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the-odd-job · 3 years

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Close Your Eyes to This Disaster Chapter 1: The Jolly Sound of Chiming Bells...

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use, Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers G1 Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Megatron, Sideswipe Additional Tags: Dubcon, Sticky, Abusive Relationships, Mind Games, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 7812

It isn't so much his past catching up with him as it is returning to him with a lover’s embrace, but with who that lover is, Sunstreaker isn’t sure that is any more preferable. Now would be the perfect time for a firm “no”.

The expectant thrum of the crowd was deafening even before the fight had begun. Bright lights beamed down on the rusty arena floor, and on Sunstreaker.

As well as his opponent, of course, but by the end of this, no one would remember his opponent. The only one on their minds would be Sunstreaker, that much he promised himself. Let his performance speak for itself and burn his name into their memories.

Not that he didn’t already have a reputation, and not that it would do him any good to get ahead of himself and cocky. This wasn’t for practice, this wasn’t for fun, and this wasn’t intended to be a mismatched fight. The stakes were real, and the loser?

The loser would die.

Sunstreaker gripped his sword just that bit tighter when that thought only managed to excite him further, staring down the mech he was pitted against this time, and having the same done to him. They sized each other up with bloody intent, until…

Until the ring of a bell was transmitted into their comms, passing the noise of the spectators, and the fight began by the grace of that signal.

Focus, pain, and focus through pain. It looked like they were as evenly matched as they were meant to be, that neither could quite get ahead. The exhilaration of being one mistake away from losing his life to a worthy foe pulsed in his lines as they clashed. Metal screeched as it was torn through, sparks flew into the air, broken wiring crackled, energon spilled. It was everything it should be: a violent show for an audience that was thirsty for bloodshed and death, as well as a true challenge for him with his very life on the line. He could scarcely hear his own thoughts over the cheer, holler, and stomping of the crowds, only getting progressively louder with every brutally delivered injury.

But in the end, it was Sunstreaker, bleeding and broken but alive, that stood over the greying husk of his opponent. His vents ran ragged, fans stuttered from how many of them had been damaged, he hurt–

But he was on his pedes and his spark still rotated in its casing.

He thrust his sword into the air to the loud and enthusiastic approval of those that had witnessed his victory, letting the feeling of it sink into him–

Before he turned and left the Pit floor to give someone else the chance to test their mettle.

Sideswipe peeled himself from the wall he had been leaning against when Sunstreaker walked through the gate that opened to let him into the arena’s underbelly, and together they would have set down the dim, dirty, winding corridors towards the medical bay, had there not been an… Obstruction in their way. Sunstreaker’s helm tilted back, far back as he met the piercing red gaze of one champion.

Megatronus. Everyone had surely heard of him, seen him fight, but this?

“A fine victory,” the silvery mech commended him with an incline of his helm. Sunstreaker’s lips drew into a smirk, the haughty kind he knew many hated, the kind that made them think he was nothing but full of himself—arrogant, easy to play and take down.

“Were you expecting something less, champion?” he asked, sidestepping to get past the far larger mech. Megatronus merely mirrored his motion, though, still standing in his way.

Sunstreaker’s spark shivered with just the barest hint of irritation as he cocked an optical ridge at the other that, apparently, wasn’t intent on letting him leave just yet. “Was there something you wanted?” he asked mildly.

And like the most awful flirt in the world, Megatronus responded with, “You,” his gaze intense on Sunstreaker. Had to give it to him, he got straight to the point if nothing else, and admittedly that single word brought back some of the excitement of the fight he’d just finished.

Yet Sunstreaker merely snorted and again stepped to the side to move past the obstacle the mech had made himself. “Get in line.”

But again Megatronus moved to block his way. When Sunstreaker frowned, it was no show. Next to the quickening rotation of his spark, there was true annoyance—but indeed, also a flutter of something else. This was Megatronus, a mech of exceeding name and fame, best of the best, powerful to the last.

And he was talking to Sunstreaker. Could he be blamed for finding it a bit… Exciting?

“Go out with me,” Megatronus near purred at him. Sunstreaker blinked in genuine confusion, because certainly this level of courtship shouldn’t have needed to precede the fragging he expected Megatronus was after.

But once he recovered from his momentary surprise… “No,” came Sunstreaker’s response. When Megatronus still wouldn’t allow him to leave, Sunstreaker planted his pedes instead, crossed his arms across his chassis, and glared.

Megatronus beat him to any words. “You will.”

“Really, now?”

“Tomorrow, eighteenth cycle. Beat’s bar. Don’t be late.”

With one last look that roved from Sunstreaker’s helm to his pedes with something akin to approval, Megatronus turned around and simply left. Sunstreaker frowned after him as Sideswipe stepped up to take his place beside him again.

Turned out the champion was a presumptuous asshole. Fancy that.

“Repairs,” Sideswipe noted their need. Sunstreaker shook himself off and together they continued to their intended destination.

------------------------------------

And yet, he showed up exactly on the eighteenth cycle of the next day, at Beat’s bar. It was loud, dim, and crowded as always, the weight of the hot, stenching air hitting him like a physical force when he stepped through the door. A glance around the establishment, and… There he was. Megatronus, sitting alone at a table, browsing a datapad. Waiting, by all appearances.

Why was he doing this, again? Agreeing to getting ordered around? But he couldn’t deny he was intrigued. A date wasn’t in the usual script. He only wanted to find out what this was about. He could leave any time—tell Megatronus where he could shove it and be done with it.

But for now, his curiosity plagued him and Sunstreaker wove his way through the miners and gladiators to the table Megatronus had claimed, sliding into the seat opposite to him. The silver mech glanced up as he did so, and didn’t look the least bit surprised to see him.

Bastard.

“Punctual,” Megatronus commented, pushing one cube towards him. There was a second one he seemed intent on keeping for himself.

Sunstreaker ignored the cube he was offered, and instead grabbed the other one. The move earned him a raised optical ridge and Sunstreaker couldn’t tell if he imagined the slightest hint of annoyance in the champion’s field, but nothing else came out of it.

“Well, I’m here,” Sunstreaker said after taking his first sip of the sludge that passed as high grade here in the lower decks of Kaon. It was gritty, the taste was as horrid as usual, and it promised to give you one hell of a hangover, but he didn’t know a mech who wouldn’t have been fond of the slag. He didn’t know if Megatronus was any exception, but at the very least the other cube was full of the same stuff and the larger mech went to drink it without hesitation, as he should have. Time to make some demands, then. “Now what the slag do you want?”

“To get to know you, simply,” Megatronus responded, as direct as before.

Sunstreaker raised one artfully crafted optical ridge. “Get to know me? What did I do to deserve a slagging honor like this?”

“Your reputation precedes you. Exquisitely beautiful, but temperamental and dangerous—a rising gladiator no one can claim to be friends with… How does one survive with no allies? Can you fault me for my curiosity?”

“I have a twin. What do I need friends for?”

“Ah, yes, Sideswipe. Quite different from you in his conduct, is he not?”

“I see you’ve done your research.” Sunstreaker leaned back in his seat, cube in hand. Exquisitely beautiful, he said? Well, Sunstreaker wasn’t going to complain about that description. Getting called dangerous by the likes of Megatronus was admittedly gratifying as well, and temperamental… Well, he knew he was. “Should I count you as another one of my stalkers?”

“I know nothing that isn’t out in public,” Megatronus waved his slight accusation away. “And I would rather confirm the truth of matters for myself.”

“Is this just a friendly date, then?”

“Not quite. Should the things I have heard be true, I am… Interested.”

Sunstreaker smirked at the world of suggestion behind those words, setting his cube back onto the table and leaning forward to prop his elbow on the surface, and his chin on his servo. He had the interest of a champion, now? And not just any champion, but Megatronus himself? He had to consider himself flattered. “What if I say the rumors don’t do me any damn justice?”

“Then I would call you even more arrogant than they say you are.”

The twin laughed, tracing the edge of his cube with the tip of his claw. “You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to insult me.”

“Let us talk, then, so that I may learn to insult you properly.”

“Deal.”

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The twins were already skilled at the art of fighting and learned more every day, and in large part they had trainers to thank for that. They directed sparring with a heavy hand and gave instruction to coach everyone into the best showmech they could become. Sparring without their supervision was fruitful too, of course, not to mention necessary to ingrain it all into their spines until the violence was etched into their very being, so instinctual they didn’t need to question what they could and couldn’t bend their frames to.

Aside from the trainers’ teachings, there was also much to learn from others, when you squared off against them even just with practice in mind. That was all the more true when your opponent was someone more skilled than you were, and when it was Megatronus that offered to train with him? Pit, there was no way Sunstreaker was going to turn that down. Not only for the learning opportunity it was, but also for the status boost sparring with a champion provided.

And not just any champion. The champion, the mech that was talking about a revolution, taking a stand against inequality and the lower castes’ suffering, and fearlessly earning himself as many enemies as he was gaining supporters.

That mech was now sparring with Sunstreaker, and oh boy, they were not matched. The twins were good, they wouldn’t have gotten to the point they had if they weren’t, but they simply were not on the level Megatronus was.

Yet, where Megatronus could’ve simply beaten him over and over again, he instead toned down his own ability and gave Sunstreaker an honest chance to learn. He gave tips, instruction, pointed out when something Sunstreaker did could be improved upon, when he made a mistake—how to correct the mistake. It was unexpected, but far from unwelcome, and Sunstreaker ignored the overlookers they were gaining on the edges of the training ring to instead focus on the spar and only the spar. Sideswipe was among the audience, his optics sharp as he added that frame’s perspective into the mix, giving Sunstreaker a second view of what he was doing. A few times he was quite sure they even managed to catch Megatronus off guard by predicting a move Sunstreaker shouldn’t have seen coming, but that Sideswipe could catch.

But Sunstreaker couldn’t forever ignore his appreciation of Megatronus’ raw skill. The fluidity and speed of his motions even when he held back, the contained strength in everything he did, every shift of heavy plate on the frame that moved so much more smoothly than it had any right to with its sheer size in mind. As both of their systems heated from the exertion, Sunstreaker was sure his optics weren’t the only ones that progressively brightened until there was another reason for why their fans were running high.

That was all confirmed when Megatronus knocked him off his pedes like he had quite a few times already and successfully pinned him before Sunstreaker managed to move out of the way or get himself in a better position, but then, instead of releasing him so they could continue…

He brought a servo up and traced the side of Sunstreaker’s face.

Sunstreaker ignored the way his vents wanted to stutter at the deceptively gentle contact at such odds with what they were doing only seconds ago, and instead raised his optical ridges at the larger mech. “Find me as irresistible as everyone else does, huh?”

Megatronus growled, but there was an undercurrent of amusement to the sound. “Are you opposed?”

Was he? “Can’t say I am.”

“Then let’s take this elsewhere, shall we?”

Sunstreaker arched up, freeing one of his servos only because Megatronus allowed him to and dragging his claws along the larger mech’s seams. “Shy?”

There was another deep growl before Megatronus’ lips descended on his. Sunstreaker laughed into the rough, rough kiss that followed—one that made his lines sing.

-----------------------------------------

At first Megatronus’ interest was directed at Sunstreaker and Sunstreaker only, but the more time the veteran gladiator spent in his presence, the more time he also spent in Sideswipe’s presence. As it happened, the twins were never far from each other, and never apart for long. They were drawn to each other as if caught in each other’s gravity wells, incapable of escaping, not to mention unwilling of doing so. They were split-spark. They were one with so much meaning behind that one word.

Of course, a whole-spark like Megatronus wasn’t going to understand that, at least not instantaneously, and the misguided efforts to get some alone time with Sunstreaker grew tiresome very fast.

“Would you like to come back to my room?” was another time Megatronus spoke only to Sunstreaker, giving a look in Sideswipe’s direction that made it clear he wasn’t included in the invitation. Both of the twins gave him matching frowns, and this time Sunstreaker couldn’t not address the matter.

“We’re twins. Split-spark twins,” he stated flatly, “and every time you’re only inviting one frame?”

Megatronus frowned too, clearly and unsurprisingly not really understanding the point.

Or so they thought. “You’re a package deal?” And there Megatronus was, catching onto at least some of it with minimal prompting. It was a pleasant deviation from what they’d expected.

He probably didn’t get it all the way, but whatever. This was a start. “Trust me, threesomes with both of my frames are the best,” Sideswipe leered, then snickered.

“Both of your frames?” Megatronus repeated, but instead of incredulous, he mostly seemed… Fascinated.

The twins shrugged. “One spark. You don’t get two persons out of that.”

Megatronus stayed quiet for a good moment, glancing between them as if he was trying to pick their inner workings apart with his gaze alone. The twins waited him out, curious themselves over where Megatronus’ thoughts were going with this. Usually they were simply dismissed if they tried to explain themselves, others incapable of seeing over the fact they had two frames—or even when some effort was made to understand their nature, it fell flat and the end result was no more enlightened than what was started with.

They didn’t expect much better success from Megatronus, but then it wasn’t as if they needed to be understood for some casual fragging to be perfectly enjoyable. It would just be mighty nice if they weren’t constantly separated because of it.

“There is some difference between your halves,” Megatronus eventually mused. “You don’t act identical to each other. Why is that?”

Most oddly, it didn’t sound like arguing them on how their own goddamn life worked, more just stating an observation—and following it with a presumably genuine question. Did Megatronus actually want to get them? He’d probably fail miserably in that attempt, but what harm was there in humoring him, hm?

“The frames portray different aspects of my spark,” Sideswipe answered. “Think of it like… A split personality or something.”

Sunstreaker added, “The frames have to maintain separate awareness or they wouldn’t be able to function separately, but the spark-halves are tied.”

Again Megatronus stayed quiet for a while, and again when he spoke up it was with observations. “Sparks are emotion and baseline thought,” he stated the basic truth of their race’s life force, then made a good guess, “you share those?”

The brothers nodded their confirmation.

“I never see you argue,” Megatronus went on to note. “Can you argue or disagree?”

Definitely unusually astute and for the life of him Sunstreaker couldn’t say where Megatronus was pulling these not incorrect assumptions from, when he was a whole-spark like almost every damn mech out there, not even bonded as far as they knew, and simply shouldn’t have had any of the basis for understanding them. Not if any of their past experiences were to go by.

Here he was anyway, though. “Can you argue or disagree with yourself?” Sunstreaker asked in return.

Megatronus gave him a shrewd look. “Only in a sense. Not in the way I can argue with another.”

“That’s me,” Sideswipe confirmed. “Not even the frames have different opinions, and my spark doesn’t have two perspectives. The spark is united.”

“You are a strange creature,” Megatronus said after another moment of thoughtful pause. “I doubt I can ever fully understand your experience, but allow me to try.”

They blinked at him, their turn for utter confusion. When had someone even verbally dedicated themselves to understanding them? Never, that’s when.

The confusion was followed by suspicion. “Why do you care?”

“I seek to understand this world,” Megatronus answered. “All parts of it that I can. I will never grow as a person without knowledge.”

“I’m not exactly important in the grand scheme of things,” Sideswipe pointed out. “You won’t gain much by understanding me.”

“You never know. It will provide me with an additional perspective. That, and will I not earn your approval with my genuine interest?”

Sunstreaker huffed. “So that’s your angle? Worm into my good graces?”

“Am I wrong to want that?” Megatronus asked, reaching to trace Sunstreaker’s jawline—but his optics were on Sideswipe, calculating, as if he was thinking about how to do the same to him.

“It’s almost like you want more than a casual fragbuddy.”

“I am curious about you and find you attractive, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Megatronus smirked.

Sunstreaker rolled his optics, but Sideswipe clicked for attention, mischievous and lecherous with the suggestion he made, “How about that threesome, though?”

------------------------------------

It was a rare treat to leave the lower decks, the areas beneath Cybertron’s surface where all the gutter trash inevitably fell. However, Megatronus took them up after one of his victories which apparently gave him enough credits to splurge just a little. Considering Megatronus had already bought his own freedom despite all odds, he could actually spend the credits he now earned on himself—or on another mech of his choosing, if he was so inclined. The twins barely saw a penny of their winnings, entirely at the whim of their owner.

He should probably count himself lucky Megatronus was choosing to entertain them with his newly found funds. For sure Sunstreaker wasn’t opposed to the change in scenery as they took a transport to wherever exactly Megatronus was taking them—he refused to tell the specifics. The twins could have simply driven, or at very least they assumed they could have, depending on where they were going, but Megatronus’ alt-mode was a little less road suitable. So, transport it was.

It turned out Megatronus led them to a tower, one that the twins couldn’t see to be special in any way, but inside they went all the same. The lights here were far brighter than the twins had come to expect after however long they’d spent in Cybertron’s underbelly, speaking of the fact they weren’t in low class areas anymore. A large portion of the mecha around here were comfortably middle caste.

They had polished themselves well and good, though, so they didn’t particularly stand out and didn’t get that many looks as they walked past the stores and service fronts. Upward they traveled with the help of an elevator, until they were at the highest level of the public areas. From there Megatronus led them back outside, onto a balcony that circled the tower at this level.

They weren’t the only ones around, but that wasn’t what the twins focused on. It was the view that stole their attention. Even through the smog the city was covered in, they could make out the outlines of Kaon’s towers all around them and the lights in their countless windows, breaking through the constant pollution. Above them dirty clouds swelled and rolled, their sickly oranges, yellows, and greens reflecting the city’s lights. Fliers zipped by this high up, the sounds of traffic rising from below instead of coming from around and above.

“Slag,” Sideswipe breathed as he spun in a slow circle to take in it all. Their awe was probably reflected all over their faces and their fields, but they didn’t even care. Megatronus chuckled at them as Sideswipe rushed to the railing next, Sunstreaker on his heels, and together they leaned on it to drink in everything they saw. The smells were different up here, too. There wasn’t the same stench of oil and grime, nevermind that of spilled energon no one bothered to clean, that they were used to in the lower decks and the Pits.

Here there was only the smog.

And Sunstreaker knew exactly what he wanted to do with this. He had another look around to confirm there were benches nearby, then went to plop himself down on one and pulled out his drawing tablet. This he could capture, and would do so with eagerness.

Sideswipe didn’t particularly give a damn, but Megatronus came over to him, curious. “You draw?”

“Paint, technically, but yes.”

“Show me.”

Sunstreaker gave him a nasty glare for what was functionally an order, but he wanted to do this. Megatronus’ desires played no role in that, but he might as well watch if he wanted to.

So, the golden twin set to work to capture just what he was seeing in the city around them.

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Well… He won, but that was about the only thing that could be said about that. Walking out of the arena on your own two pedes was a must, but that was all he had managed before collapsing to his injuries. Sideswipe was the one who had moved to help him first, but Megatronus had brushed his twin aside and picked him up himself.

And here he was in the medical bay of the arena, now, with Megatronus still next to him, looking vaguely concerned. Sunstreaker had to wonder if his injuries really had been that severe, but Sideswipe confirmed that he’d nearly offlined for good a couple of times during the repairs.

Sunstreaker rolled his optics at the questioning look Megatronus gave him. “I’m tougher than I look,” he rasped, frowned at the quality of his voice, then recalled his throat had gotten quite effectively crushed. His vocalizer not working quite like it was supposed to wasn’t much of a surprise, that in mind.

“You won,” Megatronus said mildly, and Sunstreaker nodded.

“I did. Happy?”

“Quite, considering the alternative.”

Sunstreaker snorted this time, but when his gaze shifted back towards the ceiling, he caught another frowning figure a few steps away on his other side.

None other than their owner. Sunstreaker glared and would have loved to deliver some waspish words, but the slave coding silenced him. The mech’s presence wasn’t welcome, though. They far preferred when he took the hands off approach and left them to their own devices as long as they performed well enough.

“That was pathetic, Sunstreaker. Yes, yes, you won, congratulations, but you were not on your usual level,” the mech growled at him. Sunstreaker would have rolled his optics, were he capable of such disrespect. An evil optic was all he could give, until, “Don’t give me that look, Sunstreaker.”

At once his expression smoothed itself out, but only for there to be a thunderous growl that certainly didn’t come from him. Sunstreaker glanced back to Megatronus to see him rising from the seat he had been occupying, and although he was barely inches taller than their owner, he managed to loom with… Titillating effectiveness. Sunstreaker swallowed as he watched the glare Megatronus directed at their owner, who shrank back despite himself. “He won. You got your payment. Now I suggest you leave.”

The grinding of their owner’s denta was audible, but the mech nodded briskly before stalking out of the room with just a hissed, “We will have words later,” directed at the brothers.

Megatronus growled after him, but sat back down. Sunstreaker reached for his face, brushing the claw of his thumb across the larger mech’s lips with a wry smile. “You know I’ll be the one who’ll get in trouble for that.”

“And if you do, you come to me and I will set things straight,” Megatronus snarled in answer, catching his servo in his far, far larger one and giving it a squeeze. Sunstreaker huffed a laugh and Sideswipe padded over to drape himself along Megatronus’ shoulders.

“Thought’s appreciated,” the red twin said with a grin, planting a kiss on the side of Megatronus’ helm. Their lover rumbled almost softly.

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Megatronus had gotten in the habit of treating Sideswipe quite gently, and they weren’t opposed to that. From anyone else it may have been unwelcome, too touchy-feely coming from just any random mech, even a friend, but they were sort of beyond that point with Megatronus—much to everyone’s mutual pleasure. It was never more apparent than now, with Sideswipe moaning softly below Megatronus, slow, deep thrusts driving the larger mech into his brother’s frame over and over again. It was a slow climb towards an overload, one Sideswipe was rather enjoying with a blissed out expression, and from his look, so was Megatronus.

Sunstreaker barely managed to keep his face neutral where he sat in a chair to the side, drawing that very scene—his twin nearly hidden under their lover’s sheer bulk as they interfaced, slow and steady. There was so much strength contained in Megatronus’ frame, yet in the moment he chose to use barely any of it, his hips just cautious enough in their motion and his arms braced on either side of Sideswipe, keeping him off of him. Sideswipe could have wiggled free any moment, but why would he have? He stayed right where Megatronus could herd his wits to the four winds with nothing but the motion of his hips.

It was a moment worth capturing.

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“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Megatronus’ growl was a vicious thing and Sunstreaker had to glance back just to confirm it was directed at him. Not that there was anyone else present aside from him and Sideswipe, but frankly, Sunstreaker had no idea what they would have done to earn a tone like that.

“Notice what?” Sunstreaker asked with a frown, going back to viewing his reflection from the dim mirror in their room. It was a near useless thing, but combined with Sideswipe’s optics it still provided him with a good enough overview of his frame, and more importantly, his finish. He was shining now, though that never lasted long in the environment they were in. All the work that went into maintaining his dear looks…

“Don’t feign ignorance,” Megatronus continued in that same voice that promised nothing good, drawing Sunstreaker’s attention from the mirror properly. Before he could again ask for some fragging clarification, Megatronus had already closed the distance between them, looming over him and spitting his accusation. “Do you make a habit of encouraging others’ advances where I can’t see it?”

Oh, for frag’s sake… Sunstreaker turned around fully, facing the larger mech and landing his servos on his hips. “Listen here, you ass,” he growled, “I have no pitting clue what you’re talking about. I haven’t ‘faced anyone else since we went exclusive, as we slagging well agreed.”

Megatronus forced him back a step until he was nearly pinned against the mirror, the larger gladiator’s servo slamming into the wall next to it and him. Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed, but Megatronus showed no signs of calming the frag down. “So you only lead others on?” Megatronus hissed at him. “Let them grope you a little, but it’s alright because you don’t full on interface with them, hmm?”

Sunstreaker threw his arms up in frustration. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m hot as fresh slag, and some take that as too big of an invitation,” he snarled right back at their clearly a little too jealous lover. “I make a habit of punching them somewhere painful for it, but I can’t always prevent it ahead of time. That’s not satisfactory? The pit more do you want?”

Megatronus leaned down and Sunstreaker met his burning gaze without waver all through the larger mech’s growled response, “You belong to me, and I don’t like others touching what is mine.”

At that point Sunstreaker’s lips drew into a sneer and he copied Megatronus’ move and leaned in. “If you haven’t noticed, we already have an owner, and it’s not you,” he pointed out, voice cold. Oh how he would have preferred to not belong to anyone—not even Megatronus. Not in that way. What he wouldn’t give to be his own master and not have contracts or possessive lovers telling him otherwise.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting for a reminder like that, but he wasn’t sure it was Megatronus closing the rest of the distance between them and crashing their lips together. Sunstreaker grimaced when the larger mech’s denta came into play immediately, painfully grazing his dermal plating. It distracted him enough that he wasn’t fast enough to dodge when Megatronus’ servos closed around the arms Sunstreaker brought up to push the massive bastard away. From there he was no match to Megatronus’ strength and size and could do little when he was slammed against the wall—next to the mirror instead of against it, luckily—and lifted until his pedes didn’t meet the ground, but where he would’ve been in the perfect position to wrap his legs around Megatronus’ middle.

Was that where this was going? “Let the slag go of me,” Sunstreaker growled, but the parting of his lips only had Megatronus’ slagging glossa shove in.

He bit down on it without fanfare, earning himself a roar from Megatronus’ engine. The grip on him shifted until Megatronus could securely hold him up with one arm only, the other slipping between his thighs and… This was definitely going there. The roar of Sunstreaker’s engine fought to match Megatronus’, even if it never could.

Megatronus pulled back from his mouth enough to growl a simple, “Open.”

“Go frag yourself,” Sunstreaker hissed at him, fury surging all the higher when Megatronus’ claws pressed against the seams of his valve cover with painful force.

The only response he got was another growl and those claws sank into the seams. Sunstreaker’s helm fell back against the wall with a pained grunt, but when Megatronus twisted with the apparent intent of ripping the whole damn panel off, Sunstreaker hurriedly transformed it aside before it was bent so far out of shape it couldn’t have done that anymore.

There was no preparation. No preparation whatsoever, just Megatronus releasing his spike and thrusting in with one uncaring stroke. Sunstreaker squirmed between him and the wall, hissing at the tearing pain at his insides when his lover’s always a little too big spike scraped against barely damp walls. His claws dug into silver plating, as much as he knew that wouldn’t do him any good, not with the thickness of Megatronus’ armor. The only good reason for it was to ground himself on something when Megatronus set to frag him, hard. It tore at his inner sensors until there was barely even the slightest hint of pleasure left. His ventilations became ragged from anything but arousal.

Megatronus gave no quarter before he overloaded after too long, torturous moments, Sunstreaker grimacing at the feel of hot transfluid against his abraded valve walls. Only once the charge had fully dissipated from his damned lover’s frame did Megatronus pull away, anger still in his optics. Sunstreaker’s valve was blessedly abandoned, but when Megatronus simply dropped him to the floor, the lancing pain from his core made sure Sunstreaker’s legs wouldn’t carry him and he fell to his knees.

That did nothing to help with his own anger, and Sunstreaker would have bet his optics were even more fierce than Megatronus’ when he lifted his gaze to the mech looming over him.

“Out,” Sunstreaker growled, stretching out one arm to point a digit at the goddamn door. “Get the frag out of my room.”

Surprisingly, Megatronus obeyed—without an apology, without a single backwards glance. He left.

-----------------------------

It always felt like an invasion when their owner came to the room of the Pits they called their own. It was their room, and it didn’t matter slag that technically the fragging mech had a right to it because he owned the twins and everything they could possibly claim to belong to them. Their room included.

But here he was now, with the brothers sitting on their berth and their visitor in the one chair in the room.

“Megatronus,” the mech spoke, watching for their reaction.

They gave none, so he continued, “He’s becoming a distraction to you. You need to focus on your careers, not on pointless dalliances. It’s your lives at stake.”

Only because you keep signing me into deathmatches.

But they could hardly accuse their dear owner of that much. Even the truth of, “He gives us training,” was a hard thing to force past the slave coding, but Sunstreaker did so anyway.

Their owner frowned. “Enough to balance out the amount of time you spend with him? No. Your relationship with him needs to end.”

Sunstreaker closed his optics as the slave coding registered that and worked to put it in effect. It was a little too complex of an order for it to force it upon them entirely. They could work around it with some effort, if they wanted to.

He wasn’t sure if their owner knew as much, but there were always other orders he could pile on top to really make it impossible for them to stay in a “relationship” with Megatronus.

“Do you understand me?” the mech demanded still.

“I understand,” Sunstreaker said, Sideswipe repeating the same words next to him. His brother watched their owner nod in satisfaction and Sunstreaker opened his optics in time to watch him leave.

“Don’t forget,” was all they were told in parting before they had their room for themselves again.

After silence and stillness had stretched on for a while, Sideswipe stated, “Megatronus can do something about that. If I want him to.”

“I want him to,” Sunstreaker confirmed, setting his jaw. Their damn owner wouldn’t choose who they had relations with, even if they needed to fix the matter in a roundabout fashion.

Their decision made, Sideswipe pulled up Megatronus’ commlink without wasting any more time and pinged for his attention. The connection was opened almost immediately.

“Can you come by tonight?” was all Sideswipe asked. There was a brief pause on Megatronus’ end before he confirmed he could do that–

And that night he did indeed come over, the twins opening the door for him. Their lover was already wearing a frown, likely having caught onto something being off. He was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them.

“What’s the matter?” he asked almost as soon as the door had closed after him.

Sunstreaker gushed air from his vents. “Our owner wants us to end our relationship with you,” was all he needed to say for Megatronus to understand everything he needed to. His face darkened like a storm cloud, a growl rising from his engine.

“I will have… Words with him.”

As they had hoped. The brothers nodded and Megatronus moved further into the room until he could circle behind Sideswipe, his servos landing on the red twin’s shoulders and running along his plating. “How firm is the order, currently?”

“Not very. Yet,” Sideswipe murmured, tilting his helm back to look up at Megatron. “But he can make it more specific.

Megatronus’ mouth set into a thin line and he nodded, his touch on Sideswipe turning just that bit more possessive—suggestive. They weren’t opposed to it and Megatronus went on to prove to no one in particular that they wouldn’t be parted quite so easily.

The next day, their owner came by to rescind his order, a little dinged and shaky.

