#when he first met him he was the prey and horrified

[scandals-r-us]

What are you gonna do when those sunglasses won't hide yourself anymore?

[anjelicawrites]

Homophrosyne

Paring: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader Synopsis: homophrosyne: a thinking and knowledge that is shared between two people. When your soulmate decides to come after you, you try to escape him. Too bad he’s Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, he’s never going to give you up. Warnings: blink and miss reference to the Baron’s abuse of Feyd, blink and miss reference to Feyd killing his mother, soulmate bonding considered as a curse, Feyd being very done and also horny, Feyd’s fascination with reader’s hair and body hair, switch!Feyd, switch!reader, attempted murder (not from Feyd to reader), murder, kissing, oral (f and m receiving), hair pulling, titty sucking, biting, blood licking, overstimulation, marking, Feyd’s pierced cock, a bit of ball torture. A/N: reader is AFAB, the only descriptor is that they have long hair. Where needed, they/them pronouns used.

You were one year old when you first learn that having a soulmate is more akin to a catastrophe, than a blessing. You shouldn’t remember the horrified gasp both your Bene Gesserit and your adoptive mother had exhaled, when they discovered your soulmate’s words on your body, yet you retrieved the memory when your Bene Gesserit mother taught you how to meditate. The two women had instilled the distrust of the bond in your heart, in hope to avoid what was unavoidable: the gravitational pull between two soulmates, before the forging of the bond.

Was the universe conspiring to realize this goal, when you felt compelled to follow your soulmate’s energy, the dark thread that pulled you towards him during that fateful afternoon you were meditating all alone? How could that sad, bald boy be a curse? He looked so alone in the big, dark room: how could you not go to him, when you felt him so strongly within yourself, for the first time?

All your parents, both biological and adoptive seemed keen in convincing you that stunting the newborn bond was the safest way for you to live: you couldn’t break you adoptive father’s heart when you had seen how ashen his face had become as soon as you told him the name of your destiny. You were but a child of six, still learning the ways of the world and put all your energies in forging a wall between you and him, learning to ignore the tug of your soul towards him, until you could pretend you never visited him.  It was a fool’s errand, a wall made of feathers, not bricks, the one you, so desperately, crafted to make your family happy. Through the cracks, tendrils of the bond had, slowly, made way for themselves, as you deluded yourself with believing you were safe, that you could escape your destiny. You were a fool, your whole family was. He was biding his time, patiently waiting for the tendrils to envelop the bricks of your defenses and destroy them: if his uncle had taught him something, was the patience of the spider that weaves its web and you, little fly, were going to be ensnared. It was destiny, after all.

You haven’t seen him since that fateful encounter. Stupidly your brain expected him to still be a child of five, sad and alone the way you first met him, you struggle to recognize him in the grown man observing you like a predator would its prey. 

“Found you.” He says, his voice a gravelly drawl that makes goosebumps explode on your dream skin. 

He’s grown, dream you thinks, of course he’s an adult now.

“You are a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” He deadpans.

There’s a sort of tenderness in his blue eyes, in the way he assess you from his perch. The irony doesn’t escape you, your first meeting had happened in his bedchambers, your positions the same: him sitting on the bed, you standing in front of him, two curious children who had been playing with forces beyond their understanding.

You want to look everywhere but at him, yet your eyes are drawn to his naked form under the black bed sheets, the strong planes of his hairless chest and the raw, masculine energy you feel coming from him in waves. Even though this is a dream, you can feel your dream body react to his non-presence, your nipples stiffen under the soft cotton of your nightgown and your cunt pulsates with the need to be filled by him. 

“You have no idea.” You growl back.

His dark gaze travels down your body, clad only by the soft material of your nightgown and you have to steer yourself from covering your skin from the hunger in his gaze.

“Join me.” He says, beckoning you with one hand. “You know you want to.” “You’ll soon realize how little you know about me.” You spat back, disgusted by the desire coursing through your dream body.

You know that, if you were to follow the desperate howl of need you feel, the pleasure he’ll give you will be unparalleled, it will ruin anyone else for you. There will be no escaping.

With a speed that only exists in a dream, he stands in front of you, glorious body naked, pierced cock erect and straining towards you.

“Why make this harder than it should be? You’re made for me and I am made for you. It’s no use fighting this.” He drawls, the sound a low rumble you feel in your bones. “Because I forge my own path. And I have no use for a fool.”

You’re surprised by how firm your voice is, all the training kicking in without you even thinking about it; he laughs, a deep, rich sound that reverberates through you.

“I’m coming for you, soulmate.” He says, his voice calm, his tone final and sure. “If you can find me.” “I always know where you are.” 

You force yourself to wake up, body sweaty and aroused under the soft cotton of your own sheets; you’re ashamed by the desire that burns your body, and by the fact that you have to bury your fingers in your wet cunt, forcing yourself to come again and again, biting your pillow to stifle the desperate moans of his name: Feyd.

To leave both your biological and adopted family is the only solution you have, not when you have to tell your mothers and fathers that Feyd coming for you is not an ‘If’ anymore, but a ‘When’.

“It is too slim a chance that he will not come after you, in the end.” Your mentat father repeats you in the vain hope to stop you. “I’d rather seize that, than wait like a sitting duck!” “You can’t run forever.” Your adoptive father puts his big hands on your shoulders, stopping you from packing. “You’re safer here, where guards are.”

You stare at him, your trained eye sees the stunted micro expressions and the way he’s trying to hide his anxiety from you.

“I’m not sacrificing our people’s on his blade, he will stop once he’ll realize that I have no interest in him and that he can’t reach me; Harkonnen care more about power than anything else. And then I will be able to come home.”

You have to keep yourself awake, swallowing pills after pills, using all your training to force your exhausted body to endure the never ending trip to the furthest limit of the Imperium, jumping from a smuggler vessel to another, hiding your true path from Feyd by trying to use the bond to manipulate him into going on a wild goose chase. 

Sometimes you can hear the low rumble of his voice like an echo in your mind, his fleeting image randomly appears in your mirror, his dark eyes pools of desire that have you tremble in the deepest recess of your core; you're so tired now that you don’t know if it’s the bond becoming stronger, or your exhausted brain running on fumes that makes you feel the fleeting warmth of his touch on your skin or his presence by your side. It is torture not to follow what your body wants: just let yourself become one with your soulmate, and rest in the safety of his presence. You are too stubborn to surrender yourself to biology, and to Feyd, so you soldier on, blocking him out as much as you can as the bond erodes the last, frayed, defenses you have left.

Hidden under a false name you wait to set sail to the last leg of your journey and you have to bundle yourself into thick layers of clothes to survive the frigid weather of this small planet, as you force yourself get a breath of fresh air whenever the walls of your rented room seem to become smaller and smaller. It’s paranoia, yet you seem to feel the eyes of the owner of the inn scan you every time you go out, weighting you against the other patrons and finding you too different to truly blend in: when is the vessel coming? You ask yourself again and again, as you navigate the crowded market, vibrating with the need to simply go and finish this demented trip.

You walk aimlessly, pressed in the crowd that protects and smothers you at the same time, trying to interest yourself in the trinkets sold while you study your surroundings, feeling the power you have on the simulflow slip: as much as the Bene Gesserit have total and utter control on their body and its functions, there’s still a limit, and you know you are reaching it at full force.

When you see him, for a second you think that’s your brain playing tricks on you: he can’t be here, not without you feeling him through the bond. Have you finally lost your mind? You can’t truly analyze what’s happening that your body seizes, torn between the extreme stress you’ve put it under for weeks, and feeling the bond finally snap and settle; you faint on the cobbled road, all your muscles trembling violently, your head banging against the pavement as the people make room around you, your ears deaf to their horrified screams, or to Feyd calling your name.

Finally you can rest.

You open your eyes to a dull ache in the back of your head, your eyes focusing slowly on the rustic woodwork of the ceiling above you as you feel your mind assess your memories, and block Feyd from knowing you’re awake, out of sheer instinct, knowing full well this is going to work partially: you will need to face the man, not now though, you’re not ready. You want to assess the bond, understand it: what you haven’t done in your entire life. Escaping is not in the cards anymore, now that Feyd knows where you are, you just need some more time, before you can face him. You’re still surprised he’s been apt enough to manipulate the bond to this extent: you thought he was wasting time in a wide goose chase! This level of deviousness leaves you speechless and, if the circumstances were different, you’d be happy to take Feyd as your lawfully wedded husband; but you can’t.

You have no idea how long you’ve been out, probably long enough to feel your strength and clarity being restored, albeit partially. Quick and silent you bundle yourself up in your warmest clothes and throw the survival kits you have in the backpack, before opening the window and use your mentat training to assess the best route to escape the village, using the roofs as your route. Feyd will realize soon enough that you’re gone again and you need to cover as much ground as you can manage. This planet is so backward, even compared to the standards of this side of the galaxy, that the only mode of transportation is on horseback; for a split second you consider stealing one form one of the stables of the inn, but that would bring too much attention to yourself, and you don’t need that.

Feyd reaches you when you’ve arrived at the high cliffs, the only known feature of this small planet. You knew he’d be on your tracks as soon as he’d realize you weren’t asleep anymore, the block on the bond only partially shielding you from his awareness: you have to confront him, finally, but on your own terms, not his. 

“Stay where you are!” You shout over the howling of the wind, as soon as he dismounts from the horse. “If you come any closer I’m chucking myself off this cliff!”

You see Feyd stop on his tracks immediately, and you know he knows, through the bond, that you’re not lying.

“This is the moment you turn around and go back to your home planet!” You shout. “You know I can't do that.” “No one is forcing your hand!”

Your foot slips a little but you manage to regain your balance; a shot of pure, unadulterated fear courses through the bond: it's Feyd’s and it takes your breath away.

“Come closer!” He shouts over the violent wind. “I don't trust you, Harkonnen!”

Frustration, anger, sadness all explode through the bond and you know he's forcing himself not to jump at you and drag you off the cliff, kicking and screaming, even risking you jumping backwards; with the bond having settled, the connection is unavoidable, thus keeping him out completely will never work, there will always be a part of him linked to your soul.

“I'm not going to hurt you!” “You’d never be able to! Not even in a million years!”

Frustration again, and a hint of amusement: he believes his swordsmanship to be better than yours. You fight back, focusing all your anger on him, the strength of it pushing him backwards.

“You can try to best me!” He shouts.

He's positively amused now, despite the situation, he finds you amusing! You're so incensed you’d carve his eyes out! And you’d do so, if fat drops of rain didn't start pelting the two of you, drenching the two of you to the bone in seconds. The sky has turned black and the wind is so violent that you have to abandon your perch on the cliff and get closer to Feyd.

“There's…” You try to make yourself heard over the brutal howling. “Caves!” You shout, pointing to the point where the cliffs fall directly into the ocean. “Go back!” He shouts back. “Too far!”

The crack of a too close thunder scares the horse. The animal rears violently on his hind legs, forcing you and Feyd to move aside before it runs away, mad with fear. You elect to ignore that Feyd has put himself between you and the scared horse.

“We need to go!” You shout, pulling the hood tighter over your head.

You're drenched to the bone and so cold that it's only thanks to the prana-bindu training that you're not trembling like a leaf. Feyd doesn't look any better than you do: his black clothes have absorbed all the water possible and are sticking to his long body; it's the light shade of blue of his lips that’s concerning: without the horse, going back to the village is impossible in this weather: you two need to find refuge as soon as possible! 

You don't need to tell him, you simply start walking, trying to orient yourself under the wall of rain that's still pouring over you two to find the cave system you know exists in the cliff that slopes into the ocean. 

The wind makes walking a feat, you have to bend forward and push against the violence of the element. Through the bond you feel Feyd and the strain his own body is put under to follow your path, how cold he feels; and it’s affecting you as well. A full grown bond between soulmates it’s not that different from the Other Memory, yet it’s deeper. It’s not simply sharing one’s ego, it’s fusing two cores, while maintaining one’s consciousness: the most deep connection of two people’s experiences, lives and feelings, the biological need to help and protect the other side of the bond. What you’re desperately trying to fight.  On a genetic level you want to share your prana-bindu control over to Feyd, to protect him from the chill in his bones, your rational mind stops you from doing so and you’re torn between those two needs battling in your chest.

You two stumble inside the first opening you see and keep walking until you two are away enough from the draft coming from the mouth of the cave; you two quickly scope it, and you finally let your back rest against the cold stones when it is apparent that there’s only one way in and out.

“What is this place?” Feyd’s voice is even lower, raspy with tiredness. “Bandit’s cove. The ruling House of this constellation has eliminated the threat years ago and never went through the hassle of emptying the whole cave system. Some reports say that no planetologist ever studied it as a whole.”

All around the two of you lay broken pieces of furniture and even older equipment, perhaps you two can even find some dry blankets to add to what you have in your survival kits.

The slap of Feyd’s over layers of clothes being thrown on the floor snaps you out of your thoughts: another side effect of being in the presence of one’s soulmate is the instinctual fall of every self-protection response, and you didn’t even realize it’s happening to you!

“We need to start a fire.” Feyd tells you.

You force yourself to ignore the way the remaining layers of wet clothes cling to his long body, enhancing the strong muscles as he moves around to break the furniture into smaller pieces; you know he knows you’re watching, and he likes it. Hurriedly you open your backpack, looking for matchsticks, hoping they are all still dry in the deepest pocket of the survival kit, electing to ignore his smugness again: you don’t know what will happen between you two, one thing is certain, you will slap that smirk off his face, probably sooner than later. 

“You shouldn’t threaten me with the promise of a good time, if you’re not going to deliver.” He drawls, and you feel warmth explode in your body.

You throw the matchsticks at him, who grabs it blindly, too focused on creating a small pile of wood to look towards you; despite the shaking of his hands he manages to start the fire. You get closer to the small flames and let your palms hover for a moment, knowing full well you have to change into the dry clothes in your pack; Feyd doesn't seem to care that you're there, he simply removes the remaining layers covering his torso, before rummaging through his own backpack.  You can't help yourself, you stare, almost transfixed, at the way his muscles move and play under his white skin, the tight control he has on his movements scream of the training he had subjected himself to: he is so powerful and a part of you wonders how sheathing him within yourself would feel, how would your body manage the feat; you turn around as quickly as you can when he stares at you, embarrassed by having let your mind wonder.

“Are we still playing this game?”

Again, amusement floods from his side of the bond, surprising you. 

“It's common decency.” “Was it when you were ogling me?” “I wasn't. I was thinking and you were in the way. Now will you turn around?” “You are weird.” He says, cocking his head to the side. 

He talks! You think. Has he ever looked at himself in a mirror? Do they even have mirrors on Giedi Prime?

“We do have mirrors. It would surprise you how common those are back home.”

You jump at his answer, not being used to having someone else camping in your head.

“Stay out of my mind!” “Easier to say than to do.”

He's right and you know it. You know he's not watching as you undress and unpack the dry clothes from their protective layers, yet you feel his presence, his warmth, as if he were touching you; you shiver, you can't help it, the deeper, the baser triggers of your biology taking over a lifetime of training.  It is strange, having to manage the rapidly growth of his soul inside of you, find a balance between yourself and him: you can alter your body functions all you want, yet you can't stop yourself from feeling what Feyd does, his tiredness, the warmth seeping back in his bones, his hunger and not only for food. 

Now you understand why the Bene Gesserit are so wary of marked sisters.

You try to focus on your body, the flow of your breath and the movements of every single muscle as you change clothes and then eat. You had thought you could have simply shelved the bond in one of the planes of the simulflow, but it encompasses everything and slithers in your every thought. You are not sure how you're supposed to be still yourself and house Feyd inside of you, manage his presence and the layers of your being: is this tiredness in your bones yours? A leftover from having abused pills for too long, or is it him?

“I’ll stand guard, you sleep.” He tells you after you both have finished eating. “I'm not sleeping with you awake.” “Afraid I might steal you away?” “Would you?” “I don't know. Would I?”

His eyes focus on yours as you feel him poke you through the bond. 

“How come you're so apt at this?” You ask, needing to change the subject and fishing for information.  “I reckon one of us has to, after you blocked me out. It came handy in the long run.” His full lips twist in a smirk and you can see he hasn't the black pain on his teeth; isn’t the na Baron supposed to wear that? “Both of us sleeping is dangerous. If I truly wanted to take you, I would have done so when you fainted in the middle of the street.” “This planet is safe, all the reports say so.” You retort back.  “And you know because you’ve read all of them.” He answers, sarcasm tinging his voice.

So he doesn't know, you realize. Even though he knows how to manipulate the bond better than you do, what you are hasn't seeped through, yet. 

He will, though, soon enough. 

“If you're tired, I am tired. It's irritating.”

It's more than that, it fucks with both your rogue mentat and Bene Gesserit training: it’s harder to understand how to live with another’s soul inside of yours when you feel like you’re battling running on fumes. You know he knows you're not telling the truth, not the whole of it, but the sharing between you two is still happening: you two aren't completely barren to one another. 

“We sleep with our backs to the stone and I am laying in front of you. That's not negotiable.” “Don't tell me an Harkonnen has developed the ability to care.” You bark. “I trust my knives more than any report.” He answers. 

He's not lying, you realize, he’s not being a gentleman, he simply believes more in his swordsmanship, than he does anything else.

You huff and busy yourself with creating an insulation layer, by putting on the stone floor the ancient blankets stored in one of the trunks Feyd used to feed the fire, before opening your sleeping bag. 

Before laying down, you hang all your wet clothes on a small trunk, as close to the fire as possible, hoping they will dry through the night. Feyd does the same and you can't help but notice the stark difference between your earthly tones and his solid black. He then lays the blankets from your survival packs, and his, over the sleeping bags, hoping to ward the cold and humidity away; it’s not ideal but it’s just for one night, back home he’ll shower you will the comforts that come with being his spouse, because you’re going back to Geidi Prime with him.

Uneasy you slither inside your sleeping bag. Hiding a small dagger under the pillow you turn to face Feyd, who is lying on his back; you’d rather sleep on your other side, but you still don’t trust him.

Despite all odds, you fall asleep, a deep, dreamless slumber that envelops you in darkness and quiet; beside you Feyd sleeps the sleep of the hunter, light and ready to be awoken by the gentlest of sounds. He has to force himself not to follow you into the deep sea of unconsciousness, has to fight the natural soulmate instinct to lose all survival instinct, because one’s other half is finally by their side.

The sudden stop of the rainfall is what awakens him. In the darkness he can make out your features, slackened with the relaxation of sleep. A stray lock of hair has escaped the loose plait you braided to help dry them; he longs to move it out of your face, feel the actual texture and not the phantom he does through the bond, but then you would wake and he just wants to observe you. You are beautiful to him in the way nothing is permitted to be on Giedi Prime, you’re also a headache and a half, trying to send him on a wild goose chase and still rejecting him. It would have almost worked, if he hadn’t gone through the pains of learning the ways of the bond, while you had been rejecting it ever since you two were children. He had to be devious about it, hiding from his uncle, pretending to ignore it to not incur in his wrath again and he had to do it all on his own, alone and abandoned by you, who never visited him again. He’ll know soon enough if your family had punished you for having a soulmate, for wearing his words on your skin, the way his uncle did when he first saw the words hidden in the crease of his right thigh.

You become restless in your sleep at this thought, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do.

The long years you left him alone in navigating the bond, he had hated that you left him to his own devices, had imagined to hurt you as punishment for the wall you had built between you two, had longed for you and punished himself for it. When he saw you again, in that too short dream, he felt like he had received a personality transplant: all his rage gone, substituted by this array of feelings foreign to him, that he couldn’t name, and lust for your body. There’s no love, nor gentleness on Giedi Prime, or in the Harkonnen family, yet all he could think was that his daggers existed to protect you, that he would never raise his hand in anger against you. Even on that cliff, where he was ready to just drag you by the hair away from danger, it wasn’t because he wanted to hurt you, just protect you; and you’re making everything so difficult, stubborn little thing that you are.

“Is it always going to be like this?” Your voice is a light murmur, your eyes stubbornly closed. “You think while I am asleep, thus waking me up, Feyd?”

It’s the first time you’ve used his name, still emerging from your slumber your defenses are lowered, or so you like to think.

“You’ll learn.” He says. “You could have had a head start.” “You’re such an asshole.” You growl back, opening your eyes.

His face is not fully turned towards you, mindful of the distant opening of the cave, and you can only observe his profile. He’s as handsome, his features only enhanced by the lack of hair, as much as he’s devious and smart: of course he hits all the targets with you, the universe shaped him for you, if only…

Before you let your thoughts wander anymore, you stand up abruptly and start collecting your belongings.

“And you are making this harder than it should!”

You can feel his rage through the bond, it hurts you, yet you know this is the only course of action.

“Why can’t you understand there’s no other way? I’m not coming to Giedi Prime with you, and I am not bringing you home with me!”

Now it’s his turn to stand up, his massive hand curls around your arm and even through the layers of clothing you can feel his warmth, his words on your skin burning.

“I’m not some stray puppy you found at the side of the road!” He bites back.

Before you can answer, from the darkness, countless knives fall upon you two.

The cave you two have camped in must have had another entrance, hidden, because there’s men pouring in from everywhere. Before you and Feyd can go back to back, you two are separated, forced to parry and dodge the hail of stabbing and blows. The more people you two wound and kill, the more appear; they seem to focus mainly on Feyd, who is fighting brutally, cutting through the wall of men that’s, inexorably, closing upon him, in the vain attempt to reach you and the exit from the cave. You’re backed against a wall, desperately trying to carve your way out, but more men jump you and you know you’ve been wounded.

