticky, pale hands. Their gazes meet, warm cinnamon brown to the unidentifiable haze of blue-pale-red, and Gersten peels his lips from his teeth in a rictus grin, and the man’s dry rasp sounds like the scrape of a blade against sandstone when he murmurs, “thanks, flunky.” 

     Tahan makes to pull away with a heavy eye roll, but Gersten tightens his grip, gaze unwavering. The grin slips from his lips, leaving nothing but a vast, blank sea. All of the life drains from him for a moment, the air around them seems to cool until the hairs on Tahan’s arms start to prickle, and his heart skitters around in his chest strangely when he hears Rossi sit up a little behind him, shifting his legs under his blanket. Just one moment of suspense, as the wraith pauses, and then vigor pours back into him in disjointed bits and pieces as he murmurs, “no, really. I appreciate you.” 

     He does tug his arm away, a little more gently than he perhaps intended, and barely resists the urge to curl it close to his body and rub at the skin that seems to burn and tingle from the touch. It’s just the aloe vera gel. There’s a tense silence for a moment, before he remembers how to use his voice. “It’s just aloe, for the sunburn.” 

     Rossi scoffs behind him, setting aside his big book, and when he turns to see what the hell his problem is, the younger man is standing, stretching his arms above his head languidly. “That’s not what he’s talking about, darling.” His brows furrow at the casual response, but he remains perfectly still when Rossi leans against his back and settles his chin on his shoulder, draping himself like a particularly recalcitrant blanket. 

     Gersten watches them with a considerate look on his face, and then thoughtfully picks up the knife, testing the edge of the blade with his thumb. “Oh? And what did you think I meant, schatzi?” 

     Rossi’s arms tighten like a noose, a playful headlock that he lets himself fall into without a second thought. His voice is rich, warm and solid like rock heated by the late afternoon sun, and Tahan can feel the smile in the cheek pressed to his ear. “You know what I mean. He may not look it now, but he’s ferocious.” Heat floods his cheeks, and he splutters for a moment before Rossi shakes him once again into stillness, and continues. “And he’s sweet, like the loyal flea bitten stray you slip some meat to when your parents aren’t looki-- what are you laughing at?” 

     With a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking a little, Gersten waves the question away while Tahan grumbles about the rather unflattering word picture being painted about his personage. “Nothing, nothing-- haha, you’re just talking about slipping the man some meat!” The joined pair groans as one at that, Rossi’s eye roll so exaggerated that he drags his willing captive closer when his whole body leans back with it. 

     “Kiss my shapely ass, and let me finish--” Manfully, he ignores the quiet ‘that’s what she said’ that Gersten murmurs under his breath, and continues: “That-- that fierce kindness. It’s what we respond to.” 

     Another long silence stretches, as each man in their cramped little tent ponders those words, before Tahan finally mutters, “Good God, he’s finally cracked. Like a little nut. I can’t believe I’m going to have to file a section eight report. The paperwork is going to be a nightma-- ghghgk--” He’s cut off when Rossi finally tires of the bit and tightens his grip until he’s choking, a little, and then releases him, coughing, and shoves him to take a seat when he laughs aloud. But Gersten … Gersten looks as if he’s seriously giving it thought, eyes narrowed and head tilted like a bird of prey. 

          “Is there more of that little speech planned?” He asks, and then laughs when Tahan groans and flops back onto his cot, trying to smother himself with his own hands. 

     Rossi puffs out his chest, smug. “I’m glad you asked. I have an entire metaphor for it. The head, the heart, the hands. For the three of us.” He kicks at Tahan’s knee when he groans dramatically. “I’m the head, obviously. Because I’m the only one with any brains around here.” 

     Gersten gamely agrees with a swift, “Oh, absolutely.” Tahan sits up, alert like a wary mutt. 

     “Rainer is the hand.” 

     Tahan makes an ‘eh--’ sound at that, lifting his own hands and waving them meaningfully. 

     “Quiet from the peanut gallery, please. I thought about it, but Gersten is far better with a knife, and he’s about as empathetic as a brick of cheese.” The man in question pauses in his renewed quest to sharpen the blade, considers that, and shrugs-- a silent ‘fair enough’. Tahan gives him a mortally wounded look that implies he’s a traitor, while Rossi takes a seat next to him on the rickety one-man cot and settles a warm hand over his diaphragm. “Which makes you the heart. Isn’t that cute?” 

     The bastard is smirking at him. Tahan wipes the smug little grin right off his face with a powerful swipe of a pillow, initiating what may be the rowdiest brawl the forgetful little firebase ever saw. 

-

II. 2012, [LOCATION REDACTED] (TW graphic violence, choking, blood)

          It’s some time around three in the afternoon, he thinks, the sun is high in the sky when he feels the noose tighten around his neck. 

               Unfortunately, that’s quite literal. 

     He’s five steps behind Rossi, half listening to Rana mutter to himself about how boring overwatch is over the radio. They’re on a routine patrol. A boy steps into the mouth of the alley. Rossi waves, and the kid waves back. Tahan snorts softly, and Rossi starts to turn around to give him a Look-- this is when time slows, he thinks, because he can swear in this memory, he can see the rough rope descend right before his eyes, hands clad in black leather holding either end. He can see the faint bemusement change into cold shock in Rossi’s hazel eyes, the only part of his face visible under his black mask, and he can feel the slightest tickle against his throat before the hot burn of it sinks into his skin, cutting off air and blood. Things go a little hazy from there. 

     Time continues to drag slowly along. He knows he struggles, because he can feel his own fingernails dig into the skin of his throat briefly, and he knows he pulls out his knife because he misses when he stabs for his assailant’s head, and carves a long line along his own forearm instead, before it drops from fingers swiftly going numb. It takes ten seconds to black out when you’re being choked like this. He isn’t fast enough.

     There’s a lot of yelling that he can’t understand. The sharp report of gunfire. He isn’t fast enough. His knees weaken, he can’t breathe, and what little sight he had disappears as his eyes roll back into his head. Still thrashing weakly, even as he goes down. There’s no witty last thought, no valiant final move that allows him to free himself. One second he’s there, and the next he’s gone, limp in his captor’s grasp. He comes to again laid out flat on his back, Rossi looming above him, white as a sheet and haloed by the late afternoon sun as he curses him and begs him to wake in the same breath, trying to shake him back into consciousness. 

          One ragged gasp. Two. 

     Rossi’s own breath comes in swift gulps, before he visibly steels himself and puts a hand on Tahan’s cheek. His face feels strangely numb, tingly. He blinks up at the younger man and lifts a shaking hand to settle it against his forearm, but he’s too weak to hold it there for long. When he lets it fall, there’s a fresh trail of bright blood in the bared skin that they both eye for a moment in contemplative silence. Tahan realizes then that his arm hurts. And his throat. And his head. 