-----------------------------

“I could buy your contracts.”

Sunstreaker looked up from his painting. Megatronus was already looking at him and that… Didn’t sound like a joke. In fact, it sounded like Megatronus was very serious with that thought, as if he’d already considered it for a while.

The twins had nothing more to offer him than matching frowns, though. “I’m sure you could,” Sunstreaker agreed on that much, only to continue, “but you won’t.”

“Why would I not? Would you not be glad to be rid of your owner?”

Their frowns deepened. “Only to have you as our owner instead? We’d be in the exact same spot. Nothing would change. So no, thank you.”

“Nothing would change?” Megatronus growled. “Having someone who cares about you holding your legal contracts would change nothing?”

“The contracts would still exist,” Sunstreaker snarled right back. “Even if you didn’t actually use them, I’d slagging well owe you. My entire fragging life, in fact. I will not be indebted to you like that.”

It looked like their lover was quickly growing frustrated, as if he’d assumed it was a given that they would agree with… What? Joyful jumps? Grateful kisses? Thankful frags?

Well, slag that.

“You’re not thinking with reason,” Megatronus let him know, earning himself Sunstreaker’s full glare, not that it discouraged him any. “If you set aside your emotions for a moment, you would see that is the perfect arrangement.”

“Perfect for you, maybe!” Sunstreaker set his drawing tablet aside before he harmed it in his rising temper, jabbing a digit in Megatronus’ chest. “You’d fragging own me, and legally you could do whatever the frag you wanted with me.”

“Do you not trust my intentions?”

“Honestly? Not slagging enough.”

That was probably over the line a bit. Megatronus growled with his entire frame, but this wasn’t the right moment to back the frag down. Instead Sunstreaker drove the stake deeper, pressing the tip of his claw against Megatronus’ chestplates. “Let me make myself very clear: you buy my contracts and I will find a way beat it the slag out of this whole damn city and leave you behind. Mark my slagging words.”

Megatronus glared at him, an expression Sunstreaker fully matched. It wouldn’t be an easy trick to pull off, but at this point he trusted Megatronus knew them to be crafty enough that they might just succeed in it no matter the cost—and even if they didn’t, it would leave their relationship in permanent ruins, something he doubted their lover actually wanted or would be willing to risk.

That was the hope, anyway.

Megatronus didn’t answer him, at least not verbally, though the rough servo that wrapped around the back of Sunstreaker’s helm and pulled him into an equally rough kiss was probably answer enough. He wasn’t let off that easy, either, because Megatronus pulled him up and broke their kiss only to yank him around and press Sunstreaker’s chest against the nearest wall. Hard. “You are unreasonably stubborn,” was hissed into his audial and his legs were kicked apart to make room for Megatronus’ servo between them. “I try to help you, and you turn it down without any true consideration.” Sunstreaker retracted his valve cover before he was relieved of it entirely, the one and only concession he made before he was lifted for Megatronus to line up their arrays. The fact Sunstreaker had next to no lubrication was likely right according to Megatronus’ current desires—the entry chafed in the worst ways and he couldn’t entirely silence his groan.

“Do you not see my love for you?” Megatronus grunted on his next thrust in. Sunstreaker growled, but his lover continued, “Everything I would do for you? Instead you lay down misguided ultimatums and think you know best.”

“It’s my life,” Sunstreaker hissed, twisting in Megatronus’ hold as the burn in his valve worsened with every harsh thrust. “Like it or not, I should get to choose how it goes.”

“I should let you make decisions to your own detriment?” Megatronus growled, the next snap of his hips particularly punishing.

Sunstreaker’s claws dug into the wall, but he held his ground. “Yes. They’re my mistakes to make and my consequences to live with.”

“Don’t you see I only want to protect you?”

“Well, don’t. It’s—hngh—my right to live and make mistakes. You won’t take that away from me.”

“Stubborn you are, my dear,” Megatronus snarled at him. Sunstreaker’s back arched from fresh hell when his love angled his thrusts differently, and sped his pace up.

--------------------------

“You scheduled goddamn frame edits for us?”

Megatronus barely bothered to glance up from whatever he was writing and the blatant dismissal only made Sunstreaker angrier. “There are improvements that can be made to your frames,” was all the answer he got before Megatronus went right back to whatever he was working on.

Sunstreaker stalked up to his desk and slammed his servo down over his lover’s datapad hard enough that the screen splintered. “I never agreed to this. Some of them are external edits. You fragging bastard, I already like how I look.”

The look Megatronus gave him was chilly to say the least, but true to form, Sunstreaker wasn’t cowed one bit. “As I said, improvements can be made,” Megatronus simply said.

“And who defines what’s an improvement?” Sunstreaker grit out, shoving at Megatronus’ shoulder. “You? They’re my fragging frames.”

“Did you even have a look at the order?” Megatronus asked from him, aggravated. Good for him, Sunstreaker was pretty damn aggravated himself. That made two of them.

“I did, but that’s entirely beside the point.”

“Is it? Did you not like them?”

“I don’t like that you’re trying to dictate what the pit I look like!” Sunstreaker straightened to his full height and crossed his arms across his chassis, but even so he didn’t exactly manage to be taller than Megatronus. Didn’t matter. “My life, my frames, my looks. I choose them, and you’re not fragging going to play my damn owner, trying to tell me what I am or am not to look like.”

“Did you not like them?” Megatronus demanded more firmly, his glare as intense as Sunstreaker’s. Their staring contest was true, neither backing down.

“That’s beside the point. You didn’t have permission.”

Before Megatronus could answer to that, there was a ping at his door. Sunstreaker glanced over his shoulder to see it slide aside to reveal… Soundwave. That probably meant there was some important rebellion business to be discussed. Just when were Megatronus and his supporters planning to make their big move, anyway? Sunstreaker couldn’t remember, and in the moment, couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Cancel them,” he growled at Megatronus before he turned on his heel and marched to the door, “I’m not showing up anyway,” then past Megatronus’ second who moved to the side to let him through.

Frame edits his fragging ass… Not while his spark still pulsed.

--------------------------

“No. I’m fragging well going, and that’s final. Slag you.”

“I will not have who knows what manner of filthy servos pawing you,” Megatron snarled at him. His fist slamming into the wall next to him would have been more of a deterrent if Sunstreaker wasn’t able to simply slip under it. Something good out of their size difference…

But they’d been here before and Megatron made a grab at him when he tried to escape the revolutionist’s clutches—successfully escape, despite that. He danced out of Megatron’s reach, glaring the whole way, twice as hard when Megatron began to stalk towards him, angling just right to block his exit.

“It’s a party. That’s part of the drill. I won’t frag anyone as you slagging well know, and some groping? If I can live with it, you can live with it too. They’re my slagging frames.”

Megatron’s optics darkened with sheer anger, and this was one argument where it was unlikely either of them would just give, wasn’t it? The brothers wanted to go out and enjoy a nice evening with some fragging friends—let the high grade flow and music pound—and Megatron was intent on being the possessive bitch he always was. They never reached an agreement in these matters.

“Do you not find my attention enough?” Megatron asked from him, constantly advancing, and Sunstreaker constantly retreating. “Do you need to go seek the approval of strangers on top of it?”

“Pits, I don’t need anyone telling me I’m fragging beautiful, thanks. All I want is to go drink and dance. That is not too much to ask. No, wait. I’m not asking. I’m going.”

They glared at each other, but he managed to stay ahead of Megatron enough that he wasn’t grabbed and most likely ‘faced through the floor or something of equal pleasantness.

“Why is it so hard to understand I don’t want something of mine tainted?” Megatron demanded from him, his face and his field speaking of his fury. How dare Sunstreaker disobey him so, yada yada. It was the same old song and dance.

“I’d listen to that argument if I was about to ‘face someone, but some groping isn’t going to do a damn thing,” Sunstreaker growled. His optics didn’t flick to the door, he didn’t project his plan before he’d already set it in motion—dashing past Megatron when the opening was big enough, before his lover could physically stop him as he was so damn eager to do.

He made it to the door, and he made it through the door before he turned back just enough to snarl his final, vicious, “And you’ll just have to live with it, love.”

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #maccadams #megatron #sunstreaker #sideswipe #megasun #megaswipe #fic #2021 #disaster

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s1utspeare · 3 years

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Fic Writer Interview Meme

I was tagged by my beloved @hils79, whose answers to this were so??? nice???? and good??? i was like HILLLSSSSS MY LOOOOVVVEEEE esp. with their spicy opinion like. it was very good.

name: Brigid! But slutspeare on ao3!

fandoms: hoo doggy. uhhhhh I wrote fic for Percy Jackson, Sherlock, the Avengers, and Doctor Who in Ye Olden Days on FF.net, but now I mostly write DMBJ fic, which, tbh, is really the only fandom that I like writing fic for at this point?? I think it’s because of the people lmao. And also the extremely versatile ways I can use the characters

two-shot: I don’t think I have a two-shot? I have some two-parter series, either finished or in the works, but for me it’s either one-shot or many-shots. I like two-shots though! They’re always very good bc More Content but with the neat formatting of a one-shot

most popular multi-chapter fic: A Swiftly Tilting Planet yooooooo! I mean to be fair it’s also my only multi-chapter fic but

actual worst part of writing: SUMMARIES i’m literally so bad at summaries. they’re all either short or don’t actually make sense bc I’m literally terrible at writing them. I also hate the feeling where the fic is all inside you and wants to come out but you don’t have enough time/energy/typing speed to get it out there quick enough

how you choose your titles: they’re usually song lyrics or lines from poems lmao. I’m also not great at titles. the FoBa Psychic Detective AU is gonna be called You Don’t Recognize the Bodies in the Water, which is from a weird-ass TikTok I saw the other day so uhhhhh take my titling ability as being Non-Existant

do you outline: YES ok so i was adamantly against outlining for like. my entire writing career bc i was like “it’s a waste of time, idk what’s going to happen, i find it out as i write” and then i outlined Swiftly Tilting and banged that one out SO fucking quick. Like, even just having a basic idea of where you want to go before you start makes writing SO much easier. how did i not discover this hack earlier. Also, you don’t even have to stick with it! You can change it as you discover things! Like! Ah!

ideas you probably won’t get around to, but wouldn’t it be nice: hmmmm i don’t know! There’s like! so many! and most of them I could conceivably get around to, but it might be awhile. I have a vague idea for a Swiftly Tilting prequel about the m9 ship crew, and also a Vincenzo fic about vinnie and luca being IN LOVE because they ARE but i don’t know if I have enough passion in me to write for that show. other than that, though, is just like. a veritable cascade of ideas waiting (ooohh like the Jia Kezi/Li Jiale ghost roommate oneshot based on the hit BL drama He’s Coming to Me? i would LOVE to write that one but idk if it will happen). aslighalkdsfjladkjf @vishcount I also had a SOTUS-dream last night where Arthit discovers a secret plot at the college that involves a gun full of bees that Kongpob’s mother developed and he has to keep it hidden from the Bad Guys who want to use it to create like, fuckin, superpowered swimmers?? also there was a lot of angst involved bc Arthit was a swimmer in high school for some reason and then something happened oh wait oh shit I realize why that was, it’s because Krist was in that one show where he played a swimmer in high school and it was very angsty. Ok my brain makes sense now. Also BTS was there.

callouts @ me: i love u. slow down u maniac.

best writing traits: oh gosh uhhhhhhh ok I don’t want this to sound like i’m bragging or full of myself but like. I’m fucking good at writing. There’s definitely stuff that I need to work on, and maybe i should edit things a little more but like??? bitch!!!! you’re good at this!!! this is your job!!! idk I spent so much time being like “aw shit what if I’m actually not that good what if everyone who reads my stuff is just being nice and saying that they like it and it actually sucks” but i’ve looked back on some of the things i’ve done recently and I’m like, actually a good writer. I mean I’ve been practicing for a long time, so it stands to reason that I would be decent by now. But SHIT like. I’m doing ok! and I’m still a baby! I can only get better!

spicy tangential opinion: I don’t know if I really have any writing Hot Takes? oh wait i guess i do have one sort of. I think the “fake it until you make it” saying is also super applicable to writing, bc in college I was like “ok what if I just make this as Pretentious Sounding As Possible” and everyone was like “omgggg ur so goooodddd this proseee” and i was like “oh damn i didn’t realize that would work.” and now my ace ass writes straight p*rn romance novels for a living. like I genuinely don’t know what I’m doing half the time, but if you put your work out there with confidence and the knowledge that someone will want to read it, someone is going to read it. also u don’t have to know what a penis looks like to write Sex Involving Penises. You’ve just gotta be good at metaphors.

this was so fun! I love answering questions! I’m gonna tag @vishcount, @lacommunarde, @gaiahenshin, @merinnan, @bookjoyworm, @humanlighthouse, and @undyingsunshine for this one, if you haven’t already been tagged (but as always, no pressure)! also, anyone else who would like to do it, pls tag steal from me!!! love u bbs, hope you’re having a great day!

#tag game #about me #my writing #fic

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daisylincs · 4 years

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WIP Folder Game

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it! ← part of my trick or treat now :D

Thank you so much for the tag, @eowima! You know, I think we should officially update you to the role of clairvoyant or something, lmao, because you won’t believe how well this fits into my ~master plan.~ (I’ll explain in a second, lol.)

But before I start, um... letmeapologiseinadvancefortheshitshowthatisabouttofollow. My WIPs folder is, er, simply put, a mess. Chaos. A nightmare.

I have an explanation!! I’ve always loved fanfiction and fandoms, and I’ve spent many happy years reading other people’s things - but I’ve never actually been inspired to create something myself. I don’t know, I always had tremendous respect for the creators who were already out there, but I never felt the inclination to join them, you know?

Then I started watching AoS this lockdown, and... well, let’s just say that everything changed. For the first time ever, I woke up in the middle of the night and I had a fic idea, one that was demanding to be written down if I ever wanted to sleep a wink again.

And the more I got into the fandom, the more the fic ideas kept coming, until there was a point where I couldn’t read or watch anything without thinking, “ooh, AoS AU!!” So... into the WIPs folder it went. And as you can well imagine, there’s a lot there now. Like, a lot.

Fitzsimmons was the ship that gave me my first fic idea, so of course there’s stuff for them. Then Huntingbird is the ship that actually pulled me completely and wholeheartedly into the fic verse. And then, of course, Staticquake, the ship that actually got me past my but I’m not good enough fears and, er, got me completely obsessed. I am still not over that.

And last but definitely not least - and, actually, you’re to thank for this, Océane, because it’s your fic that got me hooked on these two awkwardorable idiots - my brain decided that, you know what, if I’m going to write now anyway, I want to do Spideychelle.

So that’s the (long) story of me and my chaotic WIPs folder, and now with no further ado, I’m going to jump right in and give you a list of titles. *coughs* I am, however, going to put a cut here, because... well, you’ll see why. *cringes*

Key:

💜 - Staticquake

💖 - Huntingbird

💚 - Fitzsimmons

🍋 - Dekesy

💗 - Pipsy

🤍 - Dousy

💕 - Skimmons

🧡 - Quakerider

💞 - Simmorse

🤎 - Mackelena

💙 - Platonic/Family Centric

❤️ - Spideychelle

💘 - Clintasha

* - a series

(Ones with two or more hearts mean that all these ships feature prominently.)

The List:

💜. A Hero’s Reward

💜. and i risk it all for this life we share

💜. Angsty Post-Hive Recovery Fic

💜. barefoot on the grass, listening to our favourite song

💜. Best Friends But She’s In A Bad Relationship AU

💜. Bittersweet What-If Fic

💜. Blow Us All Away*

💜. Childhood Friends Fic

💜. darling just dive right in

💜. darling just kiss me slow

💜. don’t ask me where i’ve been, or what i’m gonna do (just know that i’m here with you)

💜. every day in between

💜. Fairytale (Sleeping Beauty) AU

💜. Fake Dating Partyfic

💜. Flower Shop AU

💜. good old shake ‘n bake

💜. Grieving Fic

💜. High School AU Idea

💜. Hive Toilet Fic

💜. Hospital Fluff & Flirting AU

💜. Hotel Room AU

💜. i live for you (soulmates AU)

💜. i never knew you were the someone waiting for me

💜. i’ll find my way through night and day

💜. just let your heart be free (you’ve got a friend in me)

💜. lights will guide you home

💜. Mission/Partners Fic

💜. Modern Royalty Fic

💜. Musical (West Side Story) AU

💜. Not That Girl Anymore

💜. PDA

💜. Pitch Perfect AU

💜. Post-Hive Pregnancy Fic

💜. put that body on me

💜. Rain Fic

💜. Red Thread

💜. Regency AU: Marriage of Convenience

💜. Regency AU: Arranged Marriage

💜. remember that with every piece of you

💜. Rom-Com AU

💜. Royalty Shenanigans Fic

💜. S3 AU - Daisy, Inhuman Leader

💜. S3 AU - Lincoln With SHIELD All Along

💜. Shake ‘n Bake: A YouTube Romance

💜. Skaters AU

💜. Sky’s the Limit*

💜. Snowed In Fic

💜. so baby i’m alright, with just a kiss goodnight

💜. some dreams do come true

💜. Soul Realm

💜. Soulmark AU

💜. Stardust AU

💜. Stranded-Somewhere-Cold Ficlet

💜. The Daughter of Thunder and Lightning

💜. the earth shook and the sky flashed

💜. took my heart upon a one-way trip

💜. TV Show AU

💜. Ward-Confrontation AU

💜. Watching Hamilton AU

💜. What-Ifs*

💜. you’d be the one i was meant to find

💜💙. Lincoln & The Team Bonding Fic

💜💙. MayLincoln Friendship Fic

💜💙. The Secret Warriors

💚. Academy Era Rom-Com

💚. Ah Crap My Ex Just Walked In AU

💚. Alya Fluff and First Words Fic

💚. Angsty Hair ficlet

💚. Cute Family Zoo Prompt

💚. lunch break

💚. Second Child Fluff and First Words Fic

💚. Soulmate AU

💚. The Perfect Fairytale*

💚. The Team Ships It

💚💜. Fluffy Best Friends Idea

💚💜. ooh, la la la*

💚💙. AoS Frozen AU

💚💙. FitzsimmonsSparks Fic

💚💙. Us Against The World

💚💜💙. AoS Harry Potter AU

💖. Al Birthday Fic

💖. always the same pattern, love

💖. blonde

💖. meet me half-way

💖. rollercoaster

💖. Soulmate AU

💖. The Blue Door (Notting Hill AU)

💖. the ride

💖. when did it all fall to pieces (can’t we build it back)

💚💖. Best Friends’ Wedding AU

💚💖. The Holiday AU

💚💜💖💙. No Hive AU

💚💜💖💙. Post-3x10 Who Owes Who Fic

🍋. Angst/Introspection Fic

🍋. Beach Fic

🍋. Coffee Shop AU

🍋. Concert Canon Divergence Fic

🍋. Drunk Kiss Fic

🍋. Mission Kiss Canon Divergence Fic

🍋. Singers AU

💚🍋. Fluff and Teasing Fic

💚🍋. (Not A) Double Date

💗. ’cause you’re out of this world

💗. Coffee Shop/Baristas AU

💗. High School AU/Sleepover Fic

💗. Walls Come Down Fic

🤍. Affectionate Arguments/Take Care Of Yourself Fic

🤍. Danny Boy & Quake*

🤍. getting to know you, getting to know all about you

🤍. T Birthday Fic

🤍💚. Teasing/Introspection Fic

💞. Birdie Birthday Fic

💞. Bodyguard AU

💞. Roommates/Best Friends AU

💞. you’re just my cup of tea

🧡. Abby Birthday Fic

🧡. it’s a better place since you came along

🧡. Reluctantly Perfect

🧡. Scarlet Birthday Fic

🧡💚. well that works

💕. Coming Out Fic

💕. S1 Crush Fic

💕. you’ll be my lady

🤎. Childhood Best Friends AU

🤎. Church Camp AU

🤎. Giorgia Birthday Fic

🤎. Soulmates AU

🤎. then through the shadows, your light appears

💚💜💖🤎. Shippy Team Mistletoe Fic

💚💜💖🤎. Shippy Team Snowfic

💚💜💖🤎💙. Soft Family Fic from Chloe Interview

❤️. Ah Crap My Ex Just Walked In AU

❤️. Arranged Marriage AU

❤️. cute clueless moron

❤️. Cute, Dorky Friendship Idea

❤️. Fake Dating Friends to Lovers

❤️. Media Nonsense Fic

❤️. Michelle Jones, Agent of SHIELD

❤️. Michelle Jones, Inhuman

❤️. Océane Birthday Fic

❤️. oh, when you kiss me

❤️. Secret Santa Fic

❤️. Secret Santa Thank-You Ficlet

❤️. Spideychelle Week Day 5 - Roommates AU

❤️. Spideychelle Week Day 6 - Enemies to Lovers

❤️. Spideychelle Week Day 7 - Only One Bed

❤️. Teach Me To Fight, Parker

❤️💚. heads on a science apart

💘. Bobbi Birthday Fic

💘. 5 Times The Avengers Played Matchmaker, and 1 Time It Worked (Sort Of)

💘. Jade Arrow

💘. Natalia

💘. Roommates AU

💙. all the stars in the skye

💙. blue-eyed

💙. FitzDaisy Recovery Fic

💙. Happy Family Holiday Fic

💙. JemmaDaisy Friendship Fic

💙. see the line where the skye meets the sea

💙. Soft-Fluffy Philindaisy Tickle Fic

💙.untitled angst war fic

💜🤍💗🍋🧡💕💙. day’s eye

(and that’s not even it. I haven’t even made documents for all the birthday fics. *crawls into a hole to die*)

So yeah, I’m completely insane and I’m probably going to be here for the next ten years trying to write all this lot and also I tag @ohwriteiforgot, @aleksandrachaev, @everythingirl44, @que-mint-tea, @anxiouslynumbme, @springmagpies, @besidemethewholedamntime, @infinitestarsintheskye, @libbyweasley, @a-biochemist-not-a-bird, @nazezdha321, @sadtunes and @here-for-huntingbird, if any of you guys want to do this!

#wip folder game #wips #*goes and dies in a hole*#now; my friends; you see i really wasn't exaggerating when i said two hundred wips #alksjflkdsjfldskjfldsklkjfa #*s2 daisy voice* there is something very wrong with me

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mateasha · 3 years

Text

rendevous 18.6y

summary: chikage shows up at the front door of MANKAI after disappearing from the face of the Earth for 3 years. itaru is not happy. fandom: a3 pairing: chikage x itaru word count: 3335 tags: original characters for the sake of plot, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, flashbacks, mentions of death, bad attempts at action, bad attempts at comedy

chapter 5: thoughts

Itaru wished he did not hurry up.

He wishes that he also did not say yes to his damn boss...

I mean, he guesses he did do it voluntarily, if you can call an impulsive decision fueled by some unseen force something that he did voluntarily. His boss would say otherwise.

But something about this room is only a little empty, even if it’s filled to the brim with people— and by brim, he means the table is full and there are two extra people (Chikage and Itaru) presenting their dumb pitch about this and that, imports and such, and the sorts. There are only so many ways you can say “Hey! Give us shit and we’ll give you shit and maybe just a little money! Who knows!” but Chikage seems to have found all of them, including the most long winded speech, just to make it look like he’s smart.

Which he is, Itaru isn’t saying he’s necessarily dumb. He is smart.

But even if Chikage had him say that whole spiel about “never knowing unless you try” (which, corny as hell by the way) it would still work out in the end for Itaru, maybe even gaining more respect. Maybe he’ll ask Chikage after the meeting.

Well, if Chikage decides that he likes him today.

The room is abnormally silent, devoid of any other voice, as the Japanese translator sits there, staring at the man whose English is paced and worded like a damn poem, in awe. Itaru doesn’t expect any less from the hacker, whose stats are basically so high that no one can compare. Except a specific stat that basically everyone knows, but Itaru tries not to think about it. But his voice really does project across the entire room, drawing attention to him, which isn’t very uncharacteristic for him, because he’s heard this before. His voice with a certain cadence to it, hitting every point, and maybe throwing in a couple company buzzwords in there, just to sound a little bit smarter. What the fuck is “synergy?”

He looks slowly around the room, making sure no one is staring at him— which no, there isn’t anyone, thank God, as he takes a look at the surroundings for the 10th time, at the same concrete walls painted with the brightest shade of white and the glass barrier separating them from the main office, covered in layers of white blinds, and the presentation glowing from the flatscreen TV put up in the middle of the room. (which he wishes he could have, but Sakyo still won’t let him put up anything, which makes sense because Itaru definitely could not be trusted with a drill for the life of him.)

The carpet is a bit scratchy underneath his feet, as he slightly grinds his shoe sole into it, the friction of which can slightly be heard across the room, but surprisingly, no one has called it out, maybe out of politeness, or maybe because of Chikage’s still loud, and booming voice across the room. Chikage decided to take the most part of the work back at the hotel room, and Itaru really took the easy part, but it’s fine. Chikage wanted the hard part anyway. It just means that maybe he won’t get the best benefit out of it, which would be perfectly fine. He just came here for the merit. It would look good on his resume too. If he ever decides to get a new job-- which, after this, he should start planning. Once he uses all his vacation days.

But he doesn’t understand why some eyes are drifting over to him, when Chikage is interesting enough with his injection of larger English words, again, to the amazement of the translator, who wasn’t expecting this. But it does make him look worse to the board of people who heard him slightly stutter when he stumbled across a couple words, but it wasn’t that bad. Right? He tries to affirm himself for a bit, but he knows that it could’ve been better-- then again, a lot of things could’ve been better about his presentation. He wasn’t the most prepared, and maybe that would cost him the deal, which is why he doesn’t understand how and why he was so laid back about everything that was going down with the work, which he decides to blame on Chikage. Rightfully so, as he had occupied his thoughts far too much and put him in some emotional dilemma, if that’s what you could call it, when he keeps sending the most mixed emotions towards Itaru.

There is a time and place to be thinking about these things although, now not being the place, but he still thinks about it anyways,

“Any questions?” Chikage asks this for the final time, finally wrapping up the presentation that felt like it lasted for a lifetime, which it probably did. Probably. Itaru decides to tune out the rest as Chikage accepts a couple questions, and answers some that go without asking-- which is to be expected from someone who does enough and maybe just a little bit more.

“I actually have a question.”

“Ah, what is it?” Chikage smiles at the old man, the smile seemingly genuine to others, but not to Itaru.

“No, for your partner. I’m not completely clear on the outline of this… plan.” He turns his head to Itaru. “Could you go over the third slide, please?”

“I… Well… Uhm… Can I say this in Japanese?” Itaru can feel himself tensing up even more. Was I not descriptive enough, I don’t know what I could even go over? “Well, depends what part you’re confused about.” Good non-answer. Could buy you time, he thinks to himself.

The interpreter says the words in English, the man nodding in confirmation. He says some English to the interpreter, and the interpreter parrots it back. “Well, why should we use your company as a means to get our products to Japan? Is there a market in Japan for these things?”

Itaru freezes.

“Well, there is, just look at the slide before that, there’s definitely a market for this stuff, just look at those graphs. Very high.“ Itaru is panicking which Chikage takes notice of as Itaru fidgets a bit with his hands, trying to structure a damn sentence, which he can’t seem to do after that damn question.

“Well, what my partner is trying to say is that there is a market for this stuff, and currently, as a testing area, we are sure we, as a company, have the best idea on how to release this product, as we believe, and are sure that these specific areas of Japan are in need of these things.”

“Hmm… I see. We will continue this meeting tomorrow. Thank you for your time.” He bows as he gets up, the rest following in suit.

They both speak in unison. “Thank you for your time.” They bow as each exits, Chikage walking over to the briefcase, closing the laptop and packing up the papers into the folders in a very methodical and neat way.

As each one of them gets up and walks to the door, Chikage heads to the middle of the large table, closing the laptop, unplugging the USB and packing everything up into his bag, Itaru following closely behind as the last person leaves. Something about it is intimate though, as if the room got smaller with just the two of them, but still with the same white concrete walls, surrounding them, with the same office lights coating the room in fluorescent light that washes out the little to no color found in the room.

“Sorry.” Itaru blurts out with no thought.

Chikage looks behind him, like Itaru is the weirdest person alive for that singular moment. “Sorry for what?”

“I fucked up.”

“Chigasaki, it wasn’t that bad. You could be better prepared for that, of course, but you tried to deal with it. It’s more effort than I’ve seen you put in before.”

Itaru isn’t insulted, even when most people would have been. He knows he put more effort into this than usual. “Exactly. This was really avoidable. And basic too.”

“And? It already happened, Itaru. No point in dwelling on it.”

“...I guess you’re right.”

Chikage finishes packing everything up quickly. “I know I’m right. Not to say I’m all knowing, but I know this much. It was a good effort. Everything can’t be perfect.” He walks to the door and opens it, standing there for a bit, and looking at Itaru. “Come on. Let’s go back to the hotel. I’m tired.”

Itaru looks at Chikage for a bit, stopping to stare, and his face filled with a hint of confusion. “Okay. Thanks.” Itaru walks out, Chikage following behind, picking up the pace to match the walking speed of Itaru and walk beside him across this oddly large office hallway, complete with simple office decorations and furnishings, passing by a couple filled meeting rooms and empty ones with the lights off, and the sun shining in. He looks at Chikage, who, for some reason, is focused on walking forward, which is kind of weird, but he doesn’t mind. It gives him time to think.

Chikage was nice to him for some reason today, again, despite how he treated him last night, which was… odd. But maybe he was just having a bad day. He’s had his bad days, and come off cranky. He “hmmm”s in his head, a bit skeptical, as he knows Chikage is never one to let his emotions take over for a bit. That’s just who he is. Or maybe he let his guard down? If anything, he’s just completely confused as they turn the corner and see a more open space with an elevator, which is when Itaru decides to stop looking.