Feyd is one of the finest fighters of the whole Imperium, fast and cunning, but he’s just one man against a never ending sea and as much strength and speed you can infuse your movements, you two outnumbered, you realize, assessing the situation with the inward calm you have been lacking these past few weeks. Knowing that there’s only one solution doesn’t scare you, perhaps it’s the key to solve this entire issue. You focus on the four men blocking you against the stone wall: you forget the daggers in your hands, forget the pain coursing through you body and simply concentrate all your energies on your vocal cords.

“Kill all your companions!” You order, knowing full well how hard it is to use the Voice on a group of people.

The four stop their advance and stare at you, confused, as if assessing your words, before turning around and attacking their own friends.  The ensuing chaos is what you and Feyd need to gain the upper hand and cut through the whole host of enemies, now too stunned to pose a threat anymore, until only the four you used the Voice on are still standing.

Another person would be horrified by the look in their eyes at the realization that they have help massacre their own people, you can’t find it in your heart to care.

“Finish the job!” You bark, too busy to assess your internal damages to observe the ensuing bloodbath.

You let your body fall onto the ground, you know you have some broken ligaments in you ankle and a gaping wound on your side; and your cells proliferating hurts more than being stabbed.

You feel, more than hear, Feyd kneel by your side.

“You’re one of the witches.”

Surprise courses through the bond, a sneer tinges his deep voice; perhaps this is the way to convince him to let you go.

“My birth mother was, still is in a way. She’s just given me renegade training, ah!”

Your body tenses when a fractured rib snaps back into place.

“No Bene Gesserit can be marked by soul words.”

“That’s what they want everyone to believe.” You open your eyes and fix your gaze upon him. “Marked sisters exists, like my mother. They are a minority and are not fully trusted to follow whatever is the Bene Gesserit end goal.”

A cursory check of your injuries shows you that you’re left with minor scrapes.

“Feyd, you don’t want to associate yourself with the mess that’s my family. And I can’t let the Baron have any control over my training.”

The training your birth parents forced upon you as protection against your soulmate, the training that makes you accepting the bonding so dangerous. Idiots, all of them! And you as well!

You let your head fall back against the stone, in your mind eye you can see yourself the way Feyd does, still bloodied and covered in perspiration, the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his entire life.

“You’d really think I would let my uncle play you like a puppet on a string?” “You know you’re a pawn in his game. Everyone in your family is, and I can’t risk him using me to gain even more power.”

Sadness fills the bond, it comes from you in waves; you’re not telling him the whole truth, though, he realizes, this is but one of the reasons why you’ve been avoiding your shared destiny.

“That is not a problem anymore.”

Your eyes snap open and land on his white teeth, again.

Why isn’t he wearing the black paint? He’s the na Baron, he’s supposed to! You finally let yourself analyze this change in him. The only reason why he’s stopped…

“Yes.” The low drawl of his voice halts your rambling thoughts. “I had to follow you around the Imperium, right after my beloved uncle passed away, unexpectedly. A shame I couldn't mourn him properly.”

Flashes explode through the bond: the Emperor’s Truthsayer, the body of the old Baron on the floor, his neck broken. Feyd says ‘beloved’ but you can detect no love towards the old man.

“You passed the test. You couldn’t be accused of anything.” “Accidents happen, soulmate. Some are happier than others.” He deadpans.

Another flash: child Feyd, why is he naked? Why is his uncle there with him? You feel his pain, his shame, your words on his body. Pain! You feel like you can’t breathe when you see though his child eyes the blade, and his mother's lovely eyes. Great Mother protect us! Hate, respect, greed, hate so much of it, having to scheme every single second, knowing death and only death.

You lose control of your feelings and thoughts, flooding the bond with hate, and the images of what you would have done to the old man, for what he had put Feyd through.

“I’m glad he’s passed, I wouldn’t have been able to wait for an accident to happen.” You say. “And I wouldn’t have passed the test.”

Pride comes from him, and relief, like a warm embrace and it would be so easy to surrender to him, to your destiny.

“Why are you still trying to run?” 

Feyd’s voice is so low, you feel his words more than hear them, warm they settle in your lower belly and you want nothing more than to let yourself go.

“Because having a soulmate is a curse, don’t you understand?”.

Gently you take his hand. His palm is so big and warm, with your fingers you trace the callouses his training left behind; you don’t trust yourself to share this memory without skin on skin contact.

Now it’s Feyd’s turn to see through your eyes and, at the same time, from the outside, like a spectator, you as a child of one year old and two women fussing around you, he knows it’s your mothers, one biological, the other adopted. He feels your panic when your biological one brushes your hair and sees the newly formed words hidden by your thick locks, the wail that leaves the two women’s mouths: what have you done wrong? 

“My Bene Gesserit mother had a goal, all of them do.” You say, your hand still holding his. “She wanted to show the sisterhood she could be trusted, even with the soul words on her skin, that a marked sister could be as trustworthy as an unmarked one. Then she met my father.” “The heir to his House.” “His mentat.” You smile at his surprise. “I told you my family is a mess. They forgot their training, their loyalties, only their bond existed. It was only the sheer respect my adoptive parents held for my father, that saved them. They couldn’t even raise me as their own, and I have to believe having a soulmate is a blessing?” “It is not. But I’d rather work with it, than against it. Think of what we could achieve together.”

Oh, his cunning brain. You were bought up reciting the Litany Against Fear, but he had been the one truly growing up following it and you have been acting like a fool for your entire life: you can’t inherit your adoptive father��s dukedom, you will have to take a husband to share the power, as the laws of the Imperium force you to. Would you rather marry a stranger, maybe stupid and short sighted, or someone as cunning and ruthless as Feyd is? Why did your whole family never thought of this? Your adopted parents were terrible at their jobs, they were so painfully short sighted, thus crippling you!

“Enjoy this moment because I will never say this again: you’re right.”

Feyd grimaces at your words and his pain takes hold of the bond, he can’t keep it under control anymore. 

Your hands cup his face and you push your forehead against his: you’re not sure you’re doing this right, not without feeling him under your palms.

“What are you doing?” He manages to say. “I’m trying to assess your internal damages, shut up.”

Your nails embed themselves in the soft skin covering his skull as you feel every cell of his body as if they were yours: strained muscles and ligaments, one shoulder hurts and edema is forming, what else? You pinpoint the stray point of a broken rib that has ruptured his spleen: he’s bleeding on the inside!

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry.”

Your lips connect with his to force his body to heal, his muscles to move the stray point of the rib back where it is supposed to be and mold itself to the stump, his spleen to close the wound and reabsorb the non clotted blood. Under your hands his body twists and you have to use your prana-bindu strength to keep him in place, until you’re done and every injury has healed.

“What was that?” He asks against your lips, his breath coming out harsh and fast. “A witch never explains their tricks.”

Amidst the dead bodies and the blood, Feyd kisses you, his tongue in your mouth eager, your soft breasts against the solid planes of his chest: you taste better than anything he’s ever eaten, the metallic tang of your own blood only enhances his need to absorb you within himself. You straddle him and you feel his cock, hard and thick, you can’t help but grind against him, reveling in the pleasure and the pain he feels: battling the bond and your desire towards him is impossible now.

“Not here.” You manage to moan when he releases your mouth. “Dangerous.” “Still bossing me around.” He groans when you don’t stop grinding against his erection. “I thought you liked it.”

Disengaging from one another is hard, it’s a miracle you two manage, drunk as the two of you are on post-fight adrenaline, murder and lust.

“No bandits, eradicated.”

You feel his eyes on your body, the heath behind his words: he’s not mad at you, he’s hungry. He’d have you in this mass grave, if he knew no more assailant would come. 

“Who would have come and check? No one cares about this planet.” You answer.

You two make a quick work of all your belongings and head back to the village you came from.

The sky is still dark, covered by clouds that promise rain, the thick forest that surrounds the path looms on you and Feyd; perhaps there’s more enemies hidden and ready to attack. Through the bond you feel Feyd’s readiness for a fight, he’s also ashamed of having almost lost in front of you. What should you do? How does one comfort a Giedi Prime native? Would he even accept your words?

You jump out of your skin when the horse appears from the forest. The poor animal looks worse for wear, having hidden from the storm somewhere, yet it lets you grab the reins and caress his mane, before it allows you and Feyd to mount his back and rush back to the village.

You hug Feyd from behind, your arms as tight as possible around the bloody backpack and his torso as wind and rain whip your face.  Despite the awkwardness of your temporary position, you feel lust grow in your belly, now that you’re not fighting the bond. You know that a part of it comes from Feyd, from having wanted you for years, from having tried to quench his thirst in the arena and with concubines who, he imagined, looked like you. The rest is all you. No lover you had ever managed to satisfy you: none of them was truly built for you the way he is and now that your know what he tastes like, you know you’re hooked and lost forever. How stupid you had been in letting the fears of your family dictate your actions, depriving yourself of him and chipping at your own strength: so much time lost!

The horse almost collapses in front of the inn, tired and foaming at the mouth it drinks from the waterhole in front of the building and ignores you and Feyd dismounting.

The owner of the inn pales when he sees you two, you can only imagine the ways Feyd might have threaten him, while you were out of commission; you don’t feel sorry though, you will, but not now, all you care is climb back to your room and fuck your soulmate until you both collapse. You feel Feyd’s eyes burn holes in your back, his lust for you clouding his senses; it spills trough the bond and you almost choke on your own saliva with the force of it. In your entire life you’ve never wanted someone as bad as you do Feyd right now, only decency stops you from taking him on the creaky stairs.

The door locking behind is final: you have nowhere else to run and hide.

You throw your backpack on the floor and turn around to truly observe your soulmate. He’s imposing in the small room, impossibly tall and hulking, he blocks your way out; only now you notice the freckles scattered on his cheekbones and you think how out of character that is: he’s Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the psychotic Baron of Giedi Prime, his name puts the fear of the Gods, old and new in the hearts of men, and he has freckles so light you can barely see them.

Slowly you walk towards him and lift the tip of your finger to trace them, creating constellations on his skin; Feyd lets a low groan of pleasure escape his lips at your soft touch. One day your words on his skin will stop pulsating when you touch him, his cock will not stand into attention immediately, just because he’s got a sniff of your smell; one day, in the distant future, now he moves his head to capture your fingers with his lips, sucking the digits in with a low moan. Your mouth finds his pulse point and latches there, your teeth worry the soft skin, your tongue licks his heady taste: you want to devour this man, mark him as yours for everyone to see.

“I might need a quick shower.” You murmur in his ear.

Fast, faster than what you would have expected, one of his hands grabs your hair (God the way he groans at the touch), the other lands possessively on your hip.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He growls, menacingly.

You find yourself slammed against the wall, unceremoniously, his hand the only protection for your head. You feel the recoil in your whole body, you want to cuss him, but his mouth is on yours, hungry, his teeth ready to draw blood from your lower lip. You plaster yourself against him, grab at his back with desperate hands as you reciprocate the kiss, blindly following his taste, deaf to the sound of your teeth clumsily clashing against his: you’ve kissed many, but no one had felt like him, tasted the way he does.

You try to push the two of you away from the wall and towards the bed, but your strength liquefies when Feyd simply stands his ground and plasters himself better against your writhing body.

“I should let you hang like this as punishment, soulmate. Tease you until you cry.”

You let your eyes roll for a moment at the heath in his words, then your teeth snap again on the soft skin of his neck and the moan that leaves his lips tells you that there’s more to this man, than his harsh exterior and his reputation.

You pull at the soft skin with jerky movements, clenching your teeth with as much strength as you dare use; Feyd snaps his hips against your clothed core: you can feel his raging erection through the layers of clothes you two are wearing, his lust flashes through the bond and you think you’re going to come by the sheer strength of it. When you taste blood, Feyd knows and moans, a rich, deep sound of pleasure that shakes you: no other lover has accepted your need for pain and violence the way Feyd is doing right now.

He kisses you savagely when he sees his own blood on your lips and you moan at his pleasure, your hands fly to his shoulders to brace yourself against the onslaught of his teeth on your mouth, of his tongue seeking his own taste inside of you; you don’t even realize you can, yet you’re chanting his name through the bond, your lust only enhancing his. He needs to be inside of you, yet he can’t stop kissing you, feeling your needs meld in the bond: it’s heady and better than any sex he’s ever had in his entire life.

“Bed.” You moan when he releases your lips, only to bite your neck like an animal. “Make me.” He growls back.

You have to center yourself against the pleasure and the torment he’s giving you, his hands mold themselves around your breasts, only to squeeze your tender flesh to the point of pain, his hips jackhammer against yours and you know the right angle will make you come like a horny teenager; desperate you focus inward, on your muscles and nerves, willing the pleasure to fade in the background of your conscience and your attention to be on your body, to move you two away from the wall.

Not feeling Feyd through the bond is almost worse: pulling the broadcasting of his pleasure in the background makes you hear his moans and groans even better. He’s unabashed in his lust and knowing that’s you causing all of this makes breathing difficult, yet you manage to push against his bigger frame, forcing him to walk backwards a few steps, before you let one leg fall on the floor and propel the two of you more; he digs his heels against you, effectively stopping the two of you from moving.

“Seems like we are not going anywhere.” He drawls and you feel the amusement through the bond. “And there I thought you wanted to taste me.” You murmur in his ear. “I was told I am delicious.”

A flare of jealousy courses through the bond, his hands grab at your body with such a strength you know you’ll wear his marks for days. Unceremoniously he throws you on the bed, his hands on your knees stop you from closing your legs.

“Who are those who have already taste you?” “Many.” You shrug. “I couldn’t always be good and proper, could I?”

The growl his dangerous and you can’t find in your heart to be afraid: you want him charged up, want to feel the full force of his passion; you laugh in his face as he cuts and rips the clothes away from your body, until you’re naked and ready, your own hidden weapons fallen and forgotten on the floor. The dagger he’s used to cut your clothes, now travels from your neck to your torso, the sharp edge almost touching your skin, but not really.

“Taste my blood, Feyd.” You moan. “It’s something else I’m thirsty for, soulmate.” It’s his dark answer.

He drives the knife through the mattress, next where your head is in a show of dominance that has your hole clench around nothing. 

Feyd dives between your legs, he leaves you no chance to speak when his lips curl around your clit and suck, harsh and fast, with filthy moans of pleasure that reverberate through your whole being. Your hips try to push up, stopped by his big hands, your tights clench around his head as you try to escape the pleasure, escape him, pitiful whines flow from your lips as he pushes you higher and higher, until you come with a scream.  Dazed by pleasure you expected Feyd to stop, to give you respite; his tongue in your hole forces your body in overdrive, his nose is pure torture against your puffy clit. With horror you realize that you have no purchase against his onslaught, no way to control his movements, but with the clenching of your legs around his head. You try to leverage against his body and his hands shoot out to grab yours, the risk of you snapping his neck enhances his lust, the lack of oxygen only spurs him on to fuck you faster, harder with his long tongue until you explode, breathless and desperate.

“Feyd! Feyd! Let go!”

A harsh bite on your thigh is your only answer, followed by a low growl, like a rabid animal that's finally found food.  Through the bond you can feel his pleasure, his hunger, his lust: everything enhances your own reactions, your own blind need for his body. You’re panting now, almost no oxygen enters your lungs, because Feyd’s long tongue is licking you, with clockwise motions he explores your wet heath, only to nibble at your clit, forcing your body to squirm under his weight; the kick of your heels against his back only spurs him on: he can feel how overstimulated you are and it only amps up his own libido, the pain you’re causing him blanks his mind and he almost comes untouched in his trousers when your pleasure becomes painful and your body is shaking wildly under his.

One of his arms falls on your tummy to block you, three fingers of his other hand are already inside of you seek that spongy part that has you jump under him when he finally finds it. You start crying when his lips suck your abused clit: there’s no mercy in the way he’s handling you, just a mindless focus on pleasure. He’s canting his hips against nothing, needing your taste and, at the same time, to be buried inside of you; the way you’re trying to escape spurs him on, his fingers fuck you faster, rougher they scissor your clenching muscles as you kick and scream wildly, almost as if possessed when his soft lips suck following the rough rhythm of his fingers inside of you. You tense under him and arch, the tears falling from your eyes blind you, wail like moans choke in your throat as you feel your body reaching your end, your nerves burn where he’s pleasuring you, so much pleasure, too much! You squirt all over his face, and almost pass out when his fingers don’t stop fucking you a his tongue leisurely licks your essence with obscene moans of appreciation at your taste.

“You truly taste delicious.” He murmurs against one of the bruise on your tight. “Too bad I will have to hunt down every single person who’s had you.”

You can’t answer immediately, your brain is still tying to come down from the barrage of orgasms he forced you to go through, your skin feels oversensitive to the soft touch of his lips.

“Who are those people?” You ask, breathless. “I only remember you.”

Through the bond he knows you’re telling the truth: your past lovers, however many they were, don’t exist anymore, in your mind there’s only him and all the pleasure he’s given you.

You try to find purchase on his slick skin, until you reach the neckline of his jumper to use it to pull him up for a long kiss. You moan when you taste yourself on his lips, your taste and his mingle when his tongue massages yours slowly, his only goal is to savor you, until you are the only thing he can taste for the rest of his life.

“You’re overdressed.” You moan against his full lips.

You don’t leave him the chance to answer. As tired as you are, already, you grab a fistful of his thick jumper and pull upwards, forcing him to remove it, or be choked, leaving him with the other layers of thinner jumpers and thermal shirts. Through the bond you send the image of his knife slicing through his clothing, he laughs but undresses hastily, leaving clothing and weapons on the floor: he’s overheating and sweaty, moreover, why denying himself the feeling of your skin under his?

You’ve managed to push yourself backwards to enjoy the view of his powerful body being revealed: the thick cords of muscles and the pink nipples, his raging erection and the piercing running horizontally, through the shiny head of his cock.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, concerned. “Not anymore. It enhances everything.” He answers.

Slowly he lays on you, his weight strangely familiar as he kisses you again, slowly, feeling every inch of your body with his, savoring the way your full breasts cushion his sturdy chest and how your hips are the perfect cradle for his. He’s surprised to find himself on his back, when you use his distraction to switch your positions; not that he’s complaining, you’re towering over him, giving him a nice view of your full breasts and perky nipples, while his cock is cradled between your lips, warm and drenched. His eyes fixate on the patch of hair between your legs, focused as he was on tasting you to your core, his brain has bypassed everything else and now he’s fascinated by the soft, wet curls he can feel against his body.

“Is it strange?” You gently ask. “Everyone on Giedi Prime is hairless. It’s not bad, just peculiar.” He answers with a shrug.

His long fingers tentatively touch your lips and you shudder, still so sensitive, and you haven’t had his cock yet.

“I’m not shaving, anywhere.” “I didn’t ordered you to, and I will not let you bare yourself like that.”

You pinch his nipple as punishment for his answer and his cock swells under you.

“I don’t need your permission.” You growl back. “I wanted to ride you, now I have to postpone that, and it’s all you fault!” You add, with a wicked smile.

With as much speed your tired muscles let you, you turn around and hover your cunt over his face; you smirk at his satisfied growl and the way his hands go to your hips: it’s cute he believes you’re letting him have a taste again. You flick his reddened head when he tries to pull you down to his lips, he yelps in pain and you don’t miss the beads of precome that appear immediately: he’s truly made for you, and you only.

“You’ve had your taste, now it’s my turn.”

You ignore your hunger when you slowly lick his head and moan at the taste, heady and masculine on your tongue, and envelope his head in your lips, sucking gently, taking your time to have more until you hear his groans and his desperation through the bond, only then you take more, and more, ignoring the way his hips try to push upwards, simply blocking his movements using your prana-bindu strength, reveling in the curses and in the pain he feels. When his head hits the back of your throat he shudders, his muscles shake with the need to move and fuck your face; perhaps if he behaves you’ll let him, one day, but now he is to suffer. You relax your muscles and swallow him with a moan that reverberates through the whole of him, tortured by your lips and the sight of your hole clenching over his face. He desperately tries not to come when the velvety muscles of your throat start massaging his erection and your hand caresses his heavy balls; he arches with a howl of pain when you squeeze them cruelly, and pull at them viciously, until he comes, tears streaming down his cheeks.

You swallow what you can and lick what escapes your ravenous hunger, until it pools on your tongue and you can turn around to kiss him, making him swallow his own essence, his pleasure heady in the bond.

You abandon your body over his, feeling his satisfaction and the warmth of his body; you nuzzle his long neck, so smooth and marked by your teeth. You could almost fall asleep: you feel finally sated and happy after sex, like never before. Through the bond you feel Feyd purr his satisfaction, his big hand caresses your back, following the knobs of your spine leisurely. 

“Don't fall asleep. I'm not done with you.” He growls.  “Hmm, yes please.”

You feel his cock stir between your bodies and prop one leg over his hip, spreading yourself for him and letting his half hard member between your lower lips. You should feel embarrassed by the renewed wetness, all you can think of is sheathing Feyd's thick cock inside of you.

“You're coming to Geidi Prime with me.” He says, cupping your cheek.  “I need to go home, lest fathers believe you’ve kidnapped me and are keeping me there against my will.” “As if.” “You forget this communication goes both ways. Drag me by my hair?” “From the cliff.” He rolls his eyes.  “I had it under control!” “You almost fell, I felt it!” “Don't mention it. To my family, I mean.” “The cliff or the hair?”

You're surprised by how amused Feyd feels through the bond or that he has a sense of humor.

“We have that too, on Geidi Prime, as well as mirrors. Incredible, I know.”

You know you’ve dehumanized him in your head for all your life: he was your personal boogeyman, not a man, albeit volatile, not someone with feelings and needs, not your soulmate, but your nightmare. You shouldn't be surprised that he's more than the warrior, and the heir to his family's name: who has been the monster, between you two, for all this time?

