#he had one shot to prove himself and he wasn’t going to throw it away

[vicontheinternet]

Say what you want abt glee but rent was due

[whatiswrongwithpeople]

Shattered Silence

Jayce Talis x reader

Warnings: none, no spoilers for s2 , not connected to any canon plot

Prompt: An enemies to lovers story; “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Notes: I KNOW some people are absolutely hating this man now but I had this sitting in my notes app and just need to set it free. I hope there aren’t any mistakes , but once again it’s been written in my notes app-

Part 2

Jayce Talis was no stranger to the silence of late nights in the lab. The rhythmic hum of Hextech crystals, the faint flicker of blue light against metal, and the steady scratch of pen against paper were his constant companions. Tonight, like so many nights before, he found himself hunched over blueprints, mind locked in the methodical process of refining designs. It was easier to work late when there were no interruptions, no voices cutting through the quiet—especially not yours.

Jayce had never met someone more infuriating than you.

You were brilliant, there was no question about that. Your intellect had earned you a coveted place alongside him on one of Piltover’s most ambitious projects. But from the moment you two had started working together, it had been like throwing oil onto a flame. You clashed on nearly everything. You were methodical, calculated—always challenging his more instinctive, risk-taking approaches.

“I don’t see why you can’t grasp that stabilizing the core will reduce its volatility,” you had said during one of your many arguments.

“And I don’t see why you insist on slowing down innovation for the sake of caution!” Jayce had shot back.

The entire lab had been forced to endure your bickering. And it wasn’t just the disagreements over schematics that drove the wedge deeper. It was the way you two refused to back down, constantly pushing and challenging each other.

Jayce had always prided himself on being the best. He’d been driven by that mindset ever since he was a child, determined to prove himself worthy of his place in Piltover’s elite society. But you? You were a different kind of competitor. You weren’t driven by arrogance, as he had first assumed, but by a fierce need to prove yourself. You didn’t have his connections, didn’t have the same privileges. You’d clawed your way up through sheer talent and hard work, and you weren’t about to let anyone—even Jayce Talis—make you feel like you didn’t belong.

That realization had hit Jayce like a punch to the gut one night, weeks ago, after one particularly nasty fight.

** flashback a few weeks ago**

“I swear, if you could just stop bulldozing over my ideas for one second, you’d realize we’re trying to solve the same problem!” you snapped, slamming your notebook down on the lab bench. The room was empty save for the two of you, the other engineers having wisely fled after the first thirty minutes of bickering.

Jayce glared at you, jaw tight. “I’m not bulldozing—”

“Don’t.” Your voice was sharp, a warning edge in your tone. “Don’t stand there and pretend like you’re not dismissing everything I say just because you think you know better.”

Jayce’s fists clenched at his sides. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect you; he did. But you constantly pushed him in ways that no one else did, constantly questioned him, and it made his blood boil. He wasn’t used to being challenged like this. Not by someone like you.

“Maybe if you’d explain your ideas instead of acting like you’re the only person in the room with a brain—” he bit out, stepping closer to you, his frustration bleeding into every word.

You met his gaze without flinching, that fire in your eyes blazing hotter than ever. “Maybe if you weren’t so full of yourself, you’d actually hear what I’m saying!”

Jayce had taken a breath to fire back another retort, but then he’d seen something flicker in your expression. For just a moment, the anger cracked, and there was something else underneath. Hurt, maybe. Vulnerability. It was fleeting, but it was there.

He didn’t say anything, and you had turned away, picking up your notebook with a quiet sigh. “Forget it,” you muttered, heading for the door. “I’ll just rework the damn equations on my own.”

Jayce had watched you go, something unfamiliar twisting in his chest. He’d thought about going after you, maybe saying something—anything—to defuse the tension. But his pride had held him back, and instead, he had let you leave.

That had been the first time Jayce had realized that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t angry with you because you were wrong. Maybe he was angry because you were right, and he hated that someone could challenge him the way you did.

From then on, the tension between you two had only grown. Arguments became sharper, filled with undercurrents neither of you acknowledged. He could see the way others noticed it, the way their eyes darted between you and him whenever a heated discussion threatened to boil over. They weren’t just seeing two colleagues who couldn’t get along. They were seeing the thin line between rivalry and something else.

But that something else was dangerous. It was a fire neither of you were ready to touch.

**end of flashback**

Tonight, Jayce had resigned himself to another long night in the lab, the familiar hum of Hextech energy his only company. That was, until the door burst open with a force that made him jump.

His irritation was immediate. Of course, it would be you, barging in without a second thought. “If you’re here to argue about the core stabilizer again, I’m not in the mood,” Jayce muttered, not even looking up as he continued scribbling on his blueprints.

But then there was silence. No sharp retort. No biting comment.

Frowning, Jayce glanced up—and almost immediately his stomach dropped.

You stood frozen in the doorway, but you weren’t your usual fiery self. Your hair was disheveled, the neat, professional attire you always wore was wrinkled and disordered, as if you had thrown it on in a rush or hadn’t cared enough to fix it and your face... your face was pale, eyes wide and rimmed with unshed tears. Something had happened.

“I... I didn’t know where else to go,” you whispered, your voice cracking in a way so unfamiliar to Jayce’s ears that it almost made him flinch.

“What—” Jayce’s brain stuttered, not understanding, confusion and concern flooding his senses all at once. He had never seen you like this—vulnerable, shaken. You were always the one with sharp retorts, the one who could throw him off balance with a single glance. And now? Now you were standing in front of him, broken, and he didn’t know what to do. But when he turned fully to face you and noticed the sheer panic in your expression, all of his irritation, all of the snide comments he had prepared, dissolved instantly. “What happened?”

In a heartbeat, he was across the room, standing in front of you, his hands hovering just above your arms as if unsure whether to touch you, whether you’d let him.

“They—” you started, then choked on the words, your chest heaving with shallow breaths, hands trembling at your sides. “Someone broke into my apartment. I—I don’t know what they were after. They tore everything apart, Jayce. All of it. All my work... it’s gone.”

Hearing the sheer devastation in your voice, Jayce felt a surge of protectiveness swell inside him, his heart pounding as he imagined the scene. The thought of someone invading your space, of you coming home to find it destroyed... it made his blood boil.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked urgently, his voice tight with barely restrained anger.

You shook your head quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold yourself together. “No, I—I wasn’t there when it happened. But... everything was trashed. My work, my research, everything. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go back.”

Jayce felt a knot tighten in his chest. You—this person who was always so strong, always so put-together—looked like you were on the verge of breaking. And the fact that you had come to him, him , in this moment of vulnerability left him stunned.

Without thinking, he reached out, pulling you into his arms in a motion that was both instinctive and desperate. You stiffened at first, as if the idea of seeking comfort from him was the last thing you’d ever considered. But something inside you broke the moment his arms wrapped around you, and you let yourself sag against him, your hands clinging desperately to the fabric of his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Jayce tightened his hold, one hand resting on the back of your head as he cradled you against his chest, the other pressing firmly against the small of your back. He rested his chin atop your head, murmuring soft reassurances into your hair. “I’m here. We’ll figure this out.”

Jayce could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface as he thought about what had happened to you. His hand that rested on your back clenched into a fist as he imagined someone rifling through your things, invading your space, and leaving you terrified. Jayce’s anger surged, hot and violent, but he forced it down, knowing that what you needed right now wasn’t fury.

It was comfort.

You sniffled against him, your breath hitching as you tried to calm yourself, and his fist slowly unclenched, his fingers gently tracing soothing circles on your back. He hadn’t realized until now how familiar you felt in his arms, how right it felt to hold you.

For all the biting words and harsh glances the two of you usually shared, this moment was startlingly soft, intimate in a way that left him feeling raw.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You didn’t say anything, but you leaned into him more, your face pressed against his chest, your body shaking as you let out a soft sob. The sound of it cracked something inside Jayce, and he found himself holding you even tighter, as if trying to shield you from everything that had happened.

When you finally pulled back slightly, you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, and Jayce’s heart ached at the sight of your tear-streaked face.

“Why did you come here?” he asked softly. It wasn’t accusatory—it was genuine curiosity. After all the arguments, the tension, he hadn’t expected you to seek him out in a moment like this. You let out a small, humorless laugh, your voice still trembling. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I guess... I guess because I knew you’d be here. And... you’re the only one who understands.”

Jayce’s breath caught in his throat. You were right. Despite all the arguments, all the bickering, you and Jayce did understand each other. You were alike in so many ways—both of you driven, both of you fighting to prove something, both of you carrying more weight on your shoulders than you let anyone see.

“I’m glad you came,” he said softly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face.

A few hours later the lab was quieter, save for the steady scratching of Jayce's pen as he continued to make adjustments to the prototype in front of him. The tension that had once filled the room seemed to have settled, softened by the rawness of the earlier moments. You sat on the edge of his desk, your legs swinging slightly as you watched him work, the weight of what had happened still heavy on your shoulders.

Jayce had been focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scribbled out a few final equations. But every so often, his eyes would flicker up to you, checking if you were still there, still okay. The silence between you was no longer strained or uncomfortable; it felt like an unspoken understanding that neither of you was ready to address fully yet. It was comfortable... for now.

Still, Jayce couldn’t ignore the way you were sitting there, curled inward as if the weight of the night hadn't lifted. The quiet vulnerability that had cracked through your usual armor made something stir in him. And as much as he tried to focus on his work, he couldn't shake the need to do something more for you.

Without saying a word, Jayce rose from his chair, his footsteps soft as he approached you. His mind raced—he wanted to offer more than just reassurances, wanted to do something that would make you feel *better*, something that would let you know that you weren’t alone in this. But what could he do?

Without overthinking it, he took off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

The gesture was simple, but it felt significant. The warmth of the fabric enveloped you, and for a moment, you were taken aback. Your eyes lifted to meet his, surprise flickering across your face.

“It’s cold in here,” Jayce said, his voice softer than you had heard it all night. There was no bravado, no teasing edge like before—only sincerity. “You should stay warm.”

You didn’t know how to respond to the unexpected kindness, especially from someone who had always been so frustratingly distant. You had been expecting everything but this. His jacket was heavy, comforting, and as you tugged it around your shoulders, you found yourself grateful, even though you didn’t quite understand why.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. There was something different in your tone now, a softness, something you hadn’t let him see before. You had always been so sharp, so quick to hide any hint of vulnerability. But in this moment, with his jacket around you and his unexpected kindness lingering between you, it felt harder to keep up that armor.

Jayce watched you closely, his eyes softening as you adjusted the jacket. "I mean it," he said gently. "You don’t have to go through this alone. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

You nodded, pulling the jacket tighter around you. It wasn’t just the warmth of the fabric that calmed you—it was the understanding in his voice, the quiet way he was trying to reassure you without making you feel like a burden. The connection between you, so fraught with tension and arguments, felt... different now. Maybe it was because of everything that had happened, or maybe it was because you could finally see a side of Jayce that hadn’t been so guarded.

For the first time, there was no bickering, no cutting remarks, just the two of you in the quiet of the lab, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t come here,” you admitted, your voice quiet but steady. Jayce gave a small, knowing smile, his hands slipping into his pockets as he took a step back. “I’m glad you feel safe enough to trust me with this.” he said , voice sincere.

You swallowed, nodding slowly. You didn’t know where things would go from here, whether the fragile peace between you would last. But for now, in this moment, it was enough.

[sundew199]

Zoro doesn’t understand why you’re so upset with him, why your bright eyes burn with tears that hold the weight of anger and frustration. He swore his intentions were true, rushing to your side in the midst of battle to shove you away, so why were cheeks stained with salty tears that make his heart hurt?

You’re never truly angry at him, mostly annoyed or frustrated at his constant playful teasing, so it worries him the more your face pinches and twists with distain. Had he truly done the wrong thing in coming after you, watching you struggle from afar with a Marine who gained the upper hand? Surely he hadn’t.

“I don’t need you to swoop in like I’m some damsel in distress.”

The remark felt like a sword grazing his skin, not deep enough to make him bleed, but enough for a sting to linger. He blinked, deflated in his posture on the edge of the bed, confused and hurt that you didn’t appreciate his quick reaction. He knows you’re capable and possess skill that uphold their value in the crew, but his gut instinct screamed at him that you wouldn’t recover from the upper hand being swept from you and the thought of losing you when he could’ve done something to prevent it makes Zoro physically sick.

Lose is a familiar feeling for him, a familiar experience that lingers over his shoulder like a shadow, haunting him as a reminder that no one is ever safe. Maybe it was bad luck, or a punishment for a sin that he had yet to atone for, Zoro wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, Zoro felt that shadow rest its cold wispy hand on his shoulder as he spotted you across the way, the whispered warning springing him into action.

“But you’re not, I only helped because it didn’t look like you were going to regain the advantage.”

His tone was soft and remorseful, apologetic for making you feel less than what you’re worth, and how dare he? The warring sides of wrong and right were muddled yet clear. Zoro knew he did the right thing, but guilt clung to him in such an odd way.

“I had him Zoro.”

“Did you?”

Emotions switching at the bite in your tone, the way bitterness bled through like ink to a rag, quick and furious. You physically shot back, uncrossing your arms, pulling your brows tighter than they had been before.

“You’re the one who built up my confidence, trained me on close combat and now you questions me? Was it all so you could bring it all down and prove I’ll never be as strong as you?”

A long breath was inhaled through his nose, needing to calm himself before even letting the anger rise. Tensions were high on the ship, no one would deny it, Marines catching them at every corner it felt, bearing down on the crew in hopes it would squash like a bug.

“No.”

A scoffing disgusted sound scratched at your throat, throwing your arms in the air. There were a lot of things Zoro didn’t like to admit aloud, afraid of speaking them into existence and watching the shadow that always hung around, greedily take what meant most to him, away.

“Then why Zoro? You know if I ever need help in a battle I’ll tell you in some way and I didn’t this time so why did you-“

“Because I can’t lose you!” Shouting through your words, cutting you off, unable to keep the one thing he feared most inside. You stood frozen in front of him, appalled at the confession and the genuine fear written on his face. He watched the way the lines on your face contorted with conflict and reason, unable to come to a conclusion. Whatever was between the two of you was unlabeled, but spoken and unspoken love washed over the both of you in a gentle wave. Platonic at first and quickly turning romantic, a connection that excited Zoro and then later scared him as the reminder of what happened to those he loved. In some way or another it was ripped from him unexpectedly, eventually making it easy for self isolation to creep in and become a friend. All that changed with his captain drug him aboard for an adventure, soften his wall and making it almost easy for you creep into the cracks and urge him to accept you, and for a while, all without the fear of losing you.

“I can’t lose anyone else, I’ve lost enough.”

Forcing himself to meet your gaze, the buried emotions of a boy who spend more than ten plus years of his life alone coming forth. He never got the opportunity to know his parents enough to mourn them like a child who did, his father a faint figure and his mother a blurry face when he tried to think of her. He was never able to understand his grief when Kuina died, so young and full of fire that her death only motivated him to continue to pursue their shared dream. Zoro pushed forward when life threw his curveballs, accepting them then storing them away so they wouldn’t cloud his judgement or deter him from his goal. But that didn’t mean he was incapable of caring or fearing, honing the skill of hiding early on.

This crew, his captain and ship mates were the one thing he refused to lose. He refused to let you slip from his grasp, to watch the life fade from your eyes as he begged for you to hold on. Zoro doesn’t think he’d recover if he were to experience that. You were the light that peaked through the clouds of his gloomy life, the small ray of sun that he accepted and let shoo the other clouds away.

Seeing you lose the upper hand to the marine earlier, struck a fear in him like none other, something he doesn’t think he’s felt before. And Zoro would be damned if he didn’t make to you in time.

“I’m sorry,” beginning again but being silenced by the hand cradling the side of his face, warmth from the palm he’d grown so fond of.

“No I’m sorry Zoro, I-“ Wavering words broke, a sniffle of regret prompting him to bring you down into an embrace. Arms wrapped securely around you, holding you as if the shadow would cruelly take you as a sort of joke for confessing his fear.

“I just can’t, I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you weren’t here, I’d regret not reaching you fast enough and die lying by your grave and wishing it were me instead of you.”

And he meant that, every word. One little scare gave him a glimpse of what could possibly be and Zoro hated it. You were more than a fellow crewmate at this point, and call him selfish but Zoro didn’t want to imagine the crew without you.

“You won’t have to, I promise. I’m sorry for my reaction, I didn’t know and thought you saw me as weak.”

Bringing you away so he could look you in the eyes and wipe away the tears, Zoro smiled faintly.

“You’re anything but that, I just don’t want to take any chances.” Cradling the back of your neck, bringing his lips to your cheek and kissing over a tear streak. Your hands found its way to the short hair toward his neck, threading it through your fingers and holding him close.

You didn’t say anything else and Zoro took it as understanding, acceptance for his worries and forgiving him even though there wasn’t anything to forgive. Words didn’t need to be said to know the love Zoro held for you was strong, strong enough to throw himself in hopes of sparing you from a blade or bullet. And though Zoro couldn’t live in a world without you, he’d be okay with sacrificing his own if it meant you’d get away unscathed because Zoro couldn’t handle anymore loss, even if that meant trading your loss with his own.

꧁༄꧂

a/n: needed to write something sort of gentle for him, sorry if it’s slightly angsty ~(>_<~)

[cameronspecial]

Some People Can Change

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  Swearing, Mentions of Drugs and Angst

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: Rafe really does want to change, but what happens if nobody else believes he can?

A/N: Rafe isn't a murderer and doesn't hide dead bodies in this one-shot, but everything else he does in Canon happens.

Masterlist

Y/N Y/L/N was only supposed to be a one-night stand. Rafe wasn’t planning on interacting with her after she left his bedroom. He was a Kook and she was a Pogue, who worked as a bartender at the club. However, when he woke up the next morning to the smell of frying bacon and the sound of “Dance The Night” accompanied by her dance moves, he knew she wasn’t really going to be leaving his life after today. Plus, her advice was life-saving. “I think I’m going to do something really bad,” he confessed to her, sitting at the kitchen island with coffee in hand. She looked at him in understanding, “Well, you said going to, which implies it has happened yet. And if it hasn’t happened, then you always have a chance to fix it. It’s up to you to own the fact that you recognize it isn’t good and to stop it.” This led to Rafe stopping the murder of his father that he put into action. 

———

Ever since that day, Rafe is not often seen without his arm around Y/N, looking at her like she is his world. Because she is. He knows she wouldn’t put up with the shit that he pulls on a normal basis, so he made an effort to stop his vices. He is just grateful she is relatively new to town and hasn’t had the chance yet to hear the gossip about him. This means he has a chance to turn his life around before she finds out. But no one in his life actually believes he can change. 

“I told you, Barry. I’m not dealing or using anymore. Not cocaine, not weed. I gotta go cold turkey,” Rafe reiterates, sliding the drugs and gun towards the pogue. “And I certainly don’t need this gun anymore.” Barry shakes his head and pushes the item back toward Rafe, “You really think you are going to last man? You aren’t going to be able to stay away from these just because of her. You can’t change man.” “You’re wrong. Every time I do drugs, I’m making the conscious decision to turn towards them. Y/N is helping me realize that I have other ways of coping with my issues,” he gestures his hand toward his chest to prove himself. “Come on, Country Club. Just take them back.” Rafe grows frustrated with this conversation. Instead of fighting back and yelling at the dealer, he tries to take deep breaths to calm himself. It sort of works, but nobody is perfect. So he storms out of the trailer with the loud clang of the front door closing behind him. 

He gets home from Barry’s storming into the living room with his anger clear on his face. “Love, what’s wrong?” Y/N poses, lowering the volume of the TV. Rafe gives her a harsh look, “WHAT THE F-!” He can’t finish his yelling because Y/N is already gently placing her hand on his sternum to guide his breathing. “I know you are angry about something, right now, but that gives you no right to displace that anger towards me. So if you feel the need to release this negative energy, then I would like for you to channel this feeling through working out, please. I’ll come to see you to talk after half an hour.” Rafe knows that she is correct and she probably got these ideas from a psychology book she bought. God, she’s so smart. 

Rafe heads up to the punching bag in his room and starts throwing punches at it. As promised, she comes to check on him after some time. “Now that we’ve calmed down, do you want to talk about it?” Y/N inquires, bringing his hands into her smaller ones and giving his bruised knuckles a kiss. He nods at her, “Yeah, I just went to give something back to a… uh… a friend and he insisted that I still needed it. It was frustrating.” His subconscious knew the problem was deeper than that and this caused tears to threaten to spill. Rafe is quick to hide his face behind his palms. 

“Somehow I don’t believe that this is the true root of your crying. Do you think you can talk about it?”

“Uhh, no. I don’t think I truly know what I’m feeling. Can we just cuddle and think instead?”

Y/N is happy to oblige, lying down on the bed and opening her arms so he can rest his head on her chest. 

———

“No, Rafe. I have to tell Y/N. She deserves to know,” Sarah argues, making her way back into the house from the back patio. Rafe is quick to follow her. At the same time, Y/N is heading towards the same door from the bathroom. “Tell me what?” Sarah turns towards the girl, ready to tell her about Rafe’s faults. 

“Rafe is a liar and thief and violent and a drug addict. He isn’t a good person, sweetie!” 

“I may not have been a good person and I admit to being everything you’ve said but I’m trying to change. Y/N helped me realize that I need to change.”

“Ooh, like you can change. Honestly, no offense Y/N, but we both know this road to redemption act is all going to go away once you get bored of her.” 

Rafe wants to yell that it isn’t true what Sarah is saying, but he remembers the breathing exercises Y/N taught to help calm down and puts those into practice. He knows adding more anger to this argument is just going to lead toward a slippery slope of words he will regret. 