Chikage, surprisingly, did not notice the fact that Itaru’s bright red pink eyes were practically glaring into his soul. Just staring in front of him, deep in thought. He presses the button and waits for a bit till the doors of the elevator open, and 2 people come out, and they both enter simultaneously. Itaru presses the 1st floor button, and clasps his hands together near his waist as waits.

“How have you been feeling?” Itaru breaks the silence to start just a bit of small talk to test the waters. Chikage doesn’t respond, seemingly just staring at the closed elevator doors as they descend to the 2nd floor, seemingly not stopping, or feeling longer than usual. “About the presentation… do you think we’ll get the deal?”

He still doesn’t respond, which puts an end to whatever he was planning to say after. The elevator doors open andr they both walk out, and head to the car.

It’s still quiet between them, with maybe even a static, oppressive air surrounding them, stopping him from talking, and just in general preventing even the simplest conversation between them. He gets into the car in the parking garage quickly, Chikage taking his sweet time to start the car.

It’s quiet in the car till Itaru breaks the silence. “How long will it take to get there?” Still no response. Itaru looks intensely through the front window for some reason, when he doesn’t even need to be paying attention, and his phone is literally just in his pocket, but for some reason he’s rendered completely immobile by the fact Chikage isn’t responding when he shouldn’t be. It’s Chikage. Chikage probably doesn’t care. Definitely does not care. It just doesn’t make sense for him to not even respond with a “hey I’m focused on driving.” Because for some reason, he’s not talking again, or even saying that he needs to shut up because he’s focused on driving, which is also a valid response to him, as he completely understands.

But he doesn’t and he stops thinking about this as soon as Chikage pulls up to the front of the hotel, handing his keys over to the valet out front, and showing them their hotel card, the low murmurs of thank yous vibing across the two, and walking in swiftly, and into the elevator again, out, and into the hotel room.

He slides the card into the slot and opens the handle for Chikage, who walks in briskly, and with a sense of urgency, as he looks at his phone again with a sigh. Itaru goes to the wardrobe to grab clothes to rest in for now until he eventually goes out to get food, because he wants to try the fancier pizzas here. But until Itaru needs something is it quiet. “Hey, can you pass me the remote?” No response, like usual, where now it makes no sense, because he’s just searching things up on his open laptop next to the desk. “Are you gonna talk to me?”

“Why would I talk to you? We’re here on business. We’re just working together. It isn’t business. So I don’t care.” He starts to type slightly more quickly, a change so subtle that even he doesn’t notice, the pounding of the keys getting harder and harder.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Itaru sits up in the bed, looking at Chikage, biting the inside of his mouth so hard that it feels like he might draw blood, the taste of iron coating his tongue. “Listen. I don’t fucking want you to treat me like we’re long time friends if you’re gonna say we’re ‘only here for business.’ You can’t have it both ways, Chikage. Make up your damn mind.”

No response. The silence is deafening.

“I just… want to know.” For some reason he’s on the verge of crying which is stupid, and he shouldn’t be crying, but despite him feeling it becomes more than a struggle to get the rest out. “I just want to know if we can actually be friends. I don’t want you to give me false hope. I don’t want you to flick some switch in your brain that says that you’re allowed to be nice to me, and then you turn it off so quick as if it never happened.”

No response. It’s ear piercing now; like if you dropped a speck of dust on the ground you would even be able to hear that, as Itaru gets more and more red, and Chikage’s face stays the same.

“Okay. I got it.” He gets out of bed quickly. “I understand.” He stomps off to the shower, taking clothes with him and some lotion to the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower.” He deadpans, and practically slams the door of the hotel bathroom.

Chikage sighs.

God, he feels like shit.

Does he?

Maybe he doesn’t know himself, but all he knows is that there’s some odd pit in his stomach that probably just hints quite a bit at him feeling like shit. It’s fine. It’s not like he hasn’t been through this before. All he has to do is push through it. It is odd. Considering all the shit he’s done, he doesn’t think he should be feeling bad. He means, he’s killed people, no remorse, just straight up dead, and that was fine. He can hear Itaru in the bathroom seemingly slamming shit on the counter, and dropping the soap with an “ugh.”

The feeling scrapes at his nerves, stretching him thin and fragile, as if he was just an elastic fabric that, of course, is still intact, but is transparent, being stretched far too much. The walls of the hotel feel both confining to him, and a bit too loud. He doesn’t think that loud is the correct word choice, but he thinks that too. But here he is, still typing away at his laptop; nothing coherent of course, but at least it’s something. Not really. It barely distracted him. He runs his hands through his hair, sighing again, and looking out the window that gives him an overview of most of the city, the cars running through the street like little bugs, but the moonlight can barely break through the raucous light of the city. He can still see it though, so he gets up to stretch, even though he doesn’t feel as if it’s necessary. He walks over to the window, looking up at the moon, and then looking down at his feet.

He takes a seat on the bed, for no reason, looking around a bit, before getting up and walking slowly to his chair, some document still wide open on his screen, and the shower somehow still going-- probably in preparation for tomorrow. He still acknowledges that skin care is important somehow, even when Azami isn’t there to drill it into their heads. It’s been three years. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. He shouldn’t be so surprised. Things change. He’s more than well aware of that. But somehow, he still feels stagnant, even with everything. The world has reached a standstill, but that doesn’t matter to him. He doesn’t need to change anymore. Not since… he skips right over that thought, but he knows that he shouldn’t, because it should bear no weight anymore. Seems like everyone else has gotten over it.

Hisoka.

It’s hard to talk about still, for him, and maybe for others. Who knows, when they can visit Hisoka’s grave. He guesses it gives people more closure. But the more he thinks about Itaru and Hisoka, the more he wants to care for him. He means, just being the slightest bit related to him puts people in danger. Maybe he shouldn’t have forced Itaru on this trip. Well, he didn’t. Itaru said “yes” for some unbeknownst reason that confuses him still to this day.

Hisoka.

But even then, the thought still comes to his mind. It felt nice. Felt nice to genuinely care for someone, after leaving them for so long, to protect them and still be able to have them, and be able to hold them after so long. Maybe it’s the situation. Chikage doesn’t want to hurt Itaru. That sentence makes him almost keel over, but he acts normal as the faucet is turned, and the sound of running water suddenly stops, and he can hear the shower curtain, as if every single environmental sound is turned up to max volume.

Hisoka.

He’s dead. That’s the end of that. He’s dead, and he shouldn’t care, and he should have learnt his lesson, because anything-- almost anything would be better than him being here, right now. He should have said no. He should have said no to the mission, and he should have said no to his boss, but he didn’t and now he’s paying the price. Filled with emotional turmoil and hurt. Thinking back, maybe he was just unlucky. Or maybe it was fated. It was fated for them to meet again after being away for so long, so why, why would some higher power put them together. It’s as if the big man upstairs wants him to suffer-- even if he doesn’t exactly believe in them.

Hisoka.

The thought tires him out, and he finally notices that he’s stopped writing things on this report, which he tries to start again, but he doesn’t even know where to gather himself after… after that. He’s still thinking though, which makes himself throw back his head in anger? Disappointment? Whatever. Whatever emotion it is, he could honestly care less. He’s stressed and he doesn’t want to be here anymore. He’s tired. He’s so tired. It’s taken a long time to find that out.

Hi--

He doesn’t even finish the thought this time. He stops thinking. He doesn’t know how, but he’s completely stopped all brain processes that go on. This is better. It feels calm. His vision feels like it’s cleared up, and he can start typing whatever he was typing in this document for some reason. Itaru walks out of the bathroom, completely clothed, and looking a bit fresh.

“I’m going to sleep.”

No response.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6

#a3 #a3!#a3!chikage #a3!itaru #a3! chikaita #ckit #chikage utsuki #itaru chigasaki #a3 fanfiction #a3! fanfic

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1-1snailxd-art · 5 years

Text

Sanders Sides Oneshot - Babysitting

This is how you beat writers block - you draw and then find your will to write afterwards.

Characters/relationships: Logan / Virgil (analogical), Patton / Roman (Royality), Kid Thomas

Warnings: none

Words: 1511

Summary: This came about from a post by @fanartfunart and seeing as I’m trying to learn how to draw people better, I decided to challenge myself with a drawing....that drawing then turned into a little fic. FYI, I know there is a lot wrong with Logan’s proportions in the picture (I can see it), but Thomas is cute so whatever.

_____________________________________

"Don't be such a baby, Logan." Virgil huffed, following his partner into the kitchen. "It's a kid, not a freakin' nuclear bomb."

"I know that, but..." Logan kept his back to Virgil as he absentmindedly took ingredients for dinner out of the fridge and cupboards. "I don't know anything about babysitting a child."

Watching the cook’s shoulders slump at the admission, Virgil softened his tone and moved to lean on the counter next to Logan.

"What's to know, Lo? You give him some food, easy for you, and turn on the TV. Job done." Virgil sighed when Logan didn't look away from the bowl in front of him; hands floured as he prepared a pasta dough. "Look, I only need to be in the studio for an hour at most; then I'll come straight home. You can entertain 'til I get back, right?"

"Are you sure you can't stay?"

The tone of Virgil's phone gave him his answer as the other man quickly excused himself to take the call. It wasn't that Logan didn't like children; he just didn't think he was good for children. Honestly, he questioned daily what Virgil saw in him; a pensive, workaholic wasn't that romantic and didn't scream partner material. Patton on the other hand was destined to be a parent; they'd wanted to be one since they were kids.

The pasta dough came into shape as Logan recalled the day Patton video called them to announce they had been approved for adoption now Roman had consistent work. He'd shared in their excitement but never fully understood it. Admittedly, Logan was still hurt that Patton had moved so far away to support Roman's career and their relationship took a hit from the distance.

Setting the finished dough aside to rest, Logan washed his hands and turned to find the dejected Virgil walking back in.

"Virgil? What's wrong?"

"I've gotta go, Lo. Shit's hit the fan with the computers at the studio and Nate's pissed."

"How bad is it?" Logan moved closer, knowing there would be no way out of this now and accepting that he would have to face Patton alone.

"Backups failing bad. I should have gone in earlier when it was just a glitch. It was stupid of me to ignore it and-fuck I'm gonna pay for it n-"

Logan tilted Virgil's chin back and placed a soft kiss on his lips to silence the worrier.

"I apologise for my earlier attitude and clouded judgements. I will be fine this evening. You should go." Taking Virgil's hand, Logan walked him towards the door. "I will be fine until you or Patton return."

"Yeah, you will." he replied with a half-smile, before giving Logan a final kiss goodbye and heading out the door.

The silence of the apartment was crushing as Logan threw himself onto the couch; sliding his glasses up off his face as he massaged his brow. It was all too much at once. First, he was just worried about seeing Patton and Roman again after years of dwindling contact; then they asked the couple to babysit while they went to the award ceremony that brought them to town; and now Logan would have to face it all alone. A knock at the door pulled Logan from his thoughts and he was quick to sit up and correct himself before answering it.

"Hey Specs" Roman smiled from the entry; the pink backpack on his shoulder a harsh contrast to the black suit he wore. "It's great to see you again!"

"It's good to see you too, Roman. You are looking well considering the travel."

"Oh please," With a hand gesture Roman stepped into the apartment and put the apparently heavy bag down. "It would take more than a few hours on a plane to ruin this face."

"Indeed," Logan chuckled, turning just in time to see a pink blur heading towards him.

"Uncle Logan!" Came a cheery voice as a body slammed into Logan and constricted his middle.

"Um...Thomas, I presume."

Logan looked up to see Patton beaming as they walked up the path in a simple blue gown. They looked so happy and lively that Logan forgot all his past grievances; it seemed Patton was happy and that was all that mattered.

"That's my Thomas," Patton giggled.

"It's good to see you again, Patton." Logan pulled a face as he looked down at the figure still holding his arms by his sides. "Your son is very... Huggie."

Roman and Patton both laughed, and Roman snapped a quick picture of the awkward man pinned by his son.

"Oh, I know. I trained him well, don't you think?"

"Indeed, Patton, but...um," Thomas giggled as Logan tried to lift his arms out of the vice grip around him. "How do I un-train him? I do need to work at some point this evening."

"That will do, Thomas; give Uncle Lo some breathing room."

At Roman's word, Thomas let go and moved to his father's side. Logan's moment of reprieve was short lived as Patton replaced their son, pulling their old friend close and whispering in his ear.

"I really missed you, Logan."

"I..." For a moment, he was lost for words before mimicking the tight grip around his friend. "I missed you too."

The group remained in the entry as Patton began rattling off things Thomas could and couldn't do. Though he listened intently, Logan's eyes kept shifting to the young boy in the pink jacket that lent against Roman; holding onto his father’s arms around his neck and smiling up at Logan.

".... And if you need anything, just call me and I'll come right back and-"

"Calm down, Pat." Roman interjected, "We're just going for a few hours. I'm sure Lo and Thomas will be fine."

"Right. You're right."

"I always am." "That's not true, Dad." Thomas turned to look up at his father in confusion. "We were late to the airport because you got the times wrong, and you brought the wrong chocolate milk last week, and you-"

"Alright, that's enough." Roman was quick to scoop the boy up and headed inside. "Let's get you set up, hey."

A smile crept across Logan's face as he watched them go.

"Is that a genuine smile I see, Logan?" It comforted Patton to see him looking so content, despite his obvious fear of being responsible for Thomas.

"I'm proud of you, Patton." Their eyes widened as Logan turned; his own shining in the sun light. "You made the family you always wanted." "Almost," they laughed. "It's just missing one thing." "Hm?" Brows furrowing in confusion, Logan wracked his brain for what Patton was talking about. "What could you possibly be missing?"

"Just an uncle to teach Thomas about computers and another to show him how to cook. Any idea on where I could find them?"

"I think I do, but they live pretty far away." "That's okay, we're moving anyway." "What?" Logan was genuinely shocked by the news, mouth left ajar as Roman came up from behind and place a hand on his shoulder.

"You ready to be a full-time uncle, Logan?"

The question left Logan reeling. Three years ago, Patton left their teaching position to follow Roman's quest for recognition in music and theatre; leaving Logan and Virgil behind in the process. One year ago, they adopted Thomas and their contact became almost non-existent; so to be told they were returning to include him and Virgil in their family...was amazing.

"I suppose I'll have to be."

This time, Logan initiated a group hug; wrapping an arm around each of his friends and briefly forgetting that they had somewhere to be and he had a job to do.

"Jeez Specs, Thomas rubbed off on you quickly." Roman joked; causing Logan to quickly step back and adjust his tie.

"Ah, yes, sorry." Logan stumbled over his words, causing his friends to laugh at his sudden display of affection. "I got a little carried away." "It's okay, Lo." Patton assured, waving at the little figure that was poking his head over the couch inside. "But we should get going or we'll never leave."

"Right. Yes. Of Course."

Logan watched as Patton blew a kiss to Thomas before heading down the front path with Roman. Once the car had pulled away, he shut the door and turned to the smiling figure kneeling on the couch, waiting patiently. Brown eyes looked expectantly at him and he thought about Patton's wish for uncles for their son.

"So… Thomas. Have you ever made pasta before?" The boy shook his head and slipped off the couch as Logan held his hand out. "Perhaps it's time uncle Logan taught you then."

*************************

When Virgil came home, he was shocked to find the apartment lit only by Steven Universe playing on the TV. Tiptoeing around the couch he was greeted to the scene of Logan fast asleep with Thomas laying on his chest. It didn't look comfortable at all, but Virgil had to admit it was an adorable thing to come home to.

________________________________________

Tags: @thequeensphinx

What else have I done:

The Shield to your Sword (WIP - A fantasy/magic au - Prinxiety (Royal Roman and orphan Virgil - they’ll admit to their love eventually), Virgil angst, non binary healer Logan, *spoiler* Patton, cursed Deceit and ridiculous Remus)

Libraries are for Meetings (ongoing WIP - Human/University au with Royality and developing Analogical. Slow burn and heavily focused on a grieving group of friends that Virgil slowly becomes a part of to better himself.)

And more....

Writing Master Post

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles

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she-toadmask · 4 years

Text

I could ramble for a good while about why I like fanfiction and one of my discovered tastes in characters and some of the various fics I’m reading/waiting on updates for

[Which I proceeded to do. Under the cut.]

Like there are two different Harry Potter Creepypasta fics I’m reading, one by an older writer and one by a younger one, and one thing they both have in common despite their wildly different setup, tone, and approach to a great many things, is the bashing (to a degree) of the highly questionable adult oversight or lack thereof in Hogwarts. The older one has a more legitimate take on it throughout (though Gryffindor is portrayed as significantly more wild and rash than is accurate it can be argued) with a focus on how the adults really don’t do a good job at being responsible for the children’s well-being, while the younger one gets kind of absurd at the beginning but does have its legitimate statements, notably with the lake trial and the kidnapping of people for the purposes of the trial (which gets highlighted for specific character reasons).

Aaaa the older one is getting updates more frequently and is objectively higher-quality but the second one just has this charm to it

Like fics written by better writers are objectively better but there’s a charm to fics that describe appearance and a few other things a bit more than is necessary and have that touch of overdramaticness that’s just charming and reminds of a time when the world wasn’t ending and we were all just excited to be making things

I also really like Pokemon anime chatfics because Ash is a legendary magnet and old friends bluntly telling the new ones that is just amazing

There’s also this other Pokemon fic I found it’s kind of the usual ‘human from our world goes into the Pokemon world’ thing but the person worked with animals (lions specifically) at the zoo and died to nukes so PTSD and it’s same timeline/world as anime in Hoenn and he accidentally steals Ash’s Treecko and he’s also just got this really unique perspective on training and caring for his Pokemon since he worked with animals in our world and was also a fan of the games so he has that knowledge that most protags in those fics do but it’s just really really cool

Just sucks when I’m trying to find fic (usually Pokemon) and don’t have explicit blocked because once for a different fandom someone had a fic tagged explicit for gore reasons instead of for smut reasons and I don’t want to miss out on a good fic for that and it’s really gross when I’m just looking for some nice normal content and then there are people writing really really really nasty shit on there and posting it without a care in the world I’m not going to give specifics because there are some nasty ships that people write shit for that are just horrifying in every way and then just shit that isn’t even a ship it’s just kinky bullshit

I mentioned a taste in characters earlier and it’s not so much a type of character as it is a thing that some characters are. The reasons I like Creepypasta and non-tuber Minecraft fic (except Team Crafted because nostalgia train go choo choo) so much are because the characters are so basic there are so many ways you can go with them the characterization will change from fic to fic like there may be some common traits but there are no guarantees aside from physical appearance usually and it’s just so cool to see what people do

Like Creepypasta it’s just like ‘how much personality is murder’ and nasty stuff and I could go on for ages about the different ways you can write them so I’ll sav that for another time

But Minecraft like hell yeah Steve and Alex if they’re in fic are usually consistent in characterization or just fill hero role they’re still cool but N*tch and Herobrine are way cooler in fic like... N*tch can be old-style where he’s the creator of the world and good n shit or like (I do not see this enough) he can be evil n shit. Like there are maybe two fics I can think of that had evil N*tch and then there’s this fic idea I have that will never leave my head because I just never get around to putting it into a story but N*tch is evil and manipulative and also is kinda emotionally/mentally abusive to one of the protagonists and the last scene is just ah the angst he is such a shit but then there’s like this one friend who I haven’t tlaked to in years but we used to do shitty rp shit on Wattpad and she always made N*tch evil and Herobrine good because she wanted to do something that wasn’t the normal and it was cool and it’s hilarious in hindsight but to be fair most of that rp is because we were young and stupid and did stupid things but hey we’re the only ones who know what we did so it’s fine. And then HEROBRINE OH BOY HEROBRINE IS FUN he can be evil so many ways or he can be not evil he can be misunderstood he can be lonely or just not give a fuck or be good or be whatever he’s just got so many ways he can be written it’s great

I just really really like fanfic ok I could keep rambling for a while longer about different fanfics im reading and waiting on for updates and the other types of fanfic i like to read but i have class in 3 minutes so i need to stop

#fanfic is amazing

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somethingjustsouthofbrilliance · 5 years

Text

Heartsick (chapter 3)

@tonystark5ever and I are back with a new chapter. Finally. Progress :D

Tagging a few folks here. If I forgot somebody, pls, let me know.

@i-fucking-love-the-avengers @random-fandom-stuffdom @keltainen13 @giulisetta @bad-days-and-beautiful-nights @ashleymarie1684 @itsafandomaddict @konoriart @swanheart69 @almhw85

Link to chapter 1 (masterlist)

---------------------------

Chapter Three

“Dr. Rhodes?”

A young voice, quiet and unsure, pulls his attention away from Stark’s retreating back, stopping short his intention to follow after the man.

He turns, frowning slightly at the skinny, curly-haired teen that stands behind him, fiddling nervously with the line of his IV pole.

“I’m… I’m… I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”

Rhodey feels his lips twitch into a smile despite his unpleasant mood. “Ah, yes, Mr. Parker. I had the pleasure of listening to you play just now.” He nods toward the room the teen has recently vacated. “Very impressive.” And it had been, the bit he’d heard.

His grin widens as the teen ducks his head at the praise, the tips of his ears flushing pink. Adorable, Rhodey thinks, amused, and feels the uncomfortable sting of anger at the idea of Tony Stark doing anything that might put the kid in harm’s way. “What can I do for you?”

“I...uh….” Peter starts fidgeting with the IV pole again; throws a hesitant glance at Rhodey’s face. “I heard your argument with Mr. Stark just now and…”

“I see.” His mood sours instantly; Tony Stark is the last thing he wants to talk about with this kid. He frowns, waiting for the boy to continue with whatever was on his mind.

“You need to get him to hire you back!”

The unexpected nature of the request and the heat of the conviction behind it bring him up short.

“What?”

“I… I mean….” Peter takes a step back, flustered, his gaze dropping back down to the floor. “Mr. Stark, he’s… he’s a really good guy. He… he takes care of everyone around him, but he doesn’t really… he doesn’t let others take care of him.” The kid looks up again, brown eyes intent. “And he needs to,” he insists heatedly. “Especially now. His heart-”

“You’re defending him…” Rhodey can’t quite hide the incredulity coloring his voice. “Even after what he’s done to you. Taking your place in line?” he adds at the puzzled expression on Peter’s face.

The teen’s expression darkens, his large brown eyes hardening in clear disapproval. “That was my decision,” he says mulishly. “Mine and my aunt’s. We came to Ms. Potts when we found out from Tony that things were getting worse. We made her agree not to tell him, as a matter of patient confidentiality. He was never supposed to find out about it.”

“Is that so?” Somehow Rhodey had assumed that Peter and his aunt had been kept in the dark. The fact the kid knew about it almost made it worse. “And why is that?”

“Because he never would have allowed it if he knew.” Peter shakes his head, heaving out a dejected sigh before he plops tiredly onto the nearby bench. “I just wanted to help him. I wanted… and now, because it’s me, because he knows it’s me, he won’t…” The teen trails off, eyes momentarily squeezed shut; wraps his fingers around the IV pole in a white-knuckled grip. When he looks up again, the desperate intensity of his stare nearly forces Rhodey to take a step back.

“I wouldn’t even have a place in line if it weren’t for Mr. Stark. He is the reason I have a chance to live, Dr. Rhodes! And I… I can’t be the reason he loses his!”

And that right there? Definitely not what Rhodey was expecting to hear. He frowns down at the earnest, wide-eyed gaze that meets his; bites his lip at the guilt-tinged despair he sees there.

“Alright, kid.” He knows he’s already given in; doubts there’s anyone alive out there who can stay strong in the face of these imploring puppy eyes. He just really hopes he doesn’t come to regret this later. “There’s a couple things I need to get straight, and I think you’re the one to help me.”

“What do you mean?”

“How about you tell me all about Tony Stark over a cup of hot cocoa, huh? Start with why you think you owe him your place on the organ recipient list.”

Peter watches him silently for a few moments, his expression wary. Nods, his curls flopping over his forehead. “Okay.”

***

They settle on a bench outside some ten minutes later, Peter cradling a cup of chocolate ice cream he opted for instead of hot cocoa. It’s nice and quiet out here, the air pleasant, tinged with a mild spring morning chill, and Rhodey finds himself relaxing just a bit, letting go of the angry tension he’d been carrying around since daybreak.

“Thanks Dr. Rhodes,” Peter speaks up beside him, poking hesitantly at the mound of chocolate in his cup. “Dr. Banner told me to try and beef up my calorie intake since I can’t eat much.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy it,” Rhodey responds, smiling encouragingly as the teen scoops up his first spoonful. Urges mildly, “Whenever you’re ready, Peter.” He doesn’t want to push the boy, but time isn’t exactly a luxury he has to waste.

Peter’s expression darkens, the second spoonful dropped half-heartedly back into the cup. “I’m… I’m not supposed to tell anyone about this. I could get in big trouble, but even worse Mr. Stark could get in big trouble. I had to sign some huge non-disclosure agreements, there were lawyers there and everything, it was crazy. If anyone ever found out I told you, then they could sue Mr. Stark and he could even go to jail.” He shoots Rhodey a slightly anxious, pleading look. “So… you… you won’t tell anyone, right Dr. Rhodes?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Rhodey agrees, his curiosity piqued.

“No, no, I need-- you have to understand. No one can know.”

“Peter. I promise. On my word as a doctor, doctor-patient confidentiality, do no harm, Hippocratic oath. I won’t tell anyone.”

This seems finally enough to reassure Peter and he leans forward, a frown of worry on his face that speaks of a lot of fear and anxiety… more than he would expect for one so young. “Okay, well. It all happened about two years ago. The hospital was losing money, all the political stuff going on right? So they hired a consulting company to come and make it profitable again. You have to understand, there were talks of closing the doors.”

“Right,” Rhodey nods his understanding. He’s not surprised, even given the hospital’s reputation for excellent care; healthcare in general was facing a major crisis and there were systems all over the world taking the same kind of steps in order to keep their doors open.

“So the first thing they do is fire all the administrative people here,” Peter goes on, ice cream forgotten. “Let them go with severance only. I remember it a little bit because the nurses and doctors were in a huge uproar about it, it wasn’t pretty.”

“I’ll bet!”

“Well yeah. So they hire this new guy, Thaddeus Ross.”

Somehow Rhodey thinks the shudder that goes through Peter at the mention of that name has little to do with the morning chill.

“Ross… Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He did some great things for that hospital system in Orlando.”

Peter scoffs. “Wherever you heard about that, I’ll bet it didn’t mention a body count,” he counters darkly.

“No… it didn’t as a matter of fact.”

“Well, I can practically guarantee you that there was one. Because Ross doesn’t come in and fix things, he comes in and he cuts corners. First thing he did after firing the administrators was fire all the experienced nurses and techs. Forced some of the higher paid doctors into early retirement -- claimed their judgement would be called into question and their malpractice insurance would go up, that kind of thing.”

“Peter,” Rhodey cuts in, trying, rather unsuccessfully, to keep the skepticism from his voice, “even if that were true, how could you possibly know about it?”

“Because I’m one of the schmucks that almost got killed!”

“Oh…” He pulls back, stunned silent by the teen’s outburst. Motions for him to continue.

Peter nods grudgingly, huddles in on himself. “I was born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome and had, like, three surgeries when I was a baby and all that. I was doing good, real good, until a year ago I got bit by a spider. So like, not normally a big deal, but for me it was. I got super sick. But Dr. Banner… he’s my cardiologist, right? He found a treatment, and it seemed like a miracle because there was nothing anyone else could do. I mean… it was a miracle. Only the drug I was on was crazy expensive, like $20,000 a dose.”

Rhodey lets out a low whistle and Peter huffs angrily in response.

“I have to take it every three months for three years,” he says, nodding toward his IV bag. “Obviously, there was no way for us to afford it. Our insurance wouldn’t cover it because it’s technically not even approved by the FDA. So the hospital was writing it off. You know. They were using it as a charitable donation, which means it technically doesn’t cost them anything because they get the money back in tax credits and government payouts. Only...” Peter falters, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Only they weren’t making money off it.” He gives a vicious stab at his now mostly-melted ice cream before hurling the cup into the garbage can with a bit more energy than was strictly necessary.

“Right.” Rhodey can already see where this is heading, and he feels his own fingers itch with the urge to curl into fists. Money. Of course. Of-fucking course! Everything always comes back to money. It was one of the reasons why he’d gone into medicine, to do something about this kind of thing, to do surgery for the right reasons and not to make a buck.

“Yeah! Right!!” The teen slaps his hand palm down on the bench, agitated. “I mean, can you believe I had the audacity to exist and want to live and not have a disease that the hospital could benefit from? Ross came through and he eliminated most of those programs. The ones that helped people.”

“Why don’t people know about it?” Rhodey interjects. “Why wasn’t any of this on the news?”

“Oh it was.” The sharp bitterness in the teen’s voice surprises Rhodey. For as broken, small, and sick as the kid appeared, he had clearly developed quite the backbone. “The headlines were ‘Local CEO Turns Failing Local Hospital into Model of Health Care Efficiency.’ He’s a jerk but he’s not an idiot! Dr. Banner did what he could but they were threatening his license. There were a couple of assault charges thrown around when Dr. Banner got really mad during a meeting and punched the guy. Satisfying, right? Except now he was suspended and I was getting sicker and sicker because no medicine. And this is the only pediatric cardiac hospital in three states that’s able to deal with my problems. We were looking at moving to Colorado but I was too sick and May, my aunt, had been out of work to take care of me so no money. I was…”

There’s a suspicious hitch in the teen’s voice, his breath coming a little harsh, a little fast. He shakes his head viciously, swipes irritably at his cheeks where thin trails of tears cut a path across anger-flushed skin.

“I was so tired,” he admits in a whisper, “I wished I could just die and get it over with!”

“Okay,” Rhodey exhales past the stunned horror of the teen’s admission, “okay.” Reaches out haltingly to put a soothing a hand on the kid’s trembling shoulder. “Do you… uh… do you need a break from this?”

“No.” It takes him a few moments, but Peter swallows down his emotions; manages to steady himself. “Sorry. It was just… it was hard. I hated it. I was sick and things were getting so much worse. It was hard to see these things taking their toll on May.”