     For his part, Rossi mutters a quiet, “It’s always something with you, isn’t it,” as he drags him into a sitting position and runs a hand up and down his back to try and even out his ragged breathing. Tahan coughs hard, once, twice, tastes blood. Once he can get past the burning sensation of the rawed skin and the rapid bruising at his throat, he realizes he can breathe, albeit painfully. No collapsed trachea then. The thought makes him wheeze out a laugh. He’s probably going into shock. He laughs a little harder at that, choking on it when it gets caught in his chest somewhere. There’s blood on his lips, and Rossi makes a panicked noise and puts a steadying hand to his jaw once more. “Oh, quit that. You’re freaking me out. Can you talk?”

     Licking his lips only reminds him that the only thing he can smell and taste is a whole lot of blood. He can’t tell if he bit his tongue, or if it’s pouring down into his throat from his nose, or if he’s hacking it up. He can’t tell if it’s his own blood. He spits out a mouthful of it, and it takes him a couple of false starts to manage a simple, weary, “water.” 

     The cap is twisted off and the canteen thrust into his shaking hands. He almost drops it, so Rossi helps him lift it to his face. He swishes the first mouthful, and then spits it off to the side. An embarrassing amount of it ends up soaking into his pant leg. He makes a disgusted noise, and then goes back for a few painful, tiny swallows of water, trying to get his wind back. Every moment brings him more clarity. 

     Between this and the next: pounding footsteps. A familiar dark uniform, and head of frosty hair. Rossi reaches for his sidearm and then relaxes when he recognizes the man, waving him over without a word. Tahan lazily reaches over to clamp his right hand over the oozing gash on his left forearm. It stings like a bitch, but he can’t make himself do much in the way of cleaning it just yet-- not when it’s still bleeding. Not when he can hardly string a sentence together in his own head. Gersten slinks forward, his footsteps echoing strangely in the cramped alley. 

     “Oh, Jesus wept,” he mutters under his breath as he approaches, the words as much a curse as they are an exclamation. Tahan has seen him slit a man from prick to throat without so much as flinching, so he can’t help but wonder what exactly about the scene makes him look so wild about the edges. 

     “Not for me, he didn’t.” Tahan grinds out in response, clutching the long gash on his forearm, his voice sounding as though it’s being ripped up by millstones and scouring pads and a little bit of gravel, just to top it off. The joke makes the normally unflappable German look like he’d just been slapped. Another high pitched giggle escapes him, cut to silence in some places by the limited capacity of his vocal chords. He feels lightheaded. 

     “Shut up,” Rossi snarls, tucking himself under Tahan’s uninjured arm and then dragging him to his feet. His vision swirls again, and they would fall to the ground if not for the pale arms, the familiar skeletal hands that reach out to settle on each of their shoulders, steadying them. His head lolls, and he can hardly breathe until Rossi drags him up a little higher and the weight of his head falls to rest on his shoulder instead of with his chin against his chest. 

     Gersten shifts his grip so he can hold his chin there for a moment, eyes serious. “I’ll run point.” 

     He feels Rossi nod, and the effort of lifting his head from his shoulder nearly leaves his knees buckling under him again, but the younger man’s grip remains firm. Holding his head up hurts so much that it makes his eyes water until he can hardly see, the involuntary reaction making him curse incoherently as they make their way to safety. 

     By the time their EVAC gets there, he’s managed to get himself together enough to give vague orders to Gersten on how to clean, stitch, and bandage the long cut on his arm. He does a surprisingly good job. Rossi can’t quite look at him, ostensibly keeping watch for anyone that might be searching for them still. 

-

III. 2014 [LOCATION REDACTED] (TW alcohol)

     They drink, late into the night. Rain pounds on the canvas of their little tent, and the others have long since gone to bed, but the three of them are still wired. Today marked Gersten’s last assignment with the KSK, he’s going back to Germany in the morning and getting discharged soon after. The goodbye party was a little bittersweet-- he’s relatively well liked by the men on base, and in their little mixed unit, and a lot of people showed up to drink contraband booze and clap him on the shoulder and wish him luck. A younger soldier had nervously asked him what he was planning on doing when he got out, and Gersten had laughed aloud and replied only, “Oh, probably be a hitman. I only have the one skill.” Everyone had laughed. 

          Tahan wishes he could believe the other man had been kidding. Rossi had just sighed. 

     They’re all more than half drunk, now. Laying on the cool plywood floor in their little temporary shelter. Tahan has been counting the sandbags lining the walls, but he kept forgetting where he’d been at and what number he stopped counting because Rossi’s nails would occasionally scrape his scalp, and it would make his vision go funny. He has his head resting in the younger man’s lap. No commentary is made on how he’s basically petting him. Gersten’s legs are draped over his shins, long and lean, and he has a hand resting on Tahan’s ankle. Occasionally he’ll make a broad gesture as he speaks, their little triangle ill-formed and sloppy drunk. 

     It’s lulling him to sleep. He must be getting old, if he can’t make it to 5am like the rest of the party animals. The livelier of the two are helpfully keeping their voices down, until-- Gersten’s hand clamps down on his hip, and he roughly shakes him awake.

     “Fuck me--” Tahan starts into foggy awareness, jerking into a sitting position. Rossi lets him go with a displeased grunt, and he’s already turning to give him an apologetic look when he spots the bottle in Gersten’s hand. “What the fuck is that.” 

     The pale man bares all of his teeth at him in a grin. There’s a vague creeping sense of dread. “It’s all the rest of the alcohol.”

     A long pause, in which Tahan can only look helplessly between a grinning Gersten, and a nonplussed Rossi. Neither of them make a move to elaborate. Finally, he manages to find the courage necessary to ask, “How do you mean--”

     Rossi, unimpressed, cuts off both the rest of his question, and Gersten before he can start in on his bullshit. “He’s spent the last ten minutes meticulously pouring every last drop of the dregs of whiskey, tequila, vodka, vermouth, and absinthe into that bottle.” 

     Gersten, maturely, pouts for a moment, before brightening again. “And beer! I put beer--” A hiccup. “Beer in it, too.” He swirls it a little, as if to make a point. The concoction bubbles and fizzes menacingly within its confines. 

     “I--” unsure, he glances between the pair of them. Rossi’s eyebrows nearly meet his hairline, and Gersten continues to shake the bottle back and forth, as if to be enticing. He tries not to feel sick from just looking at the sloshing liquid, but he can’t help the dread tinging his voice. “For what purpose?” 