“You may believe that, but I don’t. So I’m sorry I stole the cross and melted it down. I know that it can’t bring back the artifact for Pope. But I’ve already given the money I got from it to Pope and made a donation with my own money to the church.”

“Well good for you, doing one good thing to not feel guilty and to tell Y/N you are a good person.”

“I know about all of this already. Thank you for wanting to tell me, Sarah, but I already know everything and I would like to get the rest of the information straight from Rafe, now,” Y/N interrupts the argument before it becomes never-ending. Rafe’s palms are pressed into his eyes and she knows he is trying to hide his tears. She does not allow the conversation to continue; instead, brings him upstairs and moves his hands from his face. She wipes the tears away and presses a kiss to his forehead, “You don’t have to hide your tears away from me.”

“Why can’t anyone believe I can change? What if everyone is right?”

“Don’t say that. I believe that maybe not everyone can change, but some people can change. And you are definitely a part of some people.”

“How can you say that about me with everything you’ve known about all this time?”

“Because the Rafe that I was told about would’ve ended that argument with violence. He was violent, rude, a liar, stole and relied on drugs like it was water. The one before me approached that argument with recognition of his wrongdoing. He is working on his anger, is polite, tells me the truth, always pays for me and attends NA. He is one month sober. That is how I know you have changed.”

“Nobody else believes I can.”

“I know, love. I know it hurts. But right now let’s just focus on who does believe. You and Me. Then we can use this belief to prove everyone else wrong.”

“Okay, I can do that. I love you, Y/N/N.”

“ I love you too, love.”

[mya-valentine]

Wild Hearts, Tender Hands

Synopsis: Sanemi Shinazugawa, rough-edged and volatile, finds an unexpected solace in you—a calm yet strong presence unafraid of his temper or scars. Through fiery arguments, tender moments, and shared battles, the two of you navigate a love forged in resilience and passion, proving that even the fiercest hearts can find peace in another.

Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t the kind of man people felt at ease around. His sharp tongue, volatile temper, and cold exterior kept most at a distance. That suited him just fine; he didn’t want anyone getting close. Getting close meant getting hurt—or worse.

But you were different.

You were soft in a way that felt almost foreign to him. It wasn’t weakness—no, you weren’t weak. You had strength, but it was a quiet kind of strength. You didn’t need to raise your voice to be heard. You didn’t wield a sword to prove your worth. You had a way of standing your ground without breaking the people around you, and Sanemi hated how much it fascinated him.

Hated, because it made him notice you.

The first time you met, he had been drenched in blood—none of it his own. His uniform was torn, his hair wild, and his scarred hands still gripped his Nichirin blade as if another demon might emerge at any second. You had been among the villagers who had survived the attack, kneeling by an injured child, your hands steady as you worked to bind a wound.

“You.” His voice had been rough, almost accusatory. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You glanced up at him, unfazed by his tone. “Helping,” you replied simply.

Sanemi bristled. “This isn’t your job. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

You didn’t back down. “And who’s going to help these people if I don’t? You?”

For a moment, he was struck silent. Most people cowered when he barked at them, but you met his glare head-on, your eyes steady. It wasn’t defiance, not really. It was conviction.

He didn’t know what to make of it.

Sanemi told himself he didn’t care what happened to you. People like you didn’t last long in a world like this, and he didn’t need the distraction. But every time he saw you, his resolve wavered.

You had a habit of showing up where you weren’t supposed to be—patching up wounded slayers after battles, delivering supplies to remote villages, always putting yourself in danger for the sake of others. It infuriated him.

“Do you have a death wish or something?” he snapped one evening after dragging you away from a demon attack.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you shot back, brushing dirt off your clothes.

He stared at you, stunned into silence by your audacity.

“I’m serious,” you continued. “You throw yourself into danger like your life doesn’t matter. Why is that?”

His jaw clenched. “Because it doesn’t.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, but you didn’t rise to it. Instead, you stepped closer, your gaze softening. “It matters to someone,” you said quietly.

Sanemi hated how much your words affected him.

It took time for him to let you in. Sanemi wasn’t used to softness, to kindness without an ulterior motive. He didn’t know how to accept it, much less return it. But you were patient, meeting his barbed words with calm understanding, his rough edges with quiet strength.

At first, he kept his distance, watching you from afar. You never demanded anything from him, never pushed too hard. You were just… there. A steady presence that somehow made the world feel a little less unbearable.

He found himself seeking you out without realizing it. After missions, he’d stop by to “check on the others” but end up lingering near you. If anyone pointed it out, he’d snap at them, his ears turning red.

You never teased him about it, though. You didn’t need to. The way you looked at him, like you could see through all the anger and pain to the person he tried so hard to bury, was enough to unsettle him.

The night everything changed, Sanemi had come back from a mission more battered than usual. His uniform was shredded, his arms covered in fresh scars. You’d been waiting for him, as you often did, ready with bandages and a scolding.

“What the hell were you thinking?” you demanded as you cleaned the gash on his shoulder.

“I was thinking about killing the damn demon,” he growled, wincing as your fingers brushed over his skin.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Sanemi,” you said, your voice trembling with frustration. “You act like your life doesn’t matter, but it does—to me, at least.”

He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

You looked away, your hands falling to your lap. “I know you think you don’t deserve to be cared for, but you do. And I—” You hesitated, biting your lip. “I care about you. More than I should.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, before you could say anything else, Sanemi reached out, his hand rough but gentle as it cupped your cheek.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and raw. “Don’t waste your time on someone like me.”

But you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into his touch, your eyes meeting his. “Let me decide what’s worth my time.”

Loving Sanemi was like loving a wildfire. He burned bright and fierce, his passion all-consuming. But you had a way of softening his edges, of reminding him that there was more to life than fighting and pain.

He didn’t always know how to show it, but he loved you fiercely in return. He loved the way you stood your ground, even against him. He loved the way your hands were always warm, always steady, no matter how chaotic the world around you was. He loved the way you looked at him, like he was something worth saving.

You fought often—Sanemi’s temper and your stubbornness made sure of that. But no matter how heated the argument, you always found your way back to each other.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered one night after he’d stormed out and returned an hour later, his shoulders slumping as he mumbled an apology.

“And you’re too damn patient,” he shot back, his lips quirking into a small, reluctant smile.

Life with Sanemi was never easy, but it was worth it. Together, you weathered every storm, every battle, every heartbreak. He taught you to fight, to wield a blade with precision and purpose. You taught him to trust, to let himself be vulnerable.

And in the quiet moments—when the world wasn’t falling apart and the weight of his duty didn’t feel so crushing—Sanemi allowed himself to dream of a future with you. A future where he didn’t have to fight anymore, where he could finally let go of his anger and just… be.

You were his anchor, his sanctuary, the only thing in this world that made him feel whole. And no matter how many demons he faced, no matter how many scars he carried, he knew one thing for certain:

He would fight for you. Always.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[dontexpectmuch]

saw that ur taking requests again (missed u sm bae) 🤭 maybe smth along the lines of going to winter wonderland w jude and him being afraid of the rides ?

being with jude always came with many ups and downs.

he made you laugh, was there for you whenever you needed a shoulder to cry on, never made you feel like an option, but a priority.

and though you missed him dearly whenever he went on an away game, he still tried to spend as much time with you as possible, proving you that he was being serious about your relationship.

so when you asked him to go to winter wonderland, he didn’t even think twice about booking the tickets.

and even though jude and you were ready about the ups and downs that came with a relationship, he certainly wasn’t ready for the ups and downs of the rollercoaster rides at wonderland.

clutching your arm, jude tried to push you to the food courts, “babe, let’s eat first, yeah?”

rolling your eyes, you stand still. you couldn’t believe your boyfriend was genuinely scared of some ride here.

“jude, please! it’s not even that bad-“

“fuck off, i saw some guys throw up into that bin there. i aint doing this, babe. i have a bright future ahead that i don’t wanna risk.” he cut you off, shaking his head and dragging you away from the ride.

sighing, you walk along and find yourself in front of a crepe stand, waiting in line.

you speak up again, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it slightly, “we will try at least one ride, okay? if you still don’t like it then, we could, i don’t know, like, maybe try some games? win a plushie, ‘kay?”

jude nodded, eyes looking at you with much adoration and gratitude that words couldn’t describe. he leaned forward, pressing a kiss against your forehead before moving along the queue.

as soon as you guys finished your crepes, you move to the the rollercoaster jude wasn’t very fond of. and though he tried to talk out his way of going on there, at the end, you guys sat inside a cart and buckled up.

“if i die, just know that i ate your last cookie, and i am so sorry.” jude said, hands shaking slightly as he closed his eyes. he looked petrified, but also oh so cute that you almost forgot what he just confessed to you.

“what-“

however before you could scold your boyfriend, the ride began and you guys shot up towards the first heightened point of it.

it was going quite well, even if the wind was harsh against your face. as you glance up at your boyfriend, you can’t help but burst out laughing.

eyes squeezed shut, lips in a straight line and one hand on the rail, as the other found its way on top of yours to hold.

“babe!” you laugh, fingers intertwining with his. “open your eyes!”

“no!”

as you guys slowly come to an end, with the adrenaline still in its heights, you drag jude out of the cart and to the photobooth of the ride, eyes wildly searching for your picture.

“babe, look!” you point at the picture.

judes eyes were closed shut, his hands had a deadly grip on the rail, while you looked like you were having the time of your life.

“dude!” jude laughs at himself, his hand on your waist as he pushes your body closer to his, “i look like a fuckin’ whimp!” he continued, now looking at you.

“you want it?”

“and have our kids think ‘m a whimp?” jude denies, shaking his head.

his hand travels up and down your waist, eyes full of love as he still looks at you.

“well then we should ride another one, so we can have a pretty picture, no?”

“fuck off, i already feel dizzy.”

—————————

and they say romance is dead

[chiliger]

Commander Cody finds himself in a galaxy that is not his own.

(Okay I had to repost this because my dumb butt deleted the original 🥲. If people don’t mind reblogging this post again I would really appreciate it.)

Ficlet under the cut.

The moment he had realized this wasn’t his galaxy, his dimension, Cody knew this meeting was inevitable. He’d hoped to avoid it, but that feeling in his gut always loved to prove him otherwise.

Standing before him was his face. And no, not the face of a brother. This wasn’t just one of the millions he had grown up with.

This was him. He could feel it.

An alternate version of him, with colder eyes and harder expression. But still, he was Cody. Or rather, he was Kote.

Cody swallowed down a dry lump in his throat, not allowing his own gaze to falter under Kote’s scrutiny. “Please,” he started, hoping that his voice didn’t waver. “I’m not supposed to be here. The Jedi… Our brothers are in danger.”

“Your brothers,” Kote shot back, eyes narrowed. The way he spoke the words sent a chill down Cody’s spine, as though being a Vod was something beneath him. “Why should I care what happens to them?”

Cody’s thoughts froze for half a second, then he blinked hard and shook his head to push pass the shock. Never in a millions years would he dream of hearing a clone say anything along those words, much less from himself.

But this was a version of him. This was Kote Fett, and he was obviously raised under the guidance and views of the Prime. Cody briefly wondered if Boba existed in this dimension before forcing his thoughts back on track. He needed to convince Mand’alor Kote, somehow.

“Look,” he half whispered. “You don’t have to help me. I can find my own way back. You’ll never have to see me again.”

Kote slightly tilted his head, and with it, Cody felt a sharp spike of heat in his head. He gasped and dug his nails into his palms, strengthening his mental shields at the same time as throwing back a spike of his own, causing Kote to stagger one step back.

“Kote,” Prime chided from the side wall, unmoving. It was short and clipped, but his tone carried a low warning with it.

Cody bit back a groan, the sudden headache making him lose focus for a moment. He breathed roughly past the mental pain, instead concentrating on the feel of the cuffs holding his arms up, digging into the skin of his wrists. It was something physical. He could deal with physical.

Kote let out a grunt in acknowledgment, making a quick cut sign with his free hand, the other holding his helmet. He gazed back at Cody, a glint of intrigue now in his eyes. “Huh,” he breathed out.

Cody stared right back, blocking out whatever feelings were suddenly directed at him. “Just… just let me go.”

Kote’s brow furrowed, just enough for Cody to notice. He stepped closer, until they were less then an arm’s length away, face-to-face. His eyes rove over Cody’s face, and Cody could feel him prodding at his shields for a weak point. Cody built up another layer, shutting Kote out.

The Mand’alor blinked, a flash of surprise there and gone. His eyes suddenly grew cold. He spoke, and his voice was barely above a whisper. “Now why would I do that?”

[thetransintransformers]

Tryst (18+)

Cycmags Softcore basically

Stuck in the brig.

Servos chained above his head.

Listening to the sounds of Galvatron ranting and raving about his eventual demise.

No, not quite the situation Ultra Magnus wanted to find himself in.

How he allowed himself to be caught like this was still a mystery. The schematics he ran on how he would be getting in and out of the Decepticon base, the time he spent knowing exactly how every process within his mission was going to take, and hell, it’s not like he was dealing with much competition. 

As powerful as Galvatron was, he was a lunatic now, more obsessed with beating down his subordinates than actually getting anything for his cause done. Much like the real Megatron but, the distinction was still there. Then there were the sweeps: intimidating enough to look at but ultimately, so . . .  well Ultra Magnus hesitated on the word, how callous it sounded, but they were so DUMB. One vain, one a coward, one simply playing leader while having no clue of how to truly manage their cohorts. 

Yet, were they really so incompetent if they captured him? Or was Ultra Magnus just worse off than he realized? No, that wasn’t it, neither side. Because it was not the sweeps that caught him.

It was Cyclonus.

Cyclonus, he truly, was an odd one out amongst these new Decepticons. 

He remembered their time well as Quintesson killing jar combatants. Cyclonus was stoic, cold, calculated, a brave and noble warrior. The two seemed to find equal ground on opposite sides, a fierce loyalty to their sides. Where they differed was Ultra Magnus’ sense of justice, and Cyclonus’ need to prove worth. Yet somehow, those values still aligned all too well for them. The wonders Cyclonus could do if he was an autobot, but alas. Cyclonus was made in the image of evil, he would follow Galvatron to the ends of the galaxy. That was something Ultra Magnus would have to spend the next 5 cycles researching on. If he was given five cycles now that he awaited a swift death. Perhaps it would be Cyclonus himself to carry out the hit. At least then, Ultra Magnus’ pride wouldn’t be so wounded.

The door of his prison zoomed up, and in stepped a familiar purple-clad figure. Speak of the devil, it was his ghost again.

Cyclonus stared down at Ultra Magnus, gazes meeting one another in an intense glare. Ultra Magnus could barely make out the sound of Cyclonus humming, as he drew forth a gun. 

Game over, it seemed.

Ultra Magnus would not hang his helm though as he spoke. “Come to finish me off? Do it then. If you were hoping for information I would never–” BANG.

Ultra Magnus shuttered his optics behind his visor, gritting his teeth as the shot rang out. He held his arms down infront of him for some type of protection.

Wait.

His arms? He could move them? Ultra Magnus’ optics widened as he looked down to his now free servos. The mech craned his neck up to see where his arms were previously held hostage. A smoking black shot against the wall and broken chains were above his head. “Up. Now.” Cyclonus commanded, throwing the gun to the side. Despite his order, Ultra Magnus still did not move fast enough for his liking, so he took one of the other’s arms in his grip and pulled. Ultra Magnus stumbled to his pedes, looking at the Decepticon SIC in utter confusion. “You had the perfect chance to kill me and you–” Before he could finish the sentiment, Cyclonus was pulling the Autobot by the collar, and pressing their lips tightly together. Once again, Magnus’ optics went wide, stuttering even to comprehend what had just happened. Cyclonus even now seemed so . . . focused. Slotting their lips together as if they’d always fit so perfectly. Magnus nearly let his optics close, let himself sink into the moment before Cyclonus was pulling away, leaving the Autobot breathless. It took a moment to gather his thoughts before Ultra Magnus was stuttering. Gods, he was stuttering? What had the warship done to him? “I . . . you . . . why did you–” “Consider that your 5-click head start.” The warship interrupted, already pushing Ultra Magnus to leave the cell. “The others will be distracted only for so long.” “Wait, wait!” Ultra Magnus pushed back, turning to him. “Why are you helping me? Wouldn’t it mean the world to your leader if I was dead?” “Yes. It would.” Cyclonus answered back, without the slightest hint of hesitation. Well, good to see his priorities were still straight. “But,” Cyclonus began again. “It is . . . not honorable. You are meant to die on the battlefield, us, in glorious combat. Not to rot in a cell.” Cyclonus informed, rather poetic for the time. Ultra Magnus raised an optic ridge. “So this isn’t over.” Cyclonus nodded. “Not nearly. Now go!”

---- When they met again, the roles could not have been more reversed. Cyclonus hanged off the side of an autobot cargo ship, claws digging deep into the metal, threatening to loosen. One wing hung damaged and smoking. Even if it wasn’t painful to transform, there was no way he could manage himself in the air long enough to not crash. This was, pitifully so, the end for the Decepticon SIC.

Cyclonus mustered what breath he could still, and slowly let his servos unpierce the metal of the autobot ship. He closed his optics, waiting for the fall to brush past him and into oblivion. As his servo fell away from the ship, a hand from within grabbed his wrist roughly, stopping his fall before it even began. Cyclonus’ optics opened and he looked up to see a familiar autobot. “Magnus!” He called out before he was pulled up into the ship. Nothing else was exchanged between the two, as soon as Cyclonus was pulled aboard, Ultra Magnus had dipped him, slotting their lips into a kiss, not unlike when Magnus was kept in prison. It was Cyclonus’ turn for his optics to widen, dumbfounded as Ultra Magnus pulled away from the kiss. “What happened to dying on the battlefield, huh?” the autobot spoke, a smile twitching up on his features. How. How idiotic. How foolish. How casual. How–oh gods above, how charming. 

Cyclonus lunged, arms wrapped tight around Ultra Magnus’ helm, causing the Autobot to stumble back against his own control panel. The kisses started again, heavier, hotter, than before. Forget the fact that mashed-around servos were changing their flight patterns. Cyclonus pressed close, as did Ultra Magnus, taking the slightest gulps of air when the warship allowed him to.

Cyclonus pulled back, taking in a deep breath, eyes half-lidded. Still, he panted as he crooned, “Why must we always seek the unattainable?” “Shut up.” Ultra Magnus rather ineloquently interrupted, going for another kiss. “Just shut up.”

They went on like that for far longer than what was necessary. Not that any of this interaction was necessary. Not that their interaction in the Decepticon cell was necessary.

And yet. It became necessary for them. 

The paint transfers were a tad of a challenge, but nothing a well-crafted explanation couldn’t sweep away. ----

Their third tryst together was far less easy to explain.

Ultra Magnus sat at the edge of a berth, lavender scratches of paint covering his frame. The only sound that filled the room was a few deep breaths in the dark. By his side, a servo wrapped against one shoulder, while the other moved his helm to look his paramour in the optics. Cyclonus, with a satisfied smirk, pressed a kiss against Ultra Magnus’ cheek. “My breath must mingle with yours, lest it feel wrong.” he breathed out. Ultra Magnus hummed. “You just come up with that? It’s beautiful.” He had to admit, raising a hand to cup Cyclonus’ helm in his own, and giving him a more forward peck. “Cyclonus,” he began, letting the warship nuzzle into his servo. “We could be more than this.” Cyclonus answered, “Whatever do you mean?”

Ultra Magnus let a softer smile cross his features. “You could, well, you could join me. You’d be a fine autobot–” Ultra Magnus barely got another word in before the hand that just caressed his shoulder was at his throat, pushing him back on the berth. Cyclonus narrowed ruby optics, a sneer coming to his features. “Choose your words wisely, Ultra Magnus.” He spoke, getting close to the other’s face. “Do not ever ask me to betray my lord.” Ultra Magnus choked for a moment before he nodded as best he could. “Noted.”

Cyclonus loosened his grip, but he did not move from his position. Instead, his sneer turned to a smirk. “Shall we continue?” The warship soon was throwing his leg over the side of Ultra Magnus’ frame, straddling the Autobot's waist as he leaned down. Ultra Magnus chuckled, still collecting the breath that was knocked out of him. “Well, when you move like that.” He hummed. Soon, the Autobot’s face fell into bliss, brought into a few more kisses, that traveled down his neck cables. “Magnus,” Cyclonus whispered, “Your talents are wasted under a faulty prime like Rodimus.” He began. Odd dirty talk to have, but Ultra Magnus couldn’t help himself. This sort of talk was wrong to indulge in, but he pushed. “Go on.” Cyclonus traveled lower on his neck. “Your skills.” A kiss. “Your tactical mastery.” Another kiss. “Mmm,” Ultra Magnus let out, so perfectly in the palm of Cyclonus’ servos. “Surely you have wondered, how much farther your efforts would be appreciated under Decepticon colors.” There it was. Ultra Magnus used an arm to push Cyclonus up from his neck, breaking their contact. Magnus spoke, firm as ever. “Cyclonus. I don’t ask you to betray your lord. You don’t ask me to betray my cause. Got it?” For a moment, the room went cold. Cyclonus’ heated gaze turned. “Noted.” He echoed from before. “Will this be our last rendezvous then?” Ultra Magnus let an optic ridge go up and teased. “Hey now, I didn’t say that.” a chuckle followed, and the mood had been restored. Cyclonus hummed and leaned down for another kiss. “So then. Where were we?”

[fraugwinska]

If you haven't read Part 1, click >> here <<

Husk had just finished the last of the sandwiches gem had left him in the fridge when he heard a loud bang coming from the upstairs. Given by the sudden chill and his neck hairs standing up he knew a few things:Alastor was back, cogito ergo sum was Gem.And his boss was majorly pissed off.