Rhodey gives the boy’s shoulder one last squeeze before letting his hand fall away. “I imagine she must have been pretty upset.”

“Upset doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Peter scoffs. “She was furious. And she wasn’t taking it sitting down either. She was calling our legislators, trying to see about the legalities, but we weren’t having any luck. She tried to go after him directly, you know, suing him for medical malpractice. Failure to treat. Medical neglect.” He shrugs, exhaustion written into every line of his body.

“Like I said, it got ugly. And here I am… dying because my heart is failing, and I get sick on top of it and it’s looking like the end for me. They start talking about hospice and making me comfortable, but I’m in the ICU in the meantime…”

“What happened?” Rhodey prods cautiously, afraid to push too hard because the kid is a walking war wound and it feels like even the slightest amount of pressure could cause him to bleed out.

Peter blinks as though coming out of a trance, his expression softening, pale lips pulling into a small smile. “Tony Stark happened,” he murmurs, sounding simultaneously awed and fond. “He got admitted the same time as me, just on the adult side, and he was being monitored because he was on some weird drug that was giving him trouble, but he was not so sick as me. He bumped into May in the hallway one time, and they got to know each other a bit. They had a lot in common, you know? Going through all this. Tony, see, he wanted to help, he offered to pay for everything. And May, she was real thankful and she wanted to take him up on it, but the thing is? Ross could just turn around and do it again to some other kid and their family. May said if it happened again it was because of them not fighting so she wanted to keep pushing on.”

Rhodey shakes his head, a bit conflicted. On the one hand there’s an already familiar flare of annoyance at Tony Stark, whose answer to everything seems to be to throw money at it. Yet on the other - it was a hell of a thing for him to offer to do for someone he had just met.

He also can’t help but admire May Parker’s bravery and tenacity. To go up against the hospital with all of its money and its fancy lawyers all on her own? That took guts.

“One night, Ross himself comes by and says he has a court order to withdraw treatment on my case.”

Lost in thought, it takes Rhodey a moment to realize that the kid is talking again, and once the actual meaning of the words registers, he feels himself grow cold all over. “What??”

“Yeah.” Peter swallows hard several times, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “See… what he’s done is… he’s accused May of child abuse. For doing all these expensive treatments and prolonging my life. He got all these doctors to say that it wasn’t in my best interest, it was causing pain and suffering. He had all these records that showed it was harming me and wouldn’t save my life in the end and he said a third party should be asked to make medical decisions on my behalf. Basically, Ross made it so the government had medical decision-making power over my course of treatment.”

Rhodey sits back, stunned silent once again. He knows there are certain laws for that kind of thing, but they are meant to protect kids from abusive parents, who use medical diagnosis to harm their kids-- Munchausen by Proxy, that kind of thing. He can’t believe anyone would do what Peter’s describing. It’s… it’s... unconscionable!

“Ross and May get into a big fight, and May… she’s in tears, alright? I hadn’t seen her like that since my uncle died. She starts pleading with him. Promises to back down if Ross doesn’t withdraw treatment. Says she’ll stop the lawsuits and the push to get the laws changed - drop the whole thing just… just to keep me going.” Peter grits his teeth, his breath hitching once again. “Ross was in my room, see,” he continues, voice tight with barely controlled emotions. “He didn’t want anyone witnessing what he was doing, and he’s right in her face, laughing at her tears. And I’m… I’m just lying there like a rag doll, useless!”

Peter’s face screws up as if in pain, eyes squeezing shut, and Rhodey can’t help reaching for the teen once more; lays a gentle hand on his back. Peter nods in mute thanks; breathes, slow and deep, in an attempt to calm down, in and out, in and out.

“And then Mr. Stark walks into the room, out of nowhere,” he continues, hoarse, “with like three lawyers in tow. I don’t know who called him or how he got there so fast, I don’t know any of that. He’s just there, looking like a king even in a hospital gown, you know? The lawyers, they’re talking fast, serving Ross with all kinds of notices and cease and desist orders, and there’s even…”

Peter’s voice chokes up a little, and he fists his hands around the edge of the bench, white-knuckled fingers digging in.

“There’s even a restraining order, so he has to leave us alone. He can’t say anything to May or me, not ever again. And he never… he never does. Ross never has talked to us again. And I start getting my medicine. Because of how sick I got without the medicine, I was moved way up on the list, but then thanks to Mr. Stark, I’m okay now. I’m good to wait. It’s actually good for me to wait, to get stronger, let this medicine heal my body.”

He turns, his gaze boring into Rhodey, intent, pleading. “But Mr. Stark, he… Dr. Rhodes, he can’t wait anymore. He passes the rope again, he, maybe, won’t be around when a chance comes back up again. That’s why… that’s why we went to Ms. Potts about giving him my spot.”

Rhodey nods grimly, digesting that information. “What about Dr. Hammer?” he wants to know. “He did the surgery on Mr. Stark, didn’t he? How did that--”

He trails off, taken aback by the abrupt shift in the teen’s expression. Peter’s whole face darkens, lips twisting into an ugly, bitter grimace.

“Hammer’s a hack,” he spits out with such venom that it leaves Rhodey gaping at him in frank surprise. “He botched that surgery. On purpose probably, too, I’m willing to bet!”

“Come on, Peter…” Rhodey shakes his head in disbelief, because an accusation like that? It’s utterly ridiculous!

“Ross threatened Mr. Stark, did I tell you that?” the teen cuts in as though Rhodey hasn’t spoken. “When they were arguing in my room, when Mr. Stark told him to get out? Just before he left, he pinned Mr. Stark against the wall and he told him, told him Mr. Stark would regret doing this. And you know what the last thing he did before leaving the hospital for good?”

“He assigned Dr. Hammer to do the surgery,” Rhodey guesses, feeling a horrible numbness spread forth within his chest. “But… why?”

“Hammer’s a butcher,” Peter sneers, voice dark with resentment, “everyone knows that. He only ever got to be a surgeon thanks to his daddy’s money and Ross’s influence. He never should have… he never should have gone anywhere near Mr. Stark.”

“He… I heard the nurses talk after. Hammer ignored the warning on Mr. Stark’s chart; gave him a drug that should never have been combined with the medicine Mr. Stark was taking. Nearly killed him right on the operating table. It’s what… it’s what’s killing him now!”

The teen grits his teeth; drops his gaze to where his hands are clasped impossibly tight in his lap. “I visited him the day after his surgery. He looked… he… I’ve never seen him look so bad. Like… like death. And he was in pain. He was trying to hide it, but I could tell.” He looks up again, his face twisting in anguish. “He’s dying, Dr. Rhodes. And there’s no one who can help him but you. Miss Potts, she told me, she said you’re the best in the field. That’s why I told her to take my spot, so you could… so you could save him. And then I hear he fired you, Dr. Rhodes, and I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

He looks at Rhodey with such raw, open worry that Rhodey wonders if he’s ever felt worse in his entire life, as if he’d kicked a puppy or pulled the wings off a butterfly. Killed a mockingbird, all that. Guilt and shame spread through his chest with hot prickles, as well as a burgeoning fear that he’d done something irrevocably foolish. He’d just thrown away the one chance he had to save someone… someone who is, despite what he’s been initially led to believe, utterly worth saving.

At the same time, he’s not sure how much he can rely on the opinion of a child, much less one so obviously emotionally compromised. There’s a chance that Stark had manipulated him, he hates to think it but it is a fact. People do... desperate things when they are desperate.

But Peter seems so damned earnest.

“Peter. I… I didn’t know any of that,” he manages finally -- as close to “I’m sorry” as he can get.

Peter nods gravely, brown eyes boring into Rhodey’s, dark, urgent. “I know, sir. I know. But… the thing is. Now you do. So what are you going to do about it?”

***

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, he really doesn’t. He went looking for Pepper after he dropped the Parker kid back in his room, and he will honestly blame his conversation with the teen - the conversation that left him so thoroughly shaken and off his game that he doesn’t become aware of his surroundings until he nearly collides with a group of interns that huddle in an oddly conspiratorial-looking clique in the middle of the hallway in front of Pepper’s office. It is only then that he snaps back to the here and now. It is only then that he becomes aware of the raised voices coming from behind the closed office door, and of the awkward glances the interns are throwing each other as they wait for Rhodey’s reaction.

“I refuse to allow it, Tony!” Pepper’s voice rages from behind closed doors, and Rhodey can see through the haphazardly open blinds as she paces angrily in her spacious office. “I can have you blue slipped!”

“A psychiatric hold, really?” Stark sounds peeved, his temper from earlier having escalated even further. “Don’t think I won’t sue you if you pull that crap, Potts! My lawyers are faster and smarter than your corporate lackeys. I’m not your hostage or your science experiment and you agreed, you agreed! I say when I’m done. And I’m done!”

“Well I take it back! You can’t do this! I won’t let you!”

Pepper is shouting now, her voice - a heart-rending mix of anger and despair, and Rhodey doesn’t even have to pretend not to overhear them now. Everyone in the vicinity can hear their argument, and the interns once again begin talking in low voices to each other, flicking awkward glances in the direction of the office.

Rhodey has had enough. Calling on his most authoritative tone, he shoos the interns back to work. Waits a few beats as he watches them disperse, chastised, and then marches determinedly toward the office, trying his best to ignore the angry rise of Stark’s voice.

His ears register an abrupt, almost choked-off cessation of Stark’s response just as his fingers curl around the door handle, followed by a clatter of office supplies being knocked off the desk and a heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. Alarmed now, he yanks open the door and freezes, just out of their line of sight, struck momentarily dumb by the scene that opens before him.

Stark sits on the floor, slumped gracelessly against the desk, his legs splayed out before him. His eyes are closed, ashen face pinched in pain, his trembling left hand tugging unsuccessfully at something inside the pocket of his pajama pants.

Pepper is kneeling before him, wide-eyed and almost as alarmingly pale as Stark himself, one hand resting on his rapidly heaving chest, the other gently pushing Stark’s hand out of the way to take out what the former has been so desperately trying to reach.

A bottle of pills.

Odd, Rhodey thinks, squinting as he tries to make out the label. Because he doesn’t remember seeing any mention of any specific pills in Stark’s chart. And yet...

“How many of these did you take? Tony? How many?” The undeniable urgency in Pepper’s voice cuts off his train of thought, and Rhodey notes the undisguised worry on his boss’s face.

“Three,” Stark huffs out, barely audible, eyes still stubbornly closed.

Pepper pulls back, lips pressed together into a thin white line, the bottle clasped tight within her trembling fingers.

“You know that's not safe,” she says finally, sounding like she’s pleading with Stark. “You know they're just supposed to give you time. They’re not a cure! Tony, these damage your heart if you take them too often, you know this! You know--”

“Yeah,” he cuts her off abruptly, pain-glazed brown eyes sliding open to stare back at her with tired defiance. “Yeah, I do know Pepper. I’m the one who helped develop the damn things. Mixing Palladium and Epinephrine, not in the usual bag of tricks. So yeah. I know.” He nods weakly to the bottle almost completely hidden within her crushing grip. “I need one now, though. Please.”

She watches him a heartbeat longer; sucks in a quick, shuddered breath. “Okay,” she concedes finally, carefully jiggling one out into her hand. “Okay, Tony, you win.”

Dejectedly she hands the pill over to him; stretches to get a bottle of water from her desk, while he pops the pill into his mouth. Reaches out to support him as he drinks, washing down the pill. It takes another few minutes before he nods to her, shifting as though to get up, and she helps pull him to standing, careful, anxious, her hands lingering on his shoulder, as if unable or unwilling to let go.

“Please, Tony, please promise me you won’t take any more of these today,” she pleads, and there’s an uncharacteristically vulnerable note in her voice, one Rhodey has never heard before. “Just… just give me some time, I’ll sort this out somehow--”

Stark smiles in response, weary and almost apologetic. Leans in to place a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Okay. Time. Sure,” he agrees placatingly. “All I got is time, Pep, you can take all of it you need to.”

The words sound wrong somehow, coming out of his mouth, like their meaning is different, like Stark is saying goodbye. And Pepper must sense the same thing, for Rhodey sees her open her mouth in protest…

Stark shakes his head, presses a gentle finger against her lips, silencing her. “We both knew it was a long shot, Pep. Part of the journey is the end, all that; I've been on borrowed time, I'm not about to borrow any of Peter's. We knew this doctor was a hail mary and it didn't work out. Let me leave, Pep. Okay? Just for a little bit. I'll see you soon.”

Rhodey doesn’t stay to hear her response. Steps back outside, letting the door close softly behind him. Mere moments later the door creaks open again, and Stark walks out, shuffling slowly toward the elevators. Rhodey watches him go, wondering briefly if he should go after him and stop him. But there are things about him he still feels he needs to know, needs to understand. So after a moment of hesitation he turns on his heel and pushes his way back into Pepper’s office before he can change his mind once more.

***

He finds Pepper seated back at her desk, face buried in her hands, shoulders trembling ever so slightly. It’s an uncomfortable sight, to be sure, and he has half a mind to tuck tail and run, but she raises her head just then, a pair of tear-filled blue eyes pinning him firmly in place.

“Dr. Rhodes.” She straightens out, a professional mask slamming back into place. “What can I do for you?”

And he flinches despite himself. Because this is Pepper. He’s known her for years, been a close colleague of hers for years. And he has been “Jim” or “Rhodey” to her for nearly as long. But the look in her eyes now is cold as ice - the same look he’s seen her level at those who dared cross her, and he finds it frankly terrifying to be on the receiving end of it.

Though, to be fair, he supposes he deserves it.

“I… I formed an opinion about a man based on the word of someone I don’t respect as a surgeon and barely tolerate as a human being,” he begins carefully, stepping closer to her desk, gauging her reaction. “What I have seen until recently seemed to have confirmed that opinion for me. And yet…”

“And yet?” Pepper prods, blue eyes narrowing in silent warning.

“I can’t help feeling that I’ve missed something,” he admits. “A couple people pointed out to me that maybe I was wrong in my initial assessment. That… that I should get a second opinion.”

He takes a deep breath, trying his best not to fidget under her steely glare. Squares his jaw in quiet resolution.

“So this is me,” he finishes softly, spreading his arms out to the sides, “asking for that second opinion.”

TBC

#ironhusbands #ironhusbands au #tony stark #james rhodey rhodes #doctor/patient au #hurt/comfort #angst #pepper potts #peter parker #co-authored work #tonystark5ever #somethingjustsouthofbrilliance writes

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multishipperlove · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Vax'ildan (Critical Role), Vex'ahlia (Critical Role), Syldor Vessar, Velora Vessar Additional Tags: Other Vox Machina members mentioned, hints at perc'ahlia, Trans Male Character, Trans Vax'ildan (Critical Role), Transphobia, Syldor Vessar's A+ Parenting, somehow this is really not the fic I wanted to write, and yet here we are, first time Vax meets Velora, Non-Consensual Outing Series: Part 6 of Trans Vax'ildan Summary:

It's the first time the twins see their father again after running away as teenagers, this time with a group of friends and some questionable fame to their name.

Not surprisingly, Vax gets into a fight with his father almost immediately. But on his way outside, to cool down again, he meets someone new.

Scanlan had told them about the offer two days ago. Now that they had somehow managed to make a name for themselves, apparently even high born Lords showed an interest in them. Or at least in the help they could provide.

None of them really knew any details. Scanlan hadn't bothered to remember more than the general gist of it, and all he'd told them was that some ambassador was missing his local contact, and they were supposed to look for the guy. Any further details, they were supposed to find out today, in a personal meeting with their employer.

After arriving at the estate, they were quickly ushered into some kind of waiting room by a servant. It was nice enough, with a big table in the middle and enough seats for all of them, as well as a small arrangement of food and drink that was freely offered. However, it was the name the servant uttered that got the twin's attention.

“Master Vessar will be right with you, he's cur-”

“What did you say?” Vax'ildan interrupted him, surprising not only the servant but also the rest of his party with his sharp tone. Except maybe for Vex'ahlia, who had an equally fiery look in her eyes, and her arms crossed over her chest.

The servant swallowed, seemingly frozen in his spot, and looked between Vax and everyone else in the room before breaking the tense silence that had fallen over them. “Excuse me?”

“Did you say Vessar?” Vax asked. His voice was still hard, but he visibly tried to relax his tone. After all, it wasn't the servant's fault he had to work for this man in particular. “As in, Syldor Vessar? Ambassador from Syngorn?”

“Yes, I was under the impression you were aware of that fact,” the man offered meekly.

The twins shot Scanlan a scathing look before Vex'ahlia answered, a forced friendliness in her voice now. “It seems that we missed some details here, but it won't be an issue. If you could just let him know that Vex'ahlia and Vax'ildan are among the people he wishes to see, that would be lovely.”

The man looked confused but nodded, which already told the twins he couldn't place their names. Not that it surprised them, they hadn't exactly expected their father to boast about them. But no recognition of them at all... it still hurt, in a way.

As soon as he was out the door, Vax turned on their gnome friend. “Of all the things you could forget to tell us, it had to be his name?! You could have at least mentioned that he was the ambassador for Syngorn!”

“How was I supposed to know?” Scanlan shot back in an attempt to defend himself, just as Vex pulled her brother back again.

“Let it go, Vax. There's no changing it now. And taking your anger out on Scanlan seems unwise, at best.”

Vax looked like he was about to argue, but Percy was faster. Or at least louder, as he asked the question that everyone in their party seemed to want an answer to. “Would you two maybe tell us how you know that man? There seems to be a history here that none of us are aware of.”

“Ha. History, sure, let's call it that,” Vax muttered, turning away from the group again. In his opinion, their father's neglect and abuse was far from being a thing of the past, as both of them still had enough scars to show for it. Not physical ones, but they were there nonetheless. And he wasn't keen on sharing that with the rest of the group, any of it. Especially not his little secret, which he had carefully buried in that time, which he'd hoped to leave behind with this new group of friends and their slow rise to fame.

But of course it had to catch up to him at some point.

Vex, seeing that her brother wouldn't talk, sighed softly. “Well, it's a bit complicated. Syldor Vessar is- he's our father.”

“Hm. I gather it was not a very positive relationship then,” Percy replied again, more gentle this time. He was the only one in their group now who didn't look decidedly uncomfortable, so she tried to concentrate on his face instead of looking at anybody else.

“No, it was not. But it's going to be fine, we will treat this job like any other and- and it's going to be fine. It's just a job,” she told them as she buried a hand in Trinket's fur, doing her best to ignore all the feelings that were welling up. They weren't helpful at the moment, and anyway, she was better than that. They both were.

Percy was about to say something again, but before he could utter a word, the door swung open again. Revealing no other than Syldor Vessar himself, and Vex wasn't sure if the look on his face was more surprised or more resembling of someone who had just bitten into a lemon. She certainly hadn't missed that expression.

Immediately, Vax tensed up beside her. Syldor mustered them up and down, as if he was looking at new furniture, or maybe a painting where he couldn't decide whether he liked it or not. And looking back, it was like nothing had changed.

They'd been gone for years, yet Syldor didn't show any sign of change. There wasn't even so much as a new wrinkle on his face, or his clothes for that matter. The man looked as prim and proper as he always had, and as if instead of leaving and managing to create a life on their own, they had just been dropped off on his doorstep again after spending the afternoon running from their teachers. It was almost surreal.

“Ah. So Levos was indeed telling the truth then,” Syldor finally spoke, breaking the silence once more. “It- has been a while. Vex'ahlia, Vale-”

“Vax'ildan,” Vax interrupted again, forcefully, before Syldor had a chance to finish that dreadful name. “It's Vax'ildan.” And really, he hadn't expected much from the man, but surely the tiniest bit of respect wasn't too much to ask for. He could already feel that uncomfortable fire in his gut again, that untamed anger he had carried with him through his childhood and teenage years, which he'd hoped to have left behind so long ago.

Vex moved closer to him, a protective barrier, and even Trinket, who was probably just reading her mood, started to growl. They were not bold enough to threaten the man in his own home, but wanted to make it very clear that he was the one who needed their help. They could leave at any moment.

Syldor raised an eyebrow at that, but nodded curtly. “Vax'ildan. Very well. If that is what you call yourself these days, so be it”

A look around the room into everyone else's confused expression let a cruel smile appear on the man's face, and it was only Vex' sudden grip on his shoulder that stopped Vax from physically attacking his father. “Don't you dare,” he ground out between gritted teeth. “You don't get to talk about that. You don't get to say a fucking word.”

“Vax, please,” Vex whispered, still holding him back with nothing but her presence and a grounding touch. “We're just here for the job, remember?”

“Right. The job,” Syldor remarked, and his entire demeanor shifted. It was almost as if all his unpleasantness was gone as soon as he wasn't focused on the twins anymore, and as he gestured for everyone else to take a seat at the table. “I do have a rather important mission, and apparently I need your help to get it done.”

Vex' shoulders dropped as he turned away from them, and she gently squeezed her brother's shoulder as she focused on him for a moment. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly. “I'm so sorry, we shouldn't have- if Scanlan had just remembered.”

“Well, he didn't,” Vax muttered back. “But it's fine. I'm- fine. Would you mind if I waited outside though? I'm sure you don't need me here at the moment.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, risking another glance at their father. “Do you want someone else to come with you at least?”

“No, I don't want any stupid questions,” he sighed. “I promise, I'm fine. Just let me get some fresh air.”

“You know we don't have to take this job. Right?”

That gave him pause. In a way, she was right. Just because they were better known now didn't mean they had to help everyone, and working with Syldor was the last thing he wanted. But then again- “We're heroes now, aren't we though,” he chuckled, trying to go for humor. “Someone could be in danger. At least listen to what he has to say.”

“Fine,” she sighed, though the worry didn't leave her eyes. “But if it's nothing life threatening, I will tell him to go fuck himself.”

“Oh, I count on that,” he replied amused, already feeling a little bit better. He gave her a brief hug and turned to leave. “But I'll let you be the judge of that. You can find me outside when you're done.”

“Alright. Take Trinket,” she told him, and when he didn't protest the bear got up with a slightly mournful groan and lumbered after him. Vax gave him a gentle scratch behind the ears for his troubles, and started to wander the hallways to find his way out again.

Now that he was by himself, and taking a closer look at his surroundings, he was wondering how they had missed it before. Here and there he could see clear remnants of his childhood, especially some of the paintings that lined the walls were familiar. All important elven figures from history long past, stuff he had stopped trying to care about when he'd realized that any attempt to get his father's love or, gods forbid, affection, was futile. The man simply didn't have any.

Trinket made another sad noise and licked his hand, before gently pressing his head against Vax' hips. “Alright, alright, I'll stop moping. You big baby,” he muttered back, finally taking his eyes off the paintings again. There wasn't any use in reminiscing about it anyway, it wouldn't suddenly make their childhood any more cheerful. Or their father's rejection less painful.

As he rounded another corner, convinced that the exit had to be here somewhere, he suddenly spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. But as he turned his head, looking back the way he came, nothing was there. The chance of running into anyone seriously dangerous in his father's house was low, but his hand still moved to the daggers on his belt as if on reflex.

For a moment, he thought that maybe he'd been imagining something, that being so close to these memories was doing weird things to his head. But then he heard a giggle, and a small face poked around the corner, all wide eyes and toothy smile. Long black hair framed the girl's fine features, only disturbed by her long, pointy ears.

“Velora!” Another voice called down the hallway, and the girl grinned widely and pressed a finger to her lips as she darted closer, quickly hiding behind him and Trinket. Vax could feel her gripping on to his coat, but before he could protest or say anything at all, really, an older woman came hurrying towards him. A maid, if he wasn't mistaken.

She stopped short when she saw him, and he quickly raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Not an intruder, I promise,” he chuckled. “Just looking for the exit. I'm from Vox Machina, Syldor invited us.”

“Oh, of course,” the woman agreed quickly. “Have you seen a little girl run by, by any chance? She keeps running off, and I just-” She sighed, and looked around again as if she expected the girl to materialize somewhere in the hallway.

But Vax, still feeling the tug on his coat and remembering his own joy when he'd managed to escape his minders as a child, shook his head. “No, sorry, I didn't see anyone.”

The woman just nodded and then hurried off again, not bothering with another word. He could still hear her call for “Velora” though, and couldn't help but smile as well as the girl stepped in front of him, looking plenty smug.

He had expected her to be the daughter of the woman looking for her, or maybe of some other servant, but a closer look at her clothes seemed to prove him wrong. The fine purple dress she was wearing looked way too expensive for a servant child. Which would mean- no. There was no way.

Shaking the thought from his mind, he finally addressed her directly. “So you're Velora, huh? That's not nice, running from your caretakers.”

“But they're so boring,” she complained immediately, though most of her attention seemed to be with Trinket at the moment. “Why do you have a bear?”

“Well, he's not my bear, actually,” he told her, reaching out again and petting Trinket's head. “He belongs to my sister, but she lets me have him sometimes.”

“Why?”

He could have told her 'because I was sad', but that felt a bit too personal. So he shrugged and fibbed a little instead as he kneeled down beside her. “Just because she's cool like that. Do you want to pet him? I promise he doesn't bite.”

“Ooooh, can I really?” she asked excitedly, quickly taking a step closer. “Sometimes mommy takes me to the petting zoo they have here, but she only ever allows me to pet the little bunnies because she's afraid that the goats and sheep will bite me.”

“Well, that's because goats are bastards,” he chuckled. “Trinket is really nice though.”

“What's a bastard?”

Vax groaned internally. Right. Talking to a child. He should probably watch his language. “Ah, nothing, nevermind,” he said quickly, before gently nudging the little girl closer to the bear. Trinket gave her a careful sniff and then, to Vax surprise, made a sound of happy recognition and proceeded to lick her face. Luckily it didn't seem to scare her though, she only started to giggled again and wrapped her arms around his thick neck, as far as she could reach at least.

“Huh, I think he likes you,” Vax mumbled, before he carefully pulled her back again, despite her quiet protest. “But maybe we should get you back to where you belong now, okay? Before anyone gets really worried.”

Velora groaned quietly, her face settling into a firm pout. “I don't wanna tho. Laureen doesn't let me do anything fun, and mommy's doing important stuff too so she can't play with me.”

“Hmm. What about your daddy then?” Vax asked, though he really wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer to that. But again he told himself that there was no way he was related to this child. Surely Syldor would have told them if he had married, and especially if they had a half-sister. They had a right to know.

But of course, Velora immediately had to confirm his fear. “Daddy's busy, too. He's always busy though, because he's the ambassor or something, and that's really important.”

Holy fuck. They had a sister.

Vax could feel his hands getting clammy immediately, and had to bite his lips to keep his eyes from tearing up, not sure if what he was currently feeling was happiness, more anger, or all in all just overwhelming.

“So, uh, you're Syldor's kid, huh?” he asked softly.

Velora nodded, and if such a young child could look concerned, that was definitely her expression at the moment. “Why are you crying?” she asked back, just as quietly, and Vax quickly dragged a hand over his face with a wet laugh.

“Nothing, it's- nothing,” he replied quickly. “Hey, did your dad ever tell you anything about older siblings?”

Her eyes went wide again, but she shook her head. “No, why?”

“Because... I think I'm your brother.”

#critical role #cr1 #vax'ildan #vex'halia #velora #syldor vessar #writing #fanfic #mine #cr fanfiction #trans vax #vox machina #long post

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the-odd-job · 4 years

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Harem AU Chapter 2 - Descent to Depravity

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Rumble, Frenzy, Ravage, Motormaster, Vortex, Wildrider, Brawl, Unnamed Characters Relationships: Megatron/Sideswipe, Megatron/Sunstreaker, Motormaster/Sideswipe, Motormaster/Sunstreaker (extra brief), Wildrider/Sideswipe, Vortex/Sunstreaker, Brawl/Sunstreaker, Ravage/Sunstreaker, Frenzy/Rumble/Sideswipe, Sideswipe/Unnamed Characters, Sunstreaker/Unnamed Characters Additional Tags: Sticky, Throatfuck/Deepthroat, Oral Sex, Gangrape, Purging, Humiliation, Size Difference, Double Penetration in One Hole, Penetration from Both Ends, (Mild-ish) Torture, Face Slapping, Physical Abuse Words: 11799

Did I just write over ten thousand words of nonstop rape? Yes. Yes I did.

Sideswipe’s portion with Megatron I already posted once here and it’s only gone through some very minor edits, but there’s... A lot of stuff added around it.

Complete Chapter 1 can be found here. Chapter 3 I already posted here, though it may still go through some minor revisions. Revised Chapter 3 is here!

Sunstreaker had never seen anything quite like it. The room was beyond spacious, decked up in warm colors that washed away any chill it might’ve otherwise had. Poles, thin enough for him to have wrapped his arms around, rose up from wall to ceiling at steady intervals, although he in all of his lack of knowledge about architecture didn’t think they looked strong enough to actually support the ceiling.

What were they there for, instead?

At the center of the room there were several tables grouped together in a rectangle with an empty center, clearly intended for mecha larger than him and Sideswipe.

They had no chairs around them, though. Instead, a little ways away from the tables, there were large pillows and thick mattresses strewn about the floors, surrounding the tables completely.

But as much as the surroundings caught his attention, they didn’t keep it.

Because the room was occupied by several mecha, almost all of them larger than they were, almost all of them with red optics. They were standing along the walls or reclined on the pillows and mattresses. There were drinks and conversation–

But it all halted when they were shoved in through the doors that closed decisively right behind them. There was music coming from somewhere, but for a second it was the only sound in the room.

Then… Engines began to rev, and one particularly sizable mech in brown-grey and black spread his arms and said something in Kaonite. They didn’t understand a word, but something made it seem like a greeting.

The other mecha in the room laughed.

Sunstreaker growled in warning, but a few of the mechs closer to them began to approach them regardless. Sideswipe shrank away, back against the door, and Sunstreaker only barely kept himself from doing the same.

But he managed to push through the fright and trepidation in their spark and stood his ground.

The mechs made a grab for them when they got close enough, but both him and Sideswipe dodged out of the way in their respective directions. It only got them more laughter and more mecha stalked their way until there were no more ways to go that didn’t have waiting arms ready to catch them.