You cuddle closer to his warmth, your eyes falling on your spidery handwriting almost hidden by the crease of his tight; you follow the words with the tip of your finger, and cringe at how ill behaved you had been from the start. 

“I should have known you’d be hard to pin down, just from that.”  “‘Are you sad because you have no hair?’ Great Mother, what a heinous bitch I was! You should have kept me at arm’s length!” “Show me my words.” He asks. 

There's a heath in his voice you don't understand, but know it's not because you constantly moving means his cock gets stimulated into full hardness. 

Gently you start parting your hair and he finishes the work from you. He enjoys the foreign feeling of your hair on his fingers, almost ticklish but not really, soft and rough at the end of the strands, strangely fascinating since none of his past lays had hair, he's not sure what he is supposed to do with yours. 

“You can pull.” You say with a shudder when he touches his words on you. “You need to be gentle, though. You can caress and play with it, I can teach you how to braid, if you want.”.

Feyd’s hand finds home in the roots and pulls, tentatively at first, only to use more strength when you softly moan.

“I think I’ll stick to this.” He growls and you know he’s unlocked a new kink.

He uses his hold to pull you closer to his face and kiss you, his tongue languid in your mouth explores you, taking his time to commit your taste to memory; you scratch his neck in the attempt to gain control back, you liked having him at your mercy too much to let go and he simply tightens his hold on you, drinking down your moans of pleasure.

You straddle him, making sure your warm cunt envelopes his erection and start grinding slowly, letting him feel how wet you are, and ready for his cock; he turns you two, towering over you and you simply arch your back towards him, feeling his eyes on your breasts and perky nipples when you start massaging them, keening and moaning with need. His control snaps, his teeth find your soft flesh to nibble, his lips to suck marks as your legs curl around his frame to cradle him as close as possible to yourself, your nails stretching and raking down his long back in retaliation: the more you hurt him, the savager he becomes, in a cycle only enhanced by your shared brain.

“Now! Now!” You squeal after a particularly harsh bite, feeling your cunt clench painfully around nothing.

Feyd releases your breast with a pop, observing his handiwork with pride: you’re covered with his teeth marks and your cunt is so puffy and leaking sweet cream, only because he’s hurt you, and you him.

His hard cock is exquisite torture, so heavy between his legs he’s in agony when your hand starts jacking him, making sure he’s wet and beyond ready for your cunt, to the point he has to slap your hand away, or he’ll come all over your tummy; he can’t have that, not when your hole is clenching and wet and ready. You arch your back when he breaches you, his head is fat and the piercing only enhances the feeling of him against your wall; through the bond you feel his pleasure, how hard it is for him to control himself and not come, it all amplifies your own lust and need, your hips snapping upwards to take him faster and it’s the sweetest pain, being stretched too early, having your cunt pummeled open and molded to fit his thick cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, with a long groan of pleasure.

Feyd has to keep his eyes closed, the thin thread of his control almost snapping with every breath he takes: he’s imagined this, he’s spilled in his own hands countless times to the fantasy of you sheathing him inside yourself, and reality can’t compare. Your insides are the softest velvet, your muscles the cruelest of vices around his cock that he can barely grind against you when you start whining. His strength deserts him and he falls on you, managing to catch his weight on his bent arm when your cunt tries to suck him; he can barely breathe your scent in, his body almost in overdrive with pleasure when your hands grab his buttocks to push him in deeper, desperate to feel him in every crevice of your body.

You lock your feet on his tailbone, forcing him to grind against your puffy clit, battered muscles as tight as possible around him in the desperate quest to fuse him with yourself, the piercing pure torture against your G spot. You scratch his back savagely when your orgasm starts to crest, your body squirms under him, clutches his tighter as the band in your belly tightens and tightens, your shared pleasure only enhancing his own need to lose himself inside of you. It hurts to grind against you, it hurts to wait for your pleasure to explode and he can barely contain himself when you sob your pleasure as if he’s hurting you, your nails stabbing him when you come, howling and crying, him following you with guttural, animal sounds he can barely suppress against your skin.

You caress his back and hug him as close as possible as he keeps coming inside of you, his orgasm almost never ending fills you to the brink with his thick cum, his whines of painful pleasure cause a smaller orgasm to rip through you torturing him even more, until all his strength is lost and he’s trembling in your arms, skin so sensitive your caresses feel like lashings.

You feel all of it through the bond, along with his unwillingness to stop touching you through the torment your skin is for him now. Awkwardly you try to send soothing feelings to him, helping him to calm down from the incredible high that the coupling had been for him. You know, because he remembers disjointed memories of his dreams of you, of him waking up hard and desperate and alone, needing your soft touch and having to settle for his own hand. He had hated you in those moments, his body shaken by those painful orgasms that tasted like ashes, that were never truly satisfactory. With a stab of jealousy you see the people he fucked, brutal and fast, imaging you in their stead, and even that wasn’t enough to sate his hunger, now? Now he’s in heaven, having felt pleasure like never before in his life.

You have to use all your prana-bindu strength to roll you two on the side, Feyd is basically dead weight in your arms, before you hug him as tight as possible, only wishing to have a knife at hand to protect you two in this unfamiliar environment, the one embedded on the bed has fallen and you can’t reach it.

“The owner would rather kill himself than dare disturb us.”

Feyd’s voice is tired and low, a rumble you feel in your whole body.

“What did you do?”

You can feel Feyd’s wicked smile against your throat.

“Nothing. Just exchanged a few friendly words after you fainted.” “I’m electing to ignore whatever has happened.” You say. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come around.” You add, awkwardly

You feel how tired he is, moving his head away from the crook of your neck is almost impossible for him.

“You have all the time to make up for it. Now sleep, you’re going to need it, that I can promise.”

You shiver against him. Neither of you are going home any time soon and there’s all the time in the world to negotiate the route back.

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing — Damian Priest ♥︎ f!Reader 🖤 Summary — Damian and his girlfriend’s relationship is on the edge of collapse, and they discover a new, interesting way to reconnect. 🖤 Word Count — 5.4 🛑 Warnings — NSFW. Angst, alcohol, cockwarming, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, cum 18+ 🖤 Notes — Spanish translations are at the end of the story provided by Google Translate. 🖤 Taglist — If you’d like to be added, please click here! 🖤 Requested By — Anonymous. Hope you enjoy! 🖤 MASTERLIST, KINK LIST

Staring at the label on the empty bottle of beer in her hand, she heard Damian’s boisterous laughter across the bar. She remembered a time not long ago when her own giggling would have been mixed in, but instead, here she sat, abandoned by her boyfriend so he could watch some stupid baseball game on the TV behind the bar with a group of other drunk guys he’d only just met this evening. She glanced over her shoulder at him, the tallest guy in the place, hair in a wet ponytail, dressed in his Yankees jersey, band t-shirt, and ripped jeans. Sexy as ever—the man only got more attractive with each passing year. His gestures were big as he entertained the circle around him, probably regaling them with stories from the road as a WWE superstar. She rolled her eyes, returning her attention to the beer bottle. She considered getting another one, but how much fun was it really going to be to be pissed off and drunk?

“You look lonely.”

She glanced up, eyebrow cocked, and found not a bad-looking man standing next to her table, but a man just the same, who was not her boyfriend. She cast her eyes back to Damian, and he was still otherwise occupied.

“I’m really not,” she replied.

“Sure you are,” the man argued, taking it upon himself to sit across from her. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils and all she could do was hope Damian remained oblivious. “I saw your man leave you over here like an hour ago.”

Had it really been that long?

“Well, maybe I’m just not very good company,” she deadpanned.

“I don’t believe that,” the man said. “A pretty girl like you? You’d be the best company, and I sure as hell wouldn’t leave you alone all night.”

“Listen, I appreciate the interest, but—”

The man’s eyes lifted, focused on something behind her, and she didn’t need to turn around to know what was happening, or about to happen.

“Somethin’ you need?” Damian’s hulking presence was beside her, and she took another deep breath, leaning against the back of the booth. 

“Hey, man,” the guy seated in front of her said, lifting a hand a beer bottle, “nobody’s doing anything wrong. Just havin’ a conversation.”

“Oh, okay, cool,” Damian said, leaning his fists on the table, muscles and tattoos rippling beneath the sleeves of his jersey. “Let’s have a conversation.”

The man across from her tilted his head and told her, “Good luck,” before beginning to climb out of his seat.

“The fuck is your problem?” Damian commanded, shoving the guy with one hand as soon as he stood up, freely knocking him off balance and to the sticky floor.

“Damian, relax,” his girlfriend yelled, slamming her bottle of beer on the table. “We were just talking.”

“Well I got some things to say, too,” Damian growled.

“Great,” she said, climbing out of the booth. “You guys talk it out, and I’m gonna go home.” 

Damian paused the stalking of his prey to focus on her for the first time since the incident began. They watched one another for a moment that lasted a lifetime, and she remembered falling in love with him the first time she saw him, she remembered feeling him the first night they’d had sex. She remembered holding hands and whispered secrets and promises of the future. He’d pledged to give her the world. Had he been lying when he’d sworn or had their relationship simply come to an unfortunate end? She didn’t know him well enough anymore to know the answer to what should have been a terribly straightforward question, and it horrified her, but she thought maybe if she could hold his concentration on her, he would recall all of those things, too. The good things. If he would just look deeply enough …

Damian severed their connection by turning back to a man and a situation that didn’t matter, and her heart disintegrated. Dusted, like in the Avengers. She grabbed her purse from the booth and had the Uber app pulled up on her phone before she even reached the door. She fought herself from looking back, repeating in her head that he wasn’t worth it—not anymore—in a futile attempt at making what she was about to do just a little easier. Yeah, right.

Once inside the Uber, her boyfriend having never once come out to check on her while she waited, she had another battle concerning whether or not to glimpse back. She kept her eyes forward until the vehicle was about to make a right hand turn, and suddenly there was a tug in her chest where her heart had once been. Like there was a string tied around the veins and arteries still remaining and it was connected to something she’d left behind. Clutching her aching chest with one hand, she pressed her other hand to the door to help her turn around, and she gasped, tears cascading down her cheeks. Damian was standing outside the bar, ponytail whipping this way and that as he searched desperately, perhaps finding what he was looking for in the back of the very vehicle she sat in as he promptly launched into an all-out sprint on the sidewalk, chasing after her. She slowly covered her mouth, weeping at the agony etched on his face, and she slid down in the seat, closing her eyes. 

She loved him. By all that was good and gracious in the world, she loved him with her entire being, but she couldn’t fucking do it anymore. She finished crying over the rest of the ride home, to their home, and she mumbled a thank you to the driver before getting out, closing the door behind her. The car sped off, she watched it go, and she imagined the scene was much like the one Damian had witnessed just a short bit ago. Her eyes slid to their front door, and she wrestled more tears as she plodded inside.

Damian arrived home faster than anticipated, but she’d had enough time to get herself together, to expel all the tears and soothe her trembling body by the time he came bounding through the door. Seeing her standing in the middle of the living room, he all but skidded to a stop. “I didn’t think—” He gestured at the door and held up his keys.

“We need … no, you need to figure out what you want, Damian,” she interrupted. 

He walked slowly around the couch, approaching her as if she were a lioness that could and probably would strike at any moment, rip him to pieces and devour him. When he was within a few feet, she took a step back. She knew what he was trying to do—he did it all the time. Get close enough to touch her, kiss her, hold her, coax her into believing she wasn’t mad about what she was really mad about. Her reaction stopped him dead in his tracks, and she watched his throat work as he swallowed.

“I don’t know—” he started.

“Of course you don’t know,” she interjected again, more tears pricking the corners of her eyes. So much for all cried out. “Why would you? It’s all about Damian. It has been ever since the beginning of this relationship, but I was too …” She sniffed, shrugged. “Too in love, I guess.” Her chuckle was pathetic as Damian breathed deeply through his nose, chest expanding and deflating. “And I thought you were in love with me …”

“What are you—? Of course—”

“Do you remember how we used to be?” she asked pitifully. “You were the Mickey to my Mallory …”

“Baby—”

“We actually made love for hours. We didn’t just fuck to cum like we do now.”

“Please listen to me …”

“No,” she stopped him one final time, her tone so soft she wasn’t sure she’d spoken at all. “I’m done listening.” She wiped fresh tears from her cheeks. “I put all your stuff for Raw by the door.” Damian’s brows furrowed and he turned to look at the door he’d just come through. His suitcase-on-wheels was lying on its front, a small duffel bag nearby—he’d blundered right past them. His eyes, now for the first time this entire evening beginning to show worry, returned to her, and they both knew how his luggage had gotten there from where he’d left it in their bedroom on the second floor. “I know you’re not supposed to leave for a day, but I just … I need you to go now.” Damian’s eyes fluttered closed and he scrubbed his huge hands over his face. “And while you’re gone, maybe you’ll remember what we used to have. How happy we used to be.”

“I’m—”

“If you say you’re happy, I swear to God—” She trailed off with a strangled chuckle.

“Oh, so you know how I feel?” Damian retorted.

She blinked up at him, and in his eyes, the ones that had once been so alive and so full of love, she could see misery and turbulence, and yeah, she could easily say she knew how he felt. She cleared her throat, brushing more tears from both cheeks quickly, as if she did it fast enough, he might not see how utterly broken she was. Maybe that’s what he needed to see. “I’m going upstairs,” she whispered, “and if you do love me, if you do care about me … you’ll leave.”

“Mi vida, please, just tell me—”

“You left me alone for an hour tonight!” his girlfriend suddenly erupted, and Damian’s eyes rounded. “We’ve seen each other four days in the past two weeks, and some fucking Yankees game has your attention? You try to fight some guy who didn’t know we were together because you left me alone for an hour?” Damian’s lips pursed and he remained silent for once. She sighed. “Goodbye, Damian. Have a safe trip.” 

She gave him a wide berth on her way to the stairs, stepping over his luggage as she headed up. Hurrying into their bedroom, she closed the door and locked it behind her, and by the time she’d slid down the wood until her ass met the carpet, she was a blubbering fool, covering her mouth to keep from crying out, to keep from hollering for Damian and telling him she was just kidding, and could he just hold her for a while and then everything would be okay? In time, she heard the front door open and close again. She could almost feel his presence, his very soul, drifting further away from her, that tugging in her chest returning, and she collapsed in slow motion, floating to the floor on her side, hugging her knees to her chest.

She awoke some time later in the same fetal position, suspecting she’d passed out from sheer exhaustion. Lifting her head, her spine screamed from the base of her skull all the way to her tailbone, and the carpet stuck to her cheek—she could only imagine the pattern etched into her skin as she lurched into a sitting position. She’d left a lamp on in the corner of the room, the soft glow illuminating the empty space, the unmade bed she wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep in at all, and as the quiet enveloped her, she wondered if there would ever be laughter here again. She looked at the chaise lounge opposite the lamp, a small smile quirking her lips when she could almost see herself straddling Damian’s lap there, and she could almost hear her voice whisper that she was in love with him and had been since shaking his hand on her first day at WWE.

She rolled her eyes, refusing to permit any more tears from staining her cheeks, but that didn’t stop the intrusive thoughts in the back of her mind. Did Damian remember these things? Did they mean anything to him? Did she? Or was it his career he was now madly in love with? She’d sent Damian away to decipher the answers to these important questions, but she wasn’t certain she’d be strong enough to hear the answers. She climbed to her feet, limping across the floor to grab her phone from her side of the bed. As she reached for it, she paused, rubbed her fingers along her palm, and took a deep breath—all she could do to prepare for what she might find waiting for her in her notifications.

The missed calls and text messages were both in the double digits, along with a few voicemails, all from Damian, and she swallowed a softball size lump in her throat as she opened the text messages. She knew damn good and well there was no way she’d be able to listen to his voice without breaking down once more, and she was so damn tired of crying.

She sat slowly on the bed, the earlier suspicion she might not be able to sleep here blotted out by the overwhelming need to somehow be near Damian even though she’d just sent him across the country a day earlier than either of them had anticipated. Her dying phone slid from her hand, thumping on the carpet, as she backed across the king-size bed until she was on Damian’s side. Somehow the man slept with only one very thin pillow, so she grabbed one of hers and added it underneath before slipping her legs under the blanket and sheet. She was instantly inundated by the scent of Damian’s leave-in conditioner, but most importantly, the spice that was simply him drifted inside her nostrils and she was both allayed and shattered at the same time. Still depleted, now more than before, her heavy eyelids fell and she drifted off into a land of nightmares.

As Damian’s plane bound for Washington crashed above her into the side of a mountain, she was jolted awake. Her upper body careened forward, hair flying, arms reaching out because maybe if she could just catch the plane … A hand on her shoulder brought her fully out of unconsciousness, and she jumped again. 

“It’s okay! It’s just me!” Tiffy. Beautiful, sweet, perfect Tiffy, but all Damian’s girlfriend could think about was the fact that Tiffy had Ludwig and Ludwig had Tiffy and they were disgustingly happy and she was wildly envious.

“Tiffy,” she whispered. “What are you …” She scratched her head, looking up at Miss Money in the Bank, eyes mere slits. “How did you get in here?”

“Damian called Ludwig,” she explained. “He said he hadn’t talked to you in hours and your phone was going straight to voicemail.” Damian’s girlfriend nodded, though not wholly comprehending. “He told me where the spare key was.” She held it up.

“I see,” the dejected woman in bed said. “Well, I’m fine.”

“Obviously,” Tiffy rolled her eyes, “just like Damian is just fine.” Her pink manicured nails formed air quotes.

“Tiffany, I really don’t—”

“Look. It’s almost one o’clock, so I brought two of these—” She lifted the neck of a bottle of wine out of her glittery tote bag. “Let’s talk.”

Damian’s girlfriend was really getting tired of people demanding she speak to them, but she supposed this was different. Maybe she needed another perspective. She sent Tiffany to the patio by the pool while she changed out of the clothes she’d worn to the bar the night before and then had slept in, brushed her teeth, and as she was headed across the bedroom toward the door, she spotted her phone still lying on the white carpet. She feared what she’d see upon bringing it back to life, so she left it where it was, closed the door after her, and met Tiffy by the pool.

Nursing a hangover on Sunday and into the evening on Monday thanks to Tiffy Time, Damian’s girlfriend was again in bed, on his side, iPad in her lap, Monday Night Raw on the television. Tiffany had succeeded in making her feel at least a little better, agreeing that things had gotten bad enough between them that sending him to Washington early was probably the best way to get through to him, although, she added, it seemed a bit harsh. She recalled a similar situation between herself and Ludwig—their schedules had been completely opposite, they never saw each other, and their connection had started to dissolve—to which Tiffany had responded in a completely different manner. Instead of kicking him out and sending him across the country, she’d done internet research and consulted various friends in search of a way to reconnect with her boyfriend.

And the route of reconnection Tiffany had discovered was now in the search bar of Safari: cockwarming. Damian’s girlfriend had heard of it, but never given it much thought, assuming it was just one of a million other ways to please a man, but Tiffany had assured her that cockwarming wasn’t about giving or receiving pleasure, it was about being present and intimate with someone you loved, building or rebuilding a physical and emotional relationship by linking together in the closest way possible. It made sense, and she was willing to try anything. 

She glanced up at the muted television, heart skipping a beat when saw Damian in the middle of a match. He looked tired, and maybe he was hungover too, and he just didn’t seem as on point as he normally was. A little slower, a little careless, a little like he didn’t give a fuck. She turned the TV off, rubbing at her forehead. She was responsible for his distraction, and she hadn’t meant for their problems to interfere with his work, but she’d acted so rashly in kicking him out, she hadn’t considered any effect it would have on his live television performance. She hadn’t considered him at all, if she were being honest, so what did that say about her? Maybe Damian wasn’t the only one who needed to figure things out.

Without warning,  a bolt of lightning shot through her entire body, a current of electricity coursing across her skin, and she jumped out of bed. She looked at Damian’s side where she’d been sitting, her pillow under his, and it wasn’t right. She glanced at the TV and Raw wasn’t on and she wasn’t cussing at whomever Damian’s opponent was, and it wasn’t right. She hadn’t kissed him goodbye and he hadn’t slapped her ass for good luck, as was their routine, and it wasn’t right. The way she’d made him leave, ignoring him—none of it was right. Her eyes cut to her phone on the bed, to her purse on the chair, ending on a pair of sneakers in the corner of the room. Her brain shut off, leaving her heart in control, and her legs were moving. She grabbed the phone and the purse, slipped her feet in the shoes, and jogged downstairs. She grabbed her keys from the table and slammed the front door behind her.

She found herself at the airport, still on autopilot, and she bounced from one foot to the other as she waited in line to purchase a ticket. When she finally reached the desk, she placed her wallet on the counter. “Hi,” she said, “I need to get to Seattle tonight. Right now. One way.” 

The lady behind the computer punched several keys. “Well, it’s your lucky day,” she beamed, and Damian’s girlfriend suppressed the urge to punch her. “I have one seat left on a flight leaving in thirty minutes.”

“Great.”

“It’s $1,798.” Of course the only seat left would be first class.

“That’s fine,” she said, rummaging through her wallet for her credit card and identification. Damian was worth it, their relationship was worth it. 

Aboard the plane, she tried to sleep, but it was impossible. She tried to read a book on her phone, but she couldn’t concentrate. She ended up spending most of the flight reading and rereading Damian’s text messages, self-loathing growing with each pass. Yes, he was responsible for their abrupt separation, but she was just as much to blame. 