Husk’s eyebrow twitched, his tell he had groomed to suppress over the years of growing into the role of the gambling overlord returning with mocking obtrusiveness over the years he was under the chain and ball of his former friend. Well… if he ever had been. A friend that is. Certainly not after his stunt Alastor had pulled on that fateful night. And definitely not since he had started to rattle the glowing green chain that weighted so heavy on his neck for years when he reminded Husk of his afterlife’s biggest failure. But Gem felt different. His fatal one-time lapse aside Husk prided himself in seeing through people, able to take accurate judgements of character that proved to be true. She had something dark inside her, but not malicious. She didn’t seek power, or control, quite the otherwise. She had seemed hell-bent on giving it up. And while he still could only guess what the fuck she wanted in her life upstairs to be so desperate and go as far as to make a deal with Alastor, Husk was as sure as he hadn’t been for a long time that Gem had made the decision out of a reason that wasn’t despicable, manipulative or pretentious. That she was a person that meant the things she said and kept the promises she made. Which, in turn, and despite his best efforts, had made him soft towards her, reminding him of a life so far away from his memories it were merely feelings, not scenes he rememberedIf it’d be Husk, Al could’ve been screwed over by Valentino and he would’ve had nothing but a good laugh and a drink to celebrate it. But his boss’s rage could only mean that her plan had taken a hitch, and Husk knew that it was her head on the chopping block… which made him worried. Loud, angry stomps from the staircase made him turn his head towards the oncoming figure. Not Alastor, not Gem, but Angel, practically fuming with an expression Husk had rarely seen on him, came storming to the bar, throwing himself on a stool, crossing his arms on the countertop and burying his head in the four limbs with a mixture of an angry growl and a frustrated whine. Husk sighed, taking two shot glasses and a bottle of the nearest liquor and slid toward the hunched, slender figure. “’Yo wanna drink first or tell me what happened?” “Drink.” was the muffled answer, choked by the fluff of Angel’s chest and his badly hidden sob. So double it is. The glasses filled, he pushed the fuller one towards the spider and waited. Long fingers in pink gloves reached for it, and Angel finally lifted his head to reveal a face full of tears as he downed whatever it was in that bottle in one quick go. It wasn’t the first time for Husk to see Angel cry. Over the past weeks since Alastor had summoned him here, the young sinner had been at his bar almost every night. Husk had been more than annoyed, not at the endless flat flirtations, sexual jokes and not-so-subtle innuendos he threw his way. He knew these types – young, thoughtless sinners, promiscuous men throwing out the net and grabbing whatever they could when they reeled it in before another could get their stubby little fingers on it, no matter if they wanted it or not. Too greedy and naïve for their own good. No, he wasn’t annoyed about that. What itched him was how goddamn ingenuine Angel was. Fake. A show to be put on, hiding behind the mask of the unbridled, permissive  porn actor, content with how his afterlife turned out to be. When it clearly was far from the truth. And Husk, even without his history, would’ve seen through the spiders bluff with no problems, it was written all over him. Hurt. Fear. Anger. Deflection. Disassociation. Guideless. Normally, Husk wouldn’t have cared, but little by little he had grated away at Angel’s façade, calling him out on his performance when he got too much on his nerves. And the longer he did it, the more Angel, after throwing tantrums and hissy-fits and scenes… let his mask slip a little more around him. Let Husk see the vulnerable sight of the man underneath. And that man… that man was someone Husk came to like, or even more so, to…

“She made a deal with Val, Husk.” Husk felt his claws push out of his paws against the smooth surface of the shot glass he was holding, and took a swipe, breathing through his nose as he let himself feel the burn of the liquid down his numbing throat. Of course he knew Gem had been planning for exactly this scenario, and yet it still filled him with a feeling of convulsion to think about it. “I know, I was there with the others when she made the plan t’do it.” Husk waved away the outraged inhale of the oncoming rant Angel wanted to release, adding before the spider had even a chance to get going. “’Save ‘yoself the sermon, Ange. What did ‘yo expect when she came to ‘yo, asking ‘yo to bring her and Al to that slimy asshat 'yo call a boss? Yo think that pimp would’ve let Gem come up to him with a demand like hers without an offer in return? We both know he isn’t one to just give handouts without takin’ it back with interest.” Angel groaned, pulling on his hair as he practically melted onto the counter. “I know, but I thought…” Husk reached out and, as gently as he could, eased the force behind the hands pulling on the white, soft strands. Angel took a shaking breath, letting go, his shoulders dropping as his hands hit his lap. “I thought Al would save her. That he wouldn’t let her do this. That he’d have a plan, or ten, doesn’t he always brag about being a fucking smart-ass- fuck!”

Husk left the hand he reached out expectantly empty. Instead, he put down the rag he had used to clean out the two shotglasses and leaned on the counter over to Angel. “In a way, he did. Who do ‘yo think helped her build her deal proposal?” The look he got was best described as scandalized, but Husk ignored it and looked away for a moment. It cost him enough to control his bitterness over Alastor’s power over him, it would’ve been too much to be encouraged to rant about him by Angel’s furious disappointment in the overlord. “’Yo know, I’m the last one to find something good to say about the guy, but… if there’s one thing, it’s her. He jus’… doesn’t know it yet...” The words felt oddly sticky in his mouth, and he clicked his tongue to swallow away the bitter taste that they left unsaid. “And I’m sure as hell he isn’t near ready to hear it. But he could’ve told her not to go, and she wouldn’t have, ‘yo know that as much as I do. But she wanted to do it – for you. She believes ‘yo got so much mo’ to show hell than the cheap-ass movies that son of a bitch makes you do… that you’re worth the troubles… and she’s not the only one.” He took a quick breath, hesitating for a moment before he reached out and put his paw in the still open hand. Through the godforsaken fur he was punished with he could feel the fabric of Angel’s gloves and the warmth underneath them. They felt almost fragile, even though Husk had no illusions about what strength they could hold… he’d seen Angel practice on his grip – for the poles he had explained with a grin that lacked any humor, which made him unreasonably annoyed. But almost without a second Angel wove his fingers in between the thick, furry paw pads, holding it with almost cautious care in place as he looked up at him with his mismatched eyes. Husk hummed and turned his eyes towards the rows of liquor, hiding the fleeting moment of embarrassment he felt after years as he felt his nose twitch and his cheeks flush under the black fur, for once glad that his skin was hidden by the hairs he usually loathed. Maybe he was an old fool, not learning of his mistakes, but in that moment he wanted to allow himself something good, even if it was just the illusion of a chance of something good in this whole mess. The moment passed, and he gently pulled away before he’d do something even more stupid… and Angel let him, giving him a faint smile with furrowed brows in understanding. “All I’m sayin’ is… she could’ve just drop it after Alastor said no. And hell be damned he said No. But she pressed on despite it, until he said okay, which says somethin’… And the best he could’ve done is goin’ with her to make sure she wouldn’t agree to more than she bargained fo’.”

Angel stared at him for a while, biting on his lips as if he wanted to chew on the questions Husk knew he wanted to ask and Angel knew he wouldn’t be able to answer. As so many nights before, the cat demon saw another crack in Angel’s well-maintained mask – and wouldn’t it have been under the current circumstances, Husk would’ve been happy to see the crumbles. But what peeked through was a deep desperation, sadness… and finally, the spider hung his head and whispered through silent tears. “I screamed at her. I said so many horrible things to her, I was mad and angry at myself for… well, for everything. For Val, for having been so stupid which got me in all of this mess, for making her do this, for me being… UGH! And I let it out on her… I am such an asshole.”

Husk took a moment before he sat a glass of water and his monogrammed tissue in front of him.

“Maybe. But luckily fo’ both of us, that won’t make her give up on us.”

[nxzz-skz]

collision (skz x reader)

ᯓ★ idol!minho falling for his enemy fem!reader

ᯓ★warnings: minho is kinda mean at first, enemies to lovers, kissing

ᯓ★note: i'm starting a tag list so leave a comment or ask to be added!

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

This wasn't how it was meant to be. This was supposed to be you big break. Landing a choreography role with JYP Entertainment had been a dream ever since you'd started training as a dancer. This was your chance to work on something big, to get you noticed-helping choreograph Stray Kids' comeback. you'd spend days studying their movements, watched every stage performance, and prepared endlessly for this moment.

But then it happened.

He happened.

From the moment you first met Lee Minho, you knew he was here for trouble. Handsome, talented, and annoying full of himself, he had that untouchable aura of someone who didn't feel the need to prove themselves. He carried himself with an effortless swag that struck all your nerves. And to make matters worse, he clearly didn't like you either.

The first rehearsal was proof of that.

"It's too stiff," he said, eyes locked on the monitor showing playback of the group's routine. "That transition doesn't flow."

You stiffened, gripping your phone a little tighter. "It's supposed to have a pause there. It's deliberate."

"Well, it looks awkward. And stupid." he shot back, still watching the monitor. "If you're going for 'deliberate,' you missed the mark."

"Maybe it looks awkward because you're not hitting it properly," you retorted. The other members let out a collective "ooh," exchanging amused glances.

Minho raised an eyebrow at you, lips curving into a slow, disbelieving smirk. It was the kind of smirk that said, Oh, you think you can challenge me? He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with amusement and something sharper.

"Alright," he said, stepping forward and clearing his throat. "Why don't you show me how it's done then. You're clearly the expert here."

"Gladly," you shot back, slamming your phone on the table and striding to the centre of the room.

Everyone sat down and watched as you executed the move with surgical precision, your body snapping into each position with absolute control. When you finished, breathing heavily and running a hand through your hair, you turned to face him. "Like that."

There was a pause, the kind of pause that made your heart pound in your chest. His eyes scanned over you slowly, studying every single one of your features. And then, to your complete surprise, he slowly nodded.

"Not bad," he muttered, already turning away, grabbing a bottle of water.

Not bad.

That was only the start of it.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The following weeks were exhausting. Between choreographing new moves and teaching the members, you were pushed to your limit. But your biggest source of frustration wasn’t the moves. It was Minho.

He questioned every decision, challenged every suggestion, and made you second-guess everything you thought you knew. Your exchanges became the highlight of rehearsals—cutting remarks, sharp looks, and just enough chemistry to make the others watch you both like a live-action drama. Han, in particular, loved it.

“Can you two fight more often?” he teased one afternoon. “It’s better than TV.”

You scowled at him, throwing a towel at his head. “Shut up, Han.”

But the teasing didn’t stop. The others began making comments like, "What’s the bet for how long before they kill each other?” and "That’s not tension, that’s foreplay.” You ignored them, but it was impossible not to notice the way Minho’s eyes lingered on you just a little too long.

And then one night, everything shifted.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

It was 11:50 PM, and you were still at the practice room, reviewing footage. Everyone else had left hours ago. Your eyes were sore, and you were on the verge of giving up when you heard the creak of the door.

You looked up, expecting Bang Chan, but instead, it was him.

Minho stepped inside, bare faced, bangs let down to fall in front of his eyes, his hoodie pulled low, his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked just as tired as you felt, but he didn't say anything as he walked up to sit beside you on the bench.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he muttered, eyes on the monitor.

“Could say the same to you,” you replied, not looking at him. You kept your eyes on the footage, scrolling back to the part of the routine you’d been obsessing over.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the monitor. But then, he broke the silence.

“You’re too harsh on yourself,” he said quietly.

Your fingers froze on the playback controls. Slowly, you turned to him. “What?”

He leaned back, resting his head on the wall, his eyes still on the screen. “You’re tired, and it’s messing with your head. That move isn’t as bad as you think.”

You blinked at him, not sure how to respond. He wasn’t wrong, but hearing it from him—the person you’d been butting heads with for weeks—made it hit differently. You stared at him, searching for any sign that he was joking or teasing.

He wasn’t.

The silence between you became filled with something neither of you wanted to name. You were so used to bickering with him, so used to trading insults, that this moment of quiet understanding felt like unfamiliar territory. You weren’t sure what to do with it.

So you said the only thing you could. “Thanks, Minho.”

He glanced at you, his lips quirking into a small, rare smile.

“Don’t mention it.”

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The next few weeks were different. You still argued, but it wasn’t as sharp as before. It felt more like… banter. The others noticed it too.

“You two are acting weird,” said Changbin one day, narrowing his eyes at you both. “Did something happen?”

“Nope,” you replied too quickly. Minho snorted.

“Yeah, she’s just finally learning to listen,” he said, giving you a smug look.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snapped, though you couldn’t hide your smile.

It became a pattern. He’d tease, you’d fire back. But beneath it all, there was something new—something neither of you could ignore.

Then came the scandal.

The leaked video of Hyunjin at a club with a girl hit social media like a bomb. Fans were angry, the company was scrambling, and the mood in the practice room was tense. No one talked, and even Minho, who always had something to say, was quiet.

It all came to a head one day when he lost it during rehearsal.

“Can you stop messing up that move?!” he snapped at Jeongin. “It’s not that hard.”

“Minho,” you warned. “That’s enough.”

He turned on you, eyes roaring with frustration. “Don’t tell me what’s enough.”

You felt your heart tighten in your chest. “I’m not telling you. I’m asking you not to take it out on them.”

He froze.

The room went quiet. Everyone glanced between you two like they were waiting for something to explode. Minho’s jaw clenched, his eyes dark and unreadable, but instead of lashing out again, he turned on his heel and left.

“Go after him,” Felix muttered to you.

“Why me?” you asked, even though you knew the answer.

“Because,” he said with a knowing look, “he’ll actually listen to you.”

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

You found him on the rooftop, leaning against the metal railing, his head bowed.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t tell you to leave either.

After a long pause, he spoke. “They work so hard,” he said, voice rough. “I just… I don’t want them to get hurt.”

Your heart ached. This was the Minho no one saw—the one who loved fiercely and protected his members at all costs. You stepped closer, your hands gripping the cold railing beside his.

“I know,” you whispered. “They know too.”

His head turned slightly, eyes meeting yours. You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly, his hand was on your cheek, fingers warm against your skin.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured, voice so low you barely heard it.

“Right back at you,” you whispered.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It was raw and unspoken emotions spilling out all at once. His hand cupped your face as you gripped his hoodie, pulling him closer, like you’d both been waiting for this moment for too long.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

"Don’t think this means you’ve won,” he said, grinning.

You laughed, eyes still closed. “I think we both did.”

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

ᯓ★ Send an ask or leave a comment if there's any fics or tropes you could recommend for me to write!

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[ficnation]

Chapter 3

Series: The Cockroach

Word count: 2,4k+

Pairings: Negan Smith x Reader; Lucille Smith x Reader; Negan Smith x Lucille Smith

Warnings: usual twd themes, slight mention of SA

A/n: Let me know what you think! Slowly getting back to writing and this series was and always will be my roman empire. Also I hope you love my boy Murphy just as much as I do 🥰

If you're not on the taglist but would like to be tagged let me know!

The Cockroach Masterlist || Main Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

The morning sun was warm against your skin, but you were too drained to care. Dehydrated, starving, and trudging along an endless road, there was no energy left for even a sliver of appreciation. You passed Murphy without a word, too caught up in your own exhaustion.

Not many things could dampen the mood between you two, but hunger and the apocalypse apparently made the list. Your relationship with Murphy had always been easy—built on years of jokes, teasing, and an unspoken understanding. But now? Now, for the first time, there was actual tension, and you fucking hated it.

“Would you stop ignoring me?” Murphy groaned, throwing his arms out like a dramatic teenager.

You turned on your heel, crossing your arms over your chest like one. “I told you we need to get to Lucille.”

“That is miles away,” he pointed out, exasperation leaking into his voice. “Do you want me to teleport us there, or should I summon a flying unicorn to give us a lift?”

“We could get a car,” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

“The roads are blocked.”

You narrowed your gaze, closing the space between you both with fast, determined steps. “Murphy, I can't let her go through this alone. Especially not now, when all hell’s breaking loose.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m sure Negan’s with her.”

You snorted so hard your cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk. Murphy grinned, knowing damn well he’d set you up for that exact reaction.

“Yeah, we both know he’s not,” you scoffed, shaking your head. “That man only cares about his stupid ass. If there was a competition for ‘World’s Most Self-Absorbed Dickhead,’ he’d be hoisting the trophy and giving a speech about how he single-handedly saved humanity.”

Murphy smirked. “At least he’d make it entertaining.”

“Oh, for sure. He’d probably thank himself twice and then dedicate the award to his reflection.”

Murphy huffed a laugh, but the amusement faded just as quickly. His face softened, and you knew the next thing out of his mouth wasn’t going to be another joke. “I get it,” he said, voice quieter now. “You need to be there for her. But I need you to be realistic. We don’t have food, we barely have water, and we’re running on fumes. If we rush in without a plan, we’re both gonna end up dead in a ditch.”

You hated that he was making sense. You wanted to argue, to do something instead of just standing here talking about how impossible everything felt.

You let out a long breath, shaking your head. “Okay, fine. What’s your realistic plan, then?”

Murphy’s lips twitched, just a little. “Step one: We find food so you don’t murder me in my sleep.”

Your stomach chose that exact moment to growl violently, proving his point.

“Shut up,” you muttered, and he grinned.

“We’re adding water to that list too, by the way,” he teased, tapping your shoulder before walking ahead. “You’re already cranky as hell, and I don’t need you passing out on me.”

You rolled your eyes but followed after him, muttering something about how he was the cranky one.

For now, the mission to get to Lucille had to wait. But you’d get there. You had to.

You’d managed to ransack an abandoned car for some food and water—if you could call a half-crushed granola bar and a bottle of warm Gatorade “food and water.” It wasn’t much, but it had to do. You were learning quickly that the apocalypse wasn’t exactly the buffet of resources you’d hoped for.

Apparently, you were late to the whole end-of-the-world thing, having spent the first week—or more—holed up in your apartment, wasting away in bed out of sheer boredom. At the time, you figured if society was going to collapse, you might as well be well-rested for it. Turned out that wasn’t the best strategy, considering most of the supplies had already been picked clean by the time you stepped outside.

Now, food was scarce, the gas was drained from most vehicles, and the town looked like it had been evacuated overnight. No hesitation, no looking back. The second the dead started walking, people got the hell out while they still could.

Smart move.

“I thought most of the population here was old people,” you mumbled under your breath, kicking an empty can along the cracked asphalt. The rattle of metal against pavement echoed in the otherwise quiet street. “Where the hell did they all go?”

Murphy hummed beside you, his fingers squeezing yours absentmindedly as he swung your joined hands between you. “Maybe they were super-elders,” he mused. “Super-speed, teleportation—whole damn X-Men package.”

You snorted. “Yeah, right. ‘Grandpa Lightning’ just zipped out of here at Mach speed.”

“Or,” he continued, deadpan, “they all turned into zombies but, like, polite ones. Just wandering around a retirement home somewhere, playing bridge and moaning about how they miss the good ol’ days.”

You chuckled, the ridiculous image softening the tension in your chest. Even with the world ending around you, Murphy still had a way of keeping things light.

He gave your hand another squeeze. “Anyway, we need to find somewhere to fortificate for the night.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned to him with a skeptical look. “Really? Fortificate?”

He arched a brow. “Yeah?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not a word. And if it is, you definitely used it wrong.”

Murphy scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ms. English Major. My bad for not conjugating my fake words properly.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “I think you meant fortify.”

“Or maybe,” he smirked, “you just lack the vision to appreciate my linguistic creativity.”

You huffed a laugh and nudged his shoulder before scanning the area ahead. The street was lined with darkened storefronts, their windows either shattered or eerily intact. A few houses sat in the distance, but you weren’t eager to test if they were occupied—by the living or the dead.

Then, you spotted it.

A rundown convenience store, its metal security gate partially bent but still hanging on. The sign above it flickered weakly, half the letters missing, leaving behind something that read “M_R__’_ M_RT.”

“Murphy’s Mart,” you announced, pointing at it. “Perfect. Looks like the universe wanted to name something after you before it collapsed.”

He grinned. “Damn right it did. Let’s see if my store has any decent snacks left.”

Together, you made your way over, slipping through the damaged gate and into the dimly lit interior. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of dust and old, melted candy. Most of the shelves were ransacked, but there were still a few treasures left—a couple of dented canned goods, a few bags of chips that hadn’t been torn open, and a lone can of beer sitting proudly on the counter like some post-apocalyptic holy grail.

Murphy snatched the beer immediately. “Oh, hell yes. This night just got so much better.”

You grabbed a bag of chips and plopped down onto an overturned crate. “I hope you know we’re splitting that.”

“Uh, excuse you?” Murphy clutched the can to his chest protectively. “This was my mart. Clearly, this beer is meant for me.”

You threw one of the chips at him. “We’re sharing it, dumbass.”

He sighed dramatically before flopping down next to you, cracking open the can. “Fine. But only ‘cause I’m feeling generous.”

You both took turns sipping from the warm, probably expired beer, passing it back and forth as you leaned against the empty shelves.

For a moment, with the faint neon glow of the half-broken sign flickering outside and the distant, eerie silence of the world beyond the store, it almost felt… normal.

But then, as if on cue, a distant groan echoed from outside.

You and Murphy exchanged a look.

“Guess the super-elders didn’t teleport that far,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes, shoving the last of the chips into your mouth before pulling out your knife. “Come on, genius. Time to fortificate.”

He grinned. “See? It’s catching on.”

And with that, the two of you got to work, reinforcing your little shelter for the night, knowing damn well this was only the beginning.

The convenience store’s counter wasn’t exactly a luxury bed, but it was what you had for the night. You shifted, trying to find a spot that didn’t have something digging into your back—a loose screw, maybe, or some other part of the register determined to make you miserable. The ceiling above you was a dull, off-white, and you found yourself staring at it without really seeing anything.