Sunstreaker’s face pulled into an ugly snarl and Sideswipe’s engine was growling with fear and anger as they pressed against each other in the center of a circle of hungry mecha. The big one that had spoken up earlier said something, and another equally massive mech that looked like they turned into a tank of some sort also spoke up.

The mecha around them made noises of disappointment right before the circle closed on them entirely and harsh servos clamped on their plating.

“Get your fragging servos off of me!” Sunstreaker growled at once and Sideswipe cursed the lot of them next to him.

They just laughed and dragged them to the center of the room, past the mattresses, all the way to the tables. The two big mechs came closer as the brothers were shoved against the tables onto their fronts—and then all of the smaller mecha moved away.

Before they could beat it the hell out of there now that there were no hands holding them, the two brutes had already closed in.

Sunstreaker was forced back against the tabletop by the tank, and the other big mech did the same to Sideswipe, bringing one of his brother’s arms behind his back for good measure.

Then he bent that arm until joints were stressed, and even past that point until pain multiplied in Sideswipe’s frame and he cried out.

Much to the amusement of everyone else in the room, from the sounds of things.

Sunstreaker counted himself lucky that he was only pressed against the table by his neck, held there by a grip applying enough pressure he knew he’d never be able to push himself free of it under his own power.

He tried anyway. “Let go of me, you fragging scrapyard reject!”

His struggles didn’t get him anything more than an amused rumble. The mech holding Sideswipe outright laughed, although Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if that was aimed at him or his brother. Sideswipe had stilled, venting hard under the pain in his straining arm.

They both knew where this was going. There wasn’t any uncertainty about it even before Sunstreaker felt a servo slipping to his aft, slapping it with a clang of metal that made him jolt, then venturing further. A growl rose in his throat. “Hands off.”

He went completely unheard. Thick claws dug into the small seams of his valve cover, pushed in, and ripped it clean off. Sunstreaker grunted, but refused to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Sideswipe did release a muffled yell when the same was done to him despite Sideswipe’s own words of refusal. The onlookers laughed once more and the mech holding his twin purred—at Sideswipe’s sounds, at his pain, at his helplessness, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure which. Or maybe all of them.

There were two clicks of an interface panel retracting, one directly behind him, another off to the side. Sideswipe’s engine stalled for a moment before he bucked, ignoring the pain in his arm in a desperate bid for a miracle that would see him free. “NO! Don’t you fragging– Keep that thing away from me! Stop!”

Sunstreaker fought against the hold on him too, loud and clear in not consenting... But neither had any success beyond amusing the mecha around them.

Then the tip of something massive pressed against Sideswipe’s dry valve entrance, slowly forcing its way in. Sideswipe’s whine gained in volume as the spike pushed in deeper, scraping against every sensor, stretching the mesh and spreading the calipers around it to a combined effect that was nothing but agony. His brother wailed towards the end of the long and arduous moments his assailant took to sheathe his spike in the frame far too small for it. “Get the slag off of him!” Sunstreaker raged, fighting against the hold on him, but no one reacted to it with anything more than amusement.

As much as every Cybertronian was built with size difference in mind considering the vast size range of their species, there were physical limits to everything.

And Sideswipe’s limits were pushed, and pushed past. His frame could accommodate the length of the spike inching into him, but not the width. His hips might have spread at the seams designed for the very purpose, but just as quickly they were spread too far until there was nothing but pain left. His valve was filled past capacity, the walls trying and failing to fit the spike stretching him—and forced to do so anyway.

Sunstreaker didn’t know what to say beyond yelling at them to stop it—didn’t know what to do except feel every excruciating second right along with his brother.

Around them the mecha were chatting, leering, pointing and laughing, calling out over the general noise, just… Enjoying themselves.

Sideswipe was sobbing by the time the mech had seated his entire spike into his brother, his groin flush with Sideswipe’s aft.

As soon as that was true, he was already pulling back and Sideswipe cried out all over again at the rough scrape of a too large intrusion against desert dry walls. If they weren’t built so sturdy, Sunstreaker was sure Sideswipe’s entire valve would’ve gotten ripped straight out.

He didn’t know how much better this was. The mech shoved himself back in after he’d pulled himself all the way out and Sideswipe didn’t manage to stay silent as he was split open all over again, his thrashing frame only adding to the pain via the arm pressed to his back at an unnatural angle.

“This one’s a screamer,” the mech raping his twin laughed in standard as he set up a punishing pace that definitely drew a lot of noise from Sideswipe.

But it was overwhelming. Sideswipe was no stranger to rough interfacing, but this went so far beyond that.

This was just... Madness. Sunstreaker could barely think straight from the pain and distress flooding their spark, and Sideswipe was doing much worse. The torrent almost distracted him from the words the two mechs were exchanging.

Almost. “Why don’t you try that one?” The tone of the mech abusing his brother was nothing short of lecherous, and Sunstreaker barely had the chance to feel a burst of alarm before the tank behind him shoved in and rammed his spike all the way into his valve in one violent thrust. His hips clanged against Sunstreaker’s aft even as his back arched off the table, or tried to, despite the grip holding him down.

Conscious thought was overridden for a moment by the desperate need to get away, to escape the explosion of pain in his groin and up his frame. Static filled his vision when the mech drew back without even a second’s pause, only to repeat the whole process and drive him into a land of anguish.

But he didn’t make a sound. His vocalizer seemed to have forgotten how to function.

“Ah, he’s a quiet one,” he could hear through his pained delirium, and all of a sudden he really wished the mecha had continued speaking Kaonite. He didn’t need to hear any of this.

“I like those better,” the mech assaulting his frame rumbled. “It makes it more rewarding when they finally do scream.”

Primus, neither of them had ever hurt this much, and definitely not this intimately. Sideswipe was only spitting static at this point as he was driven into time and time again, his walls chafing raw, sensors abused past their ability to perceive anything as pleasure.

Sunstreaker grit his denta as he was given the same treatment, but he would not give them the satisfaction of screaming. The way his engine hitched and revved unevenly was bad enough, giving some voice to the agony raging in his lower frame. But even through that he could see the other mecha in the room, stroking their spikes while watching them hungrily.

And he feared he knew what they were waiting and preparing for.

He would’ve probably felt fear at the thought, if he had been able to push feelings past the hurt overcoming their spark from both sides. He was pretty sure both of their afts were going to dent from the way the two mechs chased their pleasure with no need for their comfort—or maybe in an attempt to make this as bad for them as they could.

Sunstreaker had to give it to them, they were doing a good job of that. Not that it was difficult when they were already too big for them to take.

They lasted longer than he would’ve ever believed them to, too. It was like they were already so used to doing things like this they knew how to draw it out, and maybe they were used to it—maybe he and Sideswipe were far from the only ones dragged here for the lot of them to use them as their playthings.

How many of their predecessors had walked out of here alive?

But eventually there was a burst of warmth in the depths of his valve, registering as nothing but searing hurt against his abraded sensors. His frame was shivering when the tank pulled out and released him, and Sunstreaker tried to get up the instant he was no longer pinned down.

He got far enough to turn around, just in time for another mech to approach him—barely a helm shorter than the previous one.

Sunstreaker didn’t want him anywhere near him anymore than he’d wanted the last one. Reflexes kicked in, literally, and he kicked with both pedes at the mech once he came within range. The mech—another tank—stumbled a step back from the force of his double kick, though given their size difference it was probably only because he hadn’t been expecting it.

His first rapist laughed. “Careful, Brawl. This one’s feisty.”

Sunstreaker bared his denta at the both of them, growling hard.

“I’ll frag that out of him yet,” Brawl threatened with a snarl of his own, stepping forward again. This time he was prepared for Sunstreaker’s kick and kept coming in spite of it, proving at once that his strength really was no match. His legs were grabbed and spread, a spike was bared, and then he was impaled all over again before he’d had the time to do more than dig his claws into the seams on the larger mech’s chestplates.

It didn’t hurt any less this time, and his processors swam too badly from the simple pain of it for him to put up a proper fight when his wrists were grabbed, his arms pulled above his helm and slammed against the table until he was laying supine across its surface.

And then he was in perfect display for the mech, Brawl, to frag him at a pace that rivaled the previous mech’s.

He was somewhat distracted from his own frame’s suffering by the splash of transfluid into Sideswipe’s valve, burning him just as it had burned Sunstreaker. The mech with his attention on Sideswipe pulled out, and there was a brief moment of relief before dread took over—for a good reason, it turned out. Sideswipe wasn’t released even for a moment as Sunstreaker had been, but instead turned around until it was his helm facing the spike that had just finished battering him.

“Lick it clean.”

Sunstreaker’s engine revved harder in unison with Sideswipe’s staticky but furious words. “Lick it yourself!”

There was laughter across the room, and someone piped up with, “You really think that’s gonna work, Motormaster? You’re just gonna get bitten!”

Motormaster growled, a sound that was pure aggression and nothing else. “Let’s do it your way, then.” He grabbed Sideswipe by the helm and slammed it against the table, his helmet barely even withstanding the force of the impact. He groaned weakly, but Sunstreaker could still feel the fight in him even as his focus was partially torn from Sideswipe by a particularly hard thrust into his own frame.

Force of will kept his vocalizer silent even as every slam of hips against his turned more painful with Brawl’s nearing overload.

When he’d managed to push that aside enough to concentrate on his brother again, Motormaster had already gotten his mouth open, Sideswipe’s daze too deep for him to have prevented that. But he was still ways from giving up, and as soon as Motormaster’s spike was directed into his open mouth, Sideswipe bit down on it.

As hard as he could manage.

And this time it wasn’t Sideswipe that made sound. Motormaster roared in fury even as the mecha in the room laughed in a chorus to that one mech’s, “I told you so!”

But Sideswipe was the one that paid the price. It wasn’t just one time his helm was slammed against the table after Motormaster had removed his spike from the proven dangerous mouth.

No, Motormaster repeated the motion again, and again, and again, until someone yelled, “Don’t beat him unconscious! That’s no fun!”

Motormaster did find the restraint to stop at that, but he’d already gotten what he wanted. Sideswipe was mostly out of it and couldn’t resist this time when Motormaster opened his mouth and thrust in.

All the way in. Sideswipe’s throat stretched far and wide when the massive spike forced its way into it, and Sunstreaker was very relieved Sideswipe wasn’t alert enough to fully appreciate the feeling of it. The only upside to this was that there was actual lubricant in his mouth where there had been none on his valve, but that did nothing to the fact throats weren’t designed for fragging. There was nothing in place to aid the tubing and the calipers to adjust to the massive girth that had suddenly been forced down Sideswipe’s intake.

On the next draw out a pained moan managed to work its way from Sideswipe’s vocalizer despite the snail pace of his thoughts. “That’s right! Show ‘em who’s boss!” someone yelled from the rowdy crowd and Sunstreaker bucked up beneath Brawl’s frame, in some effort to… He wasn’t sure what.

“Get the frag away from him!”

Some effort to help his brother, but he had no idea how he would have done that. They were outnumbered and outmatched, at the nonexistent mercy of these mecha.

And as if Sideswipe wasn’t already going through enough, another mech—although this one blessedly a grounder in their own size class—hopped onto the table and went behind him. Sideswipe’s legs were grabbed and spread to give the grounder room between them.

“Aft up, you little whore,” he grinned before grabbing Sideswipe by the hips and hauling his lower body higher.

He had to keep it there himself, because as much as Sideswipe tried to fight to regain his senses, he was still hopelessly far from having full control over his frame.

“I’m getting ideas here,” yet another mech spoke up, drawing Sunstreaker’s attention back to his own frame. He glanced towards the voice at a rotorflier that climbed over the tables to the empty space in the middle of them.

And headed for Sunstreaker.

“Give him here.”

“Frag off, Vortex,” Brawl growled, but all the same Vortex came over and snatched Sunstreaker’s arms from Brawl’s hold, tugging him to the other side of the table until his helm fell over the edge.

It did remove Brawl’s spike from his valve, and Sunstreaker closed his legs as soon as he could. The tank made a noise of aggravation but didn’t bother climbing up to the table.

Someone else did bother, but he couldn’t see them from the rotorflier grabbing his helm.

It freed one of his arms though, and he instantly dug his claws into the nearest gap of plating.

Vortex moaned. “I love it when they fight.”

“You fragging masochist,” the mech at his lower end snorted, a second before his legs were grabbed and pulled apart no matter how hard he tried to keep them closed. He suspected with a great deal of trepidation that it was once again someone considerably larger than him, and that was confirmed without any excess delay when another spike far too big for him entered his body.

He bit back the groan that wanted to rise from his vocalizer, intent on denying them his voice. His servo fell to try to push Vortex away instead, not that he really expected that to work. Although not as large as some of the others, Vortex was still considerably larger than him.

Almost everyone was.

The rotorflier’s sharpened claws dug into Sunstreaker’s faceplates, but he kept his mouth stubbornly closed for all the good it did. Vortex had already admitted he liked his resistance, but Sunstreaker couldn’t bring himself to just give in, no matter how much it might’ve denied the other some of his pleasure.

Whoever it was between his legs wasn’t moving near as fast as the previous two. Nothing could erase the constant, tearing pain of having his frame pushed past its limits, but the slower pace was at least… Not quite as bad. It was no reprieve and he had to fight himself with every thrust to keep his vocalizer silent, but it could be even worse.

Somehow that thought wasn’t a particularly big comfort.

Claws pushed into his mouth past his lips and dug into the gaps between his tightly clenched denta as a distraction from what was happening to his valve, eventually prying his mouth open despite the strength of his biting jaws. A spike was slipped past his parted lips in short order, and taking a cue from Sideswipe, Sunstreaker bit it as soon as he could.

But instead of rewarding anger, he got another moan—and maybe the other mech hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called Vortex a masochist.

Pits, how did you even fight a mech that enjoyed it when you fought? He could give him pleasure by resisting, or he could give him pleasure by letting him use his frame.

It was a win-win for the rotorflier, and a lose-lose for Sunstreaker.

The spike was shoved deeper despite the scrape of his denta and Sunstreaker gagged hard when it hit the back of his throat. He’d never let anyone push that deep the sparse times he’d even agreed to give someone oral, never having liked the feeling of it.

Now there was no agreeing to anything. His denta clamped down tighter, Vortex moaned louder, and the spike was thrust deeper no matter what he did. It slipped down his throat and his gag reflex went haywire in an instant, pushing out the contents of his tanks with no further warning and no fanfare.

Raucous laughter echoed in the room when what energon he’d had in his tanks pushed past his stretched lips, splattering across Vortex’s groin and legs, and dripping down Sunstreaker’s face.

“That was fast,” the rotorflier commented, not sounding particularly displeased over the mess. Sunstreaker felt nothing more than disgust though, and wanted to wipe even some of it off his face—but when he tried, his arm was caught and pinned to the table.

The mech at his valve increased his pace for a final few thrusts before he felt more transfluid paint his valve walls, diverting his mind for a precious second.

Then Vortex started to move and his attention was snapped right back to his upper end. Sunstreaker’s thoughts scattered to the four winds as his helm was grabbed with two servos and the rotorflier began to use his mouth like he wasn’t a living thing at all. He tried to buck, but someone else was already positioning themselves between his legs, pinning him in place and grabbing his momentarily freed arms before he could put them to use.

The need to get away was overwhelming under the assault on his mouth—harsh, jarring thrusts, violent withdraws, his throat forced open with every push in until the tubing felt bruised and his calipers stopped resisting.

It wasn’t often that his fight or flight instinct was triggered. Now it was all he could think about. He didn’t know where to focus, on his mouth or on his valve, the two points he was rocked between when the mechs used him with no coordination between them. “You hate this, don’t you?” Vortex panted at him, a damned grin in his voice.

The answer would have been a resounding yes, were he in the position or mood to answer.

----------------------------------------------------------

Pain, pain, and more pain. That was all Sideswipe knew at this point. His valve—surprisingly, that wasn’t hurting terribly much. Someone was fragging him, hard, but from the feel of things they were someone he would’ve even, you know, agreed to berth under better circumstances. His valve was beyond sore from Motormaster’s treatment and the worn walls and sensors didn’t appreciate any manner of intrusion, but at least his specs weren’t pushed.

Down there. His mouth was an entirely different matter.

His helm throbbed from the times Motormaster had seen fit to slam it against the surprisingly unforgiving table, but even that was nothing compared to what his throat was going through.

He was getting a good taste of the larger grounder’s sheer cruelty. Motormaster moved fast and hard like a mech possessed, completely disregarding the fact he was pushing Sideswipe’s frame past capacity. His faceplates were drawn tight over the girth of the massive spike, but that he could’ve handled.

He couldn’t handle the relentless assault on his intake, getting worse and worse the more of his faculties he managed to gather. It made him think that maybe he didn’t want to be conscious after all.

But then he wouldn’t know what they’d do to his frame.

Then he wouldn’t be there for Sunstreaker.

As little as he was being there for Sunstreaker right now. He couldn’t even focus on what was happening to Sunstreaker, not when Motormaster shoved his massive spike down his throat over and over. Tears streamed down his face. “Ha, look at the little bitch cry! Aw, what’s the matter? Never had it that big before?” someone cackled.

The tubing of his intake was beyond raw at this point, despite the oral lubricant trying to pave the way. His calipers ached. He couldn’t keep himself from gagging every few push in, his frame tensing in painful waves. Warnings about minor tears and unnatural stretching were blinking on his HUD, as if he could’ve done anything about that.

It hurt. He wanted it to stop, and that feeling kept growing as the torture continued on and his senses returned to him. He tried to pull away as soon as he could, but Motormaster growled and held his helm tight. “Don’t go anywhere, you little slut. This is what you’re here for, better deliver.”

Or else? What could be worse than this?

So he struggled all the same, trying to jerk his hips away from the spike drilling into his valve, only for claws to dig tighter into his plating. “Hey! Stay still, whore.” His aft was slapped. He jerked.

But there wasn’t much beyond that that he could try to do. Motormaster had caught both of his arms and held them at the small of his back with no notable effort no matter how Sideswipe tried to twist free.

And he kept fragging his mouth, no doubt intent on punishing him for his insolence.

This is what you’re here for.

Two wet holes as receptacles for their spikes and spunk? Was that it?

He didn’t want to be that, but with Motormaster at his helm, he didn’t really have any options. Maybe he could’ve struggled more against someone else, but Primus, the mech was big and strong and knew just how to hurt. His spike kept on ramming down his throat, and as much as Sideswipe would’ve wanted to bite again, his jaw felt numb from the treatment.

Wholly uncooperative, abused beyond its limits.

“Ugh, you really loosened the bitch up,” the mech pumping his valve grunted, slapping his aft again. Sideswipe could barely focus on it past the pain of his intake, but he put in the effort to make out the words. “Wildrider! Come help me out.”

...Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Sideswipe tried to wrench away at the idea, the possibility that his addled mind presented him with. Motormaster held his grip, though, and released his arms enough to strike the side of his helm, dazing him all over again. “What did I just tell you?!”

Don’t go anywhere, yeah yeah, he remembered.

Frag him if he was just going to do as he was told!

...That was exactly what was happening wasn’t it.

He did manage to disturb the mech using his valve, which was a small victory. And extremely short lived, because before he knew it, a third mech was climbing onto the table. “Get beneath him,” the mech behind him said, and Sideswipe thought his idea of where this was headed was becoming more and more likely.

And he wanted nothing to do with it, loosened valve or not.

But Motormaster kept a hold of his helm, kept being one painful distraction, and he couldn’t think of enough things to do to escape the situation. He tried to push the new mech away when they got closer, but Motormaster caught his arms again, lifting his frame by them to give Wildrider the room to slip beneath him.

It strained his shoulders. It hurt.

So did his throat.

And Motormaster kept on thrusting like he was going to last forever.

Wildrider wiggled his way under his frame, a mech about the same size as he was. Sideswipe could feel his spike brushing his abdomen, and he again tried to jerk even just his lower frame away—but the one with their spike buried in his valve had his claws hooked into the gaps of his armor and rode out his struggles. He was made to straddle Wildrider’s thighs as the fellow grounder settled.

Motormaster jerked hard against his face, pulling Sideswipe’s thoughts back to the abuse his mouth was being put through. He ground against his face, pushing his hips forward and pulling Sideswipe’s helm against his pelvis hard enough that Sideswipe wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to get crushed like this.

Then he could feel searing bursts of transfluid down his throat too, and he couldn’t keep his frame from acting anymore. He gagged, except this time the motion ran through the whole way, forcing the contents of his tank back up—washing the transfluid from his throat on the same go, at least.

He wasn’t sure if his regurgitation would’ve even made it past the unforgiving stretch Motormaster’s spike was, but he pulled out just then until only his spike tip remained in his mouth, allowing his puke to follow him out. “Aw, he didn’t swallow,” someone off to the side said in disappointment.

Motormaster wasn’t as disappointed. “That’s it, you bitch,” he growled instead, releasing his hold on his helm as the mix of transfluid and energon came out to taint his groin and Sideswipe’s face. He reached down and smeared it further on his face, rubbing the humiliation deeper into his struts.

Then a second spike pushed its way into his valve and Sideswipe jerked forward despite himself, driving Motormaster’s spike back down his throat, and regretting the motion instantaneously when his frame heaved again. Not that there was much to bring back up anymore.

The room burst out into laughter. “He likes you, Motormaster!”

“That’s a good whore, throat him again!”

And the second spike squeezed into his valve. He could feel the vibrations of Motormaster’s amusement.

They’d said his valve was looser now, but it didn’t feel like that was true at all. Sideswipe sobbed as he was stretched wide all over again and the two mechs began to thrust in unison, not any more cautious than what he had expected them to be. It didn’t hurt that much less than Motormaster, not when their angles of entry hit different parts of his valve, jabbing in horribly.

But Motormaster pulled out, slapping his face on the withdrawal before he turned and walked away like nothing major had happened.

Like he hadn’t just raped him on both ends.

But there was nothing holding him in place now except the grip on his hips, and neither mech currently abusing his valve was any larger than he was. This time when Sideswipe yanked forward, he was able to pull away from their hold, dislodging the spikes from his valve and scrambling off the table to sounds of indignation from the two mechs.

Everyone else was either laughing or whistling, not looking that perturbed that he’d escaped them.

Temporarily. Which way was out? How could he have even gotten there? There were mecha all around him; there was barely a gap that wasn’t in someone’s grabbing distance.

He headed for one of those anyway, dashing between two mecha that didn’t look like they were that ready to catch him.

Surprisingly, he got past them and into the room beyond, only to stumble and turn partially around at the sound of one familiar cry.

Sunstreaker never screamed.

But as soon as he focused back on his twin, pain assaulted him and knocked him onto his knees. His vision swam from the amount of it, sending his thoughts into utter disorganization.

Primus, what the pit were they doing to him?

No, not them.

Just one mech.

The rotorflier had his spike down Sunstreaker’s throat—Sunstreaker hated giving oral—and his claws buried in the gaps of Sunstreaker’s armor.

Not… Not just claws. A prod of some sort too. Or was it a knife?

Whatever it was, the mech was expertly using it to hit sensors they didn’t even know they’d had, sending current through them hard enough that there was no way in a million years it could’ve registered as pleasure.

“Be careful with that thing, Vortex!” he could hear over the noise in the rest of the room. “I don’t want to get shocked.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll watch it.”

Another deep thrust, down his throat, up his valve, stab of sharp claws against sensitive components, armor plates bent out of alignment, another burst of current. Sunstreaker’s scream was a hoarse thing as his frame jerked in a desperate attempt to escape the torture inflicted on it.

It was no good.

“Hah, twins are the best! Look at this wench. Vortex, keep hurting that bitch!” Servos grabbed him and Sideswipe was pulled back into his own frame as he was unceremoniously hauled upright, then thrown onto one of the mattresses covering the floor and providing seating for the mecha present. He sprawled onto it.

“Someone keep him down, we want to have a turn,” he heard someone say, turning his helm to watch two little mechs approach him.

Symbiotes.

Too small to hold him down themselves.

Sideswipe got back to his pedes as quickly as his frame allowed him to despite the bursts of pain in his groin, and made another run for it. It didn’t look like anyone had expected him to get that far that fast, and he managed to slip from the circle of mecha all over again.

The only question was where to from there. There were several doors leading to locations unknown, but they were all closed, and he had no idea which were locked to top.

And… He couldn’t really leave Sunstreaker, could he?

His spark was pulsing in his chassis, fear and hurt mixing with powerlessness. He didn’t know which way was out, and even if he had, he couldn’t have left without Sunstreaker.

He was so stuck.

And there were mecha all around the room, watching him with amusement even as some of their comrades started to approach him.

What could he do?

Trying not to get raped again would be a good start.

Even if he was pretty sure that was an effort doomed to fail.

Sideswipe endeavored to stay one step ahead of them, dodging around the room and trying hard to ignore Sunstreaker’s muffled sounds of pain he tried to bite back—Sideswipe could feel him trying to bite them back, but failing anyway as Vortex flat out tortured him.

And the rotorflier was getting off on it too, his thrusts into Sunstreaker’s mouth turning more and more arrhythmic.

If Sideswipe thought about any of that, he wouldn’t he able to stay out of the reach of the servos making grabs at him–

But he was already thinking about it.

Three mechs cornered him against one wall, blocking his escape routes and just taking a hold of him. He was dragged back to the mattresses and showed into his front on one of them. Sideswipe managed to get his arms under himself, but someone grabbed his wrists and yanked them forward, above his helm, and he faceplanted into the mattress anyway.

Two other mechs caught a leg each, pinning him securely against the mattress.

And the symbiotes closed in again. “Finally. You’re a slippery one, aren’t you,” one of them cackled as they came up behind him, little digits pushing into his valve.

He grunted at the discomfort, but it wasn’t outright pain–

Up until one of them shoved an entire arm up there. Raw sensors lighted up with pain all over again and he tried to pull his hips away with an agonized whine, but the arm just followed him, and he wasn’t allowed enough movement to do anything more than that between the three mechs holding him down.

“Bro, I think we gotta do this together,” the one with their arm in his valve said. Sideswipe could hear the grin in his voice. “He’s all stretched up already. Basic slut, they never stay tight for long.”

“What you donna do!” the other symbiote, the first one’s brother, intoned.

Neither sounded very displeased.

Sideswipe’s only comfort was the thought they were far smaller than the mecha that had already taken their turns with him. This probably wouldn’t hurt as much.

He hoped, anyway.

“Bring the other bitch here!” someone said, and Sideswipe spared a thought to Sunstreaker. His brother was venting heavily, lightly bleeding past his armor from where Vortex had damaged fuel and coolant lines, but the rotorflier had wandered off by now.

One spike shoved up his valve, then a second, as the symbiotes seated themselves and started fragging him. They had a rhythm about them that made Sideswipe think they were pretty used to fragging mecha together.

It burned, it hurt, but he could bear it.

Sunstreaker was hauled up from the table and shoved towards the mattresses. A moment later he fell next to Sideswipe, aching all over, his throat and valve the greatest points of pain but far from the only ones now. His optics were clearing out though, now that Vortex was done inflicting more damage on him.

“My turn,” came a hiss somewhere behind them, and when they both turned to look, another symbiote was stalking towards them. This one was a felinoid, walking silently on all fours.

Sunstreaker expected him to aim for his valve, but instead he walked up to his front, and the twin’s spark sank all over again. Maybe it had been too much to hope they’d leave his mouth alone.

Someone else did take the gaping hole between his legs as an invitation though, and hiked his hips higher only to push in. They were big, but not the biggest he’d taken so far. He still moaned in pain, his valve protesting the intrusion and his stubborn silence long shattered. His arms were caught and pulled back, forcing his chest against the mattress.

“He’s just going to bite you,” someone laughed as the felinoid parked in front of him.

Sunstreaker snarled at him.

The cat snarled right back.

Sunstreaker snarled louder. “You get that spike anywhere near me and you’ll lose it.”

Primus, his valve still burned despite the transfluid being spread around–

The symbiote scoffed. “Empty threats. You’re in no position to resist.”

He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean Sunstreaker wasn’t going to fragging well try.

He revved a warning when a mech crouched next him, jerking his helm away when they tried to grab it. That earned him a harsh slap on his cheek and his helm was taken a hold of despite himself. A digit pushed into his mouth in short order, lifting his helm upward and forcing his denta apart far enough that the felinoid could rear up, place his front paws on Sunstreaker’s back, and shove his pelvis forward, the spike pushing into his open mouth smoothly.

The intrusion was smaller than any of the spikes he’d taken before that, but that didn’t make him hate it any less.

“He’s gonna bite any second now,” someone guessed.

And that was exactly what Sunstreaker did.

Or tried to, but the mech with their digit in his mouth only wedged it further back, forcing his mouth to stay open. “We’ll see about that,” he smirked, and Sunstreaker glared at him.

The felinoid began to frag his mouth now that there was no danger of injury on his spike, just as the bipedal symbiotes fragged Sideswipe, just as the mech behind him fragged Sunstreaker. None of it was hurting as much as some of the slag they’d already been put through, but that was a despairing thought.

Raped and abused, and the best they could hope for was it’d hurt a little less than it could?

Where was the end to this? Where was their escape?

None of the symbiotes lasted long, though Sunstreaker got the impression that was just because they weren’t even trying to. The bipedal ones with Sideswipe finished first, releasing dual loads of transfluid into his valve before they pulled and slapped their servos together in satisfaction.

Sideswipe was panting, trying to close his legs, but he was held too thoroughly for that to work.

“I don’t want to get down. Someone bring him back to the tables,” a mech out of their field of view said, and in short order Sideswipe was dragged to his pedes by his neck.

But what had they called Sideswipe before? Slippery? His brother managed to tear himself free and staggered away from the mecha trying to grab him, his engine growling as he bolted away from everyone.

There were sounds of amusement all around the room as Sideswipe went back to his game of evasion with their abusers.

Sunstreaker couldn’t focus on it after the symbiote at his mouth started to overload.

Started to, because it didn’t look like it was the short process to him that it was to most others. He humped against Sunstreaker’s face until he could feel the first burst of transfluid down his throat.