Landing in Washington, she checked her messages again, this time tapping on the thread with Rhea, who’d responded to her question while she’d been 37,000 feet in the air. Armed with the information provided by Damian’s closest friend, she ordered an Uber and gave him the address of Damian’s hotel. She rode the elevator to the top floor, wondering if he’d had to pay extra for a last minute booking, which, again, would have been her fault. Same with the price of his plane ticket. Of course, whatever she’d cost them monetarily paled in comparison to the time she’d cost them. 

Standing in front of Damian’s hotel room door, she knocked softly. Moments later the door opened, and there he stood, the love of her life, the Mickey to her Mallory, the very face she wanted to see before she died. He was in a black sleeveless shirt and black basketball shorts, and he looked burnt out and used up, and was she accountable for that too? But when he realized who was standing in front of him, those dead eyes reanimated, and his hunched shoulders squared. They gazed at one another for an extended moment, a silent conversation passing between them, an ask of permission and consent granted.

Damian stepped into the hall, and his girlfriend raised her elbows so he could position his big hands under her armpits before slowly, tenderly, lifting her in the air, not unlike picking up a crying toddler. Her arms slipped around his neck, her legs around his waist, and he completed their puzzle by enveloping her in his protective embrace. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, crossed her feet behind him, and she was home. He held her for a while in the hall before stepping back inside the hotel room, the mechanism at the top of the door closing it for him, and then he held her some more, still standing, placing a hand on the back of her head. Eventually he took a seat in the chair beside the bed, his girlfriend repositioning her legs so she was straddling him, sitting back on his thighs, and they were able to look at each other again.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke first, cupping her face. “You’re right. I took you for granted. I took everything we have for granted.” He shook his head, eyes round and clear and the most delicious shade of chocolate. “I know what we were before … and I know … we’re not—we’re not that anymore. Just tell me how to make it right.” He brought their foreheads together, and her hands braced herself on his hard chest. “Tell me how to fix it. Because I ain’t quitting, and I ain’t letting you go.”

His girlfriend smiled for the first time in days, but it was fleeting. “I shouldn’t have kicked you out. I’m sorry, too.”

Damian shook his head, eyes searching her face. “No more apologies.” He kissed her forehead, and she laid her head on his chest. “So what do we do?” he mumbled against the top of her head.

Her eyes opened. “I just think we … need to reconnect,” she said. “And … I might have an idea how we can start.”

She explained cockwarming with a hell of a lot less grace and knowledge than Tiffany, and a hell of a lot more embarrassment, if her superheated cheeks were any kind of clue. But Damian listened, and his focus was solely on her, and he didn’t make fun of the idea, and they were already headed in the right direction. They agreed to give it a try here and now, as there was no better time than the present, and they were both too exhausted to engage in much else. The couple made their way to the bed, Damian’s girlfriend toeing her shoes off before they removed each other’s clothing, and they climbed under the blankets.

The experience was supposed to be more about intimacy and less about having sex, she’d illustrated, but, to make it easier for him to slip inside her, she’d have to get at least a little damp. It was no secret what Damian did to her simply by existing, so he smirked, brushing her hair from her shoulder so he could cradle her neck, thumb caressing her jawline. He pressed their lips together, the couple sharing a sigh of relief, and she rested her fingers on his wrist as they kissed. All the fear and worry and stress melted away as her arousal grew, and as they’d both suspected, it didn’t take long for her to become wet and ready, and, consequently, for Damian to become hard.

“Sorry,” he said.

“That is something you’re never gonna have to apologize for,” his girlfriend assured him. They shared a smile. “Just try to keep from, you know … fucking me.”

“Easy for you to say,” Damian commented, and they snickered. “How do you wanna …?“

She rolled over to her other side, backing up against him, semi-hard dick slipping between her ass cheeks. Damian whispered in her ear to be careful, and she couldn’t help the smile. They were going to get through this. He positioned her how he needed, making sure she was comfortable before slowly sliding inside her. He moaned, playing it off by clearing his throat, and she was barely able to mask her own whine. His arm slid under her pillow, gripping her hand that was already there, his other arm wrapping around her, and she held that hand with hers against her chest. He twitched inside her, and her pussy instinctively clenched around him, and their holds tightened on each other.

“You know it’s been, like, 50 hours since I left,” Damian said, following a moment of adjustment and silence.

“Damian …”

“No, I—I just mean … that was 50 hours without you. 50 hours to think about everything, all of it. So I don’t want you to feel bad for kicking me out. You were right. I needed time to figure things out.”

“And what did you figure out?” she asked. Considering he was inside her and holding her and he hadn’t slammed the door in her face, she knew his answer was at least a little positive.

“I haven’t been there for you,” he said, voice so deep, his girlfriend could all but feel her pussy producing slickness. “I made my job and everything else more important than you. And I’m sorry.” He pulled her closer, his cock slipping that much deeper within her. His biceps were unforgiving but protective, and the steady rise and fall of his chest comforted her on a level she’d never experienced before. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she said, squeezing his hands.

“You don’t—”

“Damian, there are two people in this relationship. What if I had just talked to you about how I was feeling weeks ago? We could have avoided—”

“I know me, you know me. It wouldn’t have had the same effect as kicking my dumbass out of my own house had.”

She sighed, believing what he said, but there would be no way to erase the guilt she still felt. 

“I love you, querida,” he uttered into her ear. “Eres mi vida, mi alma, mi todo. Siempre.”

Her body shuddered, Damian’s arm tightening around her. “I love you, Papí.” He pressed his face into the back of her neck, and the couple was physically as close as they could possibly be to one another. She felt her heart rebuilding, she felt their connection rejoining, and she knew just this one night wasn’t going to solve all their problems, but they were making an effort, and that was enough for now. “I love when you’re inside me,” she breathed, eyes closing.

“I know,” Damian whispered.

She awoke sometime later, eyes slowly blinking open. The sun was beginning to rise and her body was moving, ever so gently, her head sliding up and down the pillow. Regaining consciousness, she realized that where Damian had been semi-hard and comforting inside her before falling asleep, he was now solid and thick, filling her to the brim, and his hips were thrusting somewhat casually against her. And then she heard a faint snore from him, and that explained everything. She thought about waking him, she really did, but he felt too fucking good and she’d missed him too fucking much, and it had been a long fucking time since they’d been so intimate. There was no way she could fight this.

She let him continue, his pumps erratic and varying in strength, but she didn’t care. His hand rose from the mattress, sliding past one nipple to cup the opposite breast, which he instinctively squeezed, groped, and that particular pump was hard and deep. She cried out, smacking a hand over her mouth, but it was already too late.

“Shit,” Damian breathed. “I’m sorry, I thought I was dreamin’.”

She reached back, grabbing at his hip over the blanket. “No,” she whispered, “please don’t stop.”

“But—”

“Please, Papí,” she begged.

Damian attacked her neck, sucking, biting, and she moaned into the pillow, imagining proudly wearing his marks for all to see on the way home. His thrusts became steadier, more powerful, and his hand returned to her breast. He brushed the cool metal of his rings along her nipple before pinching and pulling, and her back bowed, pulling him deeper inside her pussy.

“This isn’t …” he trailed off, panting, and she recognized the sounds he was making, the words he was repeating.

She lifted her hips away from him, allowing him to carefully slip from inside her. Rolling over, she climbed on top of him, stroking his big cock a few times before lining her pussy up with the head. Meeting Damian’s gaze, she sank down onto him at a snail’s pace, watching as his eyes averted to witness their bodies join together, lasting longer than she expected before he laid his head back on the pillow, eyes closing, mouth uttering a string of obscenities. Biting her lip, she massaged her soft hands along the firm planes of his tattooed pecs until she found a suitable position that would allow for optimal riding. As she was about to lift her hips, Damian’s fingers encircled her wrists and raised her hands, melding their palms together, their fingers intertwining, his elbows anchoring them to the mattress.

“Ride it, baby,” he growled.

Grinning, his girlfriend’s eyes closed and her grip tightened on his hands and her hips started to move. She was instantly reminded of his size as she rose, her pussy shrinking back to its normal proportion the further he was removed, only to be stretched again with the next downward thrust.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Damian moaned, as she repeated the action over and over.

“I missed you so much,” she breathed, impaling herself fully and then grinding her clit against him. She freed her fingers from his and put them back on his chest, her entire body moving with her hips.

“I know,” Damian whispered. He grabbed two handfuls of her ass and took control of the pace. “Fuck, yeah, bounce on it. Bounce on my cock, baby.”

She obeyed, though he was doing most of the work, which ended up with him holding her still and his cock hammering up into her. “Oh, God,” she squeaked, his pounding hitting that secret spot inside her. “I’m gonna cum, Papí.”

His hand wrapped around the back of her neck and he jerked her down until their lips smashed together. “Say my name,” he breathed. “Say my fucking name.”

“Damian,” she wailed, pulsing around the battering ram that was his dick. Their lips smacked and their teeth clacked, and her throbbing cunt milked his own orgasm. The kissing continued as they rode out the waves of pleasure, as every ounce of stress and heartache and worry melted away, to be replaced by hope and love and positivity for the future.

Sleep was knocking, and she slowly descended until her cheek was on his chest, his softening cock staying warm within her. “I love you,” she whispered, almost like an afterthought, and Damian chuckled, placing a hand on her head.

“I love you, mi vida.”

જ⁀➴°⋆ Mi vida — My life જ⁀➴°⋆ Mi alma — My soul જ⁀➴°⋆ Querida — Dearest/Beloved, term of endearment જ⁀➴°⋆ Eres mi vida, mi alma, mi todo. Siempre — You’re my life, my soul, my everything. Forever 

[locketsvault]

「 AYATO RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS 」

pairing: ayato kirishima x gender neutral reader

tags: gender neutral reader, human reader, relationship headcanons and scenarios, sfw relationship headcanons, nsfw relationship headcanons

warnings: angst warning for our emo boy, canon gore, nsfw content in the second half of this post, it will be marked so you can skip if uncomfortable! aged up ayato when I get to nsfw content. sexual words used in the nsfw part. not proof read.

request: hii! if it’s not too much could you write something with ayato (tokyo ghoul)? nsfw or sfw, up to you! I’m dying for ayato content ahaha ;; thank youu! (original request found here.)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: I said this in the original request post but I’ll say it here too. I’m very rusty with the plot of tokyo ghoul so forgive me if he’s ooc! I’m also anime only since I’ve been having a hard time reading the manga, though I do know what happens in the manga vs the anime. (If anyone wants me to write a proper fic on how you guys met just ask, I’d honestly love to).

// how the relationship started ⌇˚.༄

⮑ The first time you two met you were walking home from school and got attacked by a rogue ghoul. This ghoul was hunting in a no hunt zone, and you just to happened to be his prey. Ayato was surveying the area when he heard you scream and smelled human blood. Knowing who’s hunting ground it was and that it was probably the rogue ghoul he went over to see what was going on. He was surprised to see that you were fighting back, despite being hold down by the ghouls kagune and seriously injured. You actually managed to injure the ghoul too.

⮑ He took care of the ghoul trying to kill you. While half conscious you heard him mock the guy for hunting in an area with a high count of aogiri members, before tearing his head off. Right after he did you passed out from blood loss. Usually Ayato would’ve killed you or just left you to bleed out, but something about you refusing to give up struck a cord with him. So he sneakily dropped you off at the emergency room and left.

⮑ Next time you guys meet is months later, you recovered fully from the attack, only having scars to show your survival. You were sitting at a coffee shop as the sun set, as a familiar blue haired boy walked inside. At first he didn’t recognize you, and after feeling your gaze on him for a while he turns to yell at you. But suddenly the memories hit him, and he notices that your look is anything but malicious. He decided to bite back his tongue.

⮑ You two would constantly run into each other at that coffee shop. You always have him a genuine smile or silent greeting as he walked by. He found you very peculiar, how you weren’t afraid of him even though he knew damn well you knew he was a ghoul. You didn’t seem uncomfortable around his friends too, and he could tell you knew they were ghouls too.

⮑ You approached him first, having memorized his order. You gave him his coffee one of the times he came in, and thanked him for saving your life. He ofc made a negative quip about how he could care less if you died or not, but you didn’t seem to care. You intrigued him even more. So he told himself he’d give you some of his time. He’d always come to hang out with you, and without realizing it he started falling for you. He hated it.

⮑ He started pushing you away and ignoring you. He stopped showing up to the coffee shop, but he couldn’t help but watch you from afar to make sure you’re safe. One night though you get attacked again when he’s patrolling. And he absolutely loses it. He tears the other ghoul to pieces like a feral animal. He almost hurts you when you walk over to try to comfort him, he’s that crazy.

⮑ He genuinely expected you to be horrified or find him disgusting. Instead you start crying and cup his bloody cheek. His kagune is fully out, his ghoul eyes bright and burning into you, his hair absolutely disheveled. Yet you didn’t seem to care. After you cupped his cheek he could feel his heart pounding, and he slowly started to calm down.

⮑ He let his head fall into your neck as you proceed to hug him, telling him it’s okay over and over. He buried his face into your neck, taking in your scent. He was surprised when he realized the desire he felt over your scent was something quite different than he was used to. He unconsciously started nipping at your neck and scenting you, hoping to protect you as tears streamed down his face.

⮑ That night you two finally come clean about your feelings. And he, reluctantly after lots of reassurance, decides he wants to try being in a relationship with you.

// sfw relationship headcanons ⌇˚.༄

⮑ At the start of your relationship he was very distant and awkward. He wasn’t used to affection and had never been in a committed relationship before.

⮑ He has a habit of stalking you, but not because he doesn’t trust you, he’s just that scared of losing you. You ofc know he does this and you let him, he’s your little protector.

⮑ In front of everyone else he’s an absolute brat, he misbehaves left and right and is very dangerous and powerful. But with you he’s an absolute puppy. Just one touch and he folds.

⮑ You’re the reason he’s able to keep it together as much as he does. You’re always there for him no matter what. Your arms are always open waiting for him when he comes home.

⮑ Speaking of home you two secretly live together once you move out of your parents house. He keeps your relationship as much of a secret as possible. But you don’t mind.

⮑ He panicked the first time you saw him eat leftovers at home. Knowing he eats humans is one thing, seeing it is another. He was scared you’d be uncomfortable or say something inappropriate. So he puffed up like a porcupine ready to defend himself. Instead, you reassured him it was okay. Surprisingly you sat down with him and started eating as well.

⮑ Now though if he eats he will sit next to you nonchalantly and sometimes rest his head in your shoulder as he does. You make him feel that safe.

⮑ He confides in you about his familial issues and all about his big sister. You do your best to help him talk better with Touka, it’s not easy though.

⮑ He’s actually very affectionate when he opens up. He loves hugging and holding you, along with giving you kisses. He tends to greet you with forehead kisses, it’s nice. :>

⮑ He’s pretty good with keeping you up to date on what’s going on in the ghoul world, and you help him with navigating the world as a human.

⮑ You balance each other very well.

// nsfw relationship headcanons ⌇˚.༄

⮑ Ghoul smut, yippee.

⮑ I think we can all agree on the ghouls and pheromones and instincts and stuff like that. I’ve actually read a bunch of stuff on ghouls on this app but it’s been months and I can’t remember so forgive me.

⮑ He’s very very verryyyy possessive. Even from the start.

⮑ He won’t act on it though, he’s not ready and doesn’t want to scare you off. But boy does he get the urge all the time.

⮑ Blood kink. He loves to taste you on his lips. Biting kink too. He will leave marks, and they’ll almost always be enough to draw blood. With consent ofc.

⮑ He actually almost lost control over himself the first time you two made out.

⮑ I should probably mention you turn him on fast. Your smile, your scent, your body language. All of it gets under his skin.

⮑ Your first sexual encounter with Ayato was in an alleyway actually. It was night time, he was walking you to your shared apartment. Somehow, you ended up pressed against the wall, holding onto your boyfriend as his fingers worked magic on you. You desperately tried to stay silent since you were in public but you struggled. Even if he had little to no prior experience he’s naturally talented and knows exactly how you work.

⮑ Your first intercourse was actually kind of sweet. It was when you first moved into your apartment, your building had rooftop access. So you two camped out on the roof to watch the stars. It started off with hand holding and innocent kisses, yet somehow he ended up between your legs pounding into you.

⮑ He prefers doing the work and being dominant when it comes to sexual activity. But sometimes he will let you on top. He can’t resist the sight of you riding him.

⮑ He’s very touchy, his hands are always all over you. No matter the position you can feel his hand sliding up your inner thighs or sides.

⮑ The first time you asked him to fuck you as a ghoul he was hesitant, worried you’d be scared. He was shocked instead when you came hard the first time. He will usually let his eyes show, but sometimes he will let out his kagune too upon request.

⮑ Ayato is average length and thick, and he knows how to use it. He loves his cock, I’m sorry but he does. He loves when you try to stroke him off, or when you get down on your knees for him instead. But most of all he loves the look on your face when he makes you cum with it.

⮑ Ghouls have extra strength so he has to be careful with you, there are definitely some times where he’s accidentally hurt you while learning your limits.

⮑ He doesn’t use protection. He knows you’re both clean, and if you’re afab since you’re human he honestly believes he can’t knock you up. That being said though, he loves breeding you.

main hub ✦ masterlist ✦ to do list

[i-heart-slashers]

ℌ𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢

⤷ 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘂𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗹. 𝗻𝗼 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲𝘀. 𝗻𝗼 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗶𝘇𝗲, 𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗴𝗲. 𝗟𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗼𝗿 𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀!

🇲​​🇦​​🇮​​🇳​ ​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ 🔪​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ II

𝕸𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖑 𝕸𝖞𝖊𝖗𝖘 🇸​​🇮​​🇱​​🇪​​🇳​​🇹​ ​🇨​​🇺​​🇷​​🇮​​🇴​​🇸​​🇮​​🇹​​🇾​

When Michael first sees you, his head tilts slightly, his blackened eyes staring intensely, almost curiously. There's no immediate violence—just observation. He feels a strange pull toward you, one he doesn't fully understand or care to analyze. You don't run from him, and that intrigues him more. His usual instinct to eliminate anyone in his path is overridden by a quiet, inexplicable need to protect you. He lingers in the shadows, watching, ensuring no one else harms you. For now.

𝕱𝖗𝖊𝖉𝖉𝖞 𝕶𝖗𝖚𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖗 ​🇩​​🇦​​🇷​​🇰​ ​🇫​​🇦​​🇸​​🇨​​🇮​​🇳​​🇦​​🇹​​🇮​​🇴​​🇳​

Freddy's interest is piqued the moment he enters your dreams. Instead of fear, he's met with something he doesn't expect—curiosity, maybe even defiance. You're not like his usual prey, and that annoys him at first. But as the dreamscape shifts, he finds himself amused and drawn to you. His taunts are less malicious and more playful. "What's your secret, sweetheart?" he asks with a razor-sharp grin. He doesn't know why, but he decides he wants to keep you around—if only to figure out what makes you so different.

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝕭𝖔𝖞𝖘 ​🇮​​🇳​​🇹​​🇷​​🇮​​🇬​​🇺​​🇪​​🇩​ ​🇵​​🇦​​🇨​​🇰​ ​🇲​​🇪​​🇳​​🇹​​🇦​​🇱​​🇮​​🇹​​🇾​

When the Lost Boys spot you for the first time, it's as if the world stops for a moment. David is the first to notice you, nudging the others with a smirk. "Look who we've got here," he says, his voice low and teasing. They surround you casually, each testing the waters in their own way—Marko's playful, Paul's flirty, Dwayne watches silently, and David takes the lead, his intensity palpable. Something about you feels magnetic, and they all feel it. They decide, almost instinctively, that you belong with them.

𝕭𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝕷𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕾𝖙𝖚 𝕸𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖗 ​🇩​​🇦​​🇳​​🇬​​🇪​​🇷​​🇴​​🇺​​🇸​ ​🇴​​🇧​​🇸​​🇪​​🇸​​🇸​​🇮​​🇴​​🇳​

Billy notices you first, his calculating mind immediately assessing what it is about you that's so captivating. Stu follows his gaze, grinning when he sees you. "Awww, you got a crush, Billy?" he teases. But it's more than that. Together, they subtly close in on you, their energy shifting from playful to possessive. Billy is quieter, his dark eyes analyzing your every move, while Stu is all charm and chaos, trying to make you laugh. They're a package deal; whether you realize it or not, you've just become their favorite obsession.

𝕬𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖓 ​🇲​​🇮​​🇸​​🇨​​🇭​​🇮​​🇪​​🇻​​🇴​​🇺​​🇸​ ​🇫​​🇮​​🇽​​🇦​​🇹​​🇮​​🇴​​🇳​

Art doesn't need words to express himself. When he sees you, his expression shifts from eerie amusement to something softer—well, as soft as Art gets. He follows you, not in his usual menacing way, but with an almost childlike curiosity. He performs small, twisted tricks to catch your attention, tilting his head to gauge your reaction. If you smile or laugh, it only deepens his fixation. You're special to him now, and he'll do anything to keep you entertained—and safe, in his own horrifying way.

𝕿𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖘 𝕳𝖊𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖙 (𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖋𝖆𝖈𝖊) ​ 🇵​​🇷​​🇴​​🇹​​🇪​​🇨​​🇹​​🇮​​🇻​​🇪​ ​🇬​​🇪​​🇳​​🇹​​🇱​​🇪​​🇳​​🇪​​🇸​​🇸​

Thomas is wary at first, watching you from behind his mask. You don't scream or run, and that confuses him. He's used to being feared, but you seem… different. Tentatively, he approaches, his movements slow and deliberate. A strange warmth blooms in his chest when you don't shy away. He doesn't understand it, but he knows one thing—he doesn't want to hurt you. In fact, he'd go to great lengths to keep you safe, even if it meant keeping you from his family.

𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖊 𝕾𝖔𝖓𝖌

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) by Eurythmics. "𝔖𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲,”

[toon-topaz]

The vampire if how overprotective does the rest of the cast get when they find out Subaru's not a vampire like one to ten scale

Oh boyyy this is gonna be fun Scale is gonna be from 1 (Doesn't give a fuck) to 10 (keep him on a leash at all times good god)

Emilia - Emilia found out at the beginning of arc 2, once she brought Subaru in for Beatrice to heal him. She then spends the entire series horrified at the lengths he will go to to protect her, or prove himself or whatever the hell he's trying to do. Especially after he got mauled by the Ulgarm, her worry for him increased tenfold, and then another tenfold after he challenged Julius. Her reasoning for leaving him behind in arc 3 is in part because she sincerely believes herself to be a bad omen, because of Subaru's continued offers for her to bite him (he thinks it'll be romantic and doesn't understand how weird that is), she thinks he might have some kind of brain damage after what Julius did to him. She believes she may actually end up getting him killed (little does she know, it's already happened, a lot), but also that she might lose control one day because damn, his blood smells nice. By arc 4, she understands his reasoning a bit more, but still hates to see him constantly putting himself in harm's way, and considers it extremely important for him to continue hiding his true identity. Despite not being the best liar herself, she's dedicated to keeping him safe, but will usually just avoid talking about it. In a way she feels kinship with him, as they both need to be careful about going out in public, due to her identity as a Witch of Envy lookalike, and his identity as what's essentially a talking prey animal. 8/10

Beatrice - Beatrice also knew the moment she met him, her ability to read Mana coming in handy for this. At first, she finds him more annoying and stupid, and even when she starts to like him more, her reluctance to exit her shell and bare her vulnerabilities prevent her from being too involved in what he's doing. After their contract, she's about as protective of him as in canon. Beatrice isn't a vampire, she's a spirit, and so she doesn't have any reason to be scared of herself losing control and attacking him. He's her contractor, she cares for him and his safety and will protect him with her life, but she also trusts him to take care of himself. She knows he may be reckless, but he's not stupid. 5/10

Rem - Rem finds out in arc 2, once it has to be explained to the staff that they need to somehow find a food source just to feed this one guy. Needless to say, she finds it incredibly suspicious, especially when in earlier loops Subaru keeps tailing Emilia and casually suggesting they have a taste of his blood. He has to be up to something. Not to mention, there's not only a ridiculously sweet scent wafting off of him whenever he accidentally cuts himself, but there's also constantly the smell of the Witch on him. She's fully convinced he's a Witch Cult plant, some kind of fabricated existence meant to be as tempting as possible. She does actually end up biting him, in the loops where she kills him, to punish him for daring to step foot in her sister's home. After the Ulgarm fight, she becomes one of his most fervent protectors, while also passively encouraging his reckless behavior. His weakness is also a strength in her eyes, as it gives him a unique kind of bravery she's absolutely in love with. She won't stop him from getting into trouble, but she will without hesitation kill anybody who dares attempt to harm her Subaru-kun. He could walk into Hell and she would follow him unflinchingly. Rem is hard to categorize, because her protectiveness of him is filtered through her view of him as her hero. She doesn't want to stifle him, but in the process enables a lot of his bad habits, opting to take action to defend him in the moment, rather than preventing him from getting into danger in the first place. It helps that she knew the moment she met him. 7?/10

Ram - Ram also knows right off the bat, and she's initially a bit wary, like her sister. Depending on how suspicious Rem is of him, her own concerns vary. She's a lot quicker to understand that he's just kinda stupid however. Ram does care for him, but holds no small amount of exaggerated disdain, usually teasing him for his weakness and taunting him with his status as food, with such charming nicknames as "cattle", "pig", and "snack". It's all in good fun, but it's also a subtle warning to him to not get careless. Sometimes she brings him grass, for their "livestock", and he responds to the jab by shoving it in his mouth while maintaining full eye contact. 4/10

Otto - Otto genuinely has no idea until, like, Subaru's knighting ceremony at the end of arc 4. He's absolutely piss drunk when he finds out, and it sends him into a goddamn crisis. He feels like a fucking idiot for not realizing his incredibly fragile best friend is not in fact, a vampire with a chronic health problem, but apparently he's been a whole other species this entire time. He's starting to wonder if Subaru technically counts as an animal, and the only reason they're able to get along so well is because of Otto's Divine Protection. Knowing this now, he sees how Subaru never seems to eat the same meals as everybody else, he's never shared a glass of blood with anyone, and no, that sweet smell is not just Otto's imagination. Otto's dedication is second only to Emilia's with helping Subaru keep his secret from everybody else, and he's a much better liar than her. He essentially crafts Subaru a whole fake backstory, makes it absolutely fucking airtight, and all but forbids him from speaking to strangers without at least one bug tailing him to report back to Otto. If he could he'd ground him to his room forever. About half the paperwork he does now involves forging Subaru's legal documents (which he apparently didn't have for a whole two-ish months??? He's lucky nobody bothered to check), birth certificate, Lugunican citizenship, etc. Poor Otto is about to have an aneurysm every time Subaru goes anywhere. 9/10

Garfiel - Garfiel thinks this is the coolest ever actually. He finds out while fighting Elsa, and at first he's pissed cuz y'know, she hurt his Captain, but once the dust settles he's actually thrilled to find out that the dude he looks up to is part of a long extinct legendary species he's read about in all his favorite stories. A lot of the heroes of legend were human, and he really admires Subaru's tenacity despite his weakness. Everyone's a little fragile to Garf after all, so the most he'll do is offer to train Subaru to fight or dodge better, and act as his bodyguard when he goes out in public. Alas, he's bad at keeping a secret. He will punch anyone who fucks with the Captain though. 5/10

Frederica and Petra - Frederica learns when she comes back to maid duty, and Petra needs to be informed once she gets hired. I don't have much to say about them, but Frederica makes sure Subaru gets proper nourishment, and Petra is a little weirded out that she can lift Subaru up with ease, but she's mostly chill about it. Sometimes they team up with Otto to keep an eye on him. 6/10

Roswaal - This fucking guy knew before Subaru even got here. He's been growing orchards in his backyard in preparation for the day his favorite little pawn would show up. His sacrificial lamb. He's been doing everything he can to put Subaru in harm's way, knowing he can just try again if things go wrong. He fully believes in him to pull through somehow, even as he actively throws him to the wolves. Not only that, but Roswaal is one of the only vampires alive who was once human 400 years ago, so he knows how it feels to be preyed upon, and yet he could not give less of a shit as long as Subaru helps him achieve his goal. 0/10

Part 1/2

[asolareclipses]

Previous Part

As the large school loomed ominously above him, Nico rethought all of his previous decisions that led him to this point. The building seemed to emanate pure death, but something wasn’t adding up. And the longer Nico stood there motionless, the worse this feeling became.

“So…do we go in or?” Leo said, completely unaware of Nico’s hesitance.

“Yeah…” Nico took a deep breath before pushing open the large castle like doors. He expected to immediately be met with death or something horrifying, instead what lay before him was nothing but empty abandoned halls.

“Wow, this place needs some TLC,” Leo commented as he walked forward, his head swiveling around to take in the large building.

“I guess they abandoned the school.” Nico replied, he couldn’t decide if that was upsetting or not. On one hand, it had been one of the last times he’d really been with Bianca, but on the other it held so much darkness and pain within its walls.

“Any idea where we go from here?” Leo asked, his hands were now blazing with a soft light that illuminated the dark hallways.

Nico paused, trying to determine where the source of his dread was coming from, but it felt all surrounding. “No clue,” He sighed.

“Okay well maybe-“ Suddenly the fire lit in Leo’s hand extinguished into nothing and the room was thrust into darkness.

Nico felt his heart drop, something was here, but unlike that sense of overpowering darkness Nyx emitted, it was something different. Rather than darkness it was more heavy, more emotional.

Suddenly the room brightened, a blueish green haze illuminating what looked to be trees, but Nico knew better.

“We need to get out of here right now,” Nico said as he felt his chest tighten.

Before Leo could speak a dark figure appeared, followed by several more of the same shape. “Oh but it is too late young one, we have already come to play.” The figure spoke as its features became clear. While it resembled a fury with sharp talons and wings, Nico knew better. Once before he faced monsters like this, and now it was too late as he and Leo were surrounded.

“What is that?” Leo asked, his hands bursting into flames once more.

“They’re arai,” Nico glanced nervously at Leo’s flames, “Leo if you attack them they’ll-”

Clearly the arai didn’t like what Nico was about to say as one dashed towards Leo and was greeted by a ball of fire. As the monster exploded into dust Leo yelled out, clutching his chest as he fell to the ground.

“Leo!” Nico called out as he rushed to his side.

“Holy hades what was that,” Leo said as he shakily tried to stand, his hair was sticking up as if he had been electrocuted.

“I tried to tell you, when you kill an arai they release a curse that someone or something has sent towards you.”

“A curse? What would’ve-“ Leo cut himself off as his eyes widened. “Oh. Those gods damned Eidolons! I fried them so of course they wanted to fry me too.”

Nico pretended he understood what that meant, before turning back to the arai who seemed to be eyeing them like prey. “We have to run, we can’t fight.” He forced his voice to remain steady.

“Where do we run?” Leo asked.

Nico looked around, they were surrounded by misty trees and the swampy fog. There was nowhere to run. “I don’t…” Panic filled his chest as he realized the lack of options.

“Your only choice is to fight, or you could let us kill you?” The arai spoke in a low gravely voice.

“Yeah right.” Leo snapped, his hands alight once more.

Nico had no real weapon (no the hatchet thing doesn’t count), no place to run, but the fear within him ran deeper than that. He wondered how many curses had been spoke against him, how many old wounds were about to be ripped open. Still, he had no choice. He had to fight.

And so fight he did.

The first arai swooped forward, its talons and wings moving swiftly. It dove downwards, but Nico had anticipated that and quickly rolled out of the way, bringing the hatchet down on the arias feathered back. Immediately Nico was met with a searing pain in his arm. Gashes resembling claws had appeared etched into his skin, similar to the scar that lay beneath them. Lycaon. It was no surprise the werewolf was a sore loser.

Next to Nico Leo gasped at the site of the wound, before promptly dodging an arai attack.

Nico tried to shrug it off, it was a familiar pain, he could manage. He readied the hatchet, ignoring the fact that he now had to fight with both of his arms injured. Another flash of black and Nico ducked, rolling against the ground while narrowly missing the sharp talons brought against him. He tried to go on the defense like Leo, but without fire it was nearly impossible.

The harsh sounds of wings roared behind him and he spun around almost too late, his hatchet swung and all he saw was a rain shower of dust. In that moment something shifted, everything seemed to go quiet as the hatchet dropped to the ground with the hollow echo of metal.

Leo turned, his fire flickering as his eyes widened in pure horror.

When Nico looked down, his hands were nothing but smoke, swirling around in the familiar way he’d seen many times from spirit roaming the underworld. Finally, one of his darkest moments had come back around to face him. The name, that face burned into Nico’s memory forever. Bryce Lawrence.

A guy who deserved nothing but death, yet every time Nico looked back at what he’d done he was consumed with guilt. Now it was his turn, to be erased into nothing.

Leo seemed to panic, the arai now uninterested with Nico. He called out but the words seemed to pass over Nico as if he weren’t really there.

Nico didn’t feel any pain anymore, he felt nothing. He saw Bryce’s face, over and over, until it slowly became his own. Then the sound of a scream pulled him away from being swallowed whole by the memories.

Leo had fallen to the ground again, his arms shaking in pain. The scattered remains of dust revealed he’d been met with another curse.

Nico wanted to cry, his body was worthless in that he couldn’t fight. He could only stand in watch. The sense of helplessness flooded through his veins as another arai rushed towards Leo.

But it never reached him, instead the ground rumbled and each arai was frozen in place. Somehow Nico stepped forward, his feet solid as black smoke curled off of his body.

“This is over.” He said, his form flickering in and out of a spirit like state. The arai began to back away. “You come from darkness right?” His fists clenched as shadows began to surround the arai, “Looks like it’s time to go back.”

A tidal wave of darkness washed over the arai as they screeched, their voices worse than nails against a chalkboard. Slowly they faded into nothingness and the wave washed away, revealing once more the dusty halls of west over.

Nico stood there emotionless for a moment, until a bout of pain racked his body. He felt like he was swimming in the phlegethon, it was as if pure lava were coursing through his veins,

Once again he heard Nyx’s taunting voice whisper to him, “Strike two.”

—

Watching Nico absolutely obliterate the arai was nothing short of impressive, however the immediate consequences were not. Whatever curses the arai bestowed had seemed to dissolve, but still something remained with Nico.

The previous cursed claw marks had only half healed, seeming to fight back against whatever was healing them. Along with that Nico’s other arm still bared the mark of his previous scorpion battle, now it had bled through its fourth round of bandages. His body was refusing to heal itself, and now that he’d used all of his energy to banish the arai, the pain had completely taken over.

The old wooden floor around Nico cracked and steamed as he fell to his knees. The room seemed to darken as the shadows reacted to his pain, swirling in harsh patterns. Leo practically sprinted to Nico side, knowing of how little he could do to help.

“Nico, oh gods. What do I do?” Leo’s voice cracked as he watched Nicos body shudder in pain.

“I’m..” Nico winced, taking a shaky breath, “I’m fine.” He clenched his hands against the ground, his face had gone so pale it reminded Leo of the time he’d first seen him. That memory only made Leo feel worse, he’d never gotten over the guilt he carried from how he had first treated Nico.

“You’re not fine,” Leo choked out as he scoured his brain for something, anything, to he could do to help.

Nico’s breathing only became more unsteady, “Leo, I’m sorry. You should go back to camp.” His voice was quiet and raspy as he spoke, “I shouldn’t have tried to go on my own, you were right. I’m sorry.”

Leo felt tears build up in his eyes, “Shut up. It’s okay and you’re okay.” His hands began to shake as the panic grew from deep within, he couldn’t lose another friend.

Nico opened his mouth to speak but it was as if a switch were flipped, and he suddenly collapsed to the ground. Smoke curling from his arms as he lay there motionless.

Leo froze for a moment, he felt like his heart had stopped beating. “Nico?” His voice echoed through the empty halls. Quickly Leo checked his pulse, receiving the faintest of heartbeats, “Nico. Wake up dude, please.” His voice sounded like a child’s ringing in his ears, scared and alone.

The dark empty halls only seemed to stretch farther and wider as Leo sat there helplessly. Seconds or maybe minutes had passed before a scuffling sound began to fill the silence. Leo shot up, his hands bursting into flames as he stood defensively in front of Nico’s almost lifeless body. Despite their shakiness, the flames burned bright in his hands.

Whatever the sound was it only grew closer, Leo feared the worst. Perhaps the arai had come back, or a worse monster was there to greet him. A cold rush of wind extinguished his flames as a soft haunting voice bounced off the walls around him. “How sad.” The voice spoke, it was the voice of a woman but it sounded empty and full of despair. “How miserable.”

“Who are you?!” Leo yelled out into the darkness, his flames flickering back to life.

“Your misery is charming young one, such sadness and pain. The loss of another friend would break your heart, how wonderful.” The voice seemed to hesitate, “It’s unfortunate to lose this soul though. His misery was so perfect, never have I met a more tortured child.”

Leo wanted to set whatever this thing was on fire, “WHO ARE YOU?!”

“I fear it is not my place to say,” The voice sounded almost happy with their ambiguousness. “I shall leave you to the darkness, there’s not much I can do here after all.” As she spoke the last word the halls went quiet for a moment, then a louder scuffling sound rung out from behind Leo.

He snapped towards the sound, a harsh flame burnt into his palm. He was ready to turn whatever was approaching into ash, when he was met with a familiar face. A guy with short blond hair, and a small scar that lightly grazed his lip.

“Jason?”

Part Eight

[suzyandthefox]

Meeting the Ferryman

Behold, my actual first Vore fic, I wrote this an entire year ago as a stupid joke to troll my friends and look where am I now

I notice that my style barely changed.

As usual, soft safe g/t vore, unwilling prey and some sadness (but happy ending

Taglist: @pineappleparfaitie @opikarts @dav8530 @flights-of-fangcy (ask to be added)

Word count: 1500~

It was the coldest night of your life, and you were sure it was going to be the last.

You hugged yourself for comfort and any glimpse of warmth, and evaded your eyes from the seemingly endless scene of snow, your mind wandered back.

Life was never easy for you as a borrower, the world was always far too big for you,and everything wanted a piece of you, quite literally.

And just when you thought it can't get worse than that, the humans took you and your parents away, you tried to rescue them but it was far too late, you barely saved yourself.

Even that seemed regrettable now, something inside you wished you died there instead of being thrown here,alone,with hypothermia eating at you.

You weakly prayed that an angel would come and save you, as you couldn't save yourself, the tips of your fingers and toes are getting blue, you got a frostbite.

And salvation found you, in the form of the tallest human you have ever seen.

Shrouded in darkness, his shadow swallowed you whole.

Your eyes widened in horror as it met his gray eyes,the same color as the concrete buried under the snow.

Long,thin,gloved fingers came to scoop you from the cold ground.

You tried to scream, no voice left your throat but pitiful whimpers and begging sobs.

You wriggled and tried to pry your way from the grasp, until your eyes met with the human's eyes again.

A moment of silence, you saw your reflection in your captor's eyes, and a voice inside you whispered that he might not hurt you.

"?You alright" 

His voice was gentle, if a bit raspy and tired.

You found yourself holding to his thumb, weakly asking him to not hurt you.

As a response to your plea, his gaze at you softened, and his closed fist opened into a welcoming hand.

"I won't hurt you,little one, it's going to be alright, everything will be alright. "

You let out a yelp as he held you close to his chest, and lifted his coat over you, you were covered in warmth for a moment, completely absorbed in it.

Then it dawned on you, a horrifying realization.

This man has no heartbeat.

Or warmth.

Tears filled your eyes, and fear struck your heart like an arrow of fire, your savior isn't human, but a creature of the night, or perhaps far worse.

He must've heard you crying,as you felt a stroking motion on your back.

.

?"Y…You're not a human, are you"

You meekly asked him.

You didn't see his eyes, nor did you hear him sigh, but the pain and … guilt in his voice shook your core.

"No, little one, I'm not."

You had no response, except to take a fistful of his shirt in your miniscule hand, you buried your face in his chest, feeling his ribcage underneath.

There's a heart there, you reassured yourself.

Better a kind monster than a cruel human.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" 

He asked you as his finger kept stroking your back.

"No.."

Your voice was barely audible.

"I'm taking you somewhere safe then, is that okay?"

You nodded as your fear faded away, there was nothing but complete trust.

But soon your fears would resurface as the kind stranger looked at you with deep guilt.

“I apologize for this, but it's for your own good”

You were confused at first, until you saw his jaws open and horrifying,huge fangs glinted in the moonlight, your heart rate began speeding.

“Wait… wait no… no no no!”

What was a gentle dream was turning into a nightmare as you were eased into the open jaws and then sealed in darkness.

It was warmer than outside, but still cold,it smelled of smoke,A lot of it.

There was the faintest glimmer of hope that he would find your taste bitter and just spit you out, since he didn't seem to be enjoying this as well.

“Please don't eat me…” 

You begged, your tears returning fresh and streaming across your cheeks, you felt him wince at the salty taste.

But alas, whatever hope you have left died as the tongue underneath you shifted,and you fell back towards the point of no return, powerful muscles holding you before the dreaded moment came.

And he swallowed you, whole and alive.

You closed your eyes and cried as you waited to perish,  the environment around you was further proof that he is anything but human,you at least expected a heartbeat,or a breath,but it was dead silent here.

From the tight yet snug esophagus,you were taken towards the much roomier stomach, everything about this did not make any sense.

You laid down, still sobbing,the room around you is lukewarm and soft to the touch, as if the monster’s  flesh was carrying you with the same kindness that he treated you with.

You gathered what's left of courage to sit down and paw the stomach wall, asking the one who devoured you a single question.

“Why?”

You flinched as you felt a gentle pressure from the outside, and your answer came, carried with the guilt and pain of a thousand years.

“Sweet little one, please don't cry, I'm sorry, I'm so very very sorry…” It sounded as if he himself was going to cry.

“I know you think I want to hurt you, or worse, but I won't,I promise you,I know you are scared and I should've warned you better, but please, please don't cry, you are safe,you are alright.”

Hearing his voice and the fatherly tone it held had eased your worries a bit,and feeling him acknowledging your existence inside him has given you more courage.

Your fear turned into fury as you kicked him,or his stomach wall anyway.

“You! Ate! Me! Swallowed me whole! How do you expect me to be okay with it!?”

“Aye! I know I deserve it but just because my organs are vestigial doesn't mean they don't hurt!” 

You were glad that you annoyed him,if you were going to be a prisoner in the belly of the beast you may as well make him regret it.

“What’s vestigial anyway?” You asked as you pulled back, the limited air in here made it hard to continue fighting. It did, however,usher you to sleep, like the softest bed to ever exist.

“It means that they are useless,My stomach is basically nothing but a sack of meat,I can't digest anything besides blood.” He patiently explained.

“Useless for it's purpose,that is, but it makes for a perfect place to hide something precious and small…” He continued as you felt him pressing inwards and rubbing , you were unsure if he was soothing you or the pain that you caused.

“Or someone.” Warmness flushed your cheeks,was he calling you precious? Now that you think about it,it all made sense, he did,in fact, promise you safety,and apologized a lot.

You start to see the gentle organ that surrounds you in a different light,it wasn't a prison,but a home,a home hidden deeply inside a friend.

You did want to be safe, and is there anywhere in the world safer than inside an incarnation of death?

“Are you feeling better now? Still angry at me for gobbling you up?” 