The fire you and Murphy had managed to scrape together from broken shelves flickered weakly in its makeshift pit on the cold tile floor. It wasn’t much—barely enough heat to chase away the chill, hardly enough light to make the room feel less empty. You’d shut off the store’s generator in the hopes that the flickering neon sign wouldn’t act as a beacon, inviting the dead to come clawing at your doorstep.

Didn’t mean the silence was any less suffocating.

“Do you think she’s alright?” you asked, still staring at the ceiling, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Murphy let out an exaggerated groan from his place on the floor. “God, you’re like a lovestruck teenager today, aren’t you?”

You didn’t bother looking at him, but you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“She’s fine,” he added, rolling onto his side to face you. “You haven’t already forgotten what a fierce little lady she is, have you?”

You finally turned your head, raising an eyebrow. “Little? She’s taller than you.”

“She is not,” Murphy scoffed, affronted.

“Murphy, she could bench press you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you that blinded by love?”

“Might be,” you admitted with a soft chuckle. But just as quickly as the smile came, it faded. Your fingers picked at the edge of your jacket absentmindedly. “I miss her.”

Murphy sighed, folding his arms behind his head. “Sometimes I wonder if you hate her husband just because he is her husband.”

“I do not,” you shot back, but there wasn’t much conviction behind it.

Murphy smirked. “You're right. If hating someone was that easy, I’d already be six feet under by now. You still haven’t forgiven me for sleeping with your best friend in high school.”

Your head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing into a glare. “Is that why you think I dropped out?”

Murphy shrugged, unbothered. “Wouldn’t be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“If I wasn’t sure about killing you before, Murphy, I definitely am now.”

He cackled, completely unfazed.

Before he could get another smartass remark in, a loud crash shattered the fragile quiet of the store.

Glass breaking.

Loud.

Really fucking loud.

You and Murphy locked eyes for half a second, completely still.

Then, the realization hit.

You could have expected this. Should have. But apparently, between the two of you, there was only one functioning brain cell, and you’d been passing it back and forth all day.

The store had been secured against the dead. But the living?

They’d found a way through.

The sound of boots crunching over broken glass sent a chill down your spine.

Someone had just stepped inside like they owned the place.

“Hey, calm down. There’s nothing here,” you said, raising your hands in a show of peace.

The muzzle of the gun pressed against your forehead, its cold steel a sharp contrast to the heat prickling your skin.

“Yeah, we definitely believe you, little girl,” the man sneered.

“Little girl?” Murphy scoffed, letting out a dry chuckle despite the knife digging into his back. “She could bench press you.”

You shot him a glare. “Murphy, now is not the time.”

The man with the gun curled his lip, unimpressed. “Hey, man, tell your bitch to shut up.”

Your head tilted slightly, eyebrows raising in disbelief. “You think I need to shut up?” You let the silence stretch, then deadpanned, “Be for real.”

Murphy’s expression twisted as if he was holding back a groan. “Honeybun, please shut up,” he hissed, his tone shifting to actual concern when the knife was pushed harder against his spine. It hadn’t broken skin yet, but Murphy wasn’t Jesus—he wasn’t about to test resurrection theory. He knew where he was headed if he died, and he had no plans to go just yet.

The gunman scoffed, shaking his head. “Mouthy little thing, huh? I kinda like that.”

Your stomach turned.

The second man—the one holding Murphy hostage—chuckled darkly. “Bet she’d be fun to break in.”

Murphy stilled.

Your jaw clenched.

The gunman’s eyes flicked over you, his smirk widening. “Been a while since we had something this fresh. Maybe we oughta—”

Murphy spit in his face.

The man jerked back, stunned, as saliva dripped down his cheek.

“You fucking piece of—”

He didn’t get to finish. The punch he threw cracked against Murphy’s jaw with enough force to send him to the floor.

Then everything went to hell.

Fists. Boots. Knuckles meeting flesh and bone with sickening cracks.

You fought back, but it was like trying to fight against a tide of fists and steel-toed boots. A punch landed square in your ribs, knocking the wind from your lungs. Someone grabbed your hair, yanking your head back, and the moment your vision cleared, you saw Murphy curled on the ground, blood leaking from his mouth, his face already swelling.

You screamed his name.

The response you got was another kick to your stomach that sent you sprawling.

Your body screamed in protest, but Murphy’s voice—weak, wheezing—cut through it all.

“Run.”

Your head snapped toward him. “What?”

Murphy coughed, spitting blood. Then, in one last act of sheer, reckless defiance, he started laughing.

“Is that all you got?” he taunted, flashing them a bloody grin. “Fuckin’ amateurs.”

The men turned on him, their attention shifting.

And you knew.

This was his shot.

Your shot.

“Murphy, don’t—”

His eyes met yours. The same look he always gave you when he was about to do something really stupid.

“GO.”

Then he lunged at the closest guy.

You didn’t wait to see what happened next. You forced your battered body to move, stumbling toward the door, barely able to stay upright. The moment you hit the street, you ran.

Murphy’s screams echoed behind you.

And you didn’t look back.

@whiskeypowder @hopefulatrocity @witheringblooddemon @humanmistakes @yttricuz @twdeadlysins @donttelltheelff @spidergirla5 @sexyseabass @sweetpotatospock @witchygagirl @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @missbeeentertainment @theoraekenslover @thatlebronchick @acezeyez

[ochrearia]

Modern Warfare

Me going absolutely nuts insane. Most normal Ochre moment is when I can project all of my loneliness problems onto a character who also has a loneliness problem but at least the character can have people fix it /silly

ALSO YOU GUYS SHOULD TOOOOOOTALLY PUT THIS SONG ON WHILE READING :3

BFs in this one-shot: Yourself (YS) (All of the other BFs are mentioned briefly at the end, but aren't technically here.)

His scars hurt. Sometimes that would happen, on random days at random times, whenever they wanted, they would start hurting. Despite the injury having been healed at this point, and the physical trauma of it done and gone, they would start hurting again. Just to remind him of the things he’d done to himself, because no matter how much good he found in his life all of a sudden, YS was not allowed to escape what he’d done. Though the things he tried to escape usually were what he’d failed to stop, he’d never really cared about the hurt he inflicted on himself.

So what was changing, then, that he suddenly did seem to care?

He could probably call someone. One of them had to have time to spare but he hated the idea of being a bother. Especially over something that a majority of them didn’t know about, and he was not in the mood to explain it. Beefer knew but he was stressed out as it was. Beef… wasn’t supposed to know, but YS had slipped up and let his guard down a little too much.

Was that really a bad thing?

One call away. Always one call away, just like he always was for them. Why was it so hard to let that be true for himself? Why did he have to be so stuck in this mindset of suffering, at some point he had to ask, hadn’t he suffered enough? But the answer was somehow always no.

The scarred nubs pulsed with pain again, pain that shouldn’t even be there. His wings were gone, there was nothing to even be transmitting that pain to. So it got stuck there, radiating something ugly to the rest of his back, making it hard to breathe when it took over his chest. Hurts. Like perpetual shattering in his chest, riding all the way up to his head to make his brain hurt. The inability to focus. They’d all been hanging around him long enough for the emotional connection magic to latch onto each of them. If he didn’t keep his damn walls up they’d all feel it this time.

But it was so hard to keep focus with this damn pain.

Oh, what does it matter anyway? I keep these walls up all the time, even in the times I get to be asleep, it’s so exhausting. YS thought to himself. I wish I didn’t have to. I know it would be so overpowering for everyone if I never put the walls up, I wish the connection didn’t happen but it doesn’t seem like the universe agrees. Can’t dump this all on them, don’t want to. But I’m tired. 

YS stumbled his way to his couch, collapsing quite unceremoniously. He couldn’t even sit back properly, his back ached like a bitch. He laid himself down on his stomach, grumbling and whining the entire time. Oh, he was acting like a toddler, bitching and moaning because of this. Ridiculous how many things could derail his composure. He was supposed to be tough and serious and life stopped him from coming across as that at every possible turn.

“One time, just one time, it would be so nice to not have everything working against me.” YS spoke to no one. “Why do I end up having so many problems, where the hell is my composure? There’s too damn much here. Any normal person would know this is all too much of a burden. I’m not calling them, world, I don’t care if that’s what you’re trying to prove.”

Incredible leaps of logic. Was he refusing to call for comfort because he really did believe he was too much of a burden, or was he just throwing a tantrum for the sake of it? The scars twinged with pain again, making him cringe. He already had to deal with being perpetually tired, why this too?

Tired, achey, bad mood. Several forces working together to smack his head for a loop, thoughts scattered and unfocused. YS let his chin rest on top of his folded arms, glaring at the arm of the couch. Delirium was his best friend at this point. That motherfucker showed up more times than his brothers combined. Fine, if the world wanted him off his ass then he’d be off his ass.

“You know, I almost never let myself dwell on things, like things I want. I don’t think the things I want should be given to me, because I hate myself, and that’s obvious. Why would I let something I hate have the things it wants?”

He was talking to no one. Well, YS supposed he was never really alone. She was always lingering in his microphone. Hah, she probably thought he was acting nuts, talking to the air, being so… un-composed. That wasn’t like him, at least, not since she’d… died.

“Oh, but I want things. I want many things, so many different things. Indulgences. Niceties. I know damn well I am a creature who deserves to suffer and even before then I was supposed to have everything I’d ever need to be happy, but I never did. I wanted. I wasn’t really supposed to do that. That’s how I got here.”

If YS hadn’t torn his own wings off he’d probably have them removed anyways down the line. Angels like him weren’t meant to want things. Not supposed to know what warmth was. Addicted to wanting warmth, that had been the first step of his utter downfall. Because once that had started, he’d started wanting other things. Things he wasn’t supposed to have.

But it was so addicting to want things.

“I wanted you, and I got you.” YS said, looking at his microphone sadly. She glowed red in response. “For a time, I had you. It’s my fault that you had to be taken away so permanently. Because I broke the rules, and I wanted. Wanted you, in my greed, and I took your life with my selfishness.”

YS turned away, biting his lip as the scars pulsed with pain once more.

“I didn’t learn my lesson. I’m still here, sitting here, wanting things. Can’t want things, that will just lead to them dying. But…”

He’d lost her because of his greed. Everyone knew that a wanting angel left to fall down that path would eventually turn into a weeping angel, cursed with eternal tears over what their greed caused them to lose. He hadn’t gotten there yet, somehow, but that meant he’d get there eventually if he kept on what he was doing?

“I want so badly. I thought there were creatures in this world that could be above that, since I was meant to be. I think there still are. I’m not one of them. You know what I want now? Oh, you already know, you keep trying to let me have it. God. So fucking… stupid.”

YS should shut his mouth. No one but her was around to hear this, but that was still enough for his brain to start screaming at him to stop. Not to say this out loud, not to admit it. He was pretty bad at listening to his own brain, though.

“I want to be loved. Constantly, every fucking second of the day, I want to feel loved. I want to be able to bask in it, in such warm attention, and it’s so… stupid. I want everything I used to have, with you, but I know I can’t. And now there’s a chance to get close to it again. Not the same, but still love, and I still want it.”

YS tried not to let his thoughts drift to his other selves, but he failed miserably. His other selves, his now brothers. A bunch of stupid, idiotic, annoying assholes who still kept coming around for him. Why? Had they been given better mirror-walking as a test? To prove a point? Seeing how they would constantly come through his mirror not just because they could, but because they wanted to.

He’d tried to get them to attach to each other. That had been part of his plan. If they were going to have superior mirror-walking, at least they could bother and support each other, and he could slip away into irrelevance until he was completely forgotten. But they hadn’t done that. Sure, he had no doubts that they still traveled around worlds to each other, to hang out and be stupid, but they still made time to come to him. They came by so often, and it made his heart burn.

It made his eyes burn too, no matter how desperately he tried to stop it.

“I love my brothers.” YS breathed, almost overwhelmed. Where was all this space in his heart for love coming from, after being so damn empty for so long? “God, fuck, I love my brothers so much, it’s almost painful to think about. I didn’t think I could feel like that again. Loving someone so much it makes it hard to even breathe, doesn’t matter the kind of love it is, does it? There- This can’t all just be me being lonely, right? We’re dodging around the rules of the multiverse, fucking around and hanging out when each universe is confused as to why there’s more than one of us in it at a time. There has to be some bent up rule trying to compensate for that. I feel like my brain is going haywire trying to understand there’s other versions of me wanting to care for me. Physically in front of me, I mean…”

Oh who was he kidding. He was talking to her like she could even respond. Resting gently on the small coffee table in front of the couch, still glowing her lovely shade of red. His facade was completely broken at this point, having been crumbling for weeks the more his brothers came around, caring for him. Loving him when he swore up and down he needed to suffer. They’d all gotten so attached so quickly, that had to be at least partially due to messing around with the multiverse.

“It’s weird.” YS sighed. “Seeing me in front of me, that isn’t part of me. I can normally ignore it but it’s always there in the back of my head, confusing my mind. Making me want to do stupid shit. Being physically affectionate seems like a universal attribute but it’s like it gets sent into overdrive when they’re in front of me. Like I need to hug them and not let go. Like… what’s me doing without me? Some weird instinct to try and become whole again when I was never fragmented in the first place…”

He himself was to blame for it anyway. He’d been the dumbass to cross between worlds in the first place. Still metronome between deciding if it had been a good or bad idea in the end. Still so full of doubts and hesitations, issues flashing across his mind like error messages. He wouldn’t be here feeling love again if he hadn’t done it. But…

None of them would’ve known I existed, none of them having to go through the dread of knowing there’s a world out there where they lost it all. None of them having to feel so repulsed by me. None of them having to feel responsible for me. None of them having to end up with a washed-up brother figure they never even asked for.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” He said eventually. Honestly. Admitting to things he was bottling for so long. “I really miss you. I know I said I was going to join you soon, and I really did mean that. But I can’t… they’re stopping me. And I’m phrasing that like it’s a bad thing but it isn’t, is it?”

Huh. Her glow seemed to grow brighter at that.

“I don’t think anyone wanted that plan to go through but me. Sometimes I might still think it should.” YS mused, flipping over onto his back. Funny, he didn’t even realize his pain was gone. “I think I just get so lost in my own mind too much. I should really stop doing that… Kinda hard to stop when I’m alone. I don’t know where my strength has gone.”

He knew where it had gone, he was lying through his teeth. His strength hadn’t existed since the day he lost her. So much of himself had died with her, or so he’d thought. The others, they were pulling things out of him that he’d thought were gone. Thoughts, feelings, actions. Was this healing, perhaps?

“I really outsourced my own self-healing.” YS chuckled, shaking his head at the absurdity. “That’s so fucking dumb. But fitting. I wasn’t ever the smartest to begin with.”

Content, he decided, was not a feeling he’d felt in a long while. Somehow he was feeling it now. Hah, look, he didn’t have to call for comfort after all. Not that it would’ve been a bad thing to do really. However, if he had done so, he wouldn’t have said any of what he did. The bottle would still be full. Despite always insisting the rest of them use him to vent to, YS never felt like he should open up to them. Probably a lingering consequence of the first incident…

YS got lost in his own thoughts again, his rambling to the air coming to a close. He felt better, and his back pain was over now. That was good, right? He felt fine. Like a weird middle ground, but at least it wasn't crushing negativity for now.

And what was Herself doing, still glowing on the table? Oh, nothing much really, only perhaps amplifying the connection her love shared with his other selves. It was baseline magic, no harm in adding on more to make the signal stronger, right? No harm in strengthening it enough for all of them to hear exactly what he’d been saying the whole time, even across the multiverse, right?

Nah, no harm. YS would never know.

Never know of the ear-splitting, watery-eyed grin stuck on Biff’s face. Never know of the content, happy fog that settled in Beefer’s mind, blocking out all of his own negativity despite living in it in real time. Never know of the positive turmoil his words set off in Beef and Bee’s heads, wondering what they’d done to deserve it. Never know of the glee festering in the chests of Boyf and Peacock, spreading across their bodies and warming up their thoughts. Never know of the happiness from Blue, knowing his love and care was returned. Never know of the spark of hope Cyber felt.

YS had let his walls fall in his silly little tantrum, she’d just helped nudge it in the right direction.

[moxfirefly]

Hi!! I’m not sure if you do yandere, but I just had this thought and I haven’t seen anyone do this yet!

So the premise is the Bayverse!Guy (your choice) and his sweetheart have known each other for a little bit and he’s pretty good at hiding his feelings, but he stalks them quite a bit and hoards whatever they leave at the lair away in his room.

One day, while he’s lurking and following them as usual, he decides to finally sneak into their room to steal something for his collection at home. But!!! When he opens one of the dresser drawers (or something like that) he finds out that they’ve been secretly stealing things from him!! They even have something of his under their pillow??? They JUST as obsessed as he is!!

How do you think he would react to this? 👀👀

Love your work!

-xoxo

You know I’ve been meaning to incorporate darker approaches into my writing because honestly I enjoy it (FICTIONALLY) and now getting this request seems to be a great way to do so friend! I’ve had an idea like this similar in the works so why not put it into this. Hope you enjoy.

Going with Donnie.

Rated Mature (Yandere, stalking, vouyerism, unhealthy attachments, unhealthy expressions of love, etc)

He could do this blindfolded.

He had done it blindfolded once just to prove it to himself.

The fact of the matter was that Donnie had this down to a science, careful practice of a sum of a thousand details. He knew how you worked, how late or early you woke up on certain days, the routine of exiting your apartment, how long it took you to get back.

He could count it in his head, simple math for a simple girl.

When he heard the click and lock of your front door, he allowed himself in through the window you just never seemed to deadbolt.

He was home.

Well, your home.

But a home he knew as intimately as his own.

Because this wasn’t the first time naturally, nor the fourth time. At this rate, three years into knowing you, watching you, befriending you, falling in love with you, he had done this so many times that he couldn’t possibly put it into simple math.

The creak of the flood boards was much more louder when his combat boots pressed all the way down, the weight of feeling comfortable, safe, so sure that he won’t be interrupted.

Truth of the matter was that you’d probably swing by the Lair tonight, it was game night, some beers, some bets and harmless fun to be had. But he couldn’t wait, couldn’t bring himself to not scratch the itch he had be suppressing for the last six days.

He just wanted something new, something to help ease the tension in his shoulders.

Something to touch, something to hold, something anointed with your lovely scent.

If he could inhale you and suffocate in it he would, how easy it could be if he just had the chance.

The soft steps echoed, his heart the opposite as it ran the marathon of anxiety it normally did.

Or was it excitement?

He checked the kitchen, opening the fridge to survey yesterday’s groceries (because Wednesdays were grocery days). He closed the door with a gentle tap of his foot, ran a finger over the counter and adjusted the faucet that you always forgot to close all the way through while you rushed out (should fix that).

He stopped by the couch, another caress over the fluffy throw blanket you often wrapped yourself on cold nights (his gaze shot up to the small clock with the hidden camera).

His trece continue down the hallway towards your small bedroom.

When he opened that door he could almost feel the pricking in his skin ease up. Your perfume still lingered, a drawer on your vanity half open. Approaching the mirror on there he felt a little tug in his chest at the wholesome pictures taped at the corners. Mementos of good moments, some with family, some with work friends, quite a couple of himself and his brothers, April and Casey. He stopped at one of the Polaroid ones where you happily rest against his arm, a smile so big and beautiful, god if he could take this he would, he’d been dying to do so.

But the plan always remained the same; stick to easily replaceable, anything that wouldn’t exactly be missed or could be easily swapped out.

He picked up your most used lipstick, unscrewing the cap to examine the insides. He could easily see the small indentations from where they had ran across your lips. He inhaled the chemical scent, wonder what combination it made with your natural scent.

He pressed the small used tip to his bottom lip.

The small circular inch of color contrasted interesting with his color.

He licked off the spot.

Turning towards the closet he opened it and sighed.

This always smelled the most of you. Each article of clothing had been chosen to your more intricate of desires. Each piece had at some point kept your warm, embraced you. Pressing against the clothes Donnie took a deep breath and groaned.

Perhaps an old shirt? He could use that for now, wrap it around his snout, cut off the some of the air, dance inside of your scent.

He found a worn shirt, something that would be in the donation bin for next Sunday (every four months on a Sunday you donated).

He thumbed the material, smiled to himself at the dumb design, something that had clearly made you laugh upon purchase.

He placed it in the bed just as he closed the closet doors. Checking his watch he felt he was still good to indulge a little more.

So he climbed on the messy bed, face first he laid down and allowed the warmth and coziness wrap itself like a vice around him. To smell the shampoo you loved on the cotton of your pillow.

His hands dug beneath, every intention of pressing it harder into his snout and an involuntary little thrust of his hips.

Donnie blinked, hand wrapping around something somewhat smooth but crinkling when he he pulled on it. Turning to sit in the bed instead, he lifted the pillow and raised a brow ridge.

Slowly he pulled the purple tape he used to wrap his forearms. The sticky side utterly used, there was no way this could tape onto anything. He examined it carefully, fully assessing it was his own.

Come to think of it, he had gone to use a roll of it when he couldn’t find it, mind telling him that he had simply used it up.

Something told him to open your nightstand drawer.

And so he did, reaching in and pulling the purple tape. He blinked, throat feeling dry suddenly, because what could this possibly mean.

His dark eyes found the vanity mirror.

Where he met your own.

You smiled.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Stars Above! | Cad Bane

Chapter 14

Explicit: Semi-slow burn, gratuitous smut /pwp, canon-typical violence, mildly dubious consent, angst, Tatooine Slave Culture.

This chapter: Flashbacks / nightmares, whump, mild-medical procedure involving a needle/dispenser and sedatives.

Word count: 5.3k+

Notes: It only took me TWO YEARS TO UPDATE. SORRY ABOUT THAT. I promise that I will try to update more regularly from now on.