And while it just kept coming, far more worrisome was the way the felinoid’s spike started to expand. Sunstreaker thought he imagined it at first, but once his faceplates started to sting from the stretch, he couldn’t deny it.

A knot. The fragger had a modified spike.

And it got to be absolutely massive in comparison to what the spike had been before swelling. It jammed behind his denta, and his faceplates simply didn’t allow him to open his mouth far enough for him to even try to pull off of it. It locked them together in the most humiliating way possible, and all the while transfluid streamed down his intake. The mech at his valve came too, but that barely registered past the desperation of getting away from the spike in his mouth—partway down his throat.

It was no good though, absolutely no good. He could tug all he wanted, but it only earned him irritable growling and a servo at the back of his helm, pushing him against the felinoid’s groin.

There was a mech at his valve again, and he could recognize the voice. “Your brother was pretty good. How about I try you out too? Sluts like you just love big mecha like me, don’t you?”

Motormaster.

Sunstreaker screamed around the spike stuffing his mouth when he was split open all over again on the mech’s fragging spike–

And Sideswipe’s voice joined his as his brother was penetrated from both ends elsewhere in their torture chamber.

-----------------------------------------------------------

His valve throbbed, and not in the good way.

Sideswipe struggled to swallow through the aching in his throat, staring up at the ceiling and trying so hard to ignore the talk and laughter around him.

Laughter. The bastards were seriously laughing while raping the wits out of them.

And Sideswipe was honestly coming to his wit’s end. There was no end to the spikes they’d shove up his valve or down his throat. He wasn’t sure how long this had lasted already, or how much longer it would last still.

How much he’d endured already, and how much more he would still need to endure.

If there even would be an end to it. What did he know, maybe they’d keep raping them until they died from it. He felt like he was on the long road to that destination, at least. They’d hit and beat him enough times that he felt more than a little dinged. His throat was raw, stretched past capacity by spikes far too large for him. His jaw ached. He couldn’t get the taste of transfluid off his glossa. His valve burned from being penetrated time and time again without there ever being enough lubricant for even the first one.

At least all the transfluid had started to ease the way after a while. It was seeping out of him now, where he lay spread on one of the tables, unable to quite scrounge up the will to move. It was no use anyway. No matter which way he moved, they’d just manhandle him into the position they wanted him in.

He’d tried running enough times to know it would only elicit uproarious laughter before they’d grab him and throw him back to the center of the room.

Running was a little silly, he had to admit that much even to himself. He had no idea where he was or which door would’ve led to somewhere he wanted to be in—if those doors would’ve even been open. It wasn’t much of a wonder they laughed.

But what else was he supposed to do? Fighting hadn’t worked. He was so vastly outnumbered they had no issues whatsoever just pinning him down until he couldn’t fight anymore, and that was if they didn’t alone already mass so much more than him that they could pin him without any help.

Those spikes hurt the worst.

He could hear Sunstreaker’s ragged ventilations off to the side where they’d dumped his brother onto the floor. Sunstreaker hadn’t tried getting up again, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure if that was because he was too hurt to, or because he had similarly come to the conclusion that it really wouldn’t have done any good.

Endure. That was all they could do at this point.

His ventilations hitched, but Sideswipe continued to ignore the tears that streamed from his optics. They’d made fun of those too, when he’d first started crying. By now it was old news and they only laughed if they got him to cry harder with something they did.

But for the moment there was no one touching him beyond the grip that kept his wrists pinned together on the surface of the table—mech wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore—and Sideswipe took the second’s respite it was to pick the pieces of his pride and dignity off the metaphorical floors, dust them off, and store them for a later moment when he might have a chance to try to put them back together.

Now if they’d just let him pick up the physical pieces of himself too. They hadn’t exactly given him the time to retract his valve cover, doubtful as it was that he would’ve done that voluntarily. And maybe that was what they’d figured, that he might not even do it anyway, so just cut the chase and tear it off completely!

What did he even need it for, amirite?

Sideswipe couldn’t quite contain his sob this time around, but luckily no one took notice of it, because one of the sets of double doors opened just then. Sideswipe turned his helm to look, and his spark shrank at the sight of the massive grey mech even he, a certified gamin, could recognize.

Megatron. The tyrant of Kaon, dictator of the city-state.

Unquestioned ruler of the whole damn place.

Megatron asked something from the room at large in Kaonite—and Sideswipe still couldn’t understand a word of it—his red optics passing between him and Sunstreaker. Sideswipe couldn’t see Sunstreaker himself, but he heard his twin growl. Down but not out.

One of the beatifically grinning lackeys at Sideswipe’s feet responded to Megatron, in Kaonite as well. Sideswipe growled too now, to the tune of more laughter around him.

Megatron was smiling right along with the rest of the room, a genuinely amused expression at complete odds with the usual furious scowl he was depicted with in all the images Sideswipe had seen of him.

He walked into the room like he owned the place, as he did, with mecha moving from his way as surely as if he had had a physical barrier around him keeping everyone at a respectful distance. He walked all the way to where Sideswipe judged Sunstreaker to be laying, then nudged something—Sunstreaker—with his pede.

Like he was shocked, Sunstreaker lunged to his feet with another reverberating snarl. Everyone laughed again, barring Megatron who merely cocked an optical ridge in amusement. The noise only doubled when Sunstreaker stumbled and fell back into the waiting arms of their rapists.

He only growled harder when he was harmlessly caught, but when he tried to jerk away, they wouldn’t let him.

Sideswipe could see him ventilating hard, before his attention was stolen by Megatron again. He was approaching, and with a wave of his servo the mecha scattered from around Sideswipe.

He shot into a sitting position, a sinking feeling in his spark warning him he likely wouldn’t like whatever was going to come next.

Megatron was next to him before he had the time to force his numb limbs into further cooperation. “Let’s see what you have, little one, hmm?” Megatron asked from him in perfect standard, freezing Sideswipe in place with the weight of his red gaze. His spark was spinning in his chest like a mad thing, and he couldn’t but squeak when Megatron grabbed him by the throat in one sudden motion, forcing him back against the table and spinning him in place until his helm faced Megatron’s crotch.

He knew exactly what was going to come next. “NO!” Sideswipe flailed hard, trying to pull and twist himself free from Megatron’s hold, but it was like Megatron didn’t even feel his struggles with how easily he kept his grip. Sideswipe’s servos shot to the wrist of the hand holding his throat, digging his claws on, but if looks were anything to go by, Megatron’s armor was beyond thick.

He probably didn’t even feel it.

But Sideswipe would feel this. His mouth started aching all over again when Megatron retracted his upper modesty panel and let his spike pressurize.

It was just as big as a mech his size should have, which meant nothing short of colossal next to Sideswipe.

And he didn’t want it anywhere near him, not his mouth, not his valve. Desperate, Sideswipe bent his body in half to kick at Megatron with all the force he could muster—what good could that possibly do for him? Primus, he had no idea—but Megatron merely stepped to the side, his grip on Sideswipe’s throat tightening to a threatening degree.

There was no anger, not even annoyance when Megatron said something to his peers. At once Sideswipe’s legs were grabbed and brought back to the table, and pinned there. He tried to kick free, but it did nothing. “Get the frag away from me!” he barked at Megatron, glaring with undisguised hatred and fear at the mech easily more than twice his mass.

This would hurt so, so bad. Tears were streaming from his optics unbidden again and his throat was constricting from more than just Megatron’s hold on it.

There was an uptick at the corner of Megatron’s serene mouth, but that was all. “Enough of that, now. Open.”

Like hell.

Sideswipe bared his clenched denta and growled.

There was more laughter from all around him, but no sound from Megatron. He made up for his silence with action, bringing his free servo around and slipping one of his massive digits past Sideswipe’s lips, all the way to the farthest reach of his mouth where he could jab it in the empty area behind his denta and force his mouth open.

He did it with swiftness and familiarity that made Sideswipe think he’d repeated that same move far too many times before.

Thick digits were shoved into his mouth the moment there was a gap between his denta, and pushed far enough that Sideswipe gagged on them, his back arching off the table. Megatron kept them there for one torturous moment before replacing them with his spike in a move that was similarly so practiced Sideswipe couldn’t help but despair.

And the spike was so much worse. It instantly forced his jaw open wide enough that his faceplates stung from the stretch and Sideswipe screamed as it was rammed straight to the back of his mouth, hitting his throat and making him gag all over again. Except this time it didn’t end there, like it hadn’t any of the times the others had decided to use his mouth.

Megatron pulled him forward enough for his helm to fall off the edge of the table, straightening his throat so that he could shove his spike down it with a jab of his hips. Sideswipe’s servos tightened around the wrist steadily holding him when his intake was stretched far enough that he was surprised it didn’t rupture right away.

It hurt so much, and none of the other spikes had adequately prepared him to take it. Sideswipe cried out, or tried to, but his vocalizer was all but crushed and nothing but a garbled little peal of static came out.

Then Megatron pulled back until only the tip of his spike was still in Sideswipe’s mouth, leaving his throat a gaping hole, just for him to push back in again in the next moment.

On the next withdrawal, Sideswipe managed a scream, and he could hear a cheer rise in the room. Celebrating his pain.

And Sunstreaker was yelling above it all. “Let the frag go of him you slagger! Leave him be! Fragging– Take me instead, just leave him alone!”

Megatron had to hear, but he paid it no mind. There was no time for Sideswipe to adjust to any of it, if he even physically could have ever, before Megatron had already increased his pace, pulling almost all the way out of his mouth before thrusting back down his throat.

Sideswipe struggled. There was nothing left of conscious effort in his motions, just the primal need to get away from the abuse, from having his burning throat opened up over and over again by something that was never intended to go down it. He flailed, but they had his legs, and Megatron ignored anything his arms did, whether it was hitting, scratching, or gripping.

Eventually it was just gripping, his servos having landed back on Megatron’s arm to do no more than hold on.

Megatron kept fragging his mouth. His gag reflex could only take it for so long before his frame heaved and expelled the contents of his tanks—what little there was left from the past times this had already happened.

Megatron just ignored it, even as Sideswipe’s regurgitation bubbled past the spike stretching his mouth open and streamed down his face. It mixed with tears and oral lubricant, and the old messes of energon and transfluid already painting his face.

There was more casual chatter and laughter in the room, Sideswipe could hear it dimly past the wet sound of having his throat ravaged—past the pain that kept trying to steal all of his focus.

It hurt. It wouldn’t stop hurting, and Megatron wouldn’t stop thrusting in and out, stretching the pain filled moments just as his throat was being stretched.

He screamed again in another brief moment his throat was temporarily abandoned by Megatron’s spike, and this time he could both hear and feel Megatron rumble, the vibrations traveling down his spike and touching his sore lips. “That’s it, you little bitch,” Megatron growled at him, lowly, quietly, as if only he was supposed to hear. “Cry for me.”

And Sideswipe did, yelling weakly again only for the sound to get distorted into a bleat of static when Megatron pushed back in. There was no sense to this. No one gave one single damn about his comfort, his pain, his anything, just as long as they could use his body and whatever hole they pleased to take their pleasure.

Megatron was no different from the rest, and his words were no different from the abuse already hurled at him, but he was the leader. He was the only one who could’ve made this stop, but instead he sanctioned all of it and partook in it himself.

And took pleasure in it. Sideswipe could feel that much in the way Megatron’s thrusts began to eventually stammer and lose their rhythm. He pushed in deep only to grind his hips against Sideswipe’s face in circular motions that brought a new fresh hell of hurt to his stretched throat.

Tears were running from his optics despite how tightly he’d shut them. Megatron pulled out, did a few shallow humps that barely dipped into his throat, then thrust in deep again and circled his hips.

Endure.

That was all he could do, but Sideswipe doubted there would be an end to this. Now or ever. Wasn’t this what they’d been brought in for?

What would be his way out? Death?

He didn’t want to die.

But this didn’t exactly make him want to live either.

Megatron thrust as deep as he could get one more time before gripping Sideswipe’s throat tighter, squeezing him around his spike through one tiny thrust, then another, before Sideswipe could feel the hot pulses of his transfluid deep down his intake. Mistakenly he tried to swallow on reflex, which pulled a pleased rumble from his assailant. The last thing he had wanted, but it was too late by that point.

Megatron held him there for what felt like an eternity, rubbing his spike through Sideswipe’s throat and milking the last bits of transfluid out of it where Sideswipe refused to swallow again. His mouth twitched around the stretch his lips were forced into while he waited, and cried, and hurt, and silently prayed for it to stop already.

Panic nearly overtook him again when Megatron didn’t stop there but instead rocked his hips with the threat of just fragging continuing. He flailed, but his legs were still obediently pinned by Megatron’s followers, and this time Megatron struck him across the face for the way his arms hit him.

It wasn’t any small strike either. Sideswipe gasped through his vents at the additional pain in what was already a life of torture.

And Megatron continued rocking, moving his hips just so to slide his spike up and down in Sideswipe’s throat.

Sideswipe had already almost drowned in his pit of despair by the time Megatron pulled out and didn’t push back in again. Immediately the contents of Sideswipe’s tanks followed him all over again, though this time it was mostly Megatron’s own transfluid that came out. Some of it splattered onto Megatron’s thighs from the force of its expulsion, but the tyrant utterly ignored it just as he went on to utterly ignore Sideswipe.

Crying, defiled Sideswipe with his face a mess of tears, lubricant, transfluid, and his own vomit. His legs were released, but he didn’t try to move beyond wiping one shaking servo across his sore mouth.

It wasn’t just his servo that was shaking, it was the whole rest of him too. Shivering, interrupted with larger jerks when his sobs took the better of him.

His throat hurt. He wasn’t sure it would ever return back to its normal size, it sure didn’t feel like it had yet. Maybe it would be better if it didn’t, if this was just going to repeat.

And Sideswipe feared this was going to repeat.

“You were so eager to have your turn. Now you’ll have it,” Sideswipe heard Megatron say, and looked past his veil of tears at him. Megatron had turned his attention to Sunstreaker, his spike still standing proudly between his legs, and Sideswipe thought he now knew the purpose of Megatron’s last little jerks: to keep his spike in pressurization so he could rape Sunstreaker next.

“Please,” Sideswipe whispered, but between the pain and fear robbing his voice and his vocalizer only barely functional from the abuse it had taken, he wasn’t sure if anyone even heard him.

Please, not Sunstreaker.

-----------------------------------------------------

“Don’t touch me,” Sunstreaker hissed as Megatron took a step towards him. He jerked in the grasp of the mecha holding him, but they wouldn’t let go of him—keeping him in place as the tyrant approached.

“Changed your mind already?” the grey mech asked, stroking his spike. “Did your brother’s fate make you think twice?”

Megatron knew, he fragging knew what he’d done was messed up.

And he did it anyway.

Sunstreaker growled, trying to pull himself free so he could slug the arrogant fragger straight on his privates.

It didn’t work, but no one was holding his legs.

The size difference between them was absurd, but Sunstreaker was flexible enough. As soon as the tyrant was close enough, he kicked up, aiming squarely at Megatron’s groin. Unfortunately for him, Megatron had reflexes he couldn’t rightly laugh at. He rendered his kick perfectly harmless with a simple step to the side, grabbing Sunstreaker’s leg instead.

The mechs that had been holding him let go just when Megatron yanked, pulling him entirely off balance and sending him crashing to the floor. His helm hit it with a clang and a blossom of pain, but Sunstreaker managed to keep quiet. He glared up at Megatron as soon as he’d centered his senses again, trying to pull his leg free.

Megatron didn’t let go, though. Instead Sunstreaker was the one that got pulled as the larger mech simply lifted him off the floor by his leg, hanging him upside down.

Sunstreaker stilled for a moment before a growl rumbled in his engine, rising in his volume as his fury grew. “Let the slag go of me!” He tried to kick out with his free leg, but as much as he managed to hit Megatron, it glanced harmlessly off his armor. “Slagging let go of me and I’ll kick your ass back to the assembly line!”

“Fightful,” Megatron said with approval, ratcheting Sunstreaker’s anger all the higher.

But it was fully impotent against the tyrant, just as it had been impotent against his followers before that. He was slammed to the nearest table in short order, his chest impacting with it with enough force that his already sore frame pulsed pain at him from all the sensors tested by Megatron’s subordinates. His vents gasped, but Sunstreaker strangled his vocalizer until no sound emerged.

Whatever satisfaction he could deny from Megatron, he would.

“Has my court turned you into enough of a whore yet?” Megatron asked casually as he grabbed both of Sunstreaker’s arms and pulled them behind his back, shackling his wrists together with one servo.

He’d been in a similar position tonight more times than he cared to count.

“Frag off,” Sunstreaker growled, and fought against the tight grip on him despite how futile he knew that to be. “Don’t whores usually get paid, anyway?”

“You’re paid by being allowed to keep your life,” Megatron rumbled at him, just at the edge of outright laughter. Sunstreaker revved until his engine hurt. There was little left of fear anymore, drowned out by sheer rage.

Yet there was nothing he could do about any of it.

Megatron pulled his hips up, placed one of his own pedes on the table’s edge, and drove into his valve.

And Motormaster had been bad. The big mech that had the first go at him had been bad. Every time someone had gotten the bright idea of shoving two spikes into his valve at once had been bad.

But none of them compared to Megatron. Sunstreaker couldn’t tell if his spike was any bigger than what he’d already taken over the course of the… Day, night, how long had it been? It didn’t matter, even less so when his processors were assaulted with the agony of having his frame stretched past capacity all over again. Maybe Megatron wasn’t any bigger than Motormaster or his friend, or maybe he was smaller even, but he was still too big.

What mattered most was the strength the tyrant put behind each and every thrust. It wasn’t just about taking his pleasure from Sunstreaker’s frame, it was about making Sunstreaker hurt in the process.

And by Primus but it hurt. The ceiling of his valve was battered with every rapid, hard push in, and Sunstreaker worried for the rest of his internals. His valve, now nothing more than one big point of pain, wasn’t a vital component by any measure. No matter how it would hurt, it wouldn’t kill him.

But there were parts beyond it that did matter.

And it was as if Megatron was gunning for those directly with the amount of oomph he put behind his thrusts.

Sunstreaker couldn’t hold back his moan of pain when Megatron struck in particularly deep, ramming into components past his valve. Spikes were supposed to be sensitive too, but it was as if Megatron didn’t even feel hitting parts that yielded considerably less than a valve did. He only pulled back out and repeated the motion.

Over and over again. Sunstreaker could only keep quiet for so long before Megatron found the right angle to hit the hardest and deliver the most pain.

His resulting screams echoed among the laughter and cheers that rose in the room, but he could hardly make sense of the words of approval, encouragement, and admiration that Megatron was showered with for getting the quiet one to scream so loud. Maybe that was because some of them were spoken in Kaonite.

Maybe it was just because his processors were bombarded with too many signals for them to work through all of them in time. He drowned in the tidal wave of agony Megatron was delivering on and in his body—gasping for air, trying to press his hips down and away from the abuse.

But Megatron’s claws dug into his hip and kept him in place.

It just would not end. When Megatron got bored of drilling him from behind, he was effortlessly flipped over, his back clanging into the table to another burst of pain from all around his frame. Vortex’s work, he had the time to think before Megatron plunged into his valve again, and found even more points of pain to exploit.

His anguish filled his frame, his mind, and his spark. A heavy servo pressed against his chest, pinning him against the table—his legs were spread wide around Megatron’s hips–

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it, now not only because Megatron was simply too strong, but because his thoughts were assaulted with more hurt than he’d ever experienced before in his life.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to take it, but here he was, not dying no matter what he felt like. He could hear Sideswipe’s screams distantly, but for whatever reason that was all that came of it—pinned down, couldn’t help—and all the while the room continued to be a thing of brouhaha around him. Megatron himself didn’t join in on it with anything more than the revving of his engine, arousal kicking it into a higher gear.

Sunstreaker held onto the arm pinning him down, not quite managing to find the wherewithal to try to push it off of him by any means necessary. No doubt none of that would’ve worked.

Then there was a servo in front of him, long, thick claws dipping into his open mouth. They pushed in, struck the back of his throat, made him gag, then pulled out, and repeated the motion in time with the thrusts into his valve.

Megatron’s pace quickened both down there and up here and Sunstreaker’s frame pressed up against the servo pinning him down for an entirely different reason. Gag after gag Megatron kept fingerfucking his mouth, kept pounding into his valve, until his frame couldn’t take it anymore. Like he hadn’t already done that enough times, his frame expelled the contents of his tanks—others’ transfluid, little else—pulsing it up around Megatron’s digits until it streamed from the corners of his mouth and dirtied his face further.

The tyrant said something Sunstreaker couldn’t make sense of, and he wasn’t sure it was even directed at him. The wet digits withdrew from his mouth as he tried to swallow back down what had already come up once, just to get it out of his mouth.

A massive palm struck him across the face before his jaw was grabbed into a vice grip. Sunstreaker struggled to focus back on the reality around him, barely surfacing from the tides of torment that wanted to wash him under for good—that he wished would pull him down all the way, just so he could escape all of this, however momentarily.

But Megatron had slowed in his pace, now staring at him with intent. “I’ll put that mouth to good use later,” he growled, and it wasn’t as much a threat as it was a promise.

Sunstreaker closed his optics, willing away the tears that wanted to fill them.

Megatron slapped his face again. “Optics open,” came the command before his helm was grabbed, bending it down until he was forced to watch Megatron’s spike disappear into his frame time after time through reluctantly opening optics.

But he refused to cry.

He didn’t know if that impressed Megatron or what did it, but the tyrant’s field pulsed approval a second before his spike pulsed transfluid into the depths of his valve. He wasn’t sure if the sensation was true or imagined, but he could’ve sworn the come trickled straight into his internals.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if his valve really had torn through from the ministrations of countless spikes, Megatron’s the worst of all.

But at last the tyrant pulled out, a flood of transfluid following his retreating spike. Sunstreaker went to close his optics again, but the further tightening of the servo on his jaw brought them back open. His helm was tilted up now, until he had no choice but to meet Megatron’s piercing gaze.

“These two,” he spoke up with enough volume that the room silenced, “belong to me now.”

Sideswipe’s engine hitched somewhere off to his side, and Megatron used his other servo to reach to Sideswipe–

To shove his digits straight into Sideswipe’s valve. His twin jerked at the contact and tried to pull away, but the claws hooked until he would’ve torn his own valve if he did that.

They were both venting hard, both in pain, both scared out of their minds as the implications of Megatron’s words broke through to them.

“And you will remember that,” Megatron continued more quietly, leaning in. His spike flirted with the entrance to his valve again, but didn’t push in.

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure he had ever been as grateful for anything before, than what he was for the small mercy of not being assaulted all over again on the heels of the first time he hadn’t even recovered from yet. “You will do everything I say,” the tyrant kept on, yanking at Sideswipe’s valve to a pained mewl from him, “and your frames will serve me until I choose otherwise.”

Sideswipe was crying.

Sunstreaker wanted to cry.

Instead he bared his denta and snarled.

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#transformers #maccadams #sunstreaker #sideswipe #megatron #vortex #motormaster #wildrider #rumble #frenzy #ravage #brawl #harem au #fic #2020 #megaswipe #megasun #twins

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baskervilleshund · 5 years

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4,5 years of Gotham in my life♥

Wow my emotions these last days. I’m not much of a text poster on this site but when Gotham ended I really felt I wanted to write this!

Gotham has been a huge part of my life for so long now. 4 years and 7 months since the first episode aired, that’s some time gosh. And so much has happened during this journey! I just wanna mention some memorable things during these years. Like remember the pre-s02x09 excitement?? And other stuffs, ah here we go!

The first trailer made me SO EXCITE, I had wanted more batman villains content for years since I have always found the batman villains squad so interesting and good and unique characters, there is so much to explore here! And so the Gotham trailer came and I just OH MY GOD this is exactly what I want!! And so it started and it was amazing. My first love was Ed, it took him his first scene in ep1 to make me go totally THIS IS MY FAV! More eps went on and I required more Ed content. But then Oswald slowly grew on me kinda out of nowhere like I wasn’t expecting it. And when amazing ep7 aired it just hit down on me from the sky, like it does when I know I got a new obsession/fandom. Oswald’s amazing scenes in ep7 and I went ”Okay this is it, I’M DEEP INTO THIS NOW AND I LOVE IT!”. In exactly THIS↓ scene/moment I basically said those words out loud and realized this is my life now, ugh also one of my fav looks I miss the bangs:

Shortly after ep7 I started shipping Nygmobblepot, since we knew who these characters were and who they will end up being it made SO much sense in this show, they were like the two familiar main villains in kinda the same age and I also loved them both so I mean it was obvious for me. Man in the beginning we were so very few in the shipping Nygmob pond, in the OCEAN of Gobblepot. It was a bit of a struggle sometimes, ppl wrote hate on my Nygmob posts n stuff shrug. And I just didn’t get how not more ppl could see it? It would make more sense if this were new characters like they hadn’t even met but since we knew this is Riddler and Penguin it just was fate for them to cross paths soon enough! We needed Nygmob content! I started making tons of my own AU:s since if the show wouldn’t give us content I would do it.

BUT we had Robin & Cory with us! Reminder that Cory invented the shipname after 5 minutes and Robin & Cory’s amazing twitter activity during s1 especially I will always remember as a fav. Remember when they we’re so into roleplaying Nygmob and spoke how Ed & Os loved each other and all sorts of things. All about going to The Foxglove together and stuff. Ugh it was amazing, I miss their interactions.

In this very smol pond is when one day my shining star @conscience-killer (aka okimi79) approached me, with this ♥ ”Sometimes I feel we’re the only Nygmobblepot shippers in the world…well apart from Robin and Cory. We should have a secret handshake or something.”

And man did we get a secret handshake! Gosh MY DEAR OKIMI! That I up til this day since then has spoken with like everyday for 4,5 years, you are amazing ♥ And in that time of so few shippers it felt even more special, to have someone else out there as obsessed as me. I’m so grateful we found each other at exactly that time and we’ve been through so much on this journey ♥.

When Nygmob in spring finally had their first scene it was so amazing and I have no idea how many times I have watched that scene to this day, and also with that the ship grew a bit yas!!

Let’s jump forward a bit. NYC Comic Con 2015 in fall, one of my fav Robin & Cory cons/interview times! Because the legendary ep 2x9 was soon upon us and OMG remember how excite they were in those interviews!?! And THEN, that fkn night THE episode aired. I couldn’t believe it was real, it was EVERYTHING we had dreamed of!!! SO MUCH NYGMOB CONTENT and so in character and gosh. Man their season 2 relationship is just so beautiful and I love it til this day and 2x9 is forever my favorite episode because it meant EVERYTHING for us shippers and more people also started seeing the connection between Nygmob and so more ppl started to make content and join in!

A time after another shining star came into my life, @constant-sinner (aka (riddlelvr) ♥ This amazing person and artist! And together with her and okimi I am part of the best trash family of three and I can’t believe I’ve been a mom (yet i’m the youngest but i’m fashion fur coat mom okay) to these trash sinners for like 4 years. ♥

Okay but remember all INSANE SMAYLOR CONTENT BEFORE SEASON 3!!? Man that was also one of the best times I had during these years. God they were so excite for their relationship in s3 and WEREN’T WE ALL! And omg Comic Con. I had my fkn header for 3 years soon lol, man that moment I remember seeing the signing booth stream all casual and Robin & Cory goes “Smaaylor!! Nygmobblepot!!! ;))” And I’m just wait WHUT omg. Their press tours with Sean is something I’ll miss even more than the episodes, always such a joy seeing those three together!

And when season 3 started it was just insane. To be honest how their relationship grew in s3 that’s how I expected it to grow after their meeting in s1, it made sense already back then. Ed admiring Oswald and sneaking to his club and Oswald would be a huge part of Ed’s journey to become the Riddler but ah well, I did my best with my AU:s back then!

And then s3 came and Gotham EXPLODED and I had no idea where all million ppl suddenly came from lol. It became huge. But since it still feels kinda close to this day (2,5 yrs though man), my most nostalgic feels will always be over s1-2 so I’m not gonna write so much about the season 3-5 times in this text. My closest to heart milestones is during the first years and now that I’ve seen all episodes I still think season 1 is the best overall, except the lack of Nygmob content ofc ;)

I’ve not just felt love for the show ofc, the show isn’t perfect. There has been serious flaws and bad writing and plot drops. Tbh s4 I just felt so NOPE about? 22 eps of waste…Like Ed’s plot for example like he barley had his own plot what happened? And we also have the q*eerbait Nygmob issue obviously. I have also felt the show has been a bit childish being -helloo- GOTHAM city we’re talking about? I think it would have been much better off with a MA-rating tbh to properly tell certain stories. After s4 though I’m glad in s5 Nygmob finally got some proper screen time being together and in character!! Like that’s how their relationship should have been from beginning of season 4, or season 1 if u ask me lol but ya know!

BUT I LOVE THIS SHOW, the amazing actors and characters and scenery and costumes!! Ed, Oswald, Robin & Cory will ofc always have the most special place in my heart ♥ The Nygmob journey in the show has meant so much to me to follow it from day one and I never knew how much this show would mean to me when I started back in the day.

This show. And not just the show itself but my journey and life around it!!? So much has happened. For one example I had made a bit of gifs before but Gotham really got me into gif making, and it’s been a joy sharing content and my Nygmob AU will always be among my most fun things I’ve done, it was like if they ain’t gonna give us enough content I WILL. It’s a fun way of gif making to manip scenes to create something new! And today I still enjoy making gifs, as you probably know heh. Thanks so much for all nice comments and reblogs through all these years ya’ll!! It warms my heart and I love to read reblog tags!

I have been at con and got to meet Robin, enjoyed so many interviews and promos, chatted with wonderful people. Every Friday night I have been up in my Europe timezone at 2am to live watch the show, the workdays after has been a bit of a struggle of being tired with going to bed like 5am lol but man it’s been so nice to follow it when it airs!