You chuckled,and hugged one of the chamber’s walls. They squished you and almost lifted you, like a warm cradle.

“Well aren't you adorable? Keep being sweet like this and I might keep you in there for a good while~” He teased at first, but then reassured you, he won't handle scaring you again.

“Don’t worry,You will only be in my stomach for as long as needed, I'm here if you need anything.”

You nodded, forgetting for a moment that he can't see you,and hugged the walls again.

"What's your name by the way?" 

"(Your name),and thank you… for everything.”

“I'm sorry I freaked out and kicked you”

"Pleased to meet you, you can call me Lumen."

“And don't worry about it,I did deserve those kicks after all.”

You smiled, you finally had a name for this undead savior.

Who you first thought to be Death himself, was, at least to you, an angel of mercy.

You began drifting off to a soft,dreamless sleep, now that you felt enough comfort, with one thought in your mind.

You are safe now.

________________________

[reaperlight]

[Carnage found family au]

[Content warning: angst tw rape, csa mention, discussions of consent, past canon-typical abuse, and the bodily autonomy issues of aliens living in human bodies]

Carnage: *sulking in a jar after having a fight with Cletus and getting blasted out of him by Shriek*

Carnage [to Venom and Eddie]: How do you two have such a strong bond?

Eddie [babysitting the jar with Venom]: Well, we work on it. We talk things out, find compromise and--

Venom [cheerfully]: Sex!

Eddie: ...

Carnage: ...how?

Venom: ...you know how humans work, right? You just put your tentacles up his--

Carnage: ...then I do not understand why our bond isn't stronger. That's where I was born! Where I first made my home after he swallowed me, so I don't understand why ours isn't stronger. Why does he get upset and embarrassed about us? He likes us, I know he does--

Eddie: Oh God. Consensual sex. You have to ask him first.

Carnage: How? I was newly made, a barely conscious blob when we bonded. And why should I? Father never did with you and your bond is perfectly strong.

Eddie: I... I don't mind. Yeah he couldn't ask before when we first bonded but he does now.

Carnage: And why didn't you mind?

Eddie: ...well I realize as a space blob Venom couldn't exactly take me out to dinner first. But when I first met Venom I was alone and--

Carnage: So was he! And he really didn't mind! It was like he was conditioned to be the perfect host. His entire life--

Eddie [sitting down, horrified]: Oh no... oh God. Cletus... He's been hurt, a lot. And now you're hurting him more. If you care about him at all you will ask him first before doing anything. And you will listen to him when he says no.

Carnage: I know he likes it though. He just gets weird about it. Why should I have to ask? No one else ever asked him.

Eddie: ...Not even Frances?

Carnage: Oh, she does, but--

Eddie: And you wonder why he likes her and not you?

Carnage: ....

Eddie: [*Seriously contemplating flushing this creep down the toilet but Cletus had asked him to look after Red. He had sounded very upset, heartbroken even. Was that because Carnage had done something to him or did he actually still want the symbiote despite everything?*]: Listen you just... have to listen if he doesn't want to.

Carnage: If I listened to what he said he'd never want to. But he does want to--

Eddie: Yeah, then you listen to what he says.

Carnage: I'm in his head! I know his thoughts! I know what he wants!

Eddie: You still listen to what he says. Alright?

Carnage: 'Don't give him sex unless he asks.' So what--should I make him beg for it?

Eddie [now burdened with that mental image and the feeling of perving on his best friend]: That's... probably better than what you're doing now.

Carnage [snarling in frustration]: I know nothing about human mating rituals!

Eddie: Well, that's bullshit. Aren't you with Cletus 24/7?

Carnage: ...Usually.

Eddie: Aren't you there when he's with his wife? Don't you see how he treats her. Does he ever hurt her?

Carnage: No, well... not unless she asks but... she likes it. Oh... I think I see.

Eddie: Do you? Come on, what have we learned?

Carnage: ...avoid sexually stimulating him unless he begs for it and that I must court him just as he courts her.

Eddie: Also he respects her, doesn't he?

Carnage: Yes. A lot.

Eddie: Do you respect Cletus as your host and as a person and partner or do you just see him as your Airbnb?

Carnage: I am a predator built for conquest, for violence--just like him! We belong together--

Eddie: But do you think he enjoys being preyed upon?

Carnage: ...You've given me much to think about. Thank you, father.

[Later]

Eddie [*hoping it wasn't a mistake to give Carnage back to Cletus, noticing Venom is curiously silent*]: V? Are you okay?

Venom: Did I hurt you, Eddie?

Eddie: You're fine, love. We're cool.

Venom: I came here to posses your body and conquer your planet.

Eddie: I know. What's this about, love?

Venom: You were so mad at Carnage--

Eddie: Oh... don't worry, V. You didn't do that.

Venom: I did.

Eddie: Maybe a bit in the beginning but you've always been pretty respectful.

Venom: You're still upset about Cletus.

Eddie: I just... I wish there was something more I could do... I guess I could try being nicer to him...

Venom: You were nicer to him this afternoon. Noticeably nicer. I saw it. He saw it too. And he was acting kind of strange.

Eddie: Stranger than usual?

Venom: Yes.

Eddie: Good strange or back to trying to kill us strange?

Venom: I don't know. He seemed... happy. But given it's Cletus I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.

Eddie: V...

Venom: I know he's your friend now but...

Eddie: ...what?

Venom: You are mine. He doesn't get to eat you either literally or with his eyes.

Eddie: You're... jealous? Come on.

Venom: You were thinking about screwing him today!

Eddie: ...Sometimes thoughts are just thoughts.

Venom: Would you?

Eddie: What?

Venom: Screw him?

Eddie: ...

Venom: Answer the question! You know I'm in your head, Eddie. You know I see your desires. I know you've thought about it!

Eddie: Then why are you asking?! Fine. Maybe I would. But only if he, you, Frances, and Carnage were all... not just okay with it but enthusiastically consenting so as you can see the likelihood of anything like that happening is next to zero.

Venom: But not zero! [*grumbling*] I don't want to share you.

Eddie: He's my friend. They're just my friends, okay? And in any case I share you with Flash.

Venom: That's just work!

Eddie: But you're still up his ass, aren't you?

Venom: Of course.

[attonposting]

Just thinkin' about how showing your companions the Force in KotOR II is about healing, about teaching them to confront their traumas and cope with them in a healthy way, and on a Dark Side run, it's about yanking on that trauma and twisting it until it becomes all that they are.

Atton is a goddamn mess of a person. The war wrecked him and shaped him into a sadistic monster who committed mega war crimes until he met the one Jedi who forced him to see what he'd become. And instead of taking any responsibility, he bolted, coping by drowning out the world and doing his damnedest not to feel. The Exile forces him to stop running and confront himself – to face all those emotions he chopped up into little pieces and wore like masks, his guilt, his hate, his fear. I don't think Atton ever thinks of himself as a Jedi; him learning to use the Force is him learning not to be afraid of it, and himself, anymore. Atton decides he's going to finally try to do something with his life – maybe not for goodness' sake, but because he owes that last Jedi that much. And a DS Exile extinguishes whatever seeds of decency she planted, destroys his last remaining shreds of idealism, and convinces him not to fear himself in a much, much scarier way.

Bao-Dur is a genuinely good guy, but he's shackled by guilt. It's not straightforward, and it'd maybe be easier for him to deal with it if it was - Bao-Dur simultaneously regrets and doesn't regret what he did. He believes... not necessarily that Malachor had to happen, but that the war needed to end. But he's horrified that it was his hands and his mind that conceived the Mass Shadow Generator, can never banish the sight of so much death at his hand. And he can't reconcile how what drove him in the war was pure hatred, and the galaxy treats him like his service was a noble thing when he knows it was anything but. That rage hasn't left him even though he tried to move on and turn his hands towards kinder things. Through the Force, he's able to move on and at last find peace – but a DS Exile convinces him to give into his anger and let retribution rule him completely.

Mira is at her heart a scared little girl trying desperately to prove to herself that she's tough and capable – that she's over everything she's lost, that she's not alone and afraid. She tries not to care about anyone, because the galaxy certainly doesn't give a shit, but she does despite herself. A LS Exile teaches her how to come to terms with the things that hound her, and in that, find true strength. A DS Exile teaches her to cover up that fear by preying on others so that nobody ever has the chance to hurt her again, and convincing herself that hardness means strength until it becomes true.

Brianna has tried to find purpose in servitude, but she's isolated in an otherwise tight-knit unit. She's desperate to prove herself, but she's never good enough for anyone, and she knows why she continues to fail even as she's unable to let the source go. A LS Exile teaches her to transcend those concerns and be true to herself above all else – not only to follow her own path, but to find strength and value in herself, for the first time in her life. What Atris thinks, what her sisters think, is immaterial. A DS Exile doesn't free her from her mindset of servitude so much as twist her loyalties. That Brianna instead becomes convinced she's better than her sisters, better than Atris, and takes her anger out on her ex-family and beyond – becoming driven by scorn, seeing nothing but the failures of the Jedi to live up to their own standards.

Mical lost his future at a young age – something that probably saved his life, considering everything that happened in the following years, but which left him trailing in the shadow of the Jedi seeking answers nobody could give. He wants to believe in the Jedi Order, but recent history has left him with far too much evidence to the contrary. A LS Exile acknowledges the flaws of the Jedi teachings, even personifies those flaws through their history, but convinces him through their actions that their core still rings true and is worth striving for. A DS Exile utterly demolishes his faith in the same manner. Mical takes the Exile's fall as yet another betrayal by the Jedi, but it's the hardest hitting yet - this sheer debasement of the figure he idolized most. It finally extinguishes his idealism, even gnawing away at the compassion that defines him until he's yet another soulless cog in the Republic machine.

And Visas is already attuned to the Force, but a LS Exile gives her hope for the galaxy and teaches her of the beautiful little moments of connection and the greatness people can achieve together, where she'd become convinced that life was pain and the only thing any being could aspire to was an end to the suffering. What she witnesses is strong enough for her to come to terms with the death of Katarr and choose to keep going despite all that's happened. And a DS Exile... doesn't. They reaffirm her desolation and then give her the callous end she sought.

The Exile themselves went for ten years avoiding connections, and then the Force thrusts them back into the role of a leader – a role they've got decidedly mixed feelings about, when it was literally their empathy that caused their self-destruction in the Mandalorian Wars. Major YMMV on how you characterize your Exile's motives, but the way I saw it, a DS Exile isn't going to be hurt again. They're not going to get attached to their soldiers – they've made that mistake before and it brought them nothing. They know how to say the right words to get people to fight and to die for them, and that's all it is. And for a LS Exile... they know the danger of caring, but they won't allow it to stop them from living any longer, not after they've spent ten years dead to themselves. And it's the human connections they form that heals them, that allows for them to touch the Force once more.

Obviously a DS Exile is bad and they should feel bad. For a LS one, though - the Jedi Council's repudiation of your powers at the end of the game used to really bother me until this part clicked. You're all a bunch of broken people who find each other and learn to move on. Even if you're drawing them in with freaky black hole space magic, they are genuinely better off for your presence, and it's because of who you are as a person, not any way you've molded them through the Force.

[theanoninyourinbox]

The Dark Forest Rebel Leaders

The four leaders of the Miretrees Rebellion, their stories are as varied as their clan origins.

Snowtuft was born in Riverclan during the reign of Willowstar. He was a loyal Warrior, if overly serious. His downfall was set off when he became obsessed with defeating a rival Skyclan tom, Dribblefur. His obsession became manic when Dribblefur saved some Riverclan kits from a hawk, which overshadowed Snowtuft killing the hawk itself! How DARE HE! So, in the next minor border skirmish, Snowtuft tried to kill Dribblefur - and succeeded in dealing a fatal blow. But only at the cost of his own life...

Silverhawk was a Hunter and Tracker of Windclan. He had been found as a kit on the border, and was mates with the Brawler Emberdawn. Their son, Mudpuddle, was Stonestar's loyal Deputy for many years, but Silverhawk became worried - he always felt anxious about his non-clan origins, and had felt so proud of his son for becoming Deputy, but Stonestar was so so old but still thriving, and Mudpuddle was starting to complain of aging joints. These thoughts lead him down a dark and paranoid path mentally. Silverhawk set up a trap - he led Stonestar into an angry dog, but Mudpuddle bravely threw himself in front of the aging leader and was killed. Silverhawk, horrified and furious, charged Stonestar, but was killed by the dog as well...

Sparrowfeather was born to Thunderclan, and apprenticed to Lionstar himself. She was always a layabout and far too nosy for her own good, and prided herself for knowing secrets from other clans. This lead to her death, as she began selling Thunderclan secrets to Riverclan and Shadowclan for prey, as she hated being a Hunter. This led to a fateful border battle, when a Riverclan cat used her battle move information to get past her defenses and kill her...

Maggottail was born Slickscales of Shadowclan, during the rule of Brindlestar. He was born hairless, and seen as blessed by Starclan in some way. Slickscales used this to his advantage, becoming nearly as influential as Brindlestar. After an argument that led to blows and losing a life, Brindlestar banished Slickscales, and gave him the dishonor title Maggottail. Maggottail would terrorize the local kittypets, stealing their food and attacking them for fun. Eventually, he became so out of shape and unhealthy that his heart gave out...

These four fell into the Mire. These four regretted their actions. These four met a starry visitor who changed everything. And they became the first four who would visit the conflicted living in their dreams, to keep them on the right path. But first, they would speak to those they hurt the most...

Snowtuft was able to apologize to Dribblefur, who was remembered in Riverclan histories for saving a future leader. They parted ways after quite a while, with Dribblefur's well wishes and sincere hopes echoing in Snowtuft's ears. They could have been friends once, and maybe they could be friends again, for Dribblefur was amazingly forgiving.

Silverhawk was reunited with his mate and son. They embraced him lovingly and tearily, and Emberdawn vowed to wait for him. Stonefur accepted his sincere apology, and charged Silverhawk with becoming a better cat. Mudpuddle wove a new feather, fresh from Starclan, to help remind him of the cat he once was.

Sparrowfeather was confronted by Lionstar, who shamed her for her actions. How many cats had died for her actions? How many cats had gone hungry? Lionstar left sputtering in rage and commanding the cats he had guided to never speak to her, but Sparrowfeather's siblings Finchwing and Lichenfoot stayed to speak to her. Their faith in Sparrowfeather's ability to change gave her hope that she could truly change.

Maggottail watched Brindlestar saunter towards him, and laid himself out to beg forgiveness. Brindlestar stared as he spoke, and after a long pause, snorted and called Maggottail as dramatic as ever. She forgave him, on the condition that he be just as dramatic keeping the living from falling like he did.

[mothfables]

Snail Ch. 1: I Was Just Born Like This, Wish That I Could Change It

Legend is hit with an unknown spell, or perhaps curse, leaving him the age he was when he began his first adventure but with his current memories. The Chain worries.

It happens suddenly.

One moment, the Veteran is himself, dancing across the battlefield with his usual grace. The next, there’s a bright flash and he’s a tiny bundle of green and pink. He tumbles to the ground, dazed and disoriented, leaving the rest of them rushing to cover him and drive back the monsters who see a sudden piece of easy prey and redirect their attention to the unmoving lump on the ground.

The battle is quickly won with their foes so distracted and protectiveness running hot through the heroes’ veins. The moment the last monster dissipates into dark smoke Sky is turning, searching for his downed brother. It takes a second but he quickly spots him - he’s small, even smaller than usual; a tiny, trembling figure with a shock of pink hair that has Sky biting back the urge to coo. He takes a step forward, intent on seeing if the Vet is okay, if he’s hurt at all besides the transformation, and bright violet eyes snap towards him.

The look in them brings Sky up short because that’s fear in those eyes. Not relief, or worry, or a hundred other things he’s used to seeing in them. No, this is raw, blatant fear. His other brothers are crowding close now, exclaiming loudly in worry, and those bright eyes follow their every move. Sky’s heart sinks at the realization that for whatever reason their veteran is scared of them.

One of them does something he can’t catch - moves too fast or steps too close, perhaps - and Legend bolts. The heroes shout after him but he’s fast, disappearing into the trees lining the road in the time it takes to blink.

“STOP!!!” Sky shouts, halting the rest of them in their tracks. Rarely does the Chosen Hero make himself so loud, preferring to let the more energetic of his siblings take the spotlight. As such, when he does deign to raise his voice, the rest of them listen.

“B-but we can’t jus’ let ‘im go off on ‘is own!” Wind protests, biting his lip. “‘e’s all small, he’ll get lost out there alone!”

“And we’ll find him,” Sky consoles. “But did any of you see his face?” He gets his answer in confused looks and headshakes. “He was terrified. And-” He pauses, swallows. “And I’m pretty sure it was of us.”

He’s met with horrified silence.

Sky watches them for a moment, glancing between them and the trees where Legend disappeared in thought. Then he nods.

“Okay. You all stay here, maybe make camp or something. I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” Four asks as he turns towards the trees. He glances back, a reassuring smile on her face.

“To find our Veteran, of course.”