[ Ao3 ] - [ Masterpost ]

《 Previous chapter || Next chapter 》

“Supposin’ us bein’ partners don’ mean nothin’,” Bane flippantly offered. Though feeling despondent, he masked it well. The two men were a lot alike in that respect; Bane hardly knew what went on inside the Mando’s over-complicated mind.

“You’ve learned everything there is to know, Cad. And what you don’t know, you don’t want to learn, even if given the opportunity.”

“What’s dhat even mean,” the Duros asked bitingly, throwing down the butt of his cigarra on the cold, hard ground. The two began to make their way, Jango sighing under the beskar helmet that hid his face, Bane trudging along behind, albeit slowly; he was freezing.

Vandor was an icy planet, located in the Sloo Sector of the Mid Rim, currently home to a target that had made his home in Fort Ypso, a snowy village that lay sequestered in the foothills of the Iridium mountains, only crossable by bridge. The wooden planks groaned under their feet as the pair of hunters ventured onward, Slave I left beyond its borders so as not to attract attention and give the game away.

“It means you are stubborn,” Fett returned, his voice carrying over the blistering wind. “Perhaps it is time for you to branch out on your own; be your own man. I am beginning to think I cramp your style.”

The Duros sneered, offended in more ways than one, fangs chattering even though he wore specialized gear meant to curtail the cold from leeching through to his very bones. “Says de man who don’ know when te turn down a job; if Ah had nips, dhey’d already be frozen off.”

“You didn’t have to come with me,” Jango informed him, his joke lost on the dour man. He wasn’t in the mood for Bane’s attitude, much less his complaints.

“As fer style, Ah got plenty,  naht countin’ dhis ridiculous ‘fit ye’ made me wear.”

Bane frowned despite himself, feeling each minor movement of his facial muscles; they were stiff from the frigid temperature, the younger man desiring to find a place of warmth. At least his body glove was able to retain some heat, otherwise he was sure to succumb to this positively ridiculous weather within mere minutes, seconds.

“Fine; maybe Ah should leave ye te it dhen; wait in de ship, if yer so keen on gettin’ rid of me.”

Then, his sour expression deepened, Bane’s footfalls ceasing as he came to a full stop. “It’s ‘cause Ah don’ agree with ye, ain’t it.”

“It’s not your life, nor your decision,” the Mandalorian shot back without delay, unable to hide his bitterness. “I know what I want, even if you don’t.”

Bane braced himself, realizing this was about to become more personal than he had bargained for, Fett having never bothered to explain his motives. All Bane knew was he had won some contest, proving he was the best bounty hunter in all the galaxy—a title he assumed might one day rightfully be his.

Fett had trained him, after all. More than that; he had become his friend, his confidant. Bane might go so far as to think he even loved the man, though never voicing those sentiments out loud; he buried them, like everything else he felt.

Perhaps it was fear that kept him quiet. Fear, or maybe anxiety. They both lived in the same place—inside his chest. The chest that currently housed a heart beating furiously behind a wall of ribs, even as Bane reached out to touched Fett’s shoulder.

What he couldn’t understand was why he needed a million of himself; Jango would be tasked to train an army for an unknown benefactor, an army of clones.

The idea sent shivers down Bane’s scales. He understood there were credits to be made, and lots of them. But even so, this was a line Bane himself would never cross—playing God by ignoring ethics, by ignoring quandaries he thought might only come about in science labs. Not in the field; not in the relatively short life of a bounty hunter.

“Ah know what Ah want,” he muttered softly, “de one of ye.”

The Mando whisked around, batting his companion’s hand away. He could not see his face, but Fett’s annoyance easily radiated out beyond his suit of armor. He thought Bane would never understand his hatred for the Jedi; the duty he had assigned himself that consumed half his personality. “Come off it.”

Bane hesitated. The sky began to darken; he thought he had been to this place before.

“You’re a fool,”Fett’s voice, a low baritone, seeped into Bane’s ears, in turn causing the Duros to tremble. It was not out of the coldness of the weather, but the coldness of his words, that Bane’s body involuntarily shuddered, wide, red eyes blinking away flecks of snowflakes as they floated toward the ground; they were gossamer, each one intricate by its own design.

“But Fett-”

“Shut up,” the Mando cut him off. Something wasn’t right. Bane gazed around himself, even as Fett continued. “You really think I care about what you think?”

Bane stared at him, a wounded look taking over his already glum face. Even so, he thought to follow-up, wondering if he had said these words before. “Just dhat-”

Flames were birthed from blankets of white snow, shooting up as pillars of an all-consuming heat, Bane taking a step back as he watched the fire cast a shadow on Jango’s beskar helmet. Those little flecks, those tiny snowflakes, were now tendrils of hot ash, the icy ground nearby the bridge they stood on a carpet of dirt and soot.

“Ja-Jango?” Bane stuttered out; the man approached, deliberate, even as his voice rose in his anger.

“You are nothing to me, Cad. You are nothing.”

The fire blazed more luminous than a main-sequence star; the heavens were black as pitch and no sun shone; Bane heard another sound, this one the creak of weakening ropes as the Duros realized the bridge they stood upon was near to collapse. It was old, rickety, and the only way into town.

“You are not my friend, and you will never be my family,” Fett assured, his vehemence laced with mockery. The Mando laughed, dry, and borderline sadistic; it was out of character for him. Bane grimaced.

“Fett, we gotta go back!” Bane ignored his hurtful remarks, noticing the bridge was starting to sink and give beneath their weight and the onslaught of the flames. The youth would peer over the side, eyes set to broaden as he realized the mountain valley was now nothing but a pit of hellfire.

“You are weak; pathetic; worthless-”

“-stop it!”

“-just a frightened little boy.”

“Enough!” the Duros shouted; he could hear the panic in his voice. He cursed himself, wanting to be brave; wanting to prove to Fett that everything he said was erroneous, inaccurate – but he was right; Bane was frightened.

Suddenly, Bane had nothing below his feet, just a gaping hole and a river of bright flames. Fett was hovering; he had activated the thrusters of his jetpack; Bane aimed to do the same, pressing a button on his wrist gauntlet, except his boots wouldn’t fire; they sputtered and died out.

He kept on falling.

“Jango!” He heard his voice crack, Bane reaching out and up toward the Mando. The man only laughed that wry, cruel laugh, even as Bane fell to what he knew would be his death.

With hands grasping, arms flailing, and legs kicking erratically, Bane yelled one last time as his body was engulfed, swallowed by the void.

“Ah’m sorry!”

---

“Oh, no!” Todo 360 articulated. “I was afraid this might happen!” the droid verbalized in a mild state of panic. He began zooming around the room, peeking into cabinets and pulling out various tools, utensils, and medical implements. It appeared to Zulara that he might be looking for something in particular, so hurried were his movements in his haste.

“Can I help?” she asked quietly, though eager, not sure what was even wrong or what it was she would be looking for. The girl had been seated on the floor, tinkering with one of Bane’s fancy vambraces; it was sparking.

The girl glanced to the bacta pod where Cad Bane slumbered, but something was amiss; his eyelids twitched. She stood, then approached with caution, peering down into the coffin-like contrivance – that’s when she noticed.

The Duros trembled, the muscles of his face distorting into what looked like fear, then pain. His head shifted back and forth from side to side, though not awake. Zulara’s heart ached for the man.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, turning to stare at the frantic Todo. He was too busy in his search to hear her, muttering his many grievances and even a few expletives.

“Todo?” she asked again, the concern apparent in her voice. She stepped forward toward the little droid, tapping him gently on his tiny shoulder.

Todo whirled on her, having forgotten momentarily that she was even aboard the ship, Zulara noting she had startled him by the widening of his citrine eyes.

“Do not do that!” he proclaimed, immediately taking back up the search. Zulara’s lower lip quivered as she turned on her heel, refacing the injured man; he at least seemed calmer now, which Zulara pointed out.

“He’s stopped moving,” she whispered.

Todo zipped on by, a cool rush of air tickling her arm. He observed his master through the glass, a pane of two-inch thick transparisteel.

The droid sighed a human sigh, then rounded on his thrusters. He stared up at the girl, finally managing to find the time to give her a halfhearted story of some kind.

“When in the bacta pod, Bane’s subconscious is left totally unguarded! He is vulnerable to whatever it is his mind can conjure up, and I will have you know these things are not pleasant.”

“He had a nightmare,” Zulara stated, though the end of her phrase had a questioning lilt to it.

Todo nodded in assent, then added: “He has a lot of those, I am afraid.” He wondered if he should be telling all Bane’s secrets. Was this a secret? Nightmares were common among organics. He was unsure.

Zulara frowned at him, then looked down at her boots. She often had nightmares herself, a reoccurring one; the one where she was stripped from her mother’s arms by her drunken father; the one where she was ushered off like chattel into a life of slavery.

Her gaze returned to Todo once she had repressed that bit of sordid memory. “Will he be all right?” she questioned anxiously.

“You are humorous, human. Mister Bane has endured much worse. But I must find this pneumatic dispenser! It holds a sedative we may need; it is only a precaution.”

“You are going to sedate him?” Zulara asked, perplexed.

“Well, it is better than what Bane would do!” Todo scolded, continuing his rummaging. “I, for one, do not wish to suppress my memories, but in all likelihood Bane will hurt himself in this state, and he is already wounded.”

Zulara seemed confused. “What do you mean?”

Todo was becoming irritated. If this woman was not present, he could work in peace! Just who did Boba think he was, leaving her with him! Granted, she seemed to care about his master, but she was still a nuisance! Perhaps the droid was now beginning to understand why Bane called him that on limitless occasions - and when he meant well.

He started to have a change of heart, though his metal shell was empty besides his circuitry; his own thought process set him straight. Todo simply sighed again, though trying to be patient. “Mister Bane seems to think that libations will solve his problems. Why, ever since Boba Fett shot him in the head, he has never been the same!”

Zulara’s frown remained fixated, though deepening. She had heard this mentioned once before as they had dragged Bane inside his ship. Why would the man that had helped to rescue him want him dead instead? It made no sense. She thought to ask, but wondered if the droid would answer her.

Todo seemed two things: high-strung and untrusting, though Zulara’s interest was not self-serving, she was only curious. It was hard not to want to learn all she could about the Duros, his history, and those things that made him tick.

“What happened?” she finally managed, fingers trailing a path down the outside of the convex, transparent glass. “Boba would not tell me how he knew Bane,” she added, studying the curves and angles of the hunter’s face despite the mask he wore that fed him oxygen.

“Because then Boba would be admitting to attempted murder!” the incensed droid piped up, rounding on her. He was flustered by the question, and even more so aggravated by the answer he was about to give. Young Fett was a traitor and a deserter in his opinion; a fly-by-night, disreputable scoundrel to say the very least!

“When one commits to a job, or when one is given a home and specialized training - for free might I add – with only the expectancy of loyalty, and then for that person to defect, to try Mister Bane’s patience after all he did for him!”

Todo scoffed, turning back around. He opened up a lower cabinet, somehow sticking his large head inside, so his words were muffled. “To question his authority is one thing, but to shoot him?!” Todo’s voice was elevated, despite being dampened within the cupboard he was scouring. “Simply because you do not agree with his methods!?”

Zulara watched Todo’s metal chassis shift back and forth as his upper half continued with its plundering, tossing things haphazardly behind him. The girl would lift one leg, dodging something sharp that vibrated—a sonic scalpel? What did Cad Bane need that for?

Zulara bent down to pick it up; she switched it off. Her eyebrows furrowed as she thought about the head plate Bane always sported. “So, then Boba betrayed him? He shot him at point-blank range?”

Her thoughts drifted to the man whose comlink was in her pocket. The youthful face, the curly hair, the deep brown eyes – so soft and rich – she could not imagine him to be a killer, yet he was another bounty hunter. A bounty hunter like the Duros she had feelings for, the one who left her, the one who desired her dead for the sand she had thrown into his stark garnet eyes.

“Well, no,” Todo admitted. He had been there, after all, observing it all unfold. “There was a duel. It was a tie-” the little droid emerged to swivel toward her once again, “-but Boba cheated! A Mandalorian’s helmet is made of beskar! And while Boba is no Mandalorian, his -er- father was.”

Todo 360 made an irritated harumph. “A solitary clone should have been grateful to have Mister Bane mentor him! I know I  would be. Of course, he did owe Jango many favors, or so Mister Bane has said…”

His voice trailed off; Zulara realized something. It was no matter that this droid was comprised of ones and zeros, or its many servos. Something clicked inside her brain—Todo had no bolt, no way in which he was restrained. He loved his master, and to some extent, Cad Bane must love him.

She could only imagine this Fett harbored some kind of guilt, as well he should. If she ever saw him, if he ever commed her…yet it was not her business.

Zulara refocused her attention, “a pneumatic dispenser, no?” Her inquiry was soft, calming. Todo perceptibly unwound, as the organic’s voice was somehow soothing.

He was not used to women hanging around; he had only known those that Bane kept on retainer for one reason or another, namely Aurra Sing; she had not one gentle bone in her whole body. In fact, he might blame her for the way young Boba had turned out. While Mister Bane had a hand in it, it was not until he had been abandoned and thrown in prison thanks to the Palliduvan that his master had offered Fett his guidance.

“Yes,” the exhausted droid replied, returning to his work. He kept one eye on her, but he was thankful for the girl’s assistance, however wary. One could never be too careful.

---

“Boba?” Bane had heard the name, floating out in empty space, inside his mind, or spoken by a God. It lingered, the two syllables leeching their way into his cerebral cortex, even as pure darkness surrounded him, enveloping his cold flesh like a thickset, heavy blanket of unease.

His stomach lurched; he felt like throwing up. Instead, he sat upright and was faced with a nearly obscene brightness. Someone had unveiled the stars, but one shown more luminous than all the others; the one that warmed the desert planet he was now stationed on.

“Bane!”

The Duros’ eyes rolled to his left, spying within his hand a bottle of dark liquor, Bane ascertaining this might be the reason for his sickness; the empty feeling that tarried in his guts. But still, nothing was making sense.

Bane dropped the bottle, glancing up. Some distance away was a teenaged Boba Fett.

How many times would the kid shout his name in anger? How many times would he have to remember his father’s face when looking into his? That armor, that helmet – all a cruel reminder.

“You should have been there.”  That’s what the boy had said that fateful day.

Bane stood, gazing out. He was supposed to say something, words that had been repeated time and time again. The outcome would never be any different, he suspected, but the hunter was caught in a web of his own delusions. Maybe this time he could make it right; maybe this time Bane would not lose his self-respect or his dignity to a fourteen-year-old brat.

“Ah wouldn’ be so-” Bane’s voice dropped; he said the rest quietly and to himself, “-hasty now, boy…”

No. This wasn’t at all accurate. This had happened once before. Bane studied his surroundings, noting the placement of the buildings, a fire that burned in the distance, wisps of dark-colored smoke emanating in tight curls.

Fire.

There was a fire.

He had fallen.

Boba turned his head; Bane followed his lead, spying C-21 Highsinger and his faithful droid companion. Held prisoner in their grasp was a white-haired old man. The child - Fett’s offspring - demanded that he be released along with all the other hostages.

What hostages.

“Let them go, Bane.”

What had he done? He could not remember, the Duros craning his hat and head to stare down at both of his blue hands.

“This isn’t their fight anymore.”

Bane knit his brow in thought, his gaze returning to the boy. He took a new approach, or at least he thought. He was unsure, second-guessing, caught in a place that resembled reality, yet Bane was positive none of this was real.

“Yer daddy ain’t here, boy. Ah knowit. But ye gonna go ‘head an’ bite de hand dhat feeds?”

Bane took two steps forward, somehow knowing what came next. He had always wondered if there was some other way than this, something he could have done to change Fett’s mind. But in the end, he had it out for him; it was a part of history that could never be rewritten. Boba had got it in his head that Cad Bane was his enemy, and the sole executioner of the people here, as if he was the only one who was unscrupulous among those present.

“Yer gonna wind up poor, or dead, out on yer own – dhis galaxy is harsh. Ye think Jango was perfect? Ye think he wouldn’ do whateva’ it takes te get de job done?”

“Shut up! I am not my father!” Boba scolded beneath his helmet; Bane ground his teeth as he glared at him, his expression full of venom. Always such an impudent, brazen child.  He hated Jango then – all of them – and his clone army; his poor decision.

“No more innocent people are going to die, or be locked up, or live in fear,” Fett reiterated, brandishing a finger. It was ironic, all this talk, when Boba Fett was supposed to be a bounty hunter.

“Did ye ferget what profession ye’s in? We’re hunters, Boba. Unless ye ain’t one. Maybe yer just soft.”

A poor choice of words, considering the circumstances. Bane was sure he had only made things worse. He did not have the time to contemplate anything beyond that, for Bossk and Embo had arrived.

At least they were fairly trustworthy, the Kyuzo only second to Bane himself. Bossk knew how to take directions, even though he had connections, strong ones, to the Guild. Bane had thought, incorrectly, that they might back him up and take his side, but the blood that ran through Boba’s veins was a testament to his skill and to his mounting leadership, despite his age and stature.

Bane smiled a crooked smile. “Looks like yer lil’ insurrection has failed.”

Boba looked behind himself and to the others; Bane’s smile faltered. He glanced around as the thin shroud separating this world from the next shimmered and disjoined. He saw stars; realspace; a depthless abyss of nothing, like a curtain had been pulled back to reveal the stage, and he was the main character.

“I say we give the kid his shot,” he heard the Trandoshan rasp.

Bane dug his boots into the sandy earth. There was a suction pulling him, like a vacuum, toward a gaping hole that now stretched so wide the entire town was gone. The only thing that remained were the other hunters; Bossk and Embo had stood down, and Boba was rounding on him.

Bane realized they did not seem to be affected; it was like none of this was happening. He knew what he was supposed to say, as if only reciting his own name.

“So, dhat’s it – just ye and me dhen, Boba Fett.”

“I guess it is,”the boy would reply.

Their eyes met, or at least he thought they did. That damned bucket was in the way, Bane mentally cursing its utility – it’s why he hated them – it was a place to hide.

And kark the others; their loyalty was forfeit, Bane reminded of a most important lesson: he was alone, and he always had been. Always would be, save his droid for company.

A sharp wind picked up, yet Bane’s hat did not fly off—not yet. He fought with all his might against an invisible adversary, even as his fingers danced above one LL-30 BlasTech pistol. If he could only be a fraction faster, if he could only put this disgruntled adolescent in his rightful place, his anger, his heartache, his headaches—they all might vanish.

His quick draw was the cause of his notoriety. To be outdone - to lose to a snot-nosed kid - it would be an embarrassment, though highly understated. The only thing he had left to him was his reputation, and Fett was out to steal it from him, albeit fair and square. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – let that happen.

Bane pulled his weapon; he squeezed the trigger. Simultaneously, another shot was fired. Superheated plasma - imbued with an explosive quality - transferred kinetic and thermal force to the armor plating that lined his signature bolero.

It was not enough to stay the bolt; he felt a searing pain on the left side of his head, radiating across his brow and the upper part of his domed skull. He fell back flat, staring up at a now starless, barren sky. He was out of breath, and he thought this is where he ought to die.

Bane would close his eyes, legs stretched out and arms taut at his sides. He had no idea the outcome; that it had been a tie; that Boba Fett had saved himself from his demise by wearing that accursed beskar, yet the young hunter’s aim had not betrayed him.

“Mister Bane!” he would hear his droid call aloud in a worried tone. He had repeated it three times now, though the Duros found he could not move. The only thing he could perceive in this state was a scathing ache; an excruciating, endless throbbing, right where the bolt made contact with his hat and ricocheted.

The plasma had been so hot, so volatile, it had dissolved his scales clean off and scorched him to the bone—the durasteel panel had dented inward before his hat rebounded off his head and fluttered to the ground, molten metal boring easily through flesh and osseous tissue, slowed only partially.

Tears welled behind shut eyelids, as in that moment, he wished the boy had killed him.

---

Zulara, hours later, had traversed Mos Eisley’s streets. She had been looking for something, something good to eat. While she was not hungry, she imagined Bane would be the moment he awoke. The girl had not strayed far in her search for the right ingredients.

She aimed to concoct a Twi’lek dish, though she would modify it. Her palette did not enjoy the fungi that accompanied the rycrit meat. She would add carrots and potatoes, along with various other root vegetables, to cook a hearty stew, a thing to keep Bane’s strength up and paid for with her own meager credits.

Todo had confirmed there was nothing much edible aboard Bane’s ship; she had found out shortly that its name was the Justifier; curious, though she would not mention it. Once they had found the lost dispenser, Zulara made it her new objective to prepare a home-cooked meal for the healing Duros. Perhaps he would be appreciative and would not mind that she was here, doing her best to look out for him.

To think, she could still be napping in Ohnaka’s arms if Fett had not sounded the alarm. It was something more complicated than a mere regret; she did not feel that way. In fact, it pleased her. It had scratched an itch Cad Bane had left behind. Still, she had been hurt, a stupid thing, as the youth had asked how long she had known this man; her answer proved unsatisfactory, even to herself.

Why? Why care? As if his attempt to free her was not enough, though Bane had made her feel things she had never felt before. Maybe Zulara has naïve, a woman with no sense, but what sense could she have considering her circumstances? Some might call it a learning curve, though that did not mean she was not harboring intelligence.  In this case, she was thinking with her heart and not her head, but she could not help it; all she cared for was Bane’s good health.

Zulara absentmindedly stirred a pot; it was something she had located in a cabinet by the conservator. It barely appeared used; she wondered if Bane ever liked to cook, or if his starship had come equipped with those things he needed, whether utilized or not.