Watching together with my dearest @conscience-killer and @constant-sinner . Two of the best that happened to me during these years. These two people that I’ve spoken with like everyday for 4 years! Through Gotham finding two of my dearest friends in my life. Watching the show together and screaming, crying, laughing during this journey, about not just the show but EVERYTHING in life. They also are amazing writers and artists ♥ And also helped me endless times with gif caption when my non-native brain trying to write gif captions at 3am after the episode lol. All my love to you both ♥

THANKS TO ALL AMAZING PEOPLE that impacted me over these years. The cast and nice fandom people! My dearest @conscience-killer and @constant-sinner. And I also wanna mention dear @millicentcordelia and @selene-volturo that are amazing ppl that have been here with me since the very beginning of season 1. And they have always been so down to earth even during the stormiest periods of this show’s existence ♥ I’m so glad we’ve shared this LONG journey!

And also hugs to my dear mutual fandom friends that I’ve shared hours of conversations with over the years. Some of us maybe don’t speak as much nowadays and some of us have gone separate ways with new interests but I hope you know who you all are, regardless if we spoke yesterday or 2015. You have made my fandom time a joy!

I’m actually okay with the show ending now you know. Ofc it’s a bit sad but as I said I felt s4 was kinda stomping around in the same spot and even s5 had some fillers like they didn’t have more to do to push the story forward? The last ep was a nice easter egg wrap up for this LONG journey. And I mean shows live on with fan content, and who knows maybe it will return somehow? But it feels good they told us it would end so I was prepared for this and to say ”goodbye”. But it’s not goodbye because content will continue on this site and I’ll continue re-enjoy this show!

This is 4,5 years. In 2 pages, I could prob write 20 but ah, but i felt I got to to summary the most important things for me over these years ♥. This show and stuff that came with it will always be such a big part of my life, ALL LOVE AND HUGS!

#my text #gotham #nygmobblepot #HUGS AND LOVE!!#ugh gosh my feels #so much has happened and i'm so grateful for all positive things that I've been a part of <333

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heartfeltheart · 4 years

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Alchemy: Magic Vs. Science

Chapters: 24/25 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Series: Part 1 of 9. Summary: Magic and Science, are they the same or are they completely different? It just takes one person to point out all up and downs. Along with breaking the stereotypes that come up with being a wizard, alchemist and most of all being human. Thank you, @amynchan! D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ

“English and Edward’s accented voice.” “Amestrian or another foreign language.” “Written notes.” ‘Thoughts.’ First Name: Informal Last Name: Formal (Or used to annoy others)

Edward couldn't help it, he started to grin at the turn out for the Battle Royal. Each of his thirteen students had brought along the maximum of students they were required to bring along. On top of that, each of the Heads of Houses brought along a couple of their own students to watch the show. There are several individuals in the empty field looking on with disbelief. 'Ah... the non-believers... we'll see by the end of the day if they are still non-believers.'

"It appears we'll have more spectators..." Roy stated to Edward with a slight smirk on his lips. He glanced over at the castle to see students piling over each other to peek at the windows and others actually are at the courtyard away from the scene but not close enough to fully see. "Wanting a sneak peek of what true alchemy is like..."

"They're curious and the fact rumor travels extremely fast here." Edward waved him off. "Is everyone ready?"

"The Ministry Officials are here and ready to critique us every step of the way." Roy responded with a shrug, he pulled out his ignition gloves with a heavy feeling falling over him. "I take it they don't know about you, Alphonse and myself?"

"None of them know and they don't have the knowledge to take note of it. If they do take note of it... distract them and pull their attention elsewhere." Edward stated as he rolled his shoulders to release some tension. "It makes things far more fun to mess with them."

"True... true..." Roy snorted, he put on his gloves, he then smirked at the former Alchemist when he saw his future opponents wave at him from the other side of the field. "How about we get this show on the road?"

"Alright... Get ready with Al to create the stands, if they want a show, might as well make it one." Edward grinned, he clapped his hands together and somewhere out there... something grinned manically at the consequences of that day.

-.-

The moment Alphonse Elric and Roy Mustang created a mini arena, mainly creating a couple of stands for the spectators and a couple of obstacles, mainly boulders with varying sizes. In all, it looked like a very tempting fight to see for the Magical Community that are given front row seats. The eight students that have previously watched a fight between Alchemists are giddy with excitement. This is going to be amazing!

The entire arena went quiet when General Mustang stood in the middle of the arena. "Welcome, welcome! Welcome to the Battle Royal! A battle to the death!"

"General!"

Roy flinched at the glare that Riza sent his way from her spot in the stands. He laughed nervously and coughed into his gloved hand to regain his composure. "Anyway... We were invited to your lovely...haunted... school! Mr. Edward Elric, Headmaster Dumbledore along with Emperor Ling and myself, have decided to create this little show... To showcase not only Alchemy but showcase what Amestris and Xing have to offer. Alphonse Elric, Mei Chang, Scar, myself, Emperor Ling and the Emperor's top bodyguard Lan Fan will be battling each other in last one standing match. Do not blink or you might miss the entire show..."

Edward snorted when he saw Roy snapped his fingers and flames flew up toward the sky causing everyone in the crowd to look on in awe. Just a snap of his fingers and he already has the crowd eating out of his hand. Clever. Very clever.

-.-

No one knew how to describe what is occurring down in the arena floor. Many of them had seemed fights, magical and non-magical alike. But this... This just takes the cake in so many levels to the point it makes many wonders... are they holding back? Yes. Judging by the fact how Mr. Elric only liked mildly impressed or scoffed at the many close class that is occurring down below.

The audible sounds of snaps ringing out throughout the arena which quickly followed by a massive burst of flame. Bright light engulfing the area which was quickly followed by destruction none had ever seen before. What seemed to take the cake for everyone is the fact two of the opponents that showed no Alchemical skill are at the same level as the others. The only things that they had on them are short blades, bombs and... is that a metal arm?

Yeah... that's a metal arm that is shooting out bombs...

-.-

Pale, terrifying and expressions filled with alarm at what is occurring in front of the Ministry Officials. They had anticipated something simple and complete laughing stock in all their opinions. That thought process grew when Emperor Ling and Princess Mei decided to join this Battle Royal. The moment the battle started... they began to wonder... Who the bloody hell are these... PEOPLE! If that is what you want to call them. They aren't even human, how could a simple human do all of that! That is completely impossible. How are they able to jump that high? Dodging at such speeds?

And by Merlin's beard! The only one that appeared to not be in shock by what is occurring down there is Mr. Colonel Edward Elric. The young man is actual calmly answering questions that were shot his way about the battle. If anything, he isn't treating this as a form of entertainment, but an actual life lesson.

"General Mustang control is meticulous..."

"Miss. Chang abilities primarily focus on healing or long range form."

"Alphonse, well-rounded. Prefers hand to hand combat of using staffs as a primary weapon."

"Mr. Scar... run. Just run."

"Emperor Ling... get food to distract him. You might get a chance."

"Lan Fan? Hand to a hand specialist, you mess with the Emperor, then you better watch out."

The whole situation is absurd to the point they are at complete disbelief. As much as they want to deny, deny, and deny, they cannot deny this. How could they? The Student-Faculty of Hogwarts is here as witnesses to this, along with a good handful of professors. Here's the kicker, if they deny this then both Amestris and Xing will call them out and the repercussions of that... only makes them shudder.

Then... there's the few within the group that are watching, the wheels in their mind spinning a thousand miles a minute. There are so many possibilities, so many future possibilities and opportunities that could occur if the dealings between all three counties are done. Of course, all dealings in their favor. Imagine it? Witches and Wizards able to do such feats, to have an army of them with such power? It is so close, they could just reach over and take it for themselves.

What really caught everyone's attention and fact, is that the Emperor of Xing had brought along the Amestrians as bodyguards. It is obvious by the fight down below... he appears far more capable of taking care of himself.

-.-

The moment the Battle Royal came to an end, the crowd roared out their approval of the fight. It is by far the most remarkable event many of them had ever seen. If this is what Alchemy had to offer, then they want to know more, learn what exactly what the true meaning of Alchemy is like. Too bad for many that dream will sink or sail for many the moment the Alchemy Teacher stood up and down to the arena floor.

"Well... Did that exceed all of your expectations?"

-.-

All throughout Hogwarts, the students rambled on and on about the Battle Royal. No one could stop gossiping on said subject. It was so unbelievable to many and if it weren't for the fact that so many students and professors had laid witness to it, disbelief would be the emotion many would have. But no, everything is true... except for adding a few more details here and there. Just to make it all more exciting for the listener.

"Was that what you saw over at Amestris, Terrance?" Fred and George asked their older classmate.

"Similarly, what we saw is General Mustang and a Major Armstrong. Even if it was of a smaller scale to the Battle Royal, it was still rather epic to watch." Terrance grinned at the twins as the three of them headed over towards the Great Hall for dinner. "Even what we saw, it is still on a small scale. All of them were holding back or were not in their element to showcase their abilities to the fullest. It's amazing..."

"Do you believe..."

"We could do that one day?"

"Maybe...if we continue with our learning and possible training." Terrance replied honestly, not fully knowing the answer to their question himself. "Dr. Marcoh told us back in Amestris that there are different branches of science and that is the same with Alchemy. General Mustang specializes in fire, Major Armstrong mixes alchemical skill with physical power, and along with that, he told us he knew a couple of individuals that dealt created metals, weapons, explosions and let's not forget Miss. Mei is s Alkahestric. Alkahestry performs a higher medical transmutation than Amestrian Alchemy and is able to perform it in long distances, unlike Amestrian Alchemy. There are many forms of alchemy which one would choose to study and perform."

"I want to make things go boom..."

"Very big boom..."

"Wait...?"

"What about Mr. Scar?"

"Er... I... don't know? I heard someone else asked Mr. Elric about and he got all quiet about it..."

-.-

"Wait... You guys are also going to have Alphonse teach here?" Edward asked, taken aback by what was being told to him. He is sitting behind his desk with a cup of hot tea and a plate of food on his desk. The Mustang Unit, Scar, Dr. Marcoh, Ling, Lan Fan, Mei, Alphonse along with Severus and Filius are sitting around the classroom with their dinner. Everyone who could speak English spoke the language for Edward's new friends. Well, here and there. Some information is better left incomprehensible. "Who made this up?"

"The moment the Ministry Officials saw Alphonse perform alchemy, they wanted him to become the 'Alchemy Professor'." Roy snorted into his own cup of steaming hot tea. "They wanted to replace you with your brother. Fortunately, with Dumbledore's help, we convinced them that won't be necessary. I won't bore you with the details right now, the end result is having you and Alphonse alternate years."

"And what the hell should I do during that free year?" Edward asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Congratulations, we promoted you to be an Ambassador of Amestris. You'll be the go-between Magical Great Britain and Amestris. While your brother will also be a go-between for them and Xing, depending on the situation." Roy laughed at Edward's expression of complete horror. He scooped up a spoonful of mash potatoes and pointed it at Edward. "Don't worry too much on it. You won't be permanently stationed here, just mostly traveling back and forth once every other couple of months or whenever your presence is needed."

"Good, he might get a little stir-crazy..."

"Shut up, Severus."

"Making a very plausible point."

"Shut up..." Edward retorted glumly in defeat while placing down his cup of tea on his table. He ran a hand through his hair. He looked pensive over what was just said to him, the Alchemy Teacher needed to think this through with Winry. It is no longer himself anymore, the moment he asked Winry to marry him, everything changed. Even if he is here being what he became, was something that was sort of planned. A year to travel west to study Alchemy. Well... he isn't exactly studying alchemy... he's teaching it. Traveling? Nope... Ugh... "I need to talk to Winry about this... We still need to set a date on the wedding and this is..."

"Don't worry about it, we are still ironing out the kinks to this." Riza assured him.

"I am scared how Winry will react to this..."

"Don't worry about it, we told her before we told you of this." Roy grinned at the Colonel.

Fortunately for Edward, he had finished his drink otherwise it would have spilled all over his ungraded classwork. "WHAT! What the fuck did you tell her!"

Severus and Filius shifted their gazes back and forth between Edward and Roy growing argument. Knowing Edward for this long, they knew it would be pointless intervening in the argument. They would get pulled into it and it will not end well. Especially with how Ms. Hawkeye is slowly edging towards them. They began to wonder how normal this is for everyone in this room.

-.-

Edward laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling deep in thought. So many things had occurred to him during the week that his friends arrived at Hogwarts and left since then. Heck, many more the moment he became a teacher and that made his mind go a thousand miles a minute. So much has changed for him the last year or so.

Where to go from there? What else could he do? Traveling seems... not something that seemed to appeal now. He traveled all throughout Amestris with a purpose of finding a way to get his and Alphonse bodies back. He got Alphonse's body back while he got his own arm back. The main reason for going west to look for Alchemy was...

Pause.

Edward blinked slowly at a realization that suddenly struck him. He doesn't remember the exact reason he decided to travel west. Sure, to possibly learn more aspects on Alchemy and now thinking back on it. The main reason he went on this trip was that Alphonse mentioned he wanted to go East... by himself... on his own trip... This is an adventure that he went on his own and this is different. Very different. The excitement is nearly gone. Sure, there is an excitement in seeing others getting so psyched up in learning alchemy, it was like seeing himself and Alphonse in all his students. It's an honor to teach but this wasn't something he never saw himself doing. Now here he is and seeing how the situation is like, this is something that he wants to do to need to do. He needs to ensure that Alchemy is standing true and ensure that Truth will not play its games. Then again... Edward wouldn't be surprised if that thing is already pulling all the strings.

Not only that... Edward has plans on turning another government on its head and it will be one hell of a ride. With a grin reminiscent of a white figure, Edward turned off the light and allowed his mind to wander off to sleep.

Tag List Below:

Permanent Tag List:

@runestarchild @princesskitomi @fanfictionpromptsblog @souleateralicestein @vixen-uchiha @okami-knight @legendaryneckjudgestudent @weird-homosapien @justafanwarrior @vivilakitty @ravennightingaleandavatempus @if-you-give-a-chat-a-cookie @moonwatcher04 @darkshadowguardian @two-faced-biatch @kris-pines04 @mewwitch @edwardhatori @kuroko26 @tall-and-angry @bloody-no-kissu @crazylittlemunchkin @tbehartoo @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @melicmusicmagic

#Alchemy Series #Magic vs Science #Chapter 24 #FMA #FMAB #HP #HP/FMA #HP/FMAB #AU #Crossover

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holylulusworld · 5 years

Text

Missed Opportunities – Part 2

Summary: Reader met Sam at Stanford. They were friends until Sam chose another girl over her. Years later the Winchesters need her help for a hunt.

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean

Warnings: language, sad reader, angst, arguments

Missed Opportunities Masterlist

“Just wait dammit!”

“What for Sam? More lies? The hunt is over; no reason to act nice any longer.”

“I really liked you…”

“Sure. That’s the reason you dumped me like a piece of shit.”

“We could try to be friends again. I need a friend.”

“I don’t care what you need. I needed a friend back then too but you dumped me for a chick. I thought you are my friend but I was wrong. I won’t repeat this mistake, Winchester. Tell Dean I’m sorry. He’s a nice guy.”

“He treats girls like rubbish.” Sam grunts.

“Did I say I want to fuck him? I said he’s a nice guy, doesn’t mean I want to rip his clothes off. I already made the mistake of letting a Winchester touch me.”

“Please let me explain.”

“What Sam? Did the demon force you to choose Jessica? Did he make you dump me? I don’t think so! You decided all of this. You decided to dump me and to end our friendship too. I tried to stay your friend. Do you know how hard it was seeing the man I love choosing a chick he barely knows over me? Seeing him throwing our friendship away too? No, you were busy being happy with her.”

“I didn’t know I meant so much to you.”

“Sam, I let you take my virginity. Did you think I let you do this as I wanted sex or what? I wanted you to be my first as I was hopeless in love with you. I didn’t think you love me but I thought you like me. That you are my friend. I thought I can trust you.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. Please let me make it up to you.”

“Make it up to me? How? How do you want to make it up to me? You tossed me away after you took my virginity. You did not just throw my gift to you away you ruined our friendship too. I meet you years later only to find out you don’t even remember me. Do you have the slightest idea how that felt? No, of course not! I don’t want to be your friend! You can take our non-existent friendship and shove it up your ass, Winchester.”

“Y/N…I know I hurt you, but give me the chance to show you I can be a good friend. Please. I really want to be your friend. I messed up back then.”

“Sam. You don’t need my friendship. You survived seven years without my friendship. Don’t say you need me, okay. We were never friends. I should’ve never let you touch me.”

“Do you regret your first time with me? Was I too rough?”

“Sam…I really don’t want to talk about sex with you. I’m tired, my head hurts and I really don’t want to talk about anything else with you.”

“Please.”

“No, Sam. Just leave me alone. I will pack my stuff and hit the road to solve my next case. Let’s just say we tried to be friends and failed. It’s almost a decade since we last saw each other we grew out of being students. We are hunters and hunters don’t do friendship either way. If we do, we only feel bad or devastated when we lose our friend.”

“Y/N? Did you lose a friend?”

“All of my friends…the first monster I hunted down killed my sister and my best friend when we walked home. That werewolf toyed with us. I only survived as a guy saved me. Shooting the wolf, he saved my life.”

“Hunter?”

“Rufus. His name was Rufus. He died not long ago.”

“I know. I was with him. Me and Dean. My resurrected grandfather and Bobby Singer.”

“You knew Bobby?”

“Yeah. He was kinda family to Dean and me.”

“I used to hunt with him from time to time.”

“I’m sorry. You lost all your friends and this is kinda my fault.”

“I will leave now Sam. No hard feelings. I just want to be alone, okay.”

“Give me at least your number. Please don’t be a stranger again. Y/N, please. We lost Bobby and Rufus. The Leviathan’s are on the loose. Please.”

“Dean has my number, just like Garth. I would suggest to never call me except you really need help with a case. I’m not your friend, only a hunter. I helped with a case and now I will leave.”

“You gave Dean your number?” Sam asks hurt.

“He never broke my heart. I like him. I wish I met him all those years ago, then he would’ve been my first,” you lie turning to leave.

What you can’t see is Sam’s hurt expression while you walk away with tears in your eyes.

He broke your heart once again…

—-

Two months have passed since you met Sam again. He never called you, just like you asked him to. Dean, on the other hand, is bugging you for two months to come back.

Telling you Sam is grumpy as hell since you left after the case. Dean tries to make you join the team, as he calls it. You really like the cocky hunter but you won’t get close to Sam on free terms ever again.

All those years you had hoped when you meet him again he would explain why you weren’t good enough. Why he chose her, not you. But he didn’t. Sam only tried to excuse his behavior. There’s no excuse for what he did. He broke your heart and ended your friendship for another girl.

Checking some information for a case on your laptop you ignore your ringing phone. After a few tries, the caller hangs up.

Minutes later it rings again. Finally looking at the display you see its Dean…again. That little charmer won’t give up.

“Hey, Dean, what’s up. I’m kinda busy with a case.”

“Please don’t hang up. It’s me, Sam. I need your help. Dean is missing. I got no clue what happened. We were hunting a vamp and suddenly Dean was gone.”

“Where are you?”

“Casper, Wyoming. Please. I don’t know what to do. I can’t lose Dean too.”

“I’m around three hours away. Did you try to trace his phone…oh, wait you called me with his phone…sorry stupid idea. Give me your position and I’m on my way. We will find him, Sam. Don’t worry.” You say.

Bags packed as fast as possible you almost run out of your motel room.

Speeding off you pray you won’t arrive too late to save Dean. He became a good friend over the last months.

—-

“Y/N will kill you when she gets to know you lied to her Sammy,” Dean mutters.

“That demon knew everything about her. He knew how much I like her. Dean, we need to keep her safe. The best way is to have her close by.”

“Are you sure about that? She’s a tough chick, Sam. Y/N will get mad if she gets to know you tricked her.”

“I’ll keep your name out of it. We need to fake your kidnapping and tell her I could save you on my own. Then you will charm her and make her stay, Dean.”

“I shall charm her?”

“Dean. I know you call her almost every week since we met her.” Sam snarls.

“Only to tell her what a grumpy asshole you are since she left. What did you say to her? You could’ve made her stay!”

“She hates me, Dean. I messed up epically back then at Stanford. I really liked her. Maybe I even loved her. As soon as Brady introduced Jessica to me I was…”

“You were what?”

“I don’t know. I forgot about Y/N. Seeing her again…I want to make it up to her.”

“Uh-huh. I know that look. That’s your ‘I want to get between her legs’ face!”

“No…it’s not like that Dean.”

“Are you trying to fool me or yourself? Just saying you look like you want to devour her or eat her alive.”

“Fine. With her, it felt perfect, okay. No other woman felt so good. Not Jess or anyone else.”

“Holy…Are you telling me she was the best sex you ever had?”

“Stop teasing me, Dean! I’m dead serious here. She was soft and warm. All the noises she made. We did it almost the whole night and again in the morning.”

“Uh…little Sammy is in love. He wants to kiss her and making love to her,” Dean sing-songs.

“Jerk!”

“Bitch! Admit it!”

“Fine. Alone in the motel room, I wanted nothing more than kiss her, okay. See. I admitted it.”

“We should start with friendship and making her stay with us,” Dean states. “Your cock shouldn’t be involved right now.”

“Say’s the guy banging every girl he meets.”

“Ah, ah. Not every girl!” Dean says rising his index finger.

“How do we make her stay?”

“Uh…she likes me. She told me she sees me as a friend. Y/N is great at tracing witches. We could tell he a witch hurt me and she will stick around.”

“But you are unharmed,” Sam talks back.

“Fine. Hit me. But use those leather hand gloves or she will get suspicious.”

—–

“Oh my god, Dean. What happened? Are you okay? Who hurt you so bad?” You ask checking Dean’s bloody face.

“A fucking witch,” Dean lies.

“Sorry, I found him after I checked the woods again. I had no signal so I couldn’t call you, Y/N,” Sam lies.

“Did you get that bitch?”

“No, she escaped.”

“I could help you trace her. I’m good in tracing witches.”

“You would help me?” Sam rasps.

“Sure. I hate witches and she almost killed Dean. We should let him rest for a while and talk in my room, Sam. We need to make a plan and find out how she managed to get hold of Dean.”

“Lead the way, Y/N,” Sam says smiling.

Leaving the room with Sam you are relieved that Dean is alright.

Now you need to find a way to work with Sam…

Forever Tags

@donnaintx, @screechingartisancashbailiff, @fallen-wolf22 , @sister-winchesters99, @mogaruke, @the-is13, @helloitsmeamie203, @strayrosesbloom, @thewinchesterco, @hobby27, @kittycatlover18, @gh0stgurl, @marvelfansworld , @sandlee44, @hawaiianohana15, @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt, @katpatrova17, @notyourtypicalrose , @heyitscam99, @onethingthatkeepsmealive, @natura1phenomenon, @flamencodiva, @echoesofpassion, @cocklesbelli, @anushay1998, @voltage-my2dlove, @wayward-gabriel, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @thenamelesschibi, @lauravic

Missed Oportunities

@missmarrinette, @bitchwhytho

#spn fanfic #spn #spn tag #sam winchester #sam x reader #former sam x reader #dean winchester #angst #arguments #missed opportunities masterlist

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concussed-to-pieces · 5 years

Text

Bookish; Part Two

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Word Count: ...I am so sorry. Over 20k.

AN: THIRSTY/HOLIDAY CREW HOOOO! Welcome aboard a most festive holiday spectacular, my entry into the 25 Days Of Chrismuts! This is even more like a cheesy romance novel than the previous installment of Bookish! We've got plot-convenient amnesia, we've got protective security, we've got secrets, violence and daring rescues...everything you and I need to have a great holiday season! Tagging @25daysofchrismuts, @oraclegazes @hardcorewwetrash annnnnnnd @toxiicpop! Enjoy!

Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains minor gunplay (non-loaded gun), firearms in general, graphic descriptions of violence, warped recollections (amnesia) and mentions of emotional neglect. Stay safe!]

“Is that a sniper rifle?!” You yelled in bewilderment, Dean's hand on your shoulder forcing you back down into your seat.

Seth shrugged from his spot beside you, the definitely-a-sniper-rifle cradled in the crook of his elbow. “Maybe.” He allowed, plastering on a grin so hackneyed it made you wince. “Maybe it’s a toy.”

“Maybe you ought to quit talking and start aiming!” Roman shouted from the driver’s seat. “Move it, Rollins!”

How had you ended up in this mess?!

...

The snowfall always looked better from your window. You sighed, sipping on your cup of tea and tugging the tail of your bookmark loose. You had many fond memories of sitting in the little nook your window created, watching the snow come down thick. When you were younger and your parents would call, you often described it to them in excruciating detail.

Fond memories. Lonely fond memories.

“Whatcha' reading now, gorgeous?” The familiar wiry frame of Dean Ambrose settled in beside you, and you giggled while he made himself comfortable. “You crammin' for a midterm or somethin'?”

“No, I just figured I'd catch up on this, uh-” You tried to keep the book out of his hands, but he was too fast. He easily pilfered the volume, squinting at the cover before his eyes widened.

“Oh ho, this your leisure readin' material?” Dean crowed, laughing raucously and vaulting off the window seat with your book in hand.

“Hey wait, give that back!” You grabbed onto the leg of his jeans, bringing him to the ground and scrambling over his body to yank the book away from him. You then moved on reflex to incapacitate him, trapping his neck between your thighs and slamming his head against the floor with your body weight and momentum.

Dean grinned infuriatingly up at you from between your legs, sticking his tongue out in a purposely lewd gesture. “Gettin' pretty good at that, gorgeous! Keep it up and you might have a real shot.”

“You're such a jerk!” You growled. “From where I'm sitting, you're the one who's in trouble.”

“Mm, you'd think that, wouldn't ya'. But the thing is--” Dean's hands slammed shut on your thighs and he pressed your knees even tighter to his shoulders, effectively immobilizing you. “-You're wide open like this, gorgeous.” He smirked, spreading your legs and grabbing your rear to pull you in closer.

You squealed, smacking him with your book and trying to wedge the volume between his face and your groin. “That's cheating Dean!”

“You're the one that put your crotch in my face!” Dean laughed, “What can I say, I'm a hungry guy and you're always delicious.” He slid a hand over the curve of your thigh, making your insides go molten when he moaned in his throat. “You smell so good, gorgeous. Taste even fuckin' better.” He muttered, licking his lips.

“Hey Ambrose, Roman got Ch-” Seth ground to a halt as he pushed open the door and saw the two of you on the floor. “Whoa, my bad! Sorry, I didn't know you guys were, uh, y'know--” He sputtered, obviously flustered.

“We're not!” You huffed.

“We’re not? Shit, and here I thought we were! Ah well, up I get.” Ambrose shifted your knees over his shoulders and actually stood while holding you, your head bumping the ceiling briefly. You quickly bent down, wrapping your arms around the back of his head.

“Dean!”

“Oh, heya’ gorgeous.” Dean mumbled into your stomach, pressing kisses to your shirt while you clung to his face and dug your heels into his shoulder blades. “Weird way of ridin’ piggyback.”

“Put me down Ambrose!” A pair of hands landed on your hips and eased you back down Ambrose’s body.

“Dean, you’re such a tease.” Seth grunted. “Don’t be mean.”

“I ain’t bein’ mean! I wanted to see what they could do. All that training really paid off. They move like a goddamn missile.” Ambrose praised, making you blush.

“Well, they did learn from the best.” Seth preened.

“Don’t even try to take all the credit!” You nudged him with your elbow. “I worked hard for this.”

“You're absolutely right. We're proud of you, gorgeous.” Seth gave you a smile and a kiss on the cheek, “We might even have to recommend you to our boss if you keep improving so fast!”

“Very funny. I doubt I'm on a recommendation level for a fast food joint, never mind whatever private security group you guys work for.” You laughed off his comment, noticing that Ambrose looked weirdly uncomfortable. But then he swiped your book again and you quickly forgot about it, trying to reclaim your property as Seth and Dean played keep-away. Things really got out of hand when Dean started reading aloud passages from the book.

Roman walked in on you shrieking stop reading it and give it back already!, the larger man laughing uproariously and plucking the steamy novel from Ambrose's grasp. “You know you don't need to read this crap when we're around, gorgeous. After all, we're available for uh...wish fulfillment, should the need arise.” His smirk was insufferably smug as he rifled through the pages of the book.

“It's not that, Roman. I'm studying the kissing parts.” You muttered, folding your arms over your chest. “I'm still so new to this, I need...I figured I should study up so you guys don't get tired of me, is all.” You dug your toes into the plush carpet, studiously avoiding eye contact with the three men. “I know I'm not very good at...well, y'know.”

Dean's finger slid beneath your chin and he tilted your face up, his thumb resting on your lower lip. “You don't ever need t’ worry about that, gorgeous.” He murmured hoarsely. “We’re here to protect you, an’ we plan to do so for as long as we can. You're one of the group, whether you like it or not.” He stroked your lower lip in a meditative gesture, back and forth, and you found the motion oddly soothing. “You been worryin’ too much.”

“My modus operandi: I read, I worry.”

“And you kiss.” Dean breathed. “A few other things besides.”

“S-Sometimes.” You hated that the four of you had engaged with one another on multiple occasions and yet you still had issues with the simplest of things. It wasn't fair! When would it become easy? When would you get to fluster them with some carefully-chosen words or a casual touch?

“Don’t worry. This isn't a race, gorgeous.” Seth assured you kindly.

“It can’t be a race because no one else is in it.” You grumbled. “It’s easy for you guys, this stuff comes natural to you.”

“You don't know how wrong you are.” Roman said quietly. He looked thoughtful for a minute, then seemed to shake himself out of it. “Hey, c'mon. Enough of this bullshit. I got Chinese food for dinner, and we can watch some of those garbage Christmas movies.”

“I happen to like those garbage Christmas movies, so you'd better watch your mouth!”

...

“C’mon gorgeous, we have to go.” Roman whispered in your ear, his facial hair tickling your sensitive skin. “It’s time to go.”