And then she’s gone, vanishing into the forest after their missing brother.

~~~~~~~~~

Sky wanders through the trees, trying to stay in a straight line. It might not even be the right idea; Legend may very well have veered far away from the path the moment he entered the woods. Still, if she doesn’t want to get horribly lost, going straight is her best bet.

She doesn’t want to risk having Wolfie sent after her with a terrified child - mentally or not - somewhere in the woods. They may never find him then.

Luck seems to be on her side, though. It takes perhaps ten, fifteen minutes tops before she hears a distinctly-hylian noise in the otherwise normal chorus of the woods.

Her ears perk up at the sound and he listens closely. There!

Sky follows the sounds, faint as they are, to a dense clump of bushes. He can’t see anything through the leaves, but the noise cuts off when he draws near. His heart aches.

There’s no way Legend will be coming out of his hiding spot any time soon. Sky weighs his options (of which there aren’t many) before sighing and moving to sit down against a nearby tree. Not too close, though, or Legend will just feel trapped.

With nothing else to do but wait, Sky begins to hum, little nonsense tunes that help keep his mind from dwelling too deeply on the current situation.

.

.

.

The rustling of leaves catches his attention. He’s careful not to falter in his humming, though, in case it’s little Legend finally coming out of hiding. Any sudden changes could send him right back into the cover of the bushes, and then they’d have to start all over again.

Slowly, falteringly, a presence comes to settle nearby. Sky keeps humming, slipping into the Ballad of the Goddess almost instinctually.

As the last note fades, he slowly turns to look at who - or what - joined him. She’s greeted with soft pink hair and a dirty green tunic. Large violet eyes blink up at her from a small, pale face.

Sky gives a soft smile, very carefully not moving. “Hey there, I’m Sky. You must’ve been pretty spooked earlier, huh? I’m sorry about that. Are you alright?”

Legend (could they even call him that right now? Should they?) stares at him warily. He’s still several feet away, noticeably out of grabbing range, the older hero realizes. His heart aches again.

He waits for a few moments but no reply comes. Eventually he takes a deep breath and pushes himself to his feet. Legend watches closely the entire time. Sky pats himself down before holding out a hand to the younger.

“Do you want to come back with me? It can’t be very nice staying out here in the woods all by yourself.”

More silent staring, though this time it seems to be more like the boy before him is thinking, not frightened. The child (because unless Legend is still recovering from... whatever that was, that seems to be the case) hesitantly reaches out before quickly retracting his hand. Sky keeps his disappointment and worry well away from his face and pulls his hand back with an easy smile.

“That’s fine. Do you want to just stay behind me, then?” He hopes Legend follows; she’s not going to leave him all alone in the woods, even if it takes all night, but by the Goddess does she hope he decides to go with her back to the others. Not only would it keep the rest of them from getting any more worried than they most certainly already are, it would also give them the chance to see if he’s injured in any way.

...Also it would keep Wolfie from having to track them down and potentially scaring Legend back into hiding or running again.

Her hopes are granted when Legend nods and stands, holding his hands close to his chest as he waits for her to start moving.

The older hero does so, waving a hand in a ‘follow me’ gesture. Her ears flick back at quiet, shuffling footsteps behind her and she smiles. The two of them make their way back through the woods, the younger staying carefully out of sight but not straying, to the elder’s relief.

Eventually they find the road again; Sky can just see their companions through the trees. The closer they get, though, the closer Legend draws, despite his earlier hesitation. When they finally leave the cover of the trees Sky feels small hands grasp onto her pant leg and cling.

The other heroes are still where she left them, split between milling aimlessly about and standing together in small groups and chatting quietly, all of them sporting worried expressions. She has to suppress a snort; after all, if she was in their shoes she’d be doing the same thing. A hero’s spirit is not one for idleness when there is something to be done.

Still, she did suggest something they could do before she left, and a sudden surge of mischievousness brings a smirk to her face. She lays a gentle hand against little Legend’s back to reassure him as she calls out, “I thought I told you guys to make camp! I’m gone what, an hour? And I come back to find you all wandering around like headless cuckoos!”

As expected they start at her voice, some of them, like Twilight, flushing in embarrassment while others look indignant. There’s a tiny snort of laughter from the boy at her side and Sky feels pride blossom in his chest at the sound. He flashes the others a smile to show he doesn’t mean the words and they relax.

All of that falls away, though, when they spot the tiny shadow at his side. Instantly the worry and concern is back and a few of them start forwards as if to rush over and see him for themselves. Sky gives them a Look and they immediately back down. A protective Hylia’s Chosen is not one to be messed with.

After a moment to make sure they’re behaving themselves, Sky nudges his companion. Bright eyes look up at him warily, and he gives him another reassuring pat.

“Do you want to go say hi?” he asks quietly. “They won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about. And,” he adds, seeing the nervousness and fear creeping back over that small face, “if anyone does something you don’t like, they’ll have to deal with me.”

Shocked surprise replaces the fright before the boy gives a nod. A tiny spark of trust appears in those violet orbs and Sky’s heart swells.

“Alright then,” he smiles. He leads him over to where the rest of the Chain wait in anticipation, keeping a gentle hand on his back the whole way. Thankfully it seems the older heroes have the younger ones under control - Wars has a hand clamped on Wind and Hyrule’s shoulders while Twilight does the same with Wild. Four hovers next to Time, his own eyes sparking purple as he watches them approach.

Sky stops several feet away, a tug on his pant leg alerting him that they’re getting too close for tiny Legend’s comfort. Everyone forms a circle, and he can tell they’re trying their best not to stare.

“Okay,” he starts. “Time for some introductions, I think. I already told you my name, I’m Sky.” Legend nods. Sky smiles at him and gestures to the hero on her left to introduce themselves.

Hyrule starts at the motion before he nods, coughing and clearing his throat. “U-um. Hi. Y-you can call me Hyrule.” They give a meek little wave that Legend shyly returns. There’s a sudden chorus of coos that quickly stifle themselves when Sky casts a glance around.

Warriors goes next- and Legend startles badly enough Sky can feel it. She keeps her hand on his back in the hopes it’ll keep him grounded, and it seems to work because he doesn’t run again. The introductions continue.

With every name, he presses closer and closer to Sky’s leg, clutching his pants with tiny hands. His expression becomes more worrisome, brows drawing together and little ears flickering as he mouths each name. When they’re finished, he swallows, looking up at Sky then back at the group.

Then he speaks, and it’s a quiet, murmured, “‘m Legend. I know you.”

[mermaidsirennikita]

So. I began a book called Shadow Dance by Anne Stuart. I'm about halfway through, and I want to begin by saying that there has been some Problematic Content thus far, but like, most of it is generalized to Anne Stuart (dubcon-y threats and past SA, though not as much as I read in A Rose at Midnight on either front by a looong shot) and a couple things are very 1993 of it all (there's a child predator briefly in the beginning who's kind of played as a foppish stereotype, the single use of the word "sodomite" and his "perversions", though to be fair, I think that's more on the child predator front than anything else... and course the heroine grew up in Egypt so there are some light orientalist-ish references because historical written in early 90s).....

BUT WITH THAT OUTTA THE WAY, on to ONE OF THE WILDEST BOOKS I HAVE EVER READ

So we begin with our primary hero, Phelan (Anne Stuart loves a primary/secondary romance, and guess what, the degree to which she kills both of them is a testament to how writers today need to shape UP because Anne is out here selling two loves tories in a <400 page book than a lot of people sell one in 800 pages at the moment) walking in to find his father stabbed to death and his CRAZY mother accusing his illegitimate half-brother Valerian of doing it.

Exciting, but not that weird, right?

WELL.

Flash forward a year or something, and we're in the mind of our primary heroine, Juliette, who is disguised as a boy, Julian, on the run from her horrible husband. She's looking for work, and again, this is all fun and vibrant but it's not that WEIRD.

WELL AGAIN.

Juliette, who looks like a teenage boy because she's actually 22-year-old girl, is thisclose to being preyed upon by aforementioned gross predator, when she's offered work by this random vicar guy and his wife, a beautiful but VERY TALL, BROAD LADY WITH MASSIVE FEET.

And if you're saying "surely not" I'm saying "surely yes", that is accused murderer, gorgeous rake Valerian, dressed in drag, and on the run with his loving and very put-upon older brother Phelan, who is in fact pretending to be his husband (and to be clear: all of this is implied to have been Phelan's BRILLIANT PLAN because he's a control freak with severe trust issues and an honestly incredibly sweet love for his little brother)

So you're treated to all these scenes of Phelan bitching at Valerian while trying to lace his corset, and Valerian being like "I HATE CURLING MY HAIR LIKE THIS" because he's also a Prime Pouty Hero, and being horrified when he finds out that Phelan is TELLING EVERYONE HE'S PREGNANT in order to excuse his weird body type, and like???

Going back to there being two romances... Our primary love story is Phelan, again a control freak and I must say, DUUUUUUMB hot, and Juliette, who spends like the first quarter of this book desperately trying to convince him she's a boy (she is also a misandrist lmao) even though Phelan and Valerian (who Juliette does not suspect of being a man at all because Val is a pretty boy) both immediately went "yeah that's a girl"... So she keeps on being like "I'M JUST A MITE OF A LAD" "I AIN'T DONE GROWIN'" or, when she wakes up to find that Phelan sketched her while she was sleeping, "YOU MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A GIRL". And Phelan keeps responding in the most laaaanguid draaaawling way possible with like "You. Are the boldest person. I have ever met.", tilting Julian/Juliette's chin up to look deeply into her eyes, making it very clear to Valerian that he CANNOT touch Juliette, even though Phelan has NOOOO intention of touching her himself, because he is again, a control freak who trusts no one but Valerian.

And meeeeanwhile, we have Valerian, who is completely besotted with this kinda incredibly naive and dumb but utterly charming bluestocking, Sophie. I was kinda worried that Valerian would come off as a predatory drag queen stereotype, but LMAO HE IS GENUINELY IN LOVE. He wants to get with her, he knows he can't (he DOES tell Sophie at one point that he has an identical twin brother but nothing has come of THAT particularly play yet) and so he's like, resigned himself to making sure she doesn't marry a loser, while spending as much time with her as possible, in the guise of her experienced married lady friend.

WHICH LEADS TO. One of the most dirtybadwrong scenes I've ever read. Even though technically, NOTHING HAPPENED. In which Sophie reveals that her mother told her about the "practicalities" of marriage, and it sounds like it SUCKS :( so she might as well marry this boring dude.

WELL AGAIN AGAIN.

Valerian/Valerie CANNOT HAVE THAT. And AS SUCH! He's all "let me tell you a thing", which quickly turns into something WAY WEIRDER when Sophie is all "omg tell me girl" while resting her head in his lap. V. DIFFICULT FOR HIM. And he proceeds to give her the most erotic Sex Ed I have ever read, which goes on and on and he is having an increasingly present Issue, and Sophie is all blushing and like "well that sounds pretty solid", and there is much twining of the hair, and some pretty GRAPHIC descriptions of what a man may do if he ~loves you~ and. I was shocked! Shocked, I say! Shocked into a fit of laughter!

anyway not done with it yet but thus far a banger I must say

[gemwing1988]

A/N: A little something to cheer up my pal, @akluthor1998 after she mentioned she had a hard day. Hope you like it, Lex.

King Dice and The Cuphead Show are property of StudioMDHR and Netflix while Sonic the Hedgehog is under ownership of Sega and Jack and Ace are created and owned by Lexie herself.

After another humiliating beatdown by the Dreamstones in a tried and failed attempt to have Lexie to himself, King Dice finds himself dragged into a camping trip in the Inkwell Woods by his minions, Jack and Ace in their intention to make him feel better.

So far, it wasn’t as relaxing for him when they tried to roughen it up as Dice had shown to be terrible at pitching a tent, neglected to pack a can opener, ect. Jack and Ace decided to sing a catchy campfire song that suddenly goes cartoonishly fast from there.

Once he and Jack were finished, Ace asked Dice, “Now wasn’t that relaxing?”

“No!” Dice snapped in annoyance before he picked up a clarinet he was recently learning to play a few days ago. “THIS is relaxing.”

He begins to play “Kambaya” very badly on the clarinet. He might be good on a few instruments like the trumpet, but ironically, he can’t play the clarinet even if his very life depends on it.

And judging from the horrified reaction of Jack and Ace, it would seem it does.

“Aw crud!” Jack gasped.

“Oh no!” Ace cried, horrified.

Frantically, the knight chess piece grabs a marshmallow from the bowl as well as a slingshot. He placed the marshmallow into the slingshot and is prepared to fire.

“I’ll save you, Boss!”

Ace shot the marshmallow at Dice through the clarinet as it went down his throat, stopping him playing (thank the Lord, my ears were aching) and fall backwards onto his back with a thump.

“Mr. King Dice, sir, are you alright?” Ace asked in concern as he slightly sat Dice up and gently assisted him eat the marshmallow. “That’s it, chew, chew and swallow.”

After swallowing the marshmallow, Dice gasped for air and groaned.

“There, better?” Ace inquired like a gentle parent after tending their child scraping their knee.

“‘Better’?! I was just fine UNTIL you lodged that ballistic junk food INTO MY WINDPIPE, YOU MORON!” Dice snapped angrily.

“But I had to!” Ace insisted, worried. “It’s dangerous to badly play the ‘Kumbaya’ song on the clarinet out in the wilderness! It might attract…”

Ace pauses for a second, cautiously looking around before he nervously whispers to Dice:

“A Werehog.”

Dice gets up as he repeats in a nervous tone, “A Werehog? You like the ones that…”

He then suddenly threw his arms up as he angrily claimed, “DON’T exist?!”

“Whaddya saying, Boss?” Jack asked.

“There are no such things as “Werehogs”, you dolt!” Dice snapped. “They’re just a myth!”

“But Boss, werehogs ARE real!” Ace protested in concern. “It says so in the Ink Blotter’s Fake Science Monthly.”

For emphasis, Ace holds up an issue of the Ink Blotter with a cheesy tabloid photograph of a realistic hedgehog and a sparkly unicorn as Dice reads it aloud:

“‘Werehogs and Fairy Tales are Real’?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard!” Dice claimed in annoyed disbelief.

“Well, maybe it is stupid, but it is also stupidly serious.” Jack stated, sternly serious.

“For once Jack is right, Boss. Werehogs are NO laughing matter.” Ace added. “One time, we met this guy who knew this guy, who knew this guy, who knew this guy, who knew this guy, who knew this guy, who knew this guy, who knew this guy, who knew this guy, who knew this guy, who knew this guy’s cousin…”

Getting annoyed, Dice decided to put an end this nonsense.

“You’re right!” He cried, feigning fear and concern. “I really should be more careful. In fact, why don’t you guys tell me all the things I should or shouldn’t do if I’m to keep any Werehogs away.”

“No problem, sir.” Ace replied. “First, don’t badly play the clarinet.”

Dice makes an annoyed face that says, “Rub it in why don’t ya?”.

“Second, don’t wave a flashlight back and forth.” Ace instructed.

“Flashlights are their natural prey.” Jack added.

“You’re kidding.��� Dice muttered in disbelief.

“Don’t stomp around. They’ll take that as a challenge.” Ace cautioned.

Jack nodded. “Yeah.”

Dice takes out a pencil and notepad, writing things down. “Okay, go on, then what?”

“Don’t ever eat cheese.” Jack stated.

“Sliced or cubed?” Dice inquired.

Jack and Ace took a moment to make a whispered discussion before they turned back to Dice as Ace answered, “Cubed. Sliced is safe.”

Dice quickly wrote everything down so far as he pressed, “Go on, go on.”

“Okay, never wear a sombrero…” Ace cautioned.

“…in a goofy fashion!” Jack finished.

“Also, don’t wear any clown shoes. Most especially the red ones.” Ace warned.

“Or a hoop skirt. Pink ones no less.” Jack chimed in, worried.

As they listed down everything not to anger a Werehog, Jack and Ace grew extremely nervous and terrified.

“And never…” Ace spoke nervously.

“Ever…” Jack groaned.

“Ever…” Ace whimpered.

“Gah!” Jack yelped.

Throwing their arms up and frantically waving them over their heads, the duo cried in unison: “Screech like a chimpanzee!”

“Wow, it’s amazing how many dumb stuff can set a Werehog off.” Dice commented.

“I know, right?!” Jack piped up.

“They’re horrible! Utterly horrible!” Ace whimpered as he and Jack embraced each other, trembling in terror.

Dice started to look scared himself as he spoke, “Now you mentioned it, I have this sudden feeling that we’re gonna be in danger.”

“Why Boss?” Both Jack and Ace asked.

“I don’t know…” Dice answered nervously.

Suddenly, the Devil’s number rushes off screen for a split second and returned, wearing a sombrero, red clown shoes and a pink hoop skirt. He also had a platter of cheese cubes in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He also had sleazy and devious smirk on his face.

“Just a feeling.” Dice sneered.

Realizing their boss hadn’t taken them seriously from the start and decided to mess with them, Jack and Ace watched on in horror at what Dice is about to do.

“No…” Ace moaned.

“Yeeees.” Dice said smugly in the same tone much like in ‘Roll the Dice’, intending do what would attract a Werehog.

“B-Boss, NO!” Jack begged.

Mischievously, Dice started to hoot like a chimpanzee, much to his goons’ horror.

“K.D.! PLEASE DON’T!” Jack and Ace pleaded in terrified unison.

But Dice deliberately ignored their plea and started to shriek like a chimpanzee while stopping around like a moron, waving the flashlight back and forth and managing day a couple of cheese cubes.

Let me tell you, he’s even more ridiculous than usual.

“What’re we gonna do?!” Jack exclaimed in horror. “A Werehog is sure to come ‘round and eat us for sure!”

“No worries! I, the Mighty Ace, came prepared!” Ace spoke, grabbing a stick and drawing a circle in the dirt around Jack himself. “When in doubt, draw an anti-Werehog circle in the dirt!”

“Good thinking, bro!” Jack praised before held up another article of a toon standing in a dirt circle similar to the Ace made next to a photograph of large realistic hedgehog. “It is the best way to fend off against a Werehog attack.”

The two the, hugged each other and sat down, huddled up in the circle, scared as soon as Diced stopped making a bigger idiot of himself, laughing.

“Can’t believe you two chumps are so gullible to believe a bunch of baloney!” Dice taunted. “Ya see; I did everything that annoys this so-called Werehog and nothing happened. If Werehogs are real after all, then why didn’t one show up? Tell me that.”

“Maybe one didn’t show ‘cause you’re you’d not wearing your sombrero in a goofy fashion like we warned you.” Jack suggested.

Dice scoffed. “Really? How stupid of me. You mean like this?”

Dice tilts the sombrero to one side and started laughing. Just then, a huge, furry blue clawed hand reaches out, picks up the sombrero and turns it upside down, setting it back down onto Dice’s head.

And the owner of that arm that corrected Dice’s mistake? None other Sonic the Werehog, who looked super annoyed.

“Uhhh, no Boss. More like that.” Ace corrected nervously.

Dice stopped laughing and suddenly looked shocked and terrified to notice Sonic glaring at him, growling like a wolf.

Realizing werehogs are real after all, Dice screamed like a little girl and ran away. Sonic roars and chases after Dice offscreen.

Dice screams some more as Sonic started to beat him up offscreen while Jack and Ace were still huddled in their anti-Werehog circle, cringing. After a few more seconds of maiming Dice, Sonic stops and lumbers past Jack and Ace, ignoring them due to their circle.

The moment Sonic left, Ace called over to Dice, “Boss, are you okay?”

We now see a bruised and battered Dice sprawled on the ground, his suit slightly ripped and his jacket bearing claw marks due to Sonic’s claws ripping at it.

“No…” Dice moaned in reply.

Jack and Ace walked towards their boss, carrying their circle and dropped back onto the ground a yard away from Dice.

That’s cartoon logic for you.

“Hurry, sir! Get into our anti-Werehog circle before he comes back!” Ace said urgently.

“Yeah! And we’re not kidding!” Jack piped up. “It’s mentioned that Werehogs often attack more than once!”

“Are you kidding me?!” Dice yelled as he jumped up onto his feet. “There’s no way drawing a dirt circle’s gonna stop that freak! I’m outta here!”

Much to Ace and Jack’s horror, Dice turned tail and frantically ran for his life in the same direction he went earlier.

“BOSS, NO!!” Both chess pieces screamed.

But it was too late.

The moment Dice booked it, Sonic came rushing back, arms raised menacingly and roaring.

And before you know it, Dice screams in pain and panic as Sonic beats the crud out of him again offscreen while Jack and Ace flinched some more.

After beating up the former game show host, Sonic casually walks past Jack and Ace, indifferently ignorant of their presence due to them still huddled in their circle.

“Don’t run! Werehogs hate that!” Ace called out. “And since he’s still Sonic the Hedgehog but lost his supersonic speed in that form, he would definitely hate being outrun!”

We cut over to Dice, who looked even more battered and bruised, his suit teared up even more. He even lost a shoe in the beatdown.

“Thanks for the tip.” Dice moaned, standing up and started to limp. “I’ll just limp home then…”

“NO!!!” Jack and Ace protested in terror before Sonic rushed back in and beat up Dice again.

After that, Sonic once again walked away, ignoring Jack and Ace.

“They hate limping more than crawling!” Ace shouted.

Dice groaned offscreen.

“Okay, then I’ll just…”

Before Dice could finish, Sonic once again ran over to him and beat him up offscreen before leaving.

“Guess we should have warned ya about crawling!” Jack called out.

Suddenly, Sonic rushed in and beat up Dice for some unexplained reason. After a while, Sonic stops and leaves once again.

“Oh come on! What did I do that time?!” Dice whined.

“I dunno! I guess he just doesn’t like you!” Ace called back.

“Pretend to be somebody else!” Jack suggested.

Ace quickly pulled out the same stick he used earlier and tossed it to Dice. “Quick! Draw a circle of your own!”

“Okay, okay!” Dice responded, doing just that offscreen.

But then Sonic came back and proceeds to beat up Dice again regardless before leaving.

The reason for that?

“That was actually an oval! It has to be a circle!” Ace pointed out.

Having enough, Dice rushed over and leapt into the circle, sitting atop of his goons. “Move over!”

Sonic soon returned and came towards Dice, only to stop when he sensed something.

“Huh?” The Werehog grunted before he peered down to notice circle.

Sonic growled at the circle before he glared at Dice, pointing a claw at him in warning as if to say, “You got lucky, punk!” and decided to leave for good.

“Hey! It worked!” Dice exclaimed in relief. “You guys saved my life!”

He, Jack and Ace celebrated that the danger finally passed and they can go about the rest of their night.

“It’s a good thing it was just a Werehog.” Ace commented. “This circle wouldn’t be able to repel a giant owl.”

After that whole ordeal with Sonic the Werehog, Dice’s relief turned into concern as he nervously asked, “What attracts them?”

“The sound of a Werehog attack.” Jack replied.

A giant bird-shaped shadow suddenly loomed over the three and Dice looked to see Kuro, a giant black and dark blue owl with glowing blueish-white eyes, towering over them, glaring at Dice.

“Good thing we’re all wearing our anti-giant owl undergarments, right Boss?” Ace stated, not all worried.

All Dice could answer was a meek, “Huh?”

It was one of those moments he would rather deal with getting beaten up and humiliated by those cup kids, Lexie and her friends or facing the Devil’s wrath after failing him once again at this point.

[ivycorp]

Before Orion had been remade into a Prime (‘ascended into Primacy’, he remembered the Senate call it at the time, as if the pretty words made it into anything different than a horrifying intrusion into what and who he was), he led an interesting, if a little unorthodox life - especially for the caste he was a member of at the time.

He had a decent job, a few friends, and a varied dating history. His partners were of all shapes and sizes, different temperaments, and an array of preferences and fantasies he was quite keen to experience. Some serious, others less so - Orion was always honestly invested into the relationship, but at the same time he never felt the need to be in one in the first place.

As much as the holos and datapads made it sound like a prerequisite to happiness was to find their one and only, Pax was finding joy in his life with or without the partner at his side.

His job at the Archives allowed him to read up on many different topics, and every week or so his local club had a rave going on - he went to them all, losing himself in the loud music and flashing lights.

His partners sometimes went with him, other times they just smiled fondly and left him to his devices; he never stayed longer than a few weeks with anyone who tried to stop him from going.

He needed the drain of energy these parties gave him afterwards - if only he could sneak into Six Lasers, he would probably get enough to stay satisfied for longer…

The craving inside of his frame never seemed to be sated. His everyday demeanor hid a search for something.

He wasn't sure what, but he would not stop looking for it.

Orion suspected this precise need was what kept him from finding any of his partners to be one of those grand, once-in-a-lifetime matches, but it wasn't worrying him. He was patient, and he would rather never find the target of what his spark ached for than be bound to a weak imitation by being careless.

He abhorred the notion that he would have to face the societal expectation of settling down with someone who would try to tame him - Pax had mellowed a bit as years went by, a requirement to fit into the society better, but he never got rid of the feral trait that was at his core.

He may love his work in the Archive, where he upheld the rules of the institution and behaved as was required of his professional conduct.

Outside of work hours, however…

‘You’re quite bizzare mech, Orion,’ some would say, when he would end things with his current date and go to a next dance party right after, as if nothing had changed; the archivist would smile widely, drawing on the fluorescent paint that covered his plating to mimic some of the markings of dangerous species that lived in the Wastes, flashing his glossa piercing. The design would be washed off before his next shift at the Archive, but it was a clear statement that felt right in his processor:

A warning to those who would think his small frame and kind mannerisms made him an easy prey.