     The bottle of possibly toxic waste is thrust in his direction. Tahan takes it warily, and Gersten laughs out, “You and I are going to finish this off. Rossi says you’re a lightweight, and that it would kill you.” 

     “I’m not fucking doing that, because I am and it will.” Rossi lets out a relieved sigh behind him. 

     Gersten whines, “Aw, no it won’t, pussy. I dare you.” 

     The gauntlet has been thrown down. Tahan sits up straighter, suddenly set alight, and turns to him with narrowed eyes. “You dare me? Are you serious?” Despite his incredulous tone, he eyes the bottle and then starts twisting off the cap-- it smells like a sewer, and he coughs a little. Rossi makes a noise of abject terror.

     “Don’t let him get to you-- he just doesn’t understand that daring each other to consume disgusting and possibly dangerous liquids is an important part of male bonding.” Gersten leans forward, practically vibrating with excitement as the words fall out of him in a rush.

     Rossi, who was the eldest of four brothers, snorts, and puts his hand over the mouth of the bottle before it makes it all the way to Tahan’s mouth. “Oh? And what are the other parts?”

          “Poetic yearning,” says Rainer. 

          “Gay chicken,” says Battista.

    They glance at each other after their simultaneous answers and burst into wild laughter, collapsing against one another and nearly spilling the concoction. Rossi looks on, arms crossed, a smile poorly smothered on his lips. His voice is wracked with suppressed humor. “All of the literature and art and thought about male friendship and desire, and the two of you have pared it down to ‘drinking gross things’, ‘poetic yearning’, and ‘gay chicken’. Bravo, really. Whitman would be so proud.” 

     Tahan lifts the bottle as if to toast the observations, the advancements they have made in such heavy schools of thought, and Rossi throws himself against his side, nearly bowling him over, and drags the cursed thing from his hand. “You have had quite enough, I think,” he tuts at him, pressed warmly hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. Tahan lets himself slump a little, blinking placidly at the line of his cheekbone. Rossi slams the handle back, and then chokes a little when it goes down, spluttering, “that is vile. You’re going to hell.” 

     The abrupt frankness with which he says it-- and the fact that such sentiments rarely come from him at all, staunch catholic boy that he is, forces a sharp, shocked bark of laughter out of his two companions. He spends the next ten minutes trying to force some of it down Gersten’s gullet, and Tahan… 

     Well, Tahan has little trouble letting their absolute racket lull him to sleep as well.

-

IV. 2019, VR Italy

     It’s nearing daylight. Battista hasn’t yet slept, and the flakes of crystalline snow tumbling occasionally to the ground tend to tangle in his eyelashes, and fall from the leather of his jacket. They bite at the tips of his ears and his nose, and they melt into his shirt at the nape of his neck. He’s been wandering the city for hours.Very few signs of life have popped up. They rarely do, this time of year, this time of night. The snow comes down a little fast now, and he lifts his head to peer about, trying to get his bearings, figure out just how far he’s wandered while letting himself get lost in his own head. He lets out a long cloud of breath-- backlit against the streetlight, it glitters like he’d just exhaled a cloud of diamond dust. Memories roll around in his head so violently that his feet pause.

     There, behind him, a single footstep, just the faintest scuffle on the uneven cobblestone of the street. Battista doesn’t turn to look, and forces himself not to tense, either. Instead he watches the cloud of his breath dissipate, and sets a meandering pace down the street. Now that he’s listening for them, he can hear the steps following along behind him. They’re menacingly quiet. Battista leads his shadow down the street, and then almost absentmindedly turns down an alley, stepping into the darkness of the nearest stoop. The figure, clad in black, steps into the mouth of the alley and curses under his breath when he finds it empty. The familiar voice makes Battista’s blood run cold. 

     He steps forward, probably intending to check down all of the side streets, and when he passes him Battista steps out of the shadows and pins him with the barrel of his m9, right between the shoulder blades, with a soft, “hands up. Turn around, slowly.” 

     Rainer Gersten looks as horrifically pale and skeletal as ever when he complies. In the dim light from the street behind Battista, he looks like a shade. He looks like someone that’s hunted him back to Verona, to drag him down to hell. Rainer’s lips peel back from his teeth in that familiar rictus grin, five years older and with a few more scars, but his voice holds the same rasp, the same vaguely wondering, good-natured affection, “well I’ll be damned.”

     “You already are,” the response rolls out of him, almost pre-programmed from how many times they’ve done this little song and dance. The barrel of his gun doesn’t waver from where it’s pointed directly at where Rainer’s heart is. The humor doesn’t leave the madman’s face.

     “Still sharp as ever, I see.” The smile on his face slips into something chagrined. “I’ve been looking for you, you know? But I didn’t think I’d actually find you here, of all places. And if I did, I didn’t think you’d be quite so… alert.” He gestures, vaguely, with his open palm, at the gun trained on him. 

      Battista lowers it incrementally, looking at him straight on instead of down the sights on the barrel. Dryly, he responds, “I have paranoia.”

     The other man’s jaw works almost imperceptibly as he visibly forces himself not to tout another familiar line: it’s not paranoia if they’re out to get you. It would land a little too close to home, now, and both of them know it. Instead, he lets a long sigh roll from him, and without lowering his hands he murmurs, “I thought they had buried you, too.” 

     Something in his throat constricts. Rossi. How swiftly the light had gone out of his eyes. The gritty feeling of dust sticking to the tacky, drying blood on his face. The cold cuffs, how the world had swirled just out of his own control for months. The emptiness in the life he’d left since then. “Maybe they did,” murmured like an admission of guilt.

     There’s a long stretch of silence. Rainer puts his arms down, slowly. Then he reaches out and puts his hand on top of the barrel of the gun, pushes it down and takes it from Battista’s loose grip. He puts the safety back on, shucks the bullet out of the chamber, and puts it neatly back into the shorter man’s shoulder holster, and then zips up his jacket. Pats him on the chest, and leaves his hand there for a couple breaths. The expression on his face is serious, brows furrowed, but his voice is light when he finally declares, “well, you don’t make the most convincing corpse I’ve ever seen. Say goodbye to your career in acting, handsome.” 

          It’s not really something to laugh about, now. So they don’t. 

[anthracenes]

Passion-Based Learning | Chapter 5

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Abuse of Authority, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Dom/sub, Brainwashing, Praise Kink, Anal Sex, Manipulation, Objectification, Creampie, Implied/Reference Incest, Step-Parent/Step-Child Incest, Cock Rings, Orgasm Delay/Denial

[read on AO3 here]

After sending Isaac home for the day, Wilfred closes and locks the front door behind him.