Once the rycrit stew was at a simmer, she lowered its heat setting and placed a lid on top of it. With this accomplished, she thought to find Todo and pose another question: where was there a workroom, a space with tools? She had it in her mind to fix Bane’s gauntlet, wanting to feel useful.

Now, just where had that droid gone off to?

---

Glowing embers of crimson red bothered to open up again as Cad’s body began to move of its own volition.

No – it was the wind, that suction. It had gained momentum; it was stronger, rolling him like a tumbleweed toward the open maw of nothing!

The hat went first, vanishing beyond the veil. Bane grimaced as he dug his fingers into the pliant earth. There was no stopping it, head pounding as his legs thrashed violently. He was like a fish out of water, surrounded by only grit and sand. Death, once more, seemed imminent.

The Duros panicked.

---

Zulara heard a crash, like something falling. She rushed back to where Bane rested, Todo’s mental state in a disarray as he had dropped something. Her eyes traveled toward the pod; Bane was seizing. The girl would gasp as she ran for the tank at lightspeed.

It wasn’t that the droid was clumsy, he had simply moved too quickly. Seeing his master at the mercy of his nightmares had drawn out all his worry; it must have been preprogrammed, but by who was an unsolved mystery—unless it was Vertseth Automata. Surely, Bane would have preferred a model with more strengths than weaknesses, but he had his purpose. Currently, it was to act as nurse, though he was not one; he had been built for techo-service.

By the time Todo arrived, Zulara had already pried open the bacta pod. Bane was coughing, sputtering, even while unconscious. The girl tried lifting him, cupping his upper back as he broached the surface; the sticky gel still held him, her face strained with the effort, though Zulara kept him aloft, fighting the weakness of her arms—Bane was too heavy for her alone.

“Todo, do something!” she pleaded, though she needn’t ask. The droid had readied the dispenser that housed the sedative mid-dash.

“I am sorry, Bane, but this will only hurt a moment!” he said in warning, still somehow afraid of incurring his master’s wrath, no matter that he was incapacitated. He aligned the needle and pressed with all his might; the medicine was injected directly into the site; it would disperse and travel throughout his bloodstream, suppressing his dark memories to the best of its ability.

Todo sighed, dropping his hand and arm. He let the empty dispenser fall onto the floor. Bane had noticeably relaxed; his breathing evened out. Zulara finally felt convinced enough to lie him back down within the healing gel.

“Is-is that it? Will he settle now?” the girl asked fretfully, adjusting Bane’s breathing mask for him; it had become somewhat crooked.

“I do believe so, yes,” Todo stated, though his confidence was shaken. He backed up a foot to let her work, watching how Zulara tended to his master carefully.

It was then Todo wobbled on his axis, believing himself to be tuckered out. For a droid to feel this way was like when organics suffered from lack of sleep. He could not remember the last time he had plugged in, knowing that his power supply was finally dwindling. “I do not feel so good,” he reluctantly admitted.

“What?” Zulara appeared alarmed, turning now upon the droid. He placed his feet down on the ground - too much time spent hovering was another drain on his internal generator – knowing he had only a few minutes left.

“It is not..hi..ng…to worry a..bo..ut,” Todo’s speech came out garbled and slowed down, “I am in need of a re..ch..ar..ge…There is a sta..tion…do..wn the ha.ll.”

Bane’s companion’s eyes flickered, like two glowing yellow fireflies, flashing her at intervals. What would she do without him? What if Bane woke up again? She ran to his aid as he began a make his way, albeit awkwardly.

“You can’t leave me! What if the tank malfunctions, or what if Bane has another nightmare!” Zulara begged of him.

“Bane will most likely be remain un..con..scious for se..veral hours n..ow,” he tried to reassure, his tiny, robotic hands trailing the wall to his right side; his eyesight was no longer reliable, and he had to feel for it: the door that would lead him to his charging bay where he would gladly sit and wait to be replenished. “Do not wor..ry, he is safe. You can always ca..ll… Bo…ba.” He could not believe he was saying this.

“Are you sure? But I don’t want to call him!” Zulara argued, watching as Todo ambulated toward another room. It was the place with all their tools, the one she had been searching for. Todo had nearly made it to his recharge station when he stopped dead.

“Todo?” Zulara whimpered.

There was no response; he had lost all power.

[bayetea]

100 Nights of NejiTen — ;

— — — ( a steamy love story )

summary — ; Neji thought that he and his girlfriend were, if nothing else, always in sync. He comes when she calls, she leaps when he says "Jump." For years, they have known and understood each other intimately. But when a mishap in the bedroom throws them off balance, he is forced to reevaluate his relationship, his perception of Tenten, and the unnerving, illicit desires that he's repressed for his entire life. warnings — ; explicit smut with plot and lots of feelings | romance | emotional | conflict | idiots in love | blossoming sexuality | sexual tension that will make you want to tear your hair out

a/n note: [ this chapter is steamy, but non-explicit. I consider it fairly tame. the next chapter on ao3 is decidedly not. minors dnr/dni. you have been warned. ]

Chapter 1 - Kissing

Contact.

Low lights shaded the dips and dimensions of their faces and the shadows fluttered in reverence of the moon, peeking through the curtains like a voyeuring white lantern. Breaths floated in the air, their loving whispers adorned by helpless little grins. Peck, peck, peck, heated quick kisses he delivered along her jaw, his lips at her neck, diving for the grooves of her collarbone to which she sighed and giggled.

Her hand surfed through his waterfall of silky dark hair, the other caressing his smooth toned arm, but then she tired of his attention focused away from the one place she really wanted him and touched the underneath of his chin. Fingers lured her lover to look at her face, instead of the rest of her body that followed his descent down towards her bra. Their eyes met.

Even in the dark, Neji could see so much love in those eyes. Pure, genuine love, the once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, the kind that proved the deep connection of every ounce of their beings, of their souls. He recognized this feeling without a shred of doubt, because he had never told nor been told by anyone that they loved him (except for one, a person long in the past) and this feeling was definitely unique. In his chest, his heart radiated a full, attractive warmth, just seeing those doe brown eyes return his gaze and pause, gods , he was so ineffably enamored with this woman. His body yearned for hers before he knew what he was doing.

There wasn't an electric shock or a show of fireworks erupting when they kissed, as this was not the first time—not by a long shot. But it was the first time in such a setting, the first time that kissing her tempted him to slide the strap of her tank top down her shoulders. He wanted to see more of her than he'd ever seen before.

Tenten was the one to deepen it. She let her back fall to the bed and clung to the soft fabric of his shirt, causing his body to fall with her. Supporting himself on his arms, Neji hovered over her, eyelids low, breathing softly, holding back a groan when she slid her hand under his loose white shirt and stroked his hard stomach. Her touch was warm and gentle, drawing a slow, deliberate path up to his neck, and she beckoned him closer below. Then, their lips graced each other again.

“Mmph,” she sighed into him, pleasure thick in her moan. Her lips melded with his, an exchange of push and pull with angled moving jaws growing more needy for furthered contact. He liked hearing her moan, it sparked something rare and unfamiliar in his body that he didn’t know could feel so tempting. And… unsatisfying. It wasn’t enough, and he wasn’t sure what more he desired from her or of himself, but he wanted to go farther. Feeling bold, Neji traced his slick tongue across her bottom lip, dyed reddish from kissing, and she shivered deliciously at the foreign new sensation. Blissful hot tidings spread from her delirious head to her curling toes; she opened herself up to him, widely embracing the feverish insistence of his lips onto hers again.

Even he couldn't withhold the heavy groan that escaped him when her tongue snuck past his lips and curled inside, lazily gliding across his own. He trembled. A dangerous desperation festered and swelled within his core, burning away every shred of coherency. Persistently, he motioned his tongue back against hers, creating a simmering hot faint pressure as their tongues lightly pushed and slid so salaciously, feverishly, and he was allowed only two short pants to breathe as he withdrew for air before she tugged on his hair and pulled him back to yearning lips.

Neji hadn’t ever seen Tenten like this. She was all over him, hands roaming his body everywhere she could reach, her eager tongue eliciting more labored groans from his chest. He was still not used to such intimacy, being touched by someone like this. His hips squirmed in the hold of her straddling legs around his lower half. There was that unmentionable discomfort he never cared to acknowledge straining against his boxers and for a very real moment, he felt nervous. She kissed his neck, his collarbone, and licked slow whorls on his chest. The temperature in the room must have risen fifty degrees because his body suddenly felt hot—especially that abhorrent place— and his breath left him in short hot puffs of air. Neji let his eyes fall shut and relished in her sinful adulations, concentrating on controlling that blood-engorged nuisance until soft fingers traveled below his waist.

Her hand was sliding down his pelvis.

His eyes shot open and recoiled from her touch. “What are you doing?”

“Huh...?” Her dazed expression could only be described as lustful and wanting, a sordid line of saliva running down the corner of her lip. “I… Oh, s—sorry!”

Neji didn’t miss the way her entire face blazed red. With lightning speed she removed her searching hand from his groin, profusely sputtering another apology. He closed his eyes again and wordlessly removed himself from her to sit on the edge of the bed. By the sinking of the mattress he could tell that she was sitting up as well, but neither said anything.

Why had he stopped her?

Over a minute must have passed and she reached out for his shoulder. “Neji, I—”

“I should go.” He announced, rising from the bed. “Hiashi-sama will be suspicious if I return to the compound late.”

“Oh…” The disappointment in her voice was tangible. It almost made him want to stay.  “Well… alright. See you tomorrow, Neji.”

She was watching him as he dressed himself, which sounded curiously sordid in his head. It was a conscious decision to not look at her directly, or else those eyes of hers might lure him back to the warmth of her mouth and the feel of her tongue, and he needed to leave as soon as possible, because…

Tenten stuttered just before he reached the door, “If—did I—If I went too far, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel…”

“It’s fine.”

He left her apartment in then and returned (though it felt more like a retreat) to his home, and all he could do was wonder what was wrong with him.

Read the next chapters on AO3, here.

a/n note:

Hellooooo nejiten nation, does anyone remember this fic? I'm posting chapter one here, because I am working on an update! There are 6 more chapters available on AO3 to read right now if you follow through to the above link! Chapter 2 is... a doozy, to say the least. I've received lots of good feedback on it...!

Leave reviews/comments, let me know what you think!

[trickstarbrave]

this is not proofread. and i am half awake

but i have FINALLY finished the fucking. nerevoryn omegaverse au fic. no one else has written it yet, so i will be the one to bear the burden. i will commit the first sin and take all the stones you throw.

sorry that this is mostly not even smut, just me messing around with worldbuilding. i have worldbuilder's disease. i have even MORE thoughts about this setting i have inevitably left out. but. well. they fuck in the end okay

special shout out my mutual who posted an omegaverse tweet bc i was really blanking on the smut for some reason. i couldnt get it working right???? like it wasn't interesting. but we got there with the help of the tweet.

content warnings: standard omegaverse shit. heats, ruts, biting, impregnation kink, knots, you get it. omegas have vaginas as far as im concerned bc it just makes more sense to me. give it a shot as i have played with stereotypes and tried to make it interesting i hope

There were, despite the stereotypes, perks when it came to being an omega. In fact, in a way, stereotypes could be one of the perks, if you played your cards right. And if there was anything Nerevar knew how to do, it was use anything and everything to his advantage. 

There was a common belief omegas were all delicate, gentle hearted peace-keepers--or worse, treasures that lay in wait for some big strong alpha to come take them. It wasn’t like there were no docile, delicate omegas, but Nerevar was certainly not the type. He could make peace all right--with persuasion and his blade however, not rolling over with his belly up begging everyone to stop fighting. 

Most people thought he was an alpha given how headstrong he was and how quickly he took charge of situations. That, or he was an alpha-leaning beta given he was usually able to keep his cool in difficult situations, especially around alphas acting territorial and puffing out their chests. Nerevar never bothered correcting them either way; sure, he could turn himself into some moral champion of omegas and prove they could be just as capable politicians and warriors, but the more likely outcome was everyone he told would take him significantly less seriously. And that would mean more heads would have to roll and well, Nerevar didn’t like cleaning up messes. 

He still had heats, having to retreat into his room for days at a time, but no one said anything. Just as easily he could be locked away in a rut, or praying to Azura for several days on end. No one dared question him, and only the most trustworthy attendants were allowed anywhere near his room to be able to smell the difference. 

On the plus side, Nerevar had many things he used to his advantage; in all honesty, the fact people thought Nerevar was a beta wasn’t unfounded. Even when an alpha went into a rut, he was mostly unbothered by it. A bit of discomfort, not to mention he needed a long bath afterwards to get the smell off him, but unlike some omegas where the scent of an alpha in rut had them going into heat right away, Nerevar seemed mostly unaffected and could force the instinct down. And, through careful control of his mental state, he could usually calm most alphas down without them being the wiser about Nerevar’s secondary sex and wanting to take him for themselves. His seeming immunity from an alpha in rut was often the subject of multiple jokes by Almalexia, as the two of them would mostly sit around, having a few drinks in the quiet of her room. Well, that was until she took Vivec as her mate, then most of her ruts were spent with the warrior-poet instead. 

Hence why, when his meeting with Voryn had been canceled last minute after he already made his way to Kogoruhn, he simply strolled to Voryn’s room, humming casually with a couple books and food for the other. 

Much like Nerevar, Voryn was also an… Interesting example of an alpha. Voryn was usually pegged more so as a beta based on his behavior, until you got a whiff of pheromones when you pissed him off. He wasn’t as outwardly aggressive and territorial as far as most people were concerned, but Nerevar knew him well. He disguised it as dedication and love for his house, or loyalty to those close to him, but he was indeed territorial. And instead of outward aggression, picking fights and throwing fists, he preferred to temper his aggression and instead attack them when they least expected it. He may look like he forgives and forgets, but in truth he was a viper laying in wait to strike. 

Nerevar knocked, careful not to drop the few books tucked under his arm, hearing the low growl that followed. 

“Out.” Voryn hissed, and Nerevar bit back a laugh.

“It’s me,” Nerevar clarified. “I brought you some books and some food. Servants said you haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Voryn, unlike his typically cool demeanor, was vicious and snippy in a rut. Since Nerevar grew up alongside him, he knew it very well, getting chased away from Voryn’s door every time. Well, that and the servants and other members of House Dagoth would shoo him away, warning him not to go near. It was customary to keep young alphas and omegas apart during heats and ruts respectively, for good reason. No one wanted any injured teenagers or anyone carrying children way too young. But Nerevar could still see it in the aftermath—scratch marks and bruises on Gilvoth after he came to force his younger brother to eat, broken furniture, a smashed window at one point—luckily he calmed down from physical violence as he got older. If he hadn’t, he doubted Kogoruhn would still be standing with all the magic the lord knew. 

“All the more reason to tell you to leave.” Voryn huffed. 

“You know ruts don’t bother me.” Nerevar snarked. “Hurry up and open the door before I drop your food.” 

After some groaning and growling, eventually Voryn did open the door, to which Nerevar quickly darted inside before he could take the tray and shove him out. 

“You are an idiot.” Voryn groaned as Nerevar set the tray of food on the desk, before tossing the books onto Voryn’s bed. “But that’s nothing new anymore.” 

“I told you, ruts don’t bother me.” Nerevar chuckled, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in the air as always. At the very least, Voryn’s scent wasn’t offensive; some alphas made him feel disgusting, if not a little nauseous. Voryn’s was much more familiar and a lot more welcomed, given he was used to it in much smaller quantities over the years. In fact, it was kind of nice; warm, a bit spicy, and nostalgic. 

“I can’t help but fear you’re just playing with fire when you say things like that.” Voryn sighed, before plopping himself on the bed. He was dressed very loosely, no doubt feeling hot and antsy. Nerevar, unbothered, also sat beside him with a grin on his face. 

“Come on, I’m not being that reckless.” 

“You’re tempting fate, that’s what you’re doing.” Voryn huffed. “But you’ve always been like that, haven’t you? Always pushing your luck to its limits until it blows up in your face.” 

“It hasn’t blown up in my face yet,” Nerevar asserted proudly. “Unlike several of Sil’s little inventions.” Voryn rolled his eyes at that.

“Because you’re constantly poking and prodding at them even when he specifically told you not to, that’s why.” Nerevar, seeing as Voryn was making a good point, instead side-stepped it entirely.

“Come on, you know you get lonely during a rut,” Nerevar instead circled the conversation back around. “Bored, stir crazy, antsy…”

“That’s the nature of a rut so I don’t rip someone to pieces.” Voryn huffed. “I’m not supposed to be relaxing and having fun but defending my territory and looking for a mate as far as my instincts are concerned.” 

“Mm…” Nerevar hummed. “I heard mate does make them easier. At least, as far as Ayem told me.” Nerevar hadn’t minded his wife taking a mate that wasn’t him; in terms of sexual compatibility, Nerevar didn’t find her very appealing. Not that she was ugly or anything--far from it! She was very beautiful, tall, strong… All things an omega should be dying to have in a mate. But there was something about her scent that put him off from ever wanting to mate. Just as well, she didn’t find his scent all that appealing either, and most political marriages didn’t end in mating even in the case of alpha and omega couples. 

“And I am in no mood to tear apart Vvardenfell looking for one.” Voryn scoffed, before laying down on his side. Despite doing so, however, he didn’t look comfortable in the slightest. All of his muscles were tense as he laid there, stiff as a corpse. “I have things to be doing, research to do, meetings to be had--”

“Shh…” Nerevar hushed him, scooting closer to rub his back. At the touch Voryn snarled, before slowly he began relaxing, bit by bit. “There…” Nerevar smiled fondly. “You’ll have time for all of that when this is over. It’s only a couple of days right?” Nerevar asked, before working at a knot on Voryn’s shoulder. “Roll over and I’ll rub your back. You’re way too tense.”

Despite all his huffing and snarling, Voryn did roll over, face planted in a pillow, allowing Nerevar climb on top of him to massage him. For most alphas having an omega crawling on top of them in the middle of a rut like this was no doubt humiliating, but Voryn had in fact relaxed gradually. The scent in the air turned from one of hostility and warning to more of a gentle warmth as Nerevar continued to work knot after knot out of his back. 

“What research are you working on now?” Nerevar asked, hoping some light conversation would help relax him further. 

“Mm…” Voryn groaned softly, fingers clenching and unclenching the blankets under him. “Dwemeri explosive powder…”

“Making it?” Nerevar asked, raising a brow. 

“No,” Voryn clarified. “Dwemer machinery is required to actually… Make it.” He hummed softly as Nerevar rubbed at his lower back, working the especially tense muscles nice and slow. “Machinery far too large and complicated to fit into Kogoruhn.”

“What about it then?”

“Dwarven oil has a number of alchemical properties…” Voryn continued. “I was hoping to test if their explosive powder had any as well.” 

“Without blowing up half of your stronghold, I hope?” At that, Voryn snorted, before rolling over and forcing Nerevar off him now that he was much more relaxed. With a grin, Voryn tugged Nerevar down to be laying beside him.

“Unlike you, I don’t have a track record for blowing things up unintentionally.” 

“You’re back on that again?” Nerevar groaned, offended but still laughing. 

“I’m not the one who brought it up the first time.” Voryn smirked. “Though tell me, how many times has Dumac saved you from nearly stepping on a landmine again?” 

“You’re being an asshole right now, you know that?” Nerevar shot him a playful glare. 

“Well you’re an asshole all the time and it’s never stopped you.” 

And just like that, the two were at it. Was wrestling an alpha in rut a good idea? Not in the slightest. However, the two used to playfully wrestle all the time as children and even teenagers, so it was… Oddly nice to do so again as adults. Typically Nerevar would win due to raw strength alone--and he could right now, of course--but he knew it was probably a terrible idea to piss an alpha off like that in the middle of a rut. So instead, Nerevar just put up a gentle fight, knocking several of the pillows and blankets off the plush bed, along with the books Nerevar brought earlier, all the while laughing. Then, once he felt Voryn was starting to get a bit too aggressive and his movements too hurried, he let the other pin him to the bed. 

“Gods…” Nerevar laughed, breathlessly. “How long has it been since we wrestled like this?”

“Decades.” Voryn replied, equally as breathless. “Mm… But oddly nice to get the energy out.” 

“I told you.” Nerevar grinned. “Nice to move around, get your mind off things… Sitting there stewing in it only makes it worse.” 

“Don’t tell me you go around wrestling people in heat.” Nerevar nearly choked in laughter at that. 

“No!” He had to roll over onto his side, holding his stomach from giggling. “Gods, fuck no! Azura’s mercy, I’m not that insane!” Another few chuckles followed as he tried to compose himself. “I can barely stand anyone touching me once it settles in. Everything feels so… Sharp and uncomfortable.” 

“Does it?” Voryn raised an eyebrow, but climbed off Nerevar to flop down beside him. “That sounds… Unusual.”

Nerevar shrugged. “It’s always been like that.” He admitted as though it were nothing. “You wouldn’t it get it being an alpha, I guess.” 

“Nerevar, I may not be an omega but that doesn’t mean I’m uneducated.” Voryn was oddly stern now, concerned. “Just like how you aren’t an alpha but understand how a rut works.” 

“Look, what do you want me to say?” Nerevar asked. “No healer has ever told me anything is wrong with me. It just seemed the more time that went on, the more… Painful they got?” Nerevar groaned. “Well, not really painful, I’ve found a way around it for the most part--”

“So you’re coping with it like a poorly healed injury.” 

“No!” Nerevar asserted. “It’s not an injury but a normal thing.”

“A normal process that isn’t acting as normal.” 

“Look,” Nerevar rolled his eyes, “You can bother the healers back at the palace about it if you’re so concerned. But I’ve adjusted just fine to my heats. I lay in bed, have all my food ready, stacks of books and what have you, and I deal with it.” Nerevar gave him a playful kick. “Unlike someone who went a whole day without eating.” 