Orion knew how to bite - and he knew how to bite deep.

Ratchet had to periodically tell him off about chewing on someone's servo ('really, Orion, you can't keep on doing that, who knows what sort of parasites he could have had on?!'), but he could not bring himself to regret any of the times he did it.

Still, all things considered, he was happy, he was liked, and his life was as stable as one could wish for. If he ignored the need to search for some mystery goal his spark seemed to desire, he was doing okay.

The world he lived in was not perfect, but what could he do alone about it?

*****

Things changed when he met Megatronus - ‘heard’ would perhaps be a better fitting word here, as it was the words of the gladiator that he became familiar with before they actually met face to face.

The charismatic speeches were filled with sentiments that he felt himself mirroring, and they stirred in Orion more constructive reflection about what he thought about the society that he lived in so far; the anger rose in him, matching the energy of the Arena around the Champion of Kaon. He devoured recording after recording, making sure it never got flagged for any additional review of his superiors.

Already he could feel something pulling him towards the mech, but at that point he suspected it was just an affinity of views. Pax was quite sure there was nothing deeper going on than the pleasure of finding such an inspiring figure in his life, especially one so outspoken - one that intended to do so much about how things were.

Orion wanted to help with that.

The work in Archives became a constricting factor in his life, as he felt it held him down with its sweet benefits - meant to keep him compliant, to keep him from rising against the system. The recordings slowly were not enough to satisfy him.

His plating itched, the digits dug into the seams, as he wanted to go, to scream, to do more.

*****

He went to Kaon.

Meeting Megatronus in person was an exhilarating experience; the pull he felt towards the other changed into a force he could no longer ignore - still, Orion thought they were just very well matched, and his spark was happy to find a new potential friend.

As time went on, his visits to the gladiator complex grew more and more frequent, their friendship growing stronger with each discussion - and so, after an intense argument about the movement they were building together, Pax was emboldened by the high grade they were drinking and shifted the topic to something less political: his personal life.

As he regaled the mech with a story of his rather short-lived fling that involved glitter, stolen traffic cone, and a risqué dash across the back alleys of Iacon, he was surprised to learn that the Champion had not actually engaged into any relationship beforehand.

“Never felt a need to be in one, to be honest - nor have I ever found someone I would like to be with like that,” Megatronus said, frowning, as if surprised the words left his vocaliser, then shrugged, obviously deciding to not give a slag in presence of a trusted companion.

“Would you like to try?” Orion found himself saying in response, equally bewildered with what he was proposing, momentarily panicking that he had caused a rift in their friendship by being so forward. He entertained that idea for a while, as Megatronus occupied most of his thoughts these days, but he did not mean to ever be the one to offer it.

Yet, as the gladiator stared at him, he could see the opposite of what he feared was happening - a deep blush bloomed on the other’s face, as the offer was being considered, quite visibly in favor of the idea.

The archivist felt like he was lighter than air, his own emotions flying high; the need to follow the magnetic pull that he downplayed for so long taking over his reasoning.

Orion did not think it was love, or at least it was not the same as it was with his prior partners - no, it was something more…

Primal.

The search that was buried deep within him was finally given a tangible target.

It made him feel like he could forget the size of his frame, the lack of control over anything but the files in the Archive, the chains of a civilized society that held him in a vice grip. As if he could embrace the instinct to claim and protect what was his, to let his wild side shine; that he could truly be himself with the silver mech in front of him, his equal and his dearest friend.

Said mech was currently trying to gather some sort of a response that would most likely involve way more logic than Orion would like to hear. Instead of waiting for the reply, he put the high grade down and shushed the other with his servo, startling the gladiator into confused silence.

“You blush so beautifully, you know?” he whispered, receiving a reward in a form of an even more intense reaction, as Megatronus tried to hide his face with his servos.

“No, don’t hide it from me, please,” Orion pleaded softly, touching on the digits and pulling on them gently, as he managed to coax the other to instead hold onto his servos lightly.

The Champion of Kaon was looking at the table intensely, at a loss for words for once; he tried to figure out what exactly was happening - it was not what he expected to happen that day, nor had he seriously considered a relationship with the archivist beyond a brief suggestion from some of his staff as a throwaway joke about the amount of time they spent together.

But he could feel something tugging him towards Orion; an odd beaconing resonance in his spark that appeared not long after they started meeting more frequently.

It felt like a call, a promise of the beautiful freedom he chased all his life without knowing; someone that would satisfy the forbidden desire of being safe and protected - without considering him inferior.

When the archivist tightened the hold on his servos, Megatronus found himself looking up into the hopeful optics and smiling back.

Orion was his equal, they already spent a lot of time together - what could it hurt to try to take another step further?

“How could I not blush so much when an attractive mech is asking me out so boldly?” he jested, making Orion laugh openly.

“Smart-aft,” he retorted, “but really, Megatronus, I believe we will make a splendid pair,” he added, as he raised one of the servos to place a soft kiss on top of the curled digits.

“I’m sure we will, Orion - we already do,” the gladiator chuckled.

*****

After that visit, their relationship started to slowly change; on the archivist's insistence, they were going to follow Megatronus's pace, as he was less experienced in those kind of matters. They went out a few times to local bars, watched holos, and refueled together often. Whenever they were away, they called each other frequently.

But both of them could feel that it was not enough. They were holding off from each other.

The time Megatronus inquired into a possibility of Orion staying the night, Pax could feel the gladiator was similarly distressed, and acquiesced.

"I was wondering if we could try something… new, since you are here, Orion," Megatronus said, as they sat on the berth which they intended to share. The archivist hummed in interest, as the silver mech was fighting against the instinctive urge to leave, to not show any vulnerability.

"If you would be open to that, I would like to interface with you tonight," he admitted finally, hoping his decision would not be a mistake.

Pax stilled at that, reigning in the excitement that filled him when the words hit his audials, as he rushed to clarify:

"I would love to, Megatronus, but I don't want you to feel pressured into anything," he stated firmly, taking the larger servo and holding it between his own smaller ones.

The Champion of Kaon held his ground.

"I want to do this with you, Orion," he assured, as he lowered his helm to clink softly against the other, squeezing the servos lightly.

Orion felt something brewing in him, like a storm on the horizon - but he held back.

"Would you like me to follow your lead here, as it will be your first time?" Pax asked seriously, finding it suddenly a heavier question than usual.

Megatronus glanced at him, and after considering it briefly shook his helm, relaxing.

"I think I would like you to use your experience to make it a memorable one," he teased, but his face turned softer, as he held his free servo lightly against Orion's chestplates, above his spark.

"I trust you, dearest," he whispered, looking the smaller mech straight into the optics.

Orion felt the last statement made his last reservations disappear; he grinned and took hold of both silver servos, guiding them down to the berth, as he pushed the larger frame back, straddling the gladiator.

Megatronus was looking up at him with adoration, as he relaxed into the position, digits of his servos flexing lightly by the sides of the helm - right where Pax had left them, as he drew back to admire the frame below him.

He knew strength-wise he would not be able to overpower the mech, which made the easy compliance all the more sweeter to witness; the fearsome Champion of Kaon was not a patient mech, nor a passive one, but here, together, he allowed Orion to do as he pleased.

Because he trusted him not to abuse this vulnerability to hurt him.

Pax was struck with a rush of affection at the sight. His spark sang as he cradled the other's face, the need to cherish this gift and shield Megatronus from all that could hurt him ever again.

He knew it was futile, as being a gladiator was inherently tied with getting slagged from time to time - but out of the Arena, he could be a steady presence the other mech could count on.

Megatronus was his now - and he would do his all to be worthy of this claim.

“If there is anything you don’t like, please, tell me, and I will stop,” he promised, as he ran his servos over the expanse of the silver plating, teasing the wires between the seams. Megatronus shivered, but his optics shone bright as he replied with a softest “I know you will,” that Orion wanted to kiss him there and then.

So, he did.

He braced himself on his knees as he held the silver helm and brought their faces together, kissing the mech slowly, avoiding the sharp denta. The gladiator sighed dreamily, melting into the attention; inexperience made his response sloppy, but he made up for it by being very enthusiastic.

Orion could swear at that moment everything in his life felt right - every piece had slid into place as the never-ending search was over. He looked forward to discovering what precisely made Megatronus enjoy himself the most.

He suspected it aligned with his interests very well.

*****

From that day on, Pax used his extensive knowledge to figure out just that - the gladiator was open for experiments, granted that Orion was the one doing them with him.

They realized pretty early on that Megatronus had a clear preference for letting the archivist take the lead in berth - he reassured that it had nothing to do with the difference in strength, but more with the fact that he enjoyed the way Orion handled him.

“I trust you to catch me when I fall - that is the most exquisite thing you could have given to me, my love,” he explained after an intense session with restraints, as Pax massaged his limbs with the utmost care. The archivist smiled, happy to see his partner sated, and continued to offer soft words of devotion.

Megatronus did admit he liked when Orion talked to him.

What a coincidence - the smaller mech loved to talk.

Even more thrilling was the realisation that he could bring his partner to overload by words alone, the gladiator always so happy to follow his voice as he sunk deeper into the safe bubble of their own making.

It was where Megatronus did not have to fight anyone but himself - and the only fight he had to care about was that which would bring him even more pleasure, as he did his best to obey and was rewarded with bliss.

Their collection of interface toys grew, hidden in the box in the gladiator's room, and they laughed that at this point they probably spent a little fortune on it. They wouldn't complain about that though, as they put them to very good use quite frequently.

They managed to keep their intimate relationship mostly private, with the smallest slips in public: a stern look and a 'tsk' sound emitted by Orion would sometimes halt the silver mech from spiraling into anger; a small smile sent to Pax as he argued his position on some matter of importance; or the quick grab of the archivist’s servo to prevent him from lashing out bodily when he heard Megatronus being disrespected in the streets of Iacon, when he decided to visit from time to time.

“It’s not worth it, Orion,” he would say, as his smaller partner would growl low at the offender, as he was dragged away towards their destination. The bot would shoot him a sharp look, only to soften it by a fraction, looking at the scarred faceplates of the silver mech.

“You are worth it, Megatronus, and I will keep on doing it until you believe it too,” he would offer in return, squeezing the larger servo lightly.

*****

Then came the dreadful meeting with the Senate.

They talked about it in length, expecting multiple options - including being arrested on the spot. They made contingencies, scouted getaway plans, polishing the message they wanted to give as the revolution had been their mutual goal; no matter the risks, they had to try.

The topic of Primacy was seen as a means to an end, as this would be the only position that could hold against the Senate’s wishes if necessary - and that would be the key part of getting any actual changes done. Orion was happy to give that opportunity to Megatronus, never really wishing to lead an entire nation; one gladiator that made his spark humm in joy was enough for his instincts to be satisfied, thank you very much.

When he spoke up during the blasted meeting, seeing that his partner was getting more and more agitated, he intended it as a grounding moment, to let the other calm down - instead, he achieved the opposite when they offered the Primacy to him alone, sensing weakness.

They didn’t really want him to be a Prime - they wanted them both to fight each other, to create a schism of the monolith that was threatening to overthrow them.

They would have to follow through on that promise, though. The press was there, and the trial was broadcasted live.

As his thoughts ran wild, faster than he would have expected himself to be able to process, he realized that it was the only chance they could get to have any sort of a shot at the position, as they were hoping he would decline and thus they could deny them both - if he accepted, he could still carry out their plans, without making Megatronus into a target.

He agreed.

As he looked again towards his partner, hoping he understood just why he had done it - the gladiator was so damn smart, he must have seen it! - Orion’s spark sunk.

The Champion of Kaon looked lost.

“Megatronus, please, let me explain,” he started, belatedly realizing he slipped into the tone he took when they were alone - the gladiator noticed it too, and his face twisted into horror.

As he scrambled to leave, the silver mech drew his plating in close and rose to his full height, trying to project anger instead of hurt he felt at the notion that he had been played.

The openness he offered to Orion had obviously been meant as a leash - the archivist never saw him as an equal, but a damn pet project, no doubt enjoying the hold he had on the gladiator.

A hold he offered freely and enjoyed up to this very moment as a most cherished part of his functioning.

He felt like purging his tanks out.

He turned his external audials off as he shot a comm to Soundwave, requesting pick up - and declaring Pax as a traitor.

Orion stayed behind, guards blocking his way as the Senate sweetly pushed towards the immediate ceremony, as a sign of trust in the movement’s commitment to peace, even if one of their leaders had left from 'jealousy'.

He clawed and strained to get away, snapping his denta at anyone who dared to touch him, but he was severely outnumbered.

As the Matrix was shoved into him, he was still crying out for Megatronus to come back, to let him explain.

And then, there was the overwhelming pain as Matrix was pushed into his open chest and everything faded into white.

*****

When he became Optimus Prime, he did not have much time to think about the impact of the upgrade besides some of the most obvious changes that he rectified as soon as possible - the revolution had turned violent, and he had to act to contain it.

Something was wrong, however, and he could feel it in his spark - but he wasn’t sure what precisely was off.

When he saw Megatronus across the field, he found the answer.

He could no longer feel his instinctive pull towards the gladiator - these feelings were muted, bland in comparison to what a fire they were not so long ago. He could remember all that they did, but it did not stir anything in his core; as if someone had put a block between him and his desires.

He eyed his chest with terror, realizing there was only one thing that could have caused it - the Matrix pulsed within him, warm and calming.

It had to be it.

He tried to make himself get rid of it, but the blasted relic was relentless in making sure he never did that - with pain and reassurances in turn, he was stuck with it.

And the war turned uglier.

Megatronus could see he was not himself, and it drove him into a stubborn cycle of violence and pain.

What was left of Orion wept, clinging on to the echoes of what they shared - a reminder to get the Matrix induced sense of righteousness knocked down a notch.

The relic was playing him like a marionette - if he gave in, he would lose everything he was.

It wanted him to kill Megatronus.

He could not do it. He could not harm what was his - and the warlord still registered as such.

As he felt the Matrix wipe parts of him away with each recharge, he let out last intense cry that buried itself within his spark as he succumbed into the defrag debt he forced himself into:

"I will rather die than kill Megatronus!"

That was the only thing that would remain of Orion in Optimus for a very, very long time.

*****

The war was worse than anyone could have expected.

Years flew by, as Cybertron got decimated, lives were lost, new horrors were discovered.

Prime could not understand why he could not kill the silver mech - the Matrix was coaxing him so sweetly, yet every time his spark would recoil in terror, stopping him from finishing the deed.

He didn't exactly know the reason for that, but he guessed it could be because they were friends in the past.

...

They were friends, weren't they?

He couldn't recall clearly.

They must have been, Megatron was often referring to 'their shared history', but he could recall only bits and pieces:

A smile.

Displaced laugh.

Echo of touch.

The warlord was obviously still thinking about whatever they had, but Optimus was so tired...

The Matrix calmed him down, as he got back to work.

There was always something to be done.

Autobots needed their Prime.

He rarely smiled these days.

*****

When Orion opened his optics in the empty clearing in the middle of nowhere, seeing Megatronus stare at him, he was as relieved as he was confused.

Had the Senate not made him into a Prime? No, his frame felt weird, some time must have passed.

Where were they?

Still, he felt genuine joy when the silver mech extended his servo to help him up - there must have been something that caused Megatronus to forgive him at least partially, and he could work with that.

Some mechs appeared, but he was already pushed towards a swirling mass of lights; he walked through, hoping he would have another chance with his lover.

*****

Orion was not convinced by the tale Megatronus (no, Megatron, that's the name now) had just finished telling him, but he got to work soon enough.

The silver mech kept him company, quite obviously conflicted about his own feelings. He couldn't blame him, as he buried himself in the archival work once more, trying to figure out precisely how he could get the topic of who they were to each other on the table.

It turned out to be unnecessary to worry - as he accepted an invitation to the Decepticon Supreme Commander's room, he noticed some signs that he was very familiar with.

Something long forgotten by his spark stirred within Orion's new frame, as he crossed the distance and noted the other automatically responded in kind.

It was as if the Senate meeting never happened.

They both shuddered internally - whatever was between them was back, and it was stronger than before.

*****

After Optimus came back from the Nemesis, most of the crew noticed something had changed in their Prime. Ratchet was watching him closely, but there was nothing different physically to treat.

Aside from a few systems registering new use, if the medic ever felt like breaking doctor-patient confidentiality, nothing was amiss.

They all assumed he would need a moment to get his bearings, and he would be back to normal.

Then came the flirting.

They were all stunned when they saw for the first time that their Prime not only responded to the warlord usual suggestive banter, but also indulged into offering some of his own words, stunning the Decepticon leader.

Whatever it was about Optimus now, Megatron seemed to be extremely susceptible to it.

At first, they hoped it was an actual strategy - but the Prime wouldn't finish the warlord off, instead leaving him dazed.

They hoped it would only happen once.

Okay, maybe twice.

Now that was ridiculous - every time it happened?!

The battlefield became awkward for everyone involved. They wondered why Megatron kept on coming if it was obvious he was unable to resist.

Honestly, Soundwave wondered the same, but he hoped it would finally pass.

Optimus laughed at a thought of that in the privacy of his own mind. Unless the Matrix decided to interfere again, he doubted that would happen again.

When he became a Prime once again, he was surprised to notice that this time around there was no emotion block present. He dreaded it would kick in within a few cycles, but after a month he deemed it was very unlikely.

The resonant call between him and Megatron was unobstructed, the instincts pushing Optimus to take what was rightfully his.

And if Megatron's reaction was anything to go by, he felt that too.

*****

As Optimus finished repairing the console and retired for the night to recharge, he couldn't help but lock the door, frame warm at the idea of what the silver mech must be going through.

No doubt Megatron tried to get off, but they both knew the warlord preferred his overloads to be delayed, even if it hurt - he would wait for the permission from his lover to let go, to let the Prime catch him. Their comms would connect at odd times of day or night, and Optimus would indulge the other every time, sometimes with only mild teasing.

Despite not being there, he felt Megatron was even more his now; he was glad to see the way the Decepticon reached back in desperate need to anchor himself in his life once again.

He basked in the fact that even if he was absent, he knew the warlord would have realised the comms were jammed and he would have to forget about overloading for a while.

Poor thing…

Optimus had to admit it was a bit scary, to see how much his new frame would amplify his needs, latching onto his claim on Megatron and making him burn up on the inside to take the mech and keep him to himself.

He groaned, opening his own panels, as he stroked his hardening spike in an unhurried pace.

Prime may not be able to call the mech to enjoy listening to the sounds he caused the warlord to get himself off, but his imagination and memories were all vivid enough to make do.

For now, at least.

He powered down his optics, as he thought about the sight of Megatron pushing himself up and down a fake spike mounted on the floor, as he tried desperately to suck Orion off - all in hopes of earning himself an overload for his efforts. He would stroke the silver helm as he whispered encouragements.

"You can take me deeper, my dear, I know you can - would you try for me, please?" he would say, pulling the mech closer, very slowly getting more and more of his length into the inviting intake.

Megatron would relax his throat, letting Prime sink all the way, as his hips would rock slightly on the toy below him, stretching his leaking valve nicely.

Optimus wished his own servo would feel as good as his lover's warm glossa did, his memories supplying him with tactile feedback bursts as he recalled looking down at the mech and petting the helm, as the warlord would look up at him and hum, sending vibrations through his spike; he gripped himself tightly, wanting to delay his own pleasure too.

"See, I know you could do it, thank you," he praised, as he shifted his hold on the silver helm and warned:

"Now be good for me and let me use you, pet."

With his new strength, manhandling Megatron into compliance was actually possible - they both were happy to realize that the desire to follow Orion in berth held true, making it official that the strength difference really didn't coerce the gladiator into seeking compromise all those eons ago.

Optimus could now bodily maneuver the mech around with ease, shifting some of the responsibility away from Megatron.

The Decepticon was thrilled by that, his spark filled with contentment again as he allowed his lover to do what he wanted; the release of control made him dizzy, so he focused on the soft moans and reassurances from the standing mech as his worries faded away.

Mind wonderfully blank, he hummed again around the spike, happy to get another groan out of Orion. The mech in question sped up, chasing his overload with strong thrusts.

In reality, Optimus was doing the same - at the edge, his servo a rush of motion.

So close!

He focused on the tangible memory of the beautiful sounds he would pull from Megatron as he pulled him close, spike deep, as the silver mech took it with practiced ease and let out a satisfied moan as his partner finally overloaded, swallowing the fluids flooding his intake eagerly.

Prime's servo was now covered in transfluid, his spike depressurising already.

In his imagination, however, Megatron whimpered as Orion withdrew, and nuzzled into an offered servo.

"Thank you, darling, you did wonderfully," he murmured, both in memory and the darkness of his room.

"Why don't we take care of you, pet, hmm?" Orion offered, lowering himself to the floor, where Megatron picked up on the forgotten rhythm as he dragged himself up and down the spike buried in his valve.

When his anterior node was brushed, he cried out; then, when the touch did not disappear, the charge built up so fast he looked at Orion with pleas spilling from his glossa.

He heard a soft command of "Overload for me, my sweet," and it was enough.

Megatron seized up, valve spazming around the unyielding toy as he rode out his climax with a string of thank-yous filling each exhale with gratitude so earnest, nobody could see it as anything but pure satisfaction.

Optimus cleaned his servo off, content, as he prepared himself to recharge - he was sure his dreams would be more pleasant now.

What he and Megatron had wasn't love, no, it was more complex than this; it was something much better.

They were caught in each other's orbit again - and this time, Optimus will not be letting go.

**************************

Inspired yet again by @paraxodicalundressing posts (this and this), connected to both this and this.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What would the Cullen's think of Walter White and Jesse if they ever met?

Depends, when they meet Walter and how much they realize about him. The thing about Walter is early in you feel bad for him because he's the protagonist and the narrative does a good job of making it seem like Walter has legitimate motive to do this (while slowly revealing that, of course, Walter had many other options that did not involve meth).

If the Cullens only see this at a surface level, not realizing what Walter's involved in, then they'll likely have reactions similar to characters in the universe of the show where they first pity Walter then are increasingly confused by his actions then horrified as the truth reveals itself.

Edward at least would view Walter as the kind of men he used to prey on and someone he would certainly kill were he not, ahem, reformed. He'd look down on Jesse as well for similar reasons (of being involved in this business as well as being an addict).

Look, canonically, Edward first ate alcoholics before he sought out murderers and rapists. That should tell you something.