He strolls through the foyer, the living room, and past the empty kitchen—traversing nearly the entirety of the first floor alone, all the way towards the staircase in the back. Though he knows of the lovely surprise he’s kept waiting for him, Wilfred is in no real hurry to actually get to it. He’s slow to climb the winding flight of steps leading to his bedroom.

All the while, he can't help but think of Isaac. As Wilfred makes his way up, his mind continues to replay over and over again the sinful, mesmerizing acts shared between him and his new “student”. He thinks back to those big brown eyes: soft pools of melted honey, staring up at him with such innocence through the boy’s long lashes. Warm and oh-so-trusting till the very end, when they had glazed over as Isaac beautifully submits to him.

And who could forget such creamy thighs—wrapped around his shoulders like a vice, pulling him in closer as he plowed through the boy’s virgin-tight body?

Goosebumps prickle at his skin as Wilfred recalls the absolute thrill of it. The boy’s reaction at the end is all but icing on the cake. What matters to him more is successfully instilling in his student the suggestion to let go and obey—to crave the feeling of sitting back, surrendering both mind and body to his tutor during these little “breaks”. Once he has Isaac addicted to this, it will be mere moments before the boy is his; and by that point, it won���t matter how he reacts in the end. Wilfred could reveal everything to Isaac then, and the poor boy will still be all but helpless on his knees for him.

Two lovely pets, both under his complete and utter control.

Wilfred couldn’t wait for the day to come. He’s only certain his little kitten feels the same way.

Eventually, Wilfred reaches the end of the narrow corridor leading to his bedroom. Turning his attention to the silver knob in his hand, he gently pushes open the door.

“Here, little kitty,” he calls, smiling. “Master’s back.”

Inside, his “surprise” lays splayed out on top of his bed. Naked, of course—save for the weighted clamps biting down on his pink, puffy nipples, and the collar snug around his neck. His kitten’s thighs are spread wide open for him on the mattress, giving Wilfred a lovely view of the thick vibrator he slides in and out of his hole. His prick stands tall and pretty between parted legs, drooling all over him as it strains against his cock ring.

His head, lolled to the side in mindless bliss, perks up at the sound of his master’s voice.

Wilfred walks over to the bed beside him. The clothes he had him wear to greet Isaac had since been discarded on the floor, tucked neatly in a little corner away from the bed. His kitten must have been so uncomfortable having to pretend to be human, even for such a short amount of time, that he must have shed them here immediately after. Even still, he’s carried everything out so nicely that Wilfred has little to complain about. The performance he had given them all was stellar, given the truth of the matter. And he’s even gone above and beyond his orders here—putting on his collar and clamps all on his own, knowing just what to do to please his master.

Such obedience begs to be properly rewarded.

Gathering his kitten’s face in his hands, he leans in for a taste. The kiss between them is sloppy and rough, just the way he likes it: lips and tongues grinding against one another in a fervent, heated passion as Wilfred plunders his mouth. He relishes the little sounds he receives from his pet, who’s long abandoned playing with his toy in favor of wrapping his arms around him—pawing desperately at his face, his hair, his chest, his back. When he pulls away from the boy, Wilfred admires the adorable way his lips tremble, glistening with saliva in the pale light of the room.

He doesn’t need to look hard to notice the flush that had crept onto his skin, or the way his bound cock twitches with wanton need in between his legs.

“My… eager today aren’t we?” Wilfred smiles, nipping at his lips. “Were you that lonely, kitten? Waiting here for me, all on your own?”

Alex nods, mewling. His pet nuzzles insistently at him, rubbing his face against his fingers.

Wilfred chuckles. He narrows his eyes as he slides his fingers past his kitten’s cheeks and drags them onto his hungry lips.

“Well. Why don’t you show me how much you’ve missed your master, then?”

His kitten eagerly takes them in his mouth, licking and sucking on the digits like there’s nothing else he’s ever meant to do in life. He closes his eyes, moaning around them as he starts to couple the act with other sensations—tugging at the weights dangling from his chest, stuffing himself silly with the toy again.

“Good boy…” Wilfred purrs, sighing as he pets the boy’s head. “You’ve become such a good kitty for me now, haven’t you?”

The sight of such a submissive display from his pet only excites Wilfred. There is such a marked difference from the way the boy had been their very first meeting together, and it only highlights just how far his pet had come since then. It’s a blessing that Wilfred had come and “fixed” him just when he had. His mother, the weak-willed woman, had only spoiled the brat rotten all these years. Were it not for him, there’s no telling what type of trouble the little wretch would be getting into otherwise—what with that mouthy attitude, and his blatant disrespect for his elders.

Now, though? Now, his stepson is nothing if not an absolute dream.

A mindless, cum-thirsty little kitten, who lives only to please and serve.

He takes his fingers away from his pet, eliciting a desperate whine from the boy. Before he could go on to protest anymore, however, Wilfred flips him over face down—lifting his hips up and pinning his wrists down onto the mattress. He traces the curve of his lovely ass, rubbing soft, sensual circles with the flat of his digits before surprising his pet with a loud, harsh smack.

“Now, now... we’ve gone over this before, pet,” Wilfred whispers, voice thick and husky in the boy’s ear. “Well-behaved little kitties don’t complain like that now, do they?”

He rubs the sore bottom before giving it another hard spank.

“What should you do instead, when you want to ask Master for something nice?”

Alex keens at the assault on his buttocks. If the way he’d moaned just now hadn’t already signaled how much he had enjoyed his punishment, the way his cock twitches and leaks precum all over the sheets certainly does. He’s long been made receptive to Wilfred’s every touch—mind heavily altered and played with, to crave every bit of pain and pleasure his master wishes to hand him.

Everything Wilfred does to his body now feels nothing short of good.

“Forgive me, I… please…” he breathes, in between heavy panting. “I… I want… in me… please…”

“What’s that?” Wilfred tugs hard on a weighted clamp, causing his kitten to cry out from under him. “I can’t hear you at all. Come now, Alex, speak up for me. Tell Master what you need, properly.”

“Please, Master!” Alex cries, shamelessly begging him. “I need your cock inside me, please…!”

Wilfred chuckles, letting go of the weight. He removes the clamps off his pet’s chest altogether, taking a swollen nipple and rolling it gently in between his fingers. With his other hand, he grabs the vibrator and slides it out of the boy, turning it off.

“I do love it when my kitten purrs so prettily.”

Wilfred unfastens his slacks, just enough to pull his hard cock out from within while still leaving the clothing on him. He doesn’t bother grabbing the lube from his nightstand either, seeing as how his pet had done well to prepare himself already—judging by how slick and gaping his hole is for him. He strokes himself off before lining up at the boy’s entrance.