Voryn rolled his eyes, getting up from the bed. “Fine fine, I’ll eat lord Nerevar.” Voryn replied, sarcastically. He then went over to his desk, finally eating the meal Nerevar brought him. 

While he ate, they still chatted and talked, Nerevar laying casually on his bed. It hadn’t been the first time he’d done it, and Nerevar expected it wouldn’t be the last with their close friendship. Even as councilman and king, Nerevar saw them as close friends above all else. The closest friend he had, honestly. 

Yet, as he laid there he found himself feeling… Uncomfortable. The air wasn’t stifling after Voryn calmed down, but Nerevar’s clothes felt… Itchy. Not to mention he was starting to feel feverish. Maybe that wrestling wasn’t a good idea if he was coming down with something, but he didn’t want to leave yet--he was mid conversation, after all, and it seemed like Voryn was still relaxing more and more. But, it wasn’t long until Nerevar was tossing and turning on the bed, trying to feel comfortable. Despite being fully dressed he got that same paranoid feeling he had being out in the open on the battlefield: antsy and exposed. 

“Are you alright?” Voryn had finished by now, coming to the bed to look at him.

“Yeah just--” Nerevar sighed. “Uncomfortable.” Then, realizing how that might be interpreted, tried to cover for it. “Not that your bed is uncomfortable, I just feel… Off, all of a sudden.” 

“How so?”

“My clothes feel itchy--” Nerevar was already scratching at his arms, writhing slightly to try and itch at his back. “It’s not flees, I just bathed… Not to mention it’s not like, bug bite itchy but like my clothes are way too rough…” 

“Stress?” Voryn asked, looking at his arms to ensure he didn’t have a rash. “I could always look at your clothes to be sure.” 

“Not a bad idea.” Nerevar began pulling his shirt up over his head to hand to Voryn who combed it over. Sure enough, the clean cloth had no parasites or bugs crawling around in it, but already Nerevar felt relieved. He kicked off his trousers while he was at it, left only in his undergarments and much more comfortable. 

“Well the fabric is particularly rough.” Voryn remarked. “Thick material, more so used for keeping warm and dry rather than relaxing. Rolling around wrestling in it probably irritated your skin.” Nerevar snorted at that, especially as Voryn tossed one of his own silk robes on top of him. He used to have no problem wrestling in the ash and dust, but now slightly rough fabric was what was going to do him in? Although… The silk robe was a lot more comfortable, the soft fabric almost soothing his skin as he curled up with it on and tied shut, breathing deeply. Voryn’s sheets were also nice and soft… 

“You are also feeling warm though…” Voryn brought the back of his hand to Nerevar’s forehead. “Not to mention I actually beat you at wrestling…” He looked concerned, “You weren’t mucking around the bitter coast again were you? Swamp fever has been on the rise there, and I know how much you love mudcrab hunting more than your own good--” Nerevar rolled his eyes.

“I came straight here from the propylon chamber, Voryn.” He did wear weather appropriate clothes given it was the cold and rainy season in northern VVardenfell, but that was just a precaution. “I wasn’t running around the bitter coast catching mudcrabs, I can assure you.” 

“Here,” Voryn stood up now, pulling the pillows and blankets back on the bed to make Nerevar more comfortable. “Why don’t you just lay down for a few minutes and see if it goes down. If not, I have a cure disease potion around here somewhere…” He then got up after piling them all back on, rummaging through his shelves stocked with an astounding amount of alchemical books, ingredient chests, and potion bottles. ‘Controlled chaos’ as Voryn would say, though Nerevar could never make sense of it. But right now he was more than content to just lay there in the pile of pillows and blankets, breathing in nice and deep as his body started to go from uncomfortably hot to warm and fuzzy. 

“I found it,” Voryn kneeled beside him, beckoning Nerevar to sit up properly. He groaned in annoyance; he just got fucking comfortable, now Voryn wanted him to sit up? But one look at Voryn’s eyes told Nerevar it was just for his own good, so reluctantly and without much fuss he sat up slightly, letting Voryn tilt his head and press the potion bottle to his lips. It briefly occurred to him he could drink it himself but… Well, Voryn was just being a loyal retainer and friend right? Ever loyal, doting Voryn.. Nerevar found that trait of his kind of endearing. 

“Normally when I have to give you medicine you make such a fuss,” Voryn smiled softly, “You’re being a good boy right now, I see.” At the ‘good boy’ comment Nerevar’s breath hitched slightly as he sunk back onto the bed to lay on his side, Voryn piling more of the blankets and pillows around him so he was comfortable. Then, a hand threaded into his hair, rubbing at his scalp just like Nerevar liked, making him positively melt, mewling and moaning softly in pure delight. 

“That’s it…” Voryn purred, “Such a good boy, aren’t you…?” Voryn then laid down behind him, nuzzling against him, his hands brushing across Nerevar’s chest and stomach in soft strokes… 

Ah, Voryn was scenting him, something that wasn’t unwelcomed in the slightest. It was nice; being wrapped up in that warm, musky scent was only making him feel better. People would be able to smell Voryn on him after all, all over his body from his clothes to his hair and skin… Then again, he felt like he never wanted to leave the comfort of Voryn’s bed right now. He was content to just lay there being tended to, Voryn nuzzling him, feeding him, guarding him… 

“Oh Neht,” Voryn buried his face in Nerevar’s neck, breathing in his scent directly, before his tongue swiped at a scent gland. That caught Nerevar’s attention, making him moan louder, squirming in Voryn’s arms. 

“Hey--” Nerevar protested weakly. His mind felt fuzzy, but he knew that was crossing a line at least. “Watch it.” 

“You smell divine…” Voryn purred. “Nice and sweet…” He resumed the licking, leaving Nerevar whining softly, his hips moving in small circles until Voryn pressed his hips firmly against Nerevar’s ass, holding him still with a growl. His cunt throbbed at that, suddenly overcome with the realization he was empty right now, so fucking empty--he needed something in him. Right now. Fingers, a toy, a cock, just something filling him up--

Then, Voryn was pulling back suddenly, jerking his hands away as though he was burned. Nerevar looked up at him confused and dazed, Voryn’s face flushed red. 

“You’re in heat.” Voryn murmured, suddenly realizing what was going on. Nerevar, however, took a few moments to process his words, before anxiety bubbled up inside him.

“No I’m not--” He wasn’t the type to go into heat smelling an alpha in rut. He had never done so before, and he wasn’t due for his heat for a few months anyways. Besides, when he was in heat he was nesting and--

Nerevar glanced at the pillows and blankets Voryn had put around him, realizing when he had done so Nerevar felt much more secure and comfortable. He’d been antsy before, paranoid and feeling exposed until the soft, plush walls were around him. He also felt more sensitive to his clothes, feeling warm and aroused-- 

“I-I hate people touching me in heat,” Nerevar tried to explain quickly, sitting up and panicked. “I can’t be…” That was right, he couldn’t be. He hated being touched during his heat, growling and hissing as the touch was physically painful. But Voryn touching him hadn’t hurt at all, it felt…

Nerevar’s hands were trembling as he got up quickly, tugging the robe shut firmly and making sure the tie was secure, before he took off running for the propylon chamber. He wasn’t thinking clearly, he just knew he needed to not be there anymore. Something was wrong with him after all; very, very wrong with him. He paid no mind to Voryn calling after him, even as his anxiety spiked hearing the concern and anger in his voice; he just kept running through the halls, sprinting past servants and attendants until he made it to the chamber, giving quick orders to send him to Mournhold before he was teleported away. 

At the palace, Nerevar didn’t stop to catch his breath either. The air felt cold and stifling as he continued running, spriting like a mad man until he made it to his room where he swiftly locked the door. He drew the curtains, blocking out the light until it was dark, his anxiety still not ceasing. He tripped on a chair in his scramble, swearing up a storm as he kicked and snarled, breaking a leg off the chair. He then grabbed it as he stood, throwing it to the wall resulting in the wood splintering against the heavy stone and knocking several tapestries down. Now in darkness he retreated to his bed, trying to curl up to find comfort.

His bed felt wrong. Wrong, disgusting, cold, uncomfortable… Even as he moved the blankets and pillows he just felt worse. None of them were as comfortable as Voryn’s bed, covered in his scent…

Nerevar tugged the robe off, burying his face in it, whining softly. The scent, despite being musky and strong, was so comforting. He never used to find an alpha’s scent so soothing before, why now? Even when he was in heat he’d growl if any alpha even so much as came near his room, so why this? Why now?!

A few servants knocked on the door, calling for him alarmed. Then a few healers. He didn’t respond to any of them, laying there in silence, too ashamed to even tell them to leave. It felt like his skin was crawling, and he simultaneously felt both hyper-aggressive and like he had no strength in him. Then it was Almalexia, knocking.

“Nerevar?!” He growled weakly; he didn’t want anyone to see him, let alone a different alpha--no, he needed to get rid of that mindset. Voryn wasn’t special, at least, not as an alpha. Voryn was his closest friend yet, but if he didn’t want to be seen by anyone, that meant anyone. Especially not Voryn, an alpha in rut, when he was obviously in heat. 

“Are you injured?” She asked. “What happened in Kogoruhn--” A few more people spoke quietly to her, their voices too hushed for him to hear. In the back of his mind, he knew it was only logical she’d ask; he did come sprinting through the palace in one of Voryn’s robes, running like a pack of nix-hounds were trying to kill him. What was supposed to be a political meeting ending in such a sight would be a great cause of concern--one Nerevar should smooth over before anyone marched to Kogoruhn accusing Voryn of treason. But he didn’t have the energy to do so; all he wanted to do was curl up and forget the rest of the world entirely. 

“Nerevar,” It was Vivec now, knocking at his door, voice level and a bit softer than how he usually spoke, “The healers are here, will you let them in?”

“I don’t need to see a healer.” He growled, enraged. It was stupid; Nerevar knew something was wrong with his body, but the idea of being seen by a bunch of strangers right now poking and prodding at him felt like a fate worse than death.

“Voryn is here.” A sensation ran straight through Nerevar he didn’t have a proper name for. Anticipation? Anxiety? Want? It was impossible to place, but it made him feel restless. “Would you prefer to see him?”

“No!” Nerevar suddenly snapped, his voice much louder than it had to be. He was terrified of what would happen if he saw Voryn again right now. Part of him wanted to, deep down; he wasn’t this restless and anxious simply laying in Voryn’s bed. In fact he felt nice--warm and fuzzy and safe. But he didn’t know what was going on, or what would happen if he followed that thread of desire to the end.

“Did Voryn hurt you?” Vivec asked, trying to get answers. 

“He didn’t hurt me--” Nerevar snapped at that as well. Voryn would never hurt Nerevar. He knew that much. His whole body was screaming, suddenly offended at even the idea. Voryn had been trying so hard to take care of Nerevar, made sure he was comfortable, fed him medicine and even made a nest for him… A wave of heat washed over him quickly at the memory, followed by a spike in anxiety. “I just--I don’t know what’s going on!” 

A few moments of silence followed, before Vivec sighed. “Let me come in.” That seemed less risky than healers he hardly knew or an alpha. Nerevar’s brain, as was so common while in heat, was in survival mode after all, constantly looking out for any potential threat. But Vivec was another omega, and a bonded one at that. Someone close to him and trusted.

After Nerevar gave a quiet answer, Vivec unlocked the door with a spell, slipping inside and then shutting and locking the door behind him. He approached the bed slowly, not sitting on it or touching him. 

“Tell me what happened and I’ll tell the others.” His voice was quiet, knowing just how jumpy and aggressive an omega could get in this state.

“I…” Nerevar swallowed. He didn’t want to recount it, embarrassed now that his luck had in fact run out just like Voryn said it might. “Ruts don’t usually trigger heat in me.” Nerevar said, his voice wavering.

“I’m aware.” 

“But it was…” Nerevar gave a shaky sigh. “I don’t… Know what happened. My body just started… Going into heat all of a sudden while I was laying on his bed, without me even realizing it.” Normally he could tell the warning signs of an impending heat: irritability, hunger, defensiveness, physical discomfort, even a sensitivity to light. “I also hate being touched when I’m in heat, it fucking hurts,” He hissed softly, remembering the warm, welcomed touch of Voryn’s hands on him as the other scented him. His skin burned despite no one touching him at the moment, and he wanted the relief of Voryn once again. Vivec still raised an eyebrow at that. “It always does but then I… It didn’t hurt when he was touching me. It felt… Nice. Relaxing.” Vivec hummed contemplatively at that. 

“When he realized I was… Going into heat he pulled away. And I realized it too and panicked and ran back here.” He did regret making a scene but he didn’t know what else he was supposed to do. 

“I’ll speak with the healers.” The most they’d be able to do was a suppressant, but at this point Nerevar would take it. He wanted this feeling to stop. Desperately. 

“Nerevar?!” He heard Voryn’s voice outside the door. “Nerevar, are you alright?” The concern in his voice had Nerevar’s heart racing, but he was still anxious about what would happen if he saw Voryn again. The sensation he was losing control was terrifying, after all. 

“I think it would be best you see him, Neht.” Vivec said simply, moving towards the door. “He’s going to tear the palace apart trying to get to you.” Nerevar’s anxiety only grew at that; what if Voryn got hurt? What if people assumed the worst? Not to mention it was only making the other, strange feelings inside him grow all the more strong at the notion Voryn desperately needed him.

“L…” He hesitated, before he tugged the robe out from under him and back onto his body to make himself decent. “Let him in.” 

As soon as the door was opened, Voryn shoved his way past the guards and Vivec into the room, Vivec retreating outside once more to hush the angered guards, attendants, and healers who wanted to drag him back out. 

“Neht,” Voryn’s voice went hushed as he quickly made his way to the bed, climbing on without a care. Nerevar had half a mind to snap at him, before Voryn was stroking at his skin and scenting him again. He felt himself melting already from the familiar scent filling the room, along with the soothing touch on his skin. “Thank gods you’re alright.” The room still felt wrong, but he felt a hell of a lot better being tended to like this, the burning under his skin slowly fading. 

“Voryn…” He murmured, closing his eyes. He tried to will himself to feel more comfortable; he was in his room, the same place he always was for all of his heats. Maybe it was because there were people outside his door? It was possible; he hated being bothered when he was in heat. 

Then the door opened after a few, pleasant moments, Voryn growling with pure rage. The healer who entered was an older beta woman, but even she shuddered. 

“I mean his majesty no harm.” It was a healer he saw many times in the past. She then glanced at Nerevar in the dim lighting. “I know what happened, Lord Nerevar.” 

Nerevar sat up at that, eager for answers, but Voryn kept an arm wrapped around his waist securely. 

“... In all honesty,” The healer began, sounding exacerbated, “I have never seen a case like this in all my years. But there is only one answer I can come to based on everything else.”

“Go on.” Nerevar tried to keep his voice level rather than annoyed. Azura knows how terrified most people got when he was angry. 

The healer pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“How familiar are you with fated mates?” At her question, Nerevar froze, stunned, before he gave a loud bark of laughter. The healer, however, did not laugh or smile back, and instead only looked more resolute. 

“... Be serious with me.” 

“I am being serious, Lord Nerevar.” 

“Are you--are you seriously trying to say Voryn is my--”

“I understand how strange it sounds at first.” The healer cut him off. “Typically when someone meets their fated mate they determine it quickly. It only takes a few heat or rut cycles before the draw is undeniable.” She sighed once again. “I can only assume because you knew Lord Dagoth before either of you presented, the draw was less noticeable.” 

It kind of made sense, to a degree. When people wrote about fated mates it was usually that they had a scent that was undeniable. Even passing by them on the street, you couldn’t get the scent out of your head for days on end, trying to find it again and again. Even those who tried to deny it couldn’t refuse the pull forever; heats and ruts were unbearable, the longing overwhelming the pair. No one had ever recorded an account of a fated pair who knew each other prior to presenting though; fated mates were absurdly rare, after all. They were more common in fiction than real life, and only the most hopeless of romantics ever went out actually looking for one. Most people just found a mate they liked rather than chase after some destined person, and why fated mates even existed was a mystery. Did everyone have one but distance kept them from finding one? That didn’t seem likely; the most common belief was that some people were born with them--not many members of the population, anyways--and even fewer actually found their ‘other half’. Someone meeting a fated mate before presenting, when you were children not off exploring the wider world yet, was even more unlikely. 

Dumac told him the dwemer scholars believed it had something to do with ‘reproductive compatibility’. Not that it was a mystical, god given connection like some believed, but rather those with a fated partner were less compatible with most of the population, so when they did find someone they could produce children with easily, the desire to mate was enhanced strongly. Nerevar didn’t know if he liked that explanation either though. He found the ideas the gods made destined partners to love each other forever as too romantic of an idea for reality yes, but presuming there must be something wrong with them instead wasn’t much better. 

It didn’t seem likely that he and Voryn could just ignore the draw for decades though, right? Surely that wouldn’t be possible. The draw was supposed to be strong, impossible to deny past a certain point.

Sure, when he was younger and Voryn was in a rut he always came by to check on him before he was shooed away, but that was just boredom. And when he was in heat Voryn would pass him notes under the door from time to time that he’d bury in the nests he made, but that was just because being in heat made him feel sensitive and sappy. Nothing more. And shouldn’t there be something more if they were a fated pair?

“Your other symptoms make me more certain of it.” The healer continued, pulling him from his thoughts.

“How so?” Nerevar raised an eyebrow. 

“It isn’t healthy for an unmated omega to be around an alpha in rut.” She replied, a fact that always made Nerevar roll his eyes. “It causes excess stress, even if it doesn’t trigger a heat. Unless you are drawn to the alpha in question as a potential partner, usually a rut is off putting, distressing, or nauseating for an unmated omega.”

“They’ve never bothered me to that extent.” Nerevar snarked.

“Precisely.” She locked eyes with him. “You handle it more akin to an omega who’s already been mated, despite not having the scent of one.” Nerevar tensed at that. He hadn’t thought of it like that in the slightest; why would he? He wasn’t mated. Anyone could smell on him that he wasn’t. “Those who have met a fated partner experience mated behaviors before the bond is even set. Rejecting other suitors, unbothered by others in a heat or rut,” She sighed. “Lord Vivec even explained you were giving off the same scent as a bonded omega whose mate was absent.” Nerevar’s cheeks flushed at that. 

“That’s--” Nerevar tensed slightly, “I wouldn’t go that far.” Surely Nerevar wasn’t. He wasn’t fucking bonded, why would he be throwing out the same scent as an omega who went into heat, begging for their mate to come tend to them? 

“You were.” She asserted, though she did have some sympathy in her gaze at least. “Unfortunately, the best I can do is, if you truly don’t want the bond, I can give you suppressants. They won’t actively stop it right now given you already went into heat, but they should calm some of the worst side effects for a time.” Nerevar already knew what she was going to say next though. “But your next one will be much the same. The side effects will continue to worsen.” Short of running away to the other side of the continent and burning anything he owned that Voryn had ever so much as touched, he would be able to smell Voryn faintly, after all. In the palace, on his belongings, anywhere Voryn had been might trigger the worst of the symptoms all over again now that he had a heat triggered by his rut no doubt. 

“At the very least, Lord Dagoth is in control of his emotions.” Voryn’s brow twitched at that, his arms tightening. “You can spend ruts and heats together without actually mating, until you come to a decision on how to proceed. It should alleviate both of your struggles.” 

Shit, Nerevar hadn’t even considered what Voryn must be going through. Was his irritation and lack of eating because he subconsciously knew Nerevar was supposed to be his mate but wasn’t there by his side? When he was younger was that out of character, violent rage because he knew, right there in the stronghold, his mate was being kept from him? No doubt the next rut Voryn would be uncontrollable; before he could hold back because he wasn’t consciously aware of what he wanted, but now that he knew it was Nerevar… 

Nerevar felt himself getting all the more wet at the prospect of Voryn tearing his way across the country for him, earning a low growl from Voryn and the healer clearing her throat. 

“I’ll leave the two of you to discuss it.” She said, now turning to leave. Nerevar felt his cheeks flush in a rush of embarrassment; no doubt because he was in heat the arousal led to a surge of pheromones in the air all but begging for Voryn to fuck him. “We will be waiting outside for your answer.” 

As soon as the door shut, Voryn was fussing over him again, marking him with his scent by nuzzling into his hair and against his cheek. But quickly the tension was melting off of Voryn’s body as he began apologizing. 

“I’m so sorry, Neht.” 

“This isn’t your fault.” Nerevar huffed. “I’m the idiot who deliberately stuck around after you told me not to.” 

“You didn’t know either.” Voryn sighed. “I could have made you leave but I… I felt more comfortable with you there.” If it was anything like what Nerevar was going through he could understand it. “Besides… If what the healer said is true then this was bound to happen.” That was also true; it was a miracle it hadn’t happened until now. If it wasn’t Nerevar insisting on spending time with Voryn during a rut, it could just as easily be Voryn stumbling upon him in heat, or anything else really. 

“Do you want to take the suppressants?” Voryn asked, and Nerevar sighed, shaking his head.

“No,” He rubbed his eyes, feeling sluggishness settle into his body. “It’ll help only temporarily, and make it worse next time around.” 

“But they might help you think clearer.” Voryn countered. “I don’t want you making any decisions with a clouded head.” 

“I’m not completely out of it, Voryn. A bit anxious, yes, but it’s not like I’m drunk.” Nerevar hated those kinds of assumptions; the stereotype that omegas were just needy, pathetic little things that couldn’t think for themselves once they were in heat was the most infuriating one. 

At his anger though, Voryn hushed him, nuzzling into his neck apologetically and licking a scent gland. Nerevar huffed at first, still rigid, until the affection soothed him, now groaning softly in delight instead as he head fell to the side to give Voryn more room. 