“You did good out there today… I couldn’t be more proud of you. Good kitties like you deserve to be rewarded once in a while, don’t they?”

His pet mewls, nodding.

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” Wilfred grins, gripping his pet tightly. “Here’s your reward, little kitty.”

With a quick thrust of his hips, he shoves himself in. Both Wilfred and Alex moan in unison as his cock twitches deep inside the boy, buried up to the hilt. Wilfred holds himself there, steady and fully seated inside his kitten’s fluttering hole. He makes no effort to move, casually taking the time to enjoy the warm, wet heat of his body while he watches his pet strain to keep from rutting back.

“Don’t move, darling. Stay. You know who’s in control, don’t you?”

Alex nods, shivering.

“Who do you belong to, Alex?”

“You, Master,” the boy manages. “I’m yours, a… all yours…”

“Do you want to cum?”

“Only if... Master wishes for it…”

Wilfred smiles, pleased at his kitten’s complete obedience. He knows there’s simply no turning back from here. There’s no undoing the months of sex and abuse he had heaped onto his stepson’s body; certainly no undoing the fact that he had long taken his virginity. His kitten can’t even get it up without a cock in either hole now. Even if he could erase the suggestions rooted firmly in his mind, there’s no way his pet would ever go on to enjoy a normal life after all of this.

He starts thrusting in earnest, then. In and out at a brutal pace, fucking his kitten hard into the mattress and making the boy gasp and writhe around him. He slides back, almost pulling out completely before slamming back inside, over and over again.

“That’s right. You’re mine, Alex. My pet, for me to use as I wish,” Wilfred whispers in his ear. “Your mind, your body, your orgasms, your pleasure… only I decide what to do with it all. And for you, there is no greater pleasure in life than that now, is there?”

His kitten shakes his head. He’s mewling happily as he gets to rut back and forth, driving his cock deeper into his unresisting body.

“To let go and take everything I give you, without a single thought in that empty little brain. It’s the highest honor a pet like you could ever have. And now you’ll help me bestow it on our new student too, won’t you?

“What do you say, Alex? A new little pup for you and I to play with. How does that sound?”

“Yes, yes yes...” his pet moans, rolling his eyes back. “Please, Master, please…”

Wilfred holds his kitten tight as he feels himself nearing orgasm. He reaches down front, smearing the boy’s own fluids all over his bound prick before tugging at the cock ring.

“I’m going to fill you up, kitten,” he grunts. “Nice and full. I want you to feel me deep inside of you, as you come on my cock. That will be your reward for such a brilliant performance.”

His pet merely sobs in gratitude, too far gone for words at this point.

Wilfred slides the ring off of him as he reaches his own climax. Immediately his pet cries out, cock pulsing as he shoots ropes and ropes of white onto his hand. The feeling of his kitten clenching down on him is so good, Wilfred is content to stay that way on top of him for a while—allowing that beautiful hole to milk him dry.

They collapse on the bed, not long after. Wilfred holds his stepson close as they both come down, panting heavily and catching their breaths together. Up close, he watches as his kitten closes his eyes, fast asleep in his master’s arms. He must have been so exhausted from the day’s activities, to have succumbed to sleep so quickly like that.

Wilfred chuckles. He pats his head gently, smiling as he murmurs sweet nothings into the sleeping boy’s ears. Alex is permanently, irreversibly ruined, now—incapable of being anything other than the dumb little pet Wilfred had meant for him to be.

And pretty soon, Isaac will be too.

[theincompetentgenius]

Waves of Glass (Hideyoshi x Reader)

Anon: Can I get a Hideyoshi IkeSen angst followed by fluff with a savage s/o or mc. I’ll leave the storyline to you. Make me suffer, cause me pain.💜💜 I love your writing style, it’s amazing. Your language is really flowy hehehe

I think this fic is 90% angst and 10% fluff? Actually, I don’t even think it’s fluff (or as fluffy as it should be to balance the darkness of the fic), but silly humor? I tried my best but this turned out to be a lot darker than I expected. Anywho, thanks for the wait and enjoy!

Title: Waves of Glass

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Hideyoshi x Reader

Word Count: 2085 

TW: Angst, Blood, Guns, Drowning

“This is the bullet I’ve been saving for you,” the man purrs. He presses the barrel of his gun to my forehead.

The moonlight shines on his slick, pale face. I’m trapped between this psychopath and a wall of glass that veils the glimmering ocean, which sits about 50 feet below me. I have no idea what to do. The objective was to indefinitely borrow something and leave, not sitting as a hostage and having my brains blown. I highly doubt that the warlord would get to since I snuck into their caravan of supplies and slipped out while they were asleep. Maybe I should’ve listened to Hideyoshi.

As my thoughts circle around my head, the small amount of moonlight is hidden behind a veil of clouds. In the momentary cover of darkness, I slip my hand into his pocket and take what I needed. What I came here for in the first place. He shifts slightly, the rustling sound of his jacket masking the sound of soft footsteps. The general turns around, distracted by the sudden thump in the chamber in the other room. He lowers the gun.

I don’t think as I push him to the ground. He fires the gun and the bullet whizzes by my cheek. I grab his hand and he shoots the gun in random directions, trying to gain control of his aim. I slam my other fist into his face at the same time as I bring my knee to his groin. The sound of the gun exploding and the bullet ricocheting off the wall fills my ears. Too close. The man takes advantage of my daze and grabs me by the neck. Instant fills my throat. I gasp for air, but my lungs are frozen and my chest doesn’t move. He flips me over. The gun is once again at my head.

Another bang. This time, it’s not from a bullet but an angry Hideyoshi who looms over the man. His sword is at the general’s neck. “Let her go,”

Hideyoshi slashes the general’s hand. The stranger howls in pain and drops the gun. I run towards the warlord, but my man trips me with his feet and pushes me towards the glass wall. It was covered in bullet holes and completely shattered. The man scrambled to his feet and grabs a chair. He eyed Hideyoshi as he lifts the chair, but he swings his arms in my direction. The chair’s leg hits my stomach and my head smashes against the glass with a loud thud. Hideyoshi tries to run over to me, but the man throws another chair in his direction. I try to lift my head, but a shard of glass cuts my jaw. Blood trickles down my neck.

Another piece of furniture flies in my direction. Although I narrowly avoid it, another shard of glass rips my stomach. Pain sears through my body. If the general didn’t kill me, then the blood loss will. I manage to move from the area of sharp glass and rest against a large crack. My body was in no condition to move. Even if I did, the man was closer and would get to me before Hideyoshi. I sigh and watch the battle before me, pushing my body against the glass to lift myself up. My legs unfold themselves and my back is almost straight. I try to push my back against the wall with a little more force. Just a little further.

The glass behind me makes a final crack before the entire wall falls down. I double over from surprise, my weight pushing me backward. Hideyoshi lifts his head and screams. He rushes to me, trying to grab my hand. I try to lift my hand, but a shard of glass comes between us and slices my finger. My hand coils back and my foot fly in mid-air. The glass follows me as we plummet into the sea. It no longer holds its previous glimmer, it has become an abyss. Dark and lightless.

My head collides with the waves. I try not to scream to prevent the water from clogging my lungs. I dive down, squinting in the dark an opening in the violent waves. A loud clunk has me looking up. Something large comes rushing at me and I barely move aside in time as another piece of glass hits me. It cuts my right shoulder and I scream from the pain. Crimson colors the waters. for a moment, my body floating. His dark hair fans out around him. I paddle closer towards him, this time slower, my energy and air rapidly draining. He rushes toward me, his eyes filled with worry. I realize his armor is weighing him down. He holds one hand out, while the other struggles to unsheathe the sword at his side. It doesn’t budge. He is wasting the remnants of his strength and the surface is still at least fifty feet away.

I reach my hand out to him. My fingertips touch his. My vision grows dark as the last of my energy drains, but the fear is widespread in my chest. His sword finally comes out. He thrusts the hilt in my direction while clutching the blade. Hideyoshi winces and blood floats around his sword. I grab onto it with a shaky arm, my knuckles white against the handle. Lightning flashes and he let go of the sword, causing me to fall. He shoots towards me but stumbles backward from the current’s force. I swim against it, but my injured shoulder strains against the pain. With a force of determination, Hideyoshi grabs my arm. I try to pull myself forward. He seems heavier than he did before, or is my strength fading? I shake my head to clear it and only succeed in making myself dizzy. My throat is closing up. He grabs me with his other arm and pulls me close. 

We crash through to the surface, the storm still raging. The rain makes it hard to see, but there is a ship nearby. Hideyoshi calls out to the sailors on the ship. They don’t hear him. He takes the sword in my hands and waves around, hoping to grab their attention. One sailor points in our direction and the ship steers towards us. Minutes later, he throws us a line. He loops the rope around us and yanks it to signal the sailors. He holds me as we are hoisted up. I cough and sputter as large amounts of water exit my mouth. My chest heaves.

I turn around to face Hideyoshi. “You’re late.”

“Please tell me you’re alright,” He rushes over and hugs me.

“Yes. Three broken ribs, a split spleen, a dislocated foot, and a dismembered limb. They might’ve cut out my kidneys too.”

He scolds me, “Are you really going to joke around after nearly drowning?”

I bring myself nose to nose with him with a wink. “Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying this whole rescue mission.”

His scowl deepens. “Do you understand how worried I was when I found out you weren’t in your room? And the horror when you left a note saying you were breaking into the general’s home? What were you trying to do?”

I pull the object from my pocket and hold it up into the light. A small leather bag. Inside were important documents. Our key to stopping the uprising next month. “The plans for the Southern Uprising. He kept it in his coat pocket. That is the worst place to keep something you don’t want to be stolen. He was practically begging me to take it.” I click my tongue in disappointment. 

His jaw drops and his scowl only deepens. “No one asked you to steal war documents! Mitushide was supposed to retrieve that information. You nearly died.”

“Wow thanks for the gratitude,” I roll my eyes.

Hideyoshi shakes his head. He buries his head in his hands and takes a moment to compose himself before looking at me once more. His mouth opens to tell me something, but his eyes water with tears. He rests his head on my shoulder and tears of my own begin to sprout.

“Stop crying. Aren’t you supposed to be Nobunaga’s second-in-command? You face life-threatening situations all the time. You’re practically a superhero. Why are you crying?” My voice is shaking as I try to keep myself together.

His arms grow tighter around me. “When I’m on the front lines, I have to worry about my own life. I’ve already accepted that I’ll die giving my life for someone, whether it be for you, Nobunaga, or the people. As long as you’re safe, I don’t mind.” Hearing him brings tears of my own. He clears his throat and continues. “Even if you’re away from me, you’re always kept safe at the palace or in the medical tents. But tonight was the first time I had seen you so close to death. Never in my life had I imagined that you would die before me. You can’t die before me or I’ll have nothing left.”

I bring his head to my chest and ruffle his hair. “Well I’m alive and breathing, aren’t I. You call it a careless risk, but I call it a successful mission. Besides, you can’t kill me because I’m a bad bitch.” I give a weak laugh and flash him a stupid grin.

He lifts his head and chuckles. “I’ve never heard anyone use profanity to address themselves positively. What does that even mean?”

I flex my non-existent muscles and make finger-guns. “It means that a slimy, konpeito-looking idiot can’t harm me because I’m a strong and independent woman who can defend myself. The only thing that could send me six feet under is the fact that he smells like the showers with a bar of dung. Also, did you get a look of his eyes? They look more like the nasty wart on his foot than actually human eyes.”

Hideyoshi pushed me away and wrinkles his nose. “Alright, I didn’t need that image in my head.” 

Despite the throbbing pain in my stomach, I laugh and inch closer to him.“I’m pretty sure his pants had stains of urine and fec-”

“Alright, that’s enough. Now let’s go get you cleaned up and bandaged. The pieces of glass wedged into your skin could cause some real problems, so we need to get them removed. You don’t want to lose any blood, even if you’re a ‘bad bitch’.” He shakes his head, but the corners of his mouth curled upward. 

Hearing him say the words “bad bitch” made me erupt with laughter. He sounded so silly that I rolled over, crying tears of laughter. Hideyoshi insists that it wasn’t that funny, but if he had heard himself, he’d probably pee his pants. I roll across the shipboard. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the tiny figure swimming upwards, his arms slowing down with the effort. I stop moving, laughter echoing around me. Hideyoshi follows me and grabs my arm to stop me from rolling. When I look at his face, I notice that he’s laughing as well.

“Are you finished?” He sits on the floor and places my head on his lap.

“If you heard how stupid you sounded, you’d understand why I’m laughing so hard.” The last of my laughter fizzles out.

“Then imagine how silly it sounds when you say it,” He chuckles.

For a moment, we sat together, watching the moon illuminate the waves. Something that seemed cold and dark not too long ago is now our source of peace and comfort. That and the fact that we somehow survived this whole debacle. I rock against his lap and bring his hands under my chin. He plants a small kiss on my head. 