“Then,” Voryn began, “Would you prefer to stay here?” His hand rubbed soothing circles on Nerevar’s lower stomach. “Or do you want to return to my room?”

“Mm…” Nerevar knew it would probably be easier if he stayed here; he had healers and attendants he was used to, not to mention he knew the layout of his room well and kept it stocked with toys, erotica, anything he needed to help him get off. Even if the two of them only went so far as masturbating together rather than mating, those would be helpful. 

But the room didn’t feel entirely comfortable, even with Voryn there. Damn hormones were likely acting up on that front, but no use arguing with something illogical. 

“Your room is probably better.” He admitted, pulling himself out of Voryn’s arms to start packing. “Let me just get a few things and we can head back. Hopefully without the whole damn palace gossiping about it…”

“It’ll be alright.” Voryn reassured him, rubbing his back gently. “The palace was mostly quiet today.” He then coughed awkwardly, “Before I… Came running through after you.” Nerevar snorted at that. “After how thoroughly I scented you though I doubt most will be able to tell what’s going on.”

“Hopefully.” Nerevar wasn’t keeping it a secret he was an omega exactly, but he didn’t want to go shouting it to the world either. It was better to keep people guessing rather than anyone giving him shit for it unnecessarily. He still grabbed his travel pack, carelessly shoving some comfortable clothes and sleeping robes in, along with a few changes of underwear, and a favorite pillow of his. He also managed to cram in a few toys and a steamy novel he enjoyed, able to smell the spike of Voryn’s arousal at the sight from how strong his pheromones were. 

Another trip through the propylon chamber later--this time less hurried and better dressed, and they were once again walking back to Voryn’s private chambers. On the way there Voryn ordered attendants as they went, requesting a large dinner to be brought to his room that evening for Nerevar too, as well that Nerevar would be staying in Kogoruhn for several days. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Nerevar was going to be spending Voryn’s rut with him, the servants all scrambling at the knowledge. 

Just before they reached the room another healer appeared, handing Voryn several vials of potions, before giving a respectful bow and leaving. Voryn’s cheeks were more red at that, but he took them regardless, letting Nerevar enter the room. 

It was mostly as he left it, albeit with a few blankets and pillows knocked off from his speedy exit and a few tapestries fallen off the wall from a door slamming. A wardrobe was left open, probably from Voryn’s scramble to make himself semi-decent before chasing after Nerevar. 

He tossed his bag to the side of the bed, already feeling relieved to be back. Voryn locked the door behind them, moving to draw the curtains shut as Nerevar began fussing over the pillows and blankets, making sure the bed would be comfortable for him. With more than enough room for Voryn this time, something that had excitement bubbling away in his chest. 

“What are the potions for?” Nerevar asked as he added his own pillow to the bed, still arranging it. It was annoying to do it in heat--normally he got started a few days prior, but whatever. 

“... Birth control.” Voryn admitted, and Nerevar’s hands stopped briefly. 

He knew that was only logical. Even if they ended up going further, actually having sex or mating entirely, most didn’t want to have kids the first time. It took a while to adjust to a mate, see if you wanted to keep the bond… Then again, it was said fated mates couldn’t remove the bond once they did mate.

Still, hearing ‘birth control’ made it seem that much more… Real. They were going to spending Voryn’s rut and Nerevar’s heat together. Very easily one thing could lead to another, and he could… Actually have sex with Voryn. 

“... Better to be prepared than not.” Nerevar finally replied, resuming his work, before flopping into the nest he made. As soon as he was situated, Voryn stripped out of the additional robe he threw on top of his night clothes for decency, climbing in to lay beside Nerevar. 

“Did you eat properly?” He asked, fretting over him. Nerevar snorted. 

“Says the one who forgot to eat.” Nerevar teased. 

“I was…” Voryn sighed. “Too anxious to eat. I get wound up during a rut, and the idea of eating was nauseating.” He closed his eyes. “Until you showed up.” 

“Well I’m glad I made it easier for you.” Nerevar smiled. “And for your information, yes. I did in fact eat a large breakfast and lunch, as always.” He always had a big appetite after all, though he was especially ravenous during heats. “Though I wont say no to a big mudcrab feast for dinner~” Voryn laughed loudly at that, head thrown back and canines glinting. Nerevar swallowed roughly at the sight, subconsciously rubbing his own neck. 

“I’m glad you’re well fed then.” Voryn was still smiling warmly. “Hopefully you won’t eat me out of house and home.”

“Get a bigger house then if I do.” Nerevar teased back. 

“I certainly will have to, won’t I?” Voryn was smirking now, rolling on top of Nerevar. “I have to keep my mate well taken care of…” Voryn went back to his neck, kissing and licking now, earning several long, breathy moans from Nerevar. 

Gods, did Nerevar know what Vivec meant when he said heats were so much easier like this. Nerevar thought obviously a mate or even just a potential one you spent a heat with would make it a bit more bearable. But this… He didn’t feel nearly as irritable as he usually was, now feeling quite secure, not to mention his arousal wasn’t frustrating it just…

“Mmm…” Voryn groaned softly, grinding his hips against Nerevar’s. “Such a sweet scent when you’re aroused…” Voryn nipped at his ear next, making Nerevar arch up and keen. 

“Ah,” Nerevar gasped, grinding his hips in return, “Is it?” He didn’t have many people telling him he smelled sweet; usually he was compared to things that were fresh and bright, like citrus or herbs.

“Delightfully sweet.” Voryn purred. “Perfectly so, just to my taste…” Voryn then pulled up from his neck, taking his chin in hand. 

Nerevar’s heartbeat accelerated from the look in Voryn’s eyes. In every raunchy novel he read, alphas were described as ravenously hungry when they stared down omegas, like a predator having just caught its prey. But here Nerevar didn’t feel like prey; Voryn’s eyes were hungry, yes, but more so they were warm, affectionate and…

Loving. Devoted. Like he would do anything and everything for Nerevar’s sake. 

Nerevar’s eyes fell half shut as he found himself leaning up, Voryn meeting him halfway to connect their lips in a soft, gentle kiss. 

It was entirely out of order; normally you kissed and courted someone before you invited them to spend a rut or heat with you, contrary to many smutty novels and ballads where the couple spontaneously fell into bed together during one. By Azura, the two already knew each other for so many years too, and they were just barely kissing… 

Gods, no wonder people described it like fate. It felt insane that they hadn’t kissed before now. That it took so long for them to get here, sprawled out in bed together. The scent from Voryn was intoxicating as the kisses warmed up from slow and soft to passionate ones that made Nerevar feel entirely breathless. When Nerevar swiped his tongue into Voryn’s mouth, flicking briefly against his fangs, Nerevar shuddered, slipping one hand down between his thighs to rub back and forth against his dick. 

“So eager…” Voryn moaned against his lips, his own hand joining Nerevar’s. Even through the fabric the touch was electric, Nerevar’s body trembling slightly. “Did you want a toy inside you then?” Voryn asked, his voice low and deep, the sound going straight to Nerevar’s cunt. 

“Yeah…” Nerevar moaned softly. “A toy, your fingers…” Voryn was already undressing him, throwing the robe open and sliding his underwear off, “Anything…” 

“My cock?” Voryn offered with a smirk, only joking. Still though, Nerevar groaned at the thought; fuck yes did he want Voryn’s cock in him, fucking him to completion and then knotting him. He was already dripping wet at just the idea, after all. But he also knew they should take things slower.

“T-toy for now…” Nerevar groaned through grit teeth, before hissing as Voryn played with his dick while fishing around in the bag beside the bed. 

“Which one?” Voryn asked, still not letting up his teasing in the slightest. It felt so damn good, but Nerevar felt too empty! He threw an arm over his eyes, panting.

“Th-the…” Using his words was more difficult than he thought. “The one with the… Big knot~” A moment later, Voryn pulled it out, sliding the tip against Nerevar’s entrance. “Hah~!” 

“Is this one your favorite?” Voryn asked, a devilish smirk still on his face. Nerevar didn’t even have to look, he could feel the pleased look on his face as he started to tease it in. 

“Mm, when I’m in heat, yeah~” He could have lied, but what was the fucking point? Voryn was already fucking him with the damn thing, why play coy? Voryn slid it in a few inches, groaning softly as he watched it vanish into Nerevar’s body, before thrusting it in and out. It was a different rhythm than Nerevar used, but like everything else today it wasn’t unwelcomed. 

“Oh I’ll bet…” Voryn purred. “When you’re in heat you love taking a nice,” He gave a sharper thrust, letting Nerevar take it all up to just before the knot, but not quite pushing it in, “Big knot in your greedy little cunt, don’t you?” 

“Yes!” 

“Would you fuck yourself to completion and then take the whole thing?” He continued moving at that sharp, hurried pace as he slid it in and out of Nerevar.

“Fuck, yes—yes!!” He was panting desperately now, savoring the feeling. Voryn’s dirty talk was making this all the better—how had he gone so long without this?! If he’d known it would be this good, he’d have climbed into Voryn’s bed long before this.

“Imagining someone breeding you up?” Voryn was panting too, watching Nerevar with rapt attention. 

“Please,” Nerevar pleaded, feeling how close he was to an orgasm just hearing that. “Please, please~!” He tried grinding his hips down on the toy, desperate to feel the knot slipping inside him, but Voryn kept it from doing so. 

“My knot is the only one you’re going to feel this time, Neht.” Voryn growled low in Nerevar’s ear. “Only mine.” 

In response, Nerevar growled in return, quickly flipping positions as he climbed on top of Voryn instead. The toy completely slipped out, soon lost in the piles of pillows and blankets, as Voryn growled in return. The two were wrestling once again, though this time it wasn’t quite as playful. Honestly, Nerevar probably would have won this one by how seriously he was taking it, but heats made his body so groggy he wasn’t up to his usual strength. 

“Get inside me then.” Nerevar demanded through grit teeth as Voryn shoved him back down, prying his legs back open.

“Lay there and I will.” Nerevar still snarled, thrashing. “Now hold still or I’ll make you.” The threat made his cunt ache again, a long moan crawling out of his throat.

“Potion—“ Nerevar freed one arm, reaching for them. Voryn grabbed one, placing it in Nerevar’s hand as he finished undressing himself. Nerevar uncapped it and threw his head back, chugging it.

To Oblivion with taking it slow. He needed Voryn—all of him.

He tossed the potion bottle aside, wrapping his arms around Voryn as he nuzzled his face into his neck, now being the one to lick and kiss at a scent gland, almost intoxicated by the spice and musk. 

“Neht,” Voryn hissed. 

“Let’s mate.” Nerevar whispered, before feeling Voryn tense up. Silence followed, except for Voryn’s heavy breathing.

“Nerevar we don’t have to mate just to—“

“I want to.” Nerevar pulled back enough to look at him. “Be honest with me Voryn, who else am I going to mate with?” The very idea Nerevar could mate with someone else made Voryn’s anger spike, clear from the scent he gave off. “And even if we just tried to deny mating, just spending heats and ruts together, we’ll both lose it eventually.” The draw was supposedly undeniable, and Nerevar wanted to do it at least semi lucid without pain and desperation making the experience less enjoyable. 

“Besides,” Nerevar now gave a warm smile, the low light still twinkling in his eyes. “You’re a very devoted, loving, strong alpha…” Voryn shuddered. “Making sure I’m well fed, giving me medicine…”

“I have to take care of you…” Voryn whispered. “You mean the world to me.”

“Exactly.” Nerevar was still smiling, now thumbing at Voryn’s lower lip as he cupped his cheek. “Who else could possibly take care of me as well as you? You’re the one who’s always been there for me. You guarded my back in war, supported me on my quest to become hortator, and even long before I was a hero, just some canvasari not even wanted by his own house, you took care of me and showed me respect.” Just as easily, Voryn could have tossed him aside. Childish friendships with lower classes didn’t need to be kept by chimer nobility. Any other would have probably ‘outgrown’ Nerevar, but Voryn didn’t. Because Voryn didn’t just see Nerevar as a toy to be played with and tossed aside but as himself. 

Honestly, even being tossed aside by another noble would have been a good outcome. Many would have also taken Nerevar as a concubine after he presented, or sold him off given he had nowhere else to go. But Voryn always saw him as a friend he treasured.

“But,” Voryn gave a sigh, “You don’t love me.”

Ah. Nerevar didn’t think Voryn was the type to only want to mate when you truly loved someone. It only made sense he supposed, most people did, but he was used to seeing things in terms of practicality.

“Voryn,” He stroked his cheek, “Maybe I don’t love you romantically… Yet.” Nerevar wouldn’t discount that at all; if he’d fall in love with anyone, right now he imagined it would be Voryn. “And I don’t really know… What it’s even like to fall in love with someone completely like that given I’ve only had a few flings and a political marriage but,” He looked up into Voryn’s eyes, never more certain in matters of the heart than he was now. “I do know I care about you deeply. More than anyone else in my life.” Nerevar licked his lips. “And there is no person in the world I’d rather be mated with than you.” 

Silence then followed, Voryn staring at him in shock. Suddenly nervous, Nerevar began to backpedal slightly. 

“Of course I understand if you want to wait. I-gods, it would probably be easier for you if we did the whole courtship and dating thing first, wouldn’t it—“ He was then cut off by a kiss, Voryn’s tongue swiping into his mouth.

“I want to mate with you, Neht.” Voryn whispered, as he pulled away with a smile. “Tonight.”

“Are you sure? I—“ Nerevar swallowed roughly as he felt Voryn lift one of his legs up, his own instincts screaming at him that he needed this—that he needed to stop talking and get fucked right then and there.

“I’m certain.” Voryn said, his tone unwavering as he kept that warm smile on his face, his eyes shining. “Do you want me to mate with you before, during, or after?”

Nerevar licked his lips, thinking it over. A claiming bite was said to be extremely pleasurable, once the initial pain wore off. Some preferred to get it out of the way before sex, enjoying their new bond before warming back up. Some preferred the orgasmic rush that came with a claiming bite in the middle of sex. Others preferred to claim their mates while they laid together, panting and connected after being knotted.

“Not before,” Nerevar answered, his whole body still feeling warm. “I can’t… I can’t wait that long.” His body was still screaming at him to move, push the alpha on top of him down and ride him if he wasn’t going to take Nerevar already. He was squirming, antsy under Voryn’s gaze, and feeling too fucking empty again to think properly.

“Here,” Voryn whispered, pressing the head of his cock to Nerevar’s entrance. Nerevar’s breath hitched, before giving a long, drawn out moan as Voryn slid inside. “Why don’t we just see what feels right in the moment…”

“Voryn~!” Nerevar arched up, trembling slightly. 

It felt good. It felt right. It occurred to him, at that moment, that this was what he’d wanted every heat. Every struggling minute of desperation, every orgasm that didn’t quite feel satisfying enough—he wanted Voryn. 

Voryn threaded his fingers with Nerevar’s, pinning both of his hands to the bed as he gave a slow thrust, kissing him for all he was worth. No wonder his heats were so much more unbearable after he moved to Mournhold—he had assumed it was the heat and stress of being king, but he knew now it was his body screaming at him to return back to Voryn. To lose himself in Voryn’s embrace, just like this.

“Fuck…” Voryn groaned as he pulled away from the messy kiss. “Incredible—you feel incredible~”

Such a comment only stroked his pride, adding to the pleasure. He was making his mate feel good. He was making his mate feel just as good as he felt. It was enough to make his head spin, as every thrust quickly matched that sharp, hurried pace Voryn had set earlier with the toy.

“Claim me~” Nerevar whined, turning his head to expose his neck. Nerevar could feel it—he wanted to be claimed. Oh gods did he want to be claimed! Before he felt disgust whenever alphas glanced at his neck, trying to determine if he was a claimed omega or a beta of some kind. But now though he wanted it more than anything—

Voryn complied, moving down quickly, not letting the pace of his thrusts falter as he growled, nuzzling Nerevar’s neck. He licked and kissed, listening to every sharp whine from Nerevar that followed, before finally biting.

Nerevar’s mind went blank the second Voryn bit him, his eyes rolling back as he orgasmed.

It felt unreal—every fucking novel he read left him sorely unprepared for the pleasurable rush that hit him. It was pure bliss; every nerve in his body burning brightly from ecstasy, as Voryn growled deeply. 

He was officially mated. He belonged to Voryn. He found his mate and everything felt perfect, sparks still shooting up and down his spine as Voryn pulled his teeth out, panting and growling even more harshly as his hips somehow moved faster and rougher. He could feel Voryn’s knot forming too, pumping in and out of his cunt in a way that hit his sweet spot every time.

“Tight—!” Voryn snarled. “So tight, so damn tight… Neht!” 

“Knot me…” Nerevar moaned, coaxing Voryn further, feeling intoxicated from the pleasure still coursing through him. “Knot me, breed me up~” He ground his hips down at every thrust inside him, forcing Voryn to change the rhythm. Now, every thrust in he stayed a moment longer, grinding down, his knot catching on Nerevar’s entrance.

By now, Voryn had let go of Nerevar’s hands, face still buried in Nerevar’s neck as he moaned and growled into his ear. “I’m going to,“ Voryn panted. “I’m going to breed you, knot you until I know my seed takes—!” It wouldn’t, not after the potion Nerevar took, but he wasn’t thinking logically at the moment. All he was thinking about was how great it felt being fucked and bred by his mate, his alpha. “Mine! You’re all mine! Mine mine mine mine mine—!”

Finally, the knot refused to slip out. It swelled up completely, pressed firmly inside him, and Nerevar gasped as a new sensation overtook him. 

He felt himself tighten even further, making Voryn  moan long and loud, as the two were now firmly locked together. An orgasm hit him next, even more intense than the one from the claiming bite. If the bite was an intense, all encompassing blast of fire—like a star going supernova—this one was a drawn out burn. His mind didn’t go blank, instead forcing him to focus on the pleasure, as he felt heat inside him.

“Fuck~!!” Nerevar yelled, practically screaming, dragging his nails down Voryn’s back as his body shuddered, his cunt clenching and milking the cock still firmly sealed inside him. 

He knew what it was, yet he never really experienced it, so his knowledge was only really how it would be in theory. He never let an alpha knot him, after all; even if he had to have sex for political reasons he doused himself in perfume oil to hide his pheromones and always made sure they pulled out. Supposedly an omega locking happened much more commonly in heat, tightening around the knot as they orgasmed, keeping every drop of seed in to ensure conception…

Nerevar felt another wave of the long orgasm following, a broken, garbled moan spilling from his lips as Voryn rocked his hips.

“Stop moving!” Nerevar pleaded. If he kept rocking his knot right there—right against Nerevar’s sweet spot—he was never going to stop climaxing.

“Stop cumming!” Voryn hissed back, before groaning. “Oh gods you’re milking me for every drop!” He continued the slow rocking, as Nerevar felt fuller and fuller, his vision going hazy as tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“I can’t…” Nerevar whined. “Too full…” Nerevar groaned, still trembling. “It’s too much….” There was too much inside him—before he felt painfully empty, and now he felt far too full. Voryn’s cock, his knot, and every drop of seed was filling him—

Another wave of pleasure followed, as Voryn growled. 

“Your body wants this so badly…” He snarled, nipping at the claiming bite he left. “Get pregnant!” He hissed, enjoying the way Nerevar’s body tightened around him once more. The command was enough to make him shudder, yet another wave of pleasure following. “Get pregnant, get pregnant!” Voryn urged with a bit more rocking, before Nerevar tugged him into another messy, open mouthed kiss.

If it wasn’t for the potion, Nerevar knew he would be. It seemed impossible for him not to conceive when it felt this good—when he was so full and not a drop spilling out of him despite Voryn’s movements… 

Eventually the pleasure subsided, Voryn’s movements slowing as their kiss went from feral and intense to something slower and lazier, kissing each other over and over as Nerevar ran his hands through Voryn’s long hair. 

“Fuck…” Nerevar groaned, breathlessly. “Intense…” It felt like an understatement, but that was the only word that came to mind as Voryn panted. 

“Gods…” Voryn groaned. “You were… Tighter than I had expected…” He hissed, shifting slightly again, but this time just to help them lay more comfortably. 

“It still feels too big…” Nerevar groaned. Now it was slightly uncomfortable, but he knew the more they did this, the more his body would adjust. To help ease his discomfort, Voryn pressed a few gentle kisses to his face, keeping himself still.

“Is it too full?” Voryn asked, and Nerevar nodded. Voryn sat up slightly, and the pressure being taken off his lower stomach was a relief, especially as Voryn caressed it. 

As Nerevar looked down, he could see why: there was a slight swell in his stomach from the pressure. He groaned, already regretting the decision to have sex on his back. He knew now why omegas preferred mating face down, and that it had nothing to do with submission and instead purely comfort.

“Don’t worry,” Voryn reassured him. “Just a few minutes…” His voice trailed off as his eyes went dark, taking in the sight of Nerevar under him, panting and covered in sweat, filled with his seed. Nerevar could tell what he was thinking from the change of the scent in the air, sparks from their newly formed connection.

“Like what you see…?” Nerevar asked with a toothy, cocky grin, only to groan as he felt Voryn shift again.

“Keep acting like that and I’ll only want to take you again…” Voryn replied, his voice low. Nerevar still felt rather proud at that; his mate didn’t like a soft, demure, and submissive type of omega like he always kind of worried an alpha would demand once they mated. Instead, Voryn seemed to enjoy him earnestly, even with all of his showboating and teasing.

“Maybe you should…” Nerevar purred in response. “We can have dinner, a relaxing bath to recover…” Nerevar’s eyes were half lidded as he spoke. “And then you can fill me up all over again…” 

The warm, messy kiss Voryn gave him was all the answer Nerevar needed.