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

[ducktales-wco-oo]

[SteelBush] "Memories of Sorrow"  - ✩ { @aflockoffeathers​​ } ✩

✩ { Meme​ } ✩

{ ☆ } He can’t help but feel... bad. About what happened to Steel- Chanticleer’s chickens, about fading away before he could console the distraught child, about going into that memory in the first place— maybe it would have been better for Steelbeak to discover the chickens alone, not having to endure the loss of his dear friends AND a brand new one within mere minutes of each other —and for not being able to offer much aside from soft kisses against the top of Steel’s head and vine-arms wrapping tightly around him in return.

Some time passes like this, Reggie wracking his brain for something that might lift his boyfriend’s mood. Might help take Steel away from the horrible memory he’d accidentally caused the rooster to relive, spirit him from the terrible thunderstorm that relentlessly rages on... and then it hits him. Lightbulb practically appearing above his head, he nervously smiles down at Steel and tentatively asks, “Hey... Uh, Steely?” Or can he call him Chanticleer now? ... Chanti? That’s a question best left ‘til later. "Do you... still want to see li’l Bushie?”

… 

It takes a bit of reassuring that he’s perfectly fine with Steelbeak going into his memories, more or less. Reggie waving his hand dismissively and barking out an awkward laugh at the thought that he WOULDN’T want Steel to... observe his past... at a random point in time... possibly altering the future and destroying the happiest and healthiest relationship he’s ever been in. Okay. It takes a bit of convincing, a smidge of his temper, and unfairly effective puppy-dog eyes— paired with leafy hands cupping the rooster’s cheeks, the tip of his beak touching Steel’s as he elaborates on how it’s ‘not fair’ if they don’t use the machine ONE more time —before the troublesome chips are finally back on their hands.

Albeit, switched... 

With a deep, shuddery breath, that poses some concerns, he prepares for Steel to witness something from his past. Whatever it is, he can only hope that it’s as mundane and non-humiliating as possible. Good luck. Noticing the other male’s mouth start to open, worry abundant in amber hues, he quickly acts before Steelbeak has a chance to call it off. Rushing forward, beak presses against his boyfriend’s in a slightly-panicked kiss, as if it is the last one they get to share. Depending on what memory Steel finds, it very well might be...

… ✩ … ✩ … ✩ … ✩ … ✩ … ✩ … ✩ … ✩ … ✩ … ✩ …

The house is big... REALLY big. Surprisingly so, considering the financial trouble Bushroot always seems to be in. Even before the incident that transformed him, the male was heavily dependent on the money of others. Which doesn’t bode well for any familial relations he might have towards whoever lives in the manor—well-maintained, except for a few cracks along the walls and an overgrown yard that stretches out toward the edge of a forest. It’s a secluded place that seems as if it would be rather peaceful to live... if not for the echoing of loud children from within the high walls. Strange... Reggie never mentioned siblings.

But Steel doesn’t have time to ponder the scene or the strangers within, because trekking along outside of the house towards the deep woodland, is the reason for his visit.

Head darting from side to side, as if wanting to make sure he isn’t being followed, a duckling scampers through the tall grass. Unfortunately, he’s not all too observant because Steel is able to follow with comical ease. Despite not being part-plant, those bright royal blue hues are proof enough of who the child is. But even if that wasn’t, a familiar mop of hair is atop his head. No longer lavender, but shaggy and tuft-like all the same, thick ebony locks that messily bob along as he nearly slips on the dewdrop covered ground. From the thick scent of lingering rain in the air and the muddiness of their journey— the duckling slipping and sliding, but miraculously not falling yet —it seems like a storm has just passed.

The journey continues for a few moments before nature finally sends the duckling tumbling to the ground. Tripping on an upturned root, a startled quack escapes the boy before he is violently rolling along the ground into a nearby tree. With a heavy thud and a pathetic whimper, the boy lays flat on the ground, beak quivering and eyes groggily fluttering... before they suddenly snap open wide, surprise evident in them at the sight of a hand offering to help him up. Gaze raises to look at the stranger, a loud gasp escaping the duckling as he shakily quickly accepts the hand and stands up. Frantically dusting himself off and running his hands through his disheveled locks, he then abruptly straightens his posture. 

Shoulders tense and arms stiff at his sides, chest puffs out as the diminutive boy tries to make himself seem taller, bigger, more impressive. Gazing up with wide eyes, beak is slightly agape at the other’s fancy attire and well-groomed feathers... Rich. This guy HAS to be rich. Not that it matters; he could be poor as dirt and Reggie would still be ecstatic a the sight of a visitor. Shaking his head when he realizes that he is staring, pale white cheeks flush with embarrassment, soft down feathers fluffing to impossible size as he quickly extends his hand to shake the adult’s, “H-Hello, sir! My name is Reginald! Reginald Bushroot!”

Voice is small and squeaky with nerves, but he pushes through, still anxiously bobbing the stranger’s hand up and down as he speaks, “I’m ten years old, don’t have any pre-existing medical conditions, have straight A’s, and once went an entire week without making a single sound!” Words pour out in a rush, yet are well-rehearsed, as if he’s used to giving this spiel, “So you wouldn’t have to worry about me annoying you or even causing ANY trouble at all! I can cook and clean and don’t even need toys or anything!” It’s not as if he has many of them NOW anyway. “Just tell me whatever kind of son you want, and I can be it, Sir!” 

Reggie doesn’t seem to notice the stranger’s blatant surprise, looking in the direction of the woods. “Do you... Do you like plants?” He timidly asks, shyly smiling upward. At the slow nod, concern in amber hues going unheeded, his smile grows bigger. Excitement shining in blue hues and smile bright, Reggie leads him toward the treeline, hand tightly grasping his. He only spends a moment to ask for a name— “Steelbeak? I guess that makes sense...” —before rambling on about how the rain was wonderful for the plants and how he really likes the way the earth smells after a storm and hey, do you want to know the scientific name for that flower? Or that one? ... How many kids are you thinking of adopting anyway?

Reggie thinks that Steelbeak should only take one home.

Well, that explains the surplus of children inside. From looking at the duckling, it’s clear that he’s one in a long line of kids who need to be taken adopted. With clothes that are a smidge too big on his lean frame, blatantly boasting hand-me-down, and feathers that look like they haven’t been properly preened in weeks, Reggie is far from being anyone’s priority. Perhaps that’s why he’s so quick to cling to the stranger he JUST met, to the slim chance of getting a home. A family. Small as it may be, even one person is more than he has right now. 

Scampering towards the edge of the woodlands, Reggie’s excited ramblings— he wasn’t kidding when he said he could be whatever kind of son Steel wanted, noisy or quiet —finally draw to an end as they approach thick bushes. Although, a spot near the front seems to be more man-made than natural, fallen branches and leaves having been dragged and gathered to one spot. Releasing Steel’s hand, Reggie grunts with effort as he shuffles some of the meticulously strewn branches to the side, revealing a divet in the ground between some thickets where a vibrant flower is tentatively sprouting from the dirt.

But this plant is... strange. It looks like an amalgamation of a couple flowers; rose petals that hang like bluebells colored a mixture of warm and cool hues. A painstaking creation of Reggie’s, if the look he gives them is any indication. Blue hues sparkling with pride, he bends onto his knees to better look at the flowers, “I call her Rosebells... You wouldn’t believe how long it took to get actual results. First I had to-” Explanation is sadly cut short, the sound of scampering feet suddenly cutting through the serene air. Dozens and dozens of them trampling through the underbrush and destroying all in their path... “Oh no. They’re coming.” 

Scrambling onto his feet, Reggie frantically starts shoving Steelbeak into the thick foliage, ignoring his protests and the way his silk suit is ripped and soiled by branches. “Shhhhhhh! Just- Just shush, please!” Surprisingly, the stranger falls silent without further begging... Maybe it’s the way his eyes had started to fill with tears, or the way his voice had cracked with fear panic. Either way, Reggie doesn’t question it. He just hurriedly explains, “Whatever you do, don’t make any noise! I don’t want them knowing you’re here, or else they’ll never leave you alone.” Reggie will get shoved to the side. Ignored... Just like always.

“HEY, VEG-HEAD!” ... When he isn’t being tormented, at least. 

Yelping, Reggie spins around to face the swarm of newcomers. A hoarde of children, with ill-fitting clothes and mussed feathers, some having dirt-stained faces, others poorly applied make-up, all with cruel smiles or scowls... Swallowing a lump in his throat, Reggie’s hands begin to fidget— a habit he doesn’t grow out of —as he pitifully says, “I-I told you guys, I don’t like being called that.” It might have been considered brave, talking back like that, if the small duckling didn’t immediately flinch and cower when someone stepped forward.

Wide-eyed as the leader of the group approaches, Reggie stumbles backward in an attempt to keep distance between them. Unfortunately, he’s trapped between the children and the forest. Frankly, he’d take his chances in the woods, and is ready to do so. But even NATURE can’t be completely kind to him, and with a pathetic squeak— covering his face as the larger boy raises a fist, the crowd jeering behind him —he trips on an upturned root and plops onto his side next to his precious Rosebell. Maybe it wouldn’t have been as bad if he hadn’t scrambled onto his knees, frantically checking to see if the flower was harmed.

In mere moments, he’d HATE himself for that.

Reggie doesn’t even hear the other boy approach, too focused on his flower. It isn’t until he’s roughly yanked upright by the back of his shirt, tossed into the crowd where two kids latch onto his arms and hold him still, that he realizes what’s happening. What he’s done. What the leader is going to do... and he can’t do anything about it. But God, does he try. Struggling against the arms holding him— like how Steelbeak struggles against the branches he’s entangled in, clawing at his arms and snagging in his clothes, as if the plants know that this NEEDS to happen... —Reggie desperately flails and fights, panicked tears brimming in his eyes as the other kid nears the plant. “N-No! What- What are you doing?” 

Meeting Reggie’s gaze, a finger slowly taps against the flower’s petals, “What’s the matter, Veggie? You look upset~” Fingers slowly grasp a petal... and yank.

Reggie can practically hear the flower scream. “Hey! Don’t do that!” He struggles harder, wincing as the grips on his arms grow tighter, bruising his fragile limbs and causing tears to stream freely down his face. But he keeps wriggling, crying out, “You’re hurting her!” Kicking at one of their legs, the small boy is merely lifted up, feet dangling uselessly above the ground as he struggles. “STOP IT!” Another petal. “STOOOOOOP!” And another. A cruel pattern that continues for a few seconds, Reggie’s cries going unheeded, near drowned out by the laughter of the children around him. Enjoying the show... Passing the time, distracting themselves from the fact that each unchanging day is blending into the next.

“You really are pathetic. Y’know?” The boy muses, fingers slowly curling around the mangled flower’s stem as he muses, “You actually care about this dumb weed. I mean- You called it a HER! How messed up is that?!” He laughs, a cruel, mocking sound as he looks at the tear-stained and hoarse boy, “What, is this your girlfriend or something? You gonna start smooching flowers now, Bushbrain? Funny... I always thought you were a pansy.” Bursting out into a fit of laughter, body abruptly grows still at a bitter, murmured statement.  

“At least I can spell pansy...” 

Immediately, Reggie grows still, breath hitching and eyes wide as he feels his heart stall. “I- I didn’t mean it.” Feathers ruffle as the hold around Rosebell tightens, the other boy’s knuckles turning white as his gaze burns with notorious fire. “Are you calling me stupid?” Growing paler, Reggie frantically shakes his head, voice trembling like his form, “N-No! I’d- No, I’d never dream of- I- I was just... Y-You- I...” What has he done? “I’ll show you stupid...” The other boy’s eyes narrow, movements quick and cold... as he RIPS the flower straight from the ground. With a snarl, he stalks over and shoves the flower in Reggie’s face.

“THIS is stupid!” Flower is harshly shaken in front of Reggie’s face; the diminutive boy looking horrified, as if a corpse is being waved around. “All your dumb plants and your lame facts and how you actually think anyone could CARE about this crap! About YOU!” Flower is savagely torn to shreds, petals and stem flung to the ground in front of them as he spats out, “Well, gues what, Veg-Head?! No. One. EVER. WILL!” To emphasize his point, a fist is rammed into Reggie’s stomach. The duckling cries out in pain, drowning out the sound of Steel’s suit ripping, the rooster finally being set free- before everything fades away.

And he’s back in the penthouse...

Trembling, face is streaked with droplets as Reggie pulls away, everything that happened seeming to have transpired during that single kiss. Sniffling, he quickly starts wiping at his eyes, desperately trying to stop the flow of tears and steady his pounding heart. He feels sick... He can still feel the punches, can see his flower- his first friend torn apart in front of him, can hear the ‘non-existent’ screams, can hear his own... can remember thinking that they were all right. But they WEREN’T. Steel is here with him now, he cares... He cares. 

He cares, he cares, he cares... HE KNOWS HE DOES, SO WHY DOES IT SOUND STUPID IN HIS HEAD RIGHT NOW? Reggie doesn’t remember rushing into Steelbeak’s embrace; wrapping his arms around him and burying his face against his chest. But he is, sobbing against it and feeling even weaker than he did that day. Pathetic. { ☆ }