“Go? Bu’ where?” You slurred, firmly entrenched in the grip of sleep. You barely remembered being carried up to bed after a marathon of sappy movies. Roman sighed heavily and then wrapped the blanket around your body, lifting you after a moment.

“We gotta’ move, Reigns.” You dimly heard Ambrose grunt. Roman hushed him while you snuggled into his chest.

Without warning the intruder alarm started blaring, startling you wide awake. You felt Roman flinch and Dean swore.

Seth was suddenly at Reigns’ elbow, where had he even come from? “Twenty seconds. Attic breach.” He whispered, leaning his weight on the door to your room and carefully opening it. “Two at a time the stairs. Remember how many there are.”

Roman nodded. “Ambrose, take offensive point. Rollins, you’re on flank.”

“Nothing is getting past me.” Seth muttered.

“Guys, what’s happening?” You whispered.

None of them answered your question and you fell silent, clinging tightly to your blanket. There was a crash upstairs, like someone had knocked something over in the cluttered attic. Dean bolted out the door, heading in the direction of the attic stairs.

Rollins all but hung off of Roman’s arm. “We waiting or leaving?” He asked.

“We’ll wait in the SUV.” Roman’s voice sounded oddly strained. “I’m not leaving Ambrose behind.”

“He should have stayed in for-”

“I said, I’m not leaving him behind. He's on offensive point.” Roman snarled. Seth fell silent. “We’re not leaving him behind while I’m here, Rollins. We’re moving out. Run flank like you’re supposed to and there shouldn’t be any problems.”

You got the feeling that there was some previous situation being brought up, maybe during the rough stint that Rollins had mentioned.

“It’s been a long road to get to the relatively-cushy setups. We’ve always stuck together though, even when shit got hard or dangerous. There’s been a lot of times things fell through.”

Roman held you a little tighter when he left the room, his body tense. Just as he reached the stairs, a door slammed loudly. That seemed to seal it for the large man. He lunged down the stairs, three at a time with Rollins doing an odd sidestep hot on his heels. You buried your face in his chest, terrified beyond belief. If this was something that had them spooked…

Into the kitchen, out the side door to the garage, Roman bypassed your rarely used sports car and instead headed for the navy blue SUV that Ambrose had dubbed ‘The Grand Bandwagon’. “In, in, buckle up.” He panted, sliding you across the backseat. You quickly did as he asked, watching Rollins deadbolt the kitchen door and then scramble to the SUV.

“Drive around to the rendezvous point, it’s a straight shot out the window for him and he knows his evac routes.” He hissed to Roman, who nodded. You tucked your knees up to your chest, shivering with fear (and cold, December was not known for its balmy weather).

The garage door eased up, one of the tracks squeaking loudly. Roman climbed into the driver’s seat and Seth slid onto the bench seat beside you. “We’ve trained for this. It’s going to be fine.” He assured you. “Just remember what we taught you and we'll take care of the rest.”

Roman didn’t turn the engine on, instead taking off the parking brake and letting the car roll out of the garage in neutral. “Here’s hoping that gate at the bottom of the hill isn’t too stiff from the cold.” He muttered.

“More like ‘here’s hoping Ambrose makes it’.” Seth replied, sounding sulky.

“Here’s hoping I don’t punch you in the mouth.” Roman growled.

“Hey guys? Not exactly instilling a lot of confidence with your bickering.” You finally piped up.

“Sorry.” Seth apologized after a moment. “I’m…I always feel so guilty when it comes to-”

“I know. I’m sorry for snapping at you. Still defensive, I guess.” Roman replied ruefully. “Old habits.” The SUV silently inched through the gate, past a group of small, dark-colored vehicles. “Your parents gave us a few weeks off, y’know.” Roman continued to you. “Told us almost a month back: ‘You boys go enjoy yourselves, it’ll be nearly Christmas and we always take our child on vacation’. The email's exact words.” He was watching you in the rearview mirror, like he was waiting to see your reaction.

You shook your head, utterly confused. “They don’t bring me anywhere. Especially not after what happened at the gala.”

“We noticed.” Seth said grimly. “These guys must think we’re as dumb as we look.” You weren’t sure what on earth he meant by that.

The SUV had reached the road at this point, and Roman cautiously turned the key further to start the car. The engine roared to life. You remembered Dean’s proud announcement of, “came straight from the line with over 700 horses, I tuned it up even tighter for extra asswhuppin’.”

Reigns grimaced. “It’s louder than before, Christ.”

“Ambrose knows his stuff.” Rollins said by way of agreement, his fingers tapping away at the seat cushions beside your hand. “May not know how to keep that stuff quiet, but he knows it.” Over the idling engine you heard several loud popping noises. Roman gritted out a curse. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” Seth took your hand, squeezing it a little too tightly. The darkness outside the vehicle was broken by the faint lights from your house up on the hill. You could only just see several forms moving around in the many windows.

“What’s happening, Seth?” You asked softly. More popping met your ears, closer this time.

“He’s coming, it’ll be okay.” Seth said, not meeting your eyes and instead shooting a worried look at Roman as the larger man unbuckled his seat belt. “Roman, don’t-”

“If he’s hurt…Seth, we can’t leave him. I’m not leaving him.” Roman said, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his stoic act.

“He’s not dumb enough to get hurt, man. Put your seat belt back on. He’s gonna’ make it. Nobody knows the plan better than--”

The front passenger door was suddenly ripped open from the outside, making everyone jump. Seth had his arm in front of you and Roman had his handgun drawn before your brain could really register the motions. “Now now big fella’, you wouldn’t blow a hole in my skull, wouldja’?” rasped a familiar voice.

Roman holstered his gun and all but dragged Ambrose into the SUV, burying his face in the other man’s hair for a moment. “Don’t do that to me again.” Reigns choked out, shoving Dean back to his seat and quickly wiping his eyes.

“Hey, we stuck to the plan. Everything’s okay. Well, mostly.” Dean’s laugh was more of a cough. “I always forget how many is too many.” Something struck the passenger side window with a loud ‘pang!’. “Roman, uh, let’s get the fuck outta’ here. Open up the Bandwagon. Wanna’ see how it does with an expert at the wheel.” Dean coughed again, and you then realized he had a death grip on his side. “Also, might have gotten grazed. Nothin’ to worry about right now, but maybe later one of you g-”

“Grazed? As in, shot?!” Was that what those popping sounds were?! It was a far cry from what the movies made them out to be! “Dean, Jesus Christ!” You blurted.

“Here’s a tip that’ll do you good in life, gorgeous. Don’t--ah, ow--don’t bring a knife to a gun fight. Unless you like a challenge.” Dean groaned as he lolled his head back against the headrest. Seth reached over him hurriedly and clicked his seatbelt into the buckle. Dean huffed out a breath. “Such a mother hen.”

The vehicle’s headlights snapped on, brilliant angel eye LEDs illuminating the road and throwing everything into contrast. Dean hummed, seeming pleased. “Everyone buckled?” Roman asked calmly. There was another sharp ‘pang!’, on the window by Seth this time. You flinched at the noise, clinging tighter to Seth's hand.

“You bet your ass. Drag that shit, give it all you’ve got.”

When Roman shifted the SUV and gave it some gas, you felt like your heart was trying to leap out of your throat. Seth laughed incredulously from his spot beside you as the vehicle tore off like a bat out of hell. “Hell yeah, go Grandwagon!”

“Jesus Christ Ambrose, what did you feed this thing?!” Roman sputtered, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

“Nothin’ I didn’t think you could handle.” Dean grinned. “You’re scratchin’ the surface, big fella’. When we get to the highway, open it up.”

You grabbed Seth’s arm and clung tight in anticipation. Rollins didn’t seem to be able to stop his giddy laughter, resting his cheek on your head and reaching over Dean’s seat to pat his shoulder appreciatively. “You’re the best Dean!”

Roman expertly guided the eager Trackhawk along the narrow, winding roads leading away from your house, smoothly shifting gears to put distance between the vehicle and the residence.

“So is anyone going to tell me what's going on?” You asked after several minutes of relative silence had gone by.

Dean craned his neck so he could make eye contact with you in the backseat. “Gorgeous, you remember the guy tailing you and your mom when you went to get that princess dress?”

You would be hard-pressed to forget being that scared. You nodded and Ambrose squinted, shifting a little.

“We, that is, Roman an’ I, went after the guy. Sent Rollins t’ cover you. That scumbag should have known better than to try and sneak out the back. That whole store was basically designed like a kill zone for fuck’s sake, ain’t hard to figure out that it’s a shady joint.” He made a noise of disgust. “Follow the money an’ sure as shit you'll find it's soaked in blood.”

“We briefly interrogated the man and of course, he spilled the whole plan pretty quickly. We didn’t take too kindly to being kept in the dark. One of us could have gotten hurt in the attempt, after all,” Roman carried on where Dean left off, “Your dad dismissing us for the whole gala was something we didn't see coming. We now knew there were people out to get you, but that stunt in the bridal shop seemed a little desperate. Meant they were willing to take you in public. So, Rollins infiltrated the party to escort you elsewhere.”

Willing to take you in public. Your whole body broke out in a cold sweat.

“Your parents hadn’t had any contact with us since the gala. But earlier this month someone claiming to be your dad sent us an email with fucking paragraphs of praise and a request that the three of us enjoy some time off since they’d be picking you up for the ‘annual Christmas vacation’.” Seth rolled his eyes. “Whoever is out for you hasn't exactly done their research. Might be the reason why we made it as far as we did, these people just assuming that we were doing our jobs as your security. At this point, though, I think they’re on to us.”

“I don't understa-”

Headlights blazed to life behind the SUV. A flurry of ‘pang!’s met your ears and Roman shouted, “Rollins!”

Which led to the current mess, Seth unbuckled, a sniper rifle in his hands and the rear window of the Jeep cracked open so he could take a few pot shots at your pursuers. One of the cars drew up alongside and you covered your ears as shots rattled against the glass beside your head.

Seth dropped his gun and grabbed hold of one of your legs, attempting to pull you underneath his body across the bench seat. Your seat belt held, unfortunately, and the back of your head slammed against the hard paneling on the door when your torso slid under the lap belt.

Everything went black.

“--on the highway, Reigns!”

“-happened to the-”

“-gorgeous, please, please!”

“--bump, they’ll be okay-”

Loud, panicked voices faded in and out; you were vaguely aware of the car moving beneath you and something pressing down on you. Your head hurt, and you gladly surrendered to the pull of unconsciousness. If this was what an action scene was really like, you’d had more than enough excitement...

…

When you woke up, you kept your eyes closed. Brow furrowed, you tried to discern why you felt like something was wrong.

It struck you after a moment that the noise of the highway close to your house was strangely absent. Your eyes flew open and you sat bolt upright, cringing in pain and running your fingers over the back of your head until you found the lumpy source of your discomfort. That mystery solved, you slowly took in the room around you in confusion.

The walls and ceiling were bare, unfinished wood, a stark contrast to your bedroom at home. The bed itself was piled high with a mishmash of quilts, and beneath that directly against your body was a pelt of some kind. Or maybe a group of smaller pelts, all sewn together? It was a cream color, soft and warm. A hysterical laugh bubbled in your throat as Gaston’s antler-heavy decor in Beauty And The Beast came to mind. The room definitely had that rustic feel to it.

The door of the room was slightly ajar, and you could hear quiet voices in the next room over. Nervously, you slid out from beneath the blankets, wrapping one of the quilts around your shoulders as an afterthought when the chill of the room hit you. You tiptoed to the door, overly cautious. After all, you couldn’t exactly remember how you had gotten here! It couldn’t hurt to be careful.

The door eased open a little more at your touch. Firelight played over the wall that you could see, bathing the wood in dancing shadows. You tried to open the door the rest of the way, but the hinges creaked loudly. You froze.

There was a rustling and the thud of rapidly approaching footfalls, then the door handle was wrenched out of your hand. You screamed, pressing your back to the wall next to the door as your fists raised instinctively. You were currently cornered by a stranger with a well-kept beard and strangely bleached streak in his hair. Said stranger shifted his weight nervously at your exclamation, his brow furrowed.

There were two other men in the room, you realized quickly. Your eyes were drawn without your conscious involvement to the coagulated puddle of blood at the light-haired man's side and you felt sick to your stomach as the large man with the tattoo covering his entire arm got to his feet. All three of them were so much bigger than you. Bruce Lee's Art Of Fighting might have made for excellent reading, but you were relatively certain that the absence of years of skilled training on your end rendered the knowledge down to historic clumps of text and black and white images.

“Gorgeous?” The light-haired man asked slowly, like he was addressing you. His face was overgrown with stubble and deep shadows marred the area beneath his piercing blue eyes. He looked exhausted and wary.

“I remember you.” You said shakily, jabbing a brave finger in the direction of the blond-streaked individual. An expression of guilt flitted across his face, strengthening your meager resolve. “You were hanging from the rafters and...and then you rushed me from the counter! And then I backed into you and...oh God, am I kidnapped? You knocked me out and kidnapped me! Where are my clothes?!” Your voice rose to a fever pitch, “I'll give you anything you want, I swear! M-My parents...they'll pay whatever amount you set, just please don't hurt me anymore!” You begged, cowering away from the man as best as you could.

“'Anymore'?” The man with the streak in his hair repeated, sounding confused.

“The back of my head is throbbing, I've got a lump and everything!”

“Let me see.” He demanded, reaching out again.

“Stay away from me! Don't touch me!” You cried, thankful beyond words when he immediately halted. “I just want to go home, p-please!”

The light-haired man exhaled hard, those eyes trained on the back of the man in front of you. “Give 'em some space, Seth.” He said finally. The tattooed man rolled his shoulders menacingly, but remained silent.

Seth (if that's really his name your brain piped up) however, began to protest. “Ambrose, I-”

“No. They're freakin’ out. Back off.” Ambrose (?) ordered. The man with the light streak (Seth?) obeyed without further question. “Look, uh, I promise, as weird as this all seems, we didn't...kidnap you.” Ambrose continued carefully, like he was maneuvering around telling you the whole truth. “Not really. More like...rescued?” He clearly noticed your look of disbelief, because he swore under his breath. You flinched at the curse, not used to such rough language. “You obviously remember your parents. D'you remember anything...specific about them?”

“They're away on a trip. They always are.” You replied curtly (hopefully not too curtly, these men were huge in their own right and you were deathly afraid of upsetting them). “What did you do to my security team?” A terrible thought struck you as you once again looked at the bloodied bandages on Ambrose's side. “Did you...you didn't...did you kill them?” You breathed, horrified.

“No, hell no! Listen to me, we did not kidnap you!” He exclaimed. “We're not kidnappers or murderers or whatever the fuck!” His irritated tone of voice did little to dissuade your concerns and you felt tears well up in your eyes. You tried to wipe them away, but more rushed in to take their place and began rolling down your cheeks. “There was a break-in, shit, over a year ago at this point, remember? Y'know, the reason why you had a security team in the first place?”

“S-Someone was...” A hazy image surfaced in your mind. The man with the streak in his hair (Seth?) slipping through your bedroom window, grinning like a fiend. “It was you, you broke in!” You accused, your finger yet again pointed in Seth’s direction. “You came in through my window!”

“I did sometimes.” Seth allowed. “You thought it was funny because I would go out through one window on the other side of the house, sprint across the roof and then swing in through yours. You don't...you don't remember that part?” He asked hesitantly. “We're uh...we're your current security team. Have been for almost a year now.”

You were shaking your head before he was even done speaking. “My parents only hired professionals.”

“Your parents.” The large man with the tattoo spoke up, his words a furious hiss. You shrank back at the harshness of his voice, wondering what your parents had done to earn his ire.

“Easy Roman.” Ambrose murmured, one hand on the other man's arm. Thick black hair surrounded Roman's face like a tangled halo, extending past his shoulders to curl at his collarbone. His frown was framed by a goatee the same color as his hair. The tattoo was menacing enough, but the way his brown eyes narrowed had you thoroughly on edge. He scared you the most if you were being brutally honest, his stony demeanor and imposing form utterly terrifying.

“Please.” You begged pitifully, hating how the three of them continued to study you. “I just want to go home.”

“You wouldn’t be sayin’ that if you knew what was waiting for y’ there.” Ambrose said sharply, getting a better grip on Roman’s arm and pulling himself upright. “We’re the only friends you’ve got in this whole fuckin’ world right now, gorgeous. We promised to-” He paused, grimacing.

“You need to lay back down.” Roman muttered.

“-Promised to keep you safe, no matter what.” Ambrose continued, his fingers digging into Roman’s shoulder hard enough to make the tan skin pale. “There was a breach. A security breach. Someone had been feelin’ out our perimeter and they finally acted on it last night. Rollins saw them first, he tipped us off.”

“Dean bought us the time we needed to get you to the Trackhawk.” Seth’s voice was low, grave. “We were pursued. You hit your head when I grabbed you. It was...it was my fault.”

“I want to talk to my parents.”

“Listen, if we break radio silence now there's a relatively good chance whoever is trying to get you will absolutely find you.” Seth stressed the words tersely. “We were supposed to have the holidays off. Like the gala. Do you remember the gala?”

--Someone dragged you into the shadows of an alcove, you swung with all your might--

“You grabbed me and I hit you!” You retorted.

“I apologized for scaring you! And we went bowling afterwards!” Seth squawked. “I’m not some perv, you were crying and-”

“Because that makes it better, right? Grabbing someone when they’re already freaking out?” Where was this courage coming from?

“-and I just wanted to make you feel safe!” Seth finished loudly, clearly frustrated. You glared at him for raising his voice, folding your arms across your chest. For whatever reason, you at least felt like you had a fighting chance when it came to him. Ambrose was obviously the voice of sanity, and Roman was scary. But Seth was different.

“Christ. Go easy on a guy, will you?”

You recalled the moment as clear as day, the way he had nonchalantly rubbed at his throat where you had landed your strike. Your blow was nothing but a nuisance to him. How long had you been stuck with these three? What else had happened? “I want to talk to my parents.” You demanded again.

Ambrose sat down heavily on the ottoman by the fire, dropping his head into his hands. “Dean?” Seth asked, a note of fear shining through his tone. Ambrose waved off his concern with a low grunt. Seth ignored him, moving to his side and crouching so he could see the other man’s face. “Dean…”

“Room’s spinnin’. Mighta’ lost more blood than I thought.” Dean admitted through his fingers.

“I knew it. Ambrose you need a hospital.” Roman’s words were dismissed with the violent shake of a tawny head.

“I’ve made it through worse shit than this.” Dean growled.

“That’s not the point, idiot, we weren’t supposed to have to go through the worse shit anymore!” Seth snapped. “This gig was supposed to do it.”

“Oh, because this is the first time a plan has collapsed on top of us, right?” Roman shot back bitterly. “We knew this job was messed up from the start.”

“I ain’t saying that and you know it! Shit Ro, I never wanted Ambrose to get hurt.” Seth’s voice softened oddly. “Didn’t want anyone to get hurt. I hoped we would figure out a way around this.”

“Fact of the matter is that you can’t talk to your parents.” Dean addressed you around their conversation. “If these people are find out where we are, there’s a damn good chance you’ll wind up bagged. I’m not tryin’ to scare you. I’m just bein’ honest. All you are right now is a paycheck. They been tryin’ t’ get ahold of you for ages. It was all part of the plan”

Your legs gave out and you slid down the wall, hitting the floor with a quiet thud. “I…please.” You said stupidly. Your head was pounding, the room wavering uncertainly before your eyes.

“Rollins, get them back into bed. They gotta’ rest.”

“You do not touch them! Only we can touch them!”

“Gorgeous, you with us? Sorry we’re late.”

“Just us. Only us. Only us.��

Fragments of conversations you didn’t remember having looped in your brain, tangling and twisting into a ball and drowning out the voices in the room.

“Easy, easy, it’s okay. We’re getting you out of here.”

“Trust me, no matter how you feel, you look even dumber.”

“It’s us, man. They got him.”

With more care than you would have expected from a kidnapper, Seth eased you upright and tucked the quilt back around your shoulders. Your body all but fell into his own and he steadied you with a hand on the small of your back. “Don’t touch me.” You whispered, no real bite behind your words.

Seth’s hand rose to your arm instead, his grip tightening. “Just to get you back into bed.” He bargained. “Please.”

You wanted to cry. “No. I can get there myself.”

The wounded expression on his face was only there for a split second, then it smoothed back into a neutral mask. “Alright.” He slowly, agonizingly slowly, let you go, brown eyes chilled with something unreadable while he watched you like a hawk.

You fumbled back into the bedroom, not daring to hold his gaze for any length of time. What the hell was wrong with you? Did you actually believe them? You had been kidnapped! Given a rap over the head and all but Shanghaied! Was this that Stockholm syndrome you had read so much about? Because if it was, it was more dangerous than you could have imagined.

You laid down on the bed, clutching the quilts with shaky hands. The way that Seth had looked at you stirred something in the pit of your stomach. You were certain that if you had maintained eye contact, you would have…well, it didn’t bear thinking about. You shivered, gripping the blankets even tighter.

His eyes had shone in the light from the fire, wary and guilty, but the longing in them had taken your breath away. Clearly, whoever this man was, this burglar-turned-kidnapper, his emotions ran deep. His touch, for whatever reason, sent shockwaves through your body. Was it just because he was attractive? You immediately scolded yourself for your lapse in judgement, of course it was because he was attractive! Nobody ever gave you the time of day, so naturally you would read too much into someone just looking at you. You huffed out a frustrated breath.

Their names are Dean, Seth, and Roman...

…

At some point you must have drifted off because the next thing you knew, cold white light was streaming into the room in earnest. You groaned, caught between disappointment and relief that this wasn’t some wild dream.

“Awake again. How’s your head, gorgeous?”

You were pretty sure the scary guy was going to take years off of your life. Roman, you reminded yourself while you tried to manage your heart rate. “Do you have to watch me while I sleep?” You finally squeaked out.

Roman shrugged from his spot in the rough-hewn chair beside the bed. He looked exhausted. “Until a couple seconds ago, I was asleep too. You moved. I’m a light sleeper.”

“Oh! You were probably up with uh…Am...Ambrose, right?” You deduced, rolling onto your stomach so you could really study Roman. He didn’t look nearly so scary in the daylight, but he was still a clear and obvious threat. It couldn’t hurt to butter him up a little.

Roman nodded, scrubbing at his face in an effort to rouse himself. “Yeah. I think he’s stable now. Hard to tell with him. You remember that, huh? Anything else?” He asked, sounding weirdly hopeful.

You scrunched up your nose, actually trying to think back. “No.” You admitted. “All I’ve got is bits and pieces.”

Roman put his head in his hands and was silent for a few minutes. “It’s okay.” He whispered, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself. “It’ll be okay. You’re gonna’ remember at some point and we’ll be there.”

Your brow furrowed. These guys were either fantastic actors or you had actually meant something to them. You’re their meal ticket, stupid! Stop making it easy for them to get into your head!

“Ro?” There was a timid knock on the door. “Hey I made breakfast, are they…” Rollins trailed off upon seeing you awake. “Oh! Morning. How do you feel?” He asked cheerily. Obviously he had slept better than Reigns. Reigns? Roman.

“I wish you guys would knock it off with this buddy-buddy act. It’s creepy.” You muttered, sitting up and folding your arms firmly when Rollins sat on the edge of the bed.

“We can’t help it, gorgeous. This is how we’re used to being around you.” Seth reached for you, then hurriedly pulled back like he remembered what he was doing. “I’m…I’m sorry.” He apologized jerkily.

Against your better judgement, you felt yourself soften a little. “You said something about breakfast?” You prompted him.

“Oh! Yeah, I made breakfast. Uh, Ro, food? Yeah?”

“Has Dean eaten?” Roman queried, standing up from his chair and stretching with a long, drawn-out groan.

“Made sure he ate first. I think he’s gonna’ make it.” Seth grinned. “If the amount of food he put away was any indicator, I’d say he’ll be up and about before you know it. He went right back to sleep once he was done.”

“Thank God.” Roman breathed, his shoulders slumping. “Food sounds great. You wanna’ watch them while I eat, or you wanna’ just bring everything-” Seth sprang off the bed and pushed the door open the rest of the way, picking up two plates. “-in here.” Roman finished, accepting a plate from the eager young man. “Breakfast is served, gorgeous.”

“Fuck you guys, leaving me all alone in the living room like I’m some kinda’ nuisance!” Seth winced at the volume of Dean’s voice, hurriedly passing you the other plate and then scurrying back into the living room.

“You want half of mine? I can’t eat this much.” You offered Roman quickly.

Roman glanced up, then sidelong at your overloaded plate. “If you’re sure you don’t want it, yeah. Can’t waste food.”

You scraped a hearty assortment of the eggs and bacon off your dish and onto his own, ignoring his murmured thanks. This was a strategic choice, to make sure your food hadn’t been poisoned or otherwise altered in a detrimental manner. You watched Roman narrowly while he tucked into the larger portion, observing his lack of hesitance or wariness as he ate.

Once he was nearly done, you took a tiny bite of your toast. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were beforehand and keeping track of Roman faded to the background of your mind as you devoured your breakfast.

“He’s a great cook for being such a crossfit weirdo.” Roman gestured towards the door with his fork, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I heard that!” Seth protested, returning to the bedroom with a bleary-eyed Dean hanging off of his shoulder. The light-haired man did look mildly improved; he had gotten some color back in his face.

“Heya’ gorgeous, miss me?” He asked cheekily, making a loud smooching noise with his mouth. Against your better judgement, you let a tiny giggle escape. “See Rollins? They’re still in there. Nobody can resist my charm for long, even if they don’t remember nothin’ else.” Dean grinned, giving Seth a weak punch in the shoulder.

“I will drop you, Ambrose.”

You quickly determined that you weren’t going to be left alone. For someone like you, this was a horrifying revelation. You valued your peace and quiet and these three were anything but. Thank God you found a few of your favorite books deep in the backpack Seth had said was yours.

The snowstorm appeared to have slowed to a light but steady flurry. Roman and Seth took turns shoveling out the vehicle you had glimpsed from the window, Seth waving off your offer of help. “I don’t want to risk losing y--er, losing anything in this rough weather.” He explained as he hung his jacket up by the fire to dry.

“That’s not fair to you guys though!” You protested, hiding your disappointment at the fact that he could see through your ploy so easily. So many half-hearted plans were fighting for space in your brain, you hadn’t really given much thought to what you might do if you did get outside. It was cold, and you hadn’t exactly brought your glacier-scaling gear. Plus, you had no idea where you were!

“If you’re hell-bent on killin’ yourself that’s fine. Go on ahead. But you’re not takin’ either of my boys with you.” Dean growled. “Gorgeous, I know you’re scared. I wouldn’t be so hot if I was in your shoes with my memories missin’. Please. Don’t do anythin’ stupid when you’re like this. I’m beggin’ you, please.” His tone had then dropped to a plaintive rasp, vastly different from his humorous jibes earlier. “You, Reigns an’ Rollins are all I’ve got in this world. I’ve…I’ve lost so much. Please, gorgeous.”

Seth hushed him, digging his fingers into his hair almost like he was petting him. Roman urged their partner to lay back down, saying, “You need rest, Ambrose. We don’t want to lose you either, you know.” His expression had softened to the point where he was no longer scary to you, his concern for Dean blatantly obvious through the tough façade he clearly tried hard to maintain.

Dean spoke with you at length while the other two were outside, the light-haired man attempting to lessen your worries in a way that seemed to give you as little information as possible. You hated to admit that, despite his roundabout way of talking, some of the things he mentioned resonated, shoving forward half-recollections from the dark patch that clouded your mind.

You shook your head, ducking underneath the covers and chewing on your thumb as you mulled over the day’s events. You were so conflicted. It wouldn’t have been as bad if your brain didn’t keep offering up weird little bits and pieces of past experiences that you couldn’t fully recall. For all you knew, they were telling the truth. But for all you knew, they weren’t. You flopped back on the pillows, pressing your fists to your forehead and fighting the urge to scream in frustration. Your mind kept looping one scene, startlingly vivid and searing a line of heat through your belly.

--Roman slamming his shoulder into the side of a man who had his hands tight on your upper arms, momentum sending the two of them to the ground. “You do not touch them!” He had announced firmly. “Only we can touch them!”

His face when he had said that, the look in his eyes...what if they were lying? What if they weren’t?

Something bumped against the door. Not hard enough to be a knock, but not light enough to be your imagination or just some creak of the cabin.

Curious now, you slipped out of the bed, shivering at the temperature of the floor. Once you left the safety of the covers, the cold latched onto your body. As fast as you dared, you snuck to the door and turned the handle. Roman was apparently sleeping against your door, his body slumped forward with that deadly-looking hand cannon resting on his right thigh.

You looked at the gun, up at his face and then back to the gun. He stirred and you knew you had to act quickly so he wouldn’t wake the others. Your plan was hardly half-formed when you put it in motion, closing the door again and straddling Roman’s lap. Despite his talk earlier of being a light sleeper, he showed no signs of waking. You cursed inwardly. Maybe you shouldn’t have put yourself in this position before-

He groaned and you sucked in a breath as his eyes drowsily opened. His brow furrowed, those brown eyes slightly crossed when he tried to focus on your face so close to his own. “Gorgeous?” He muttered, obviously caught off-guard.

Good.

“It’s me, Roman.” You whispered back. “Hi.” You took another gamble and cupped his face, rubbing your thumbs through the dark stubble that coated his jaw.

“Y…really?”

“Yes, I remember. I’ve missed you so much.” You said, trying to sound heartfelt.

The speed that he embraced you at startled you, as did the shuddering exhale into your neck. “Christ, gorgeous, I thought Seth was gonna’ go to pieces. When he grabbed you without unbuckling you and you hit your head…we thought you got shot. It was pandemonium.”

You almost felt guilty for playing him like this, but you were fairly certain you wouldn’t get straight answers any other way. “It’s alright. I don’t blame him.” Your hand closed on the grip of his abandoned gun, the weapon lighter than you expected. How to take down an opponent larger than you: You’re already going to be at a disadvantage.

“We should wake them up, they ought to-” You cut him off in a hurry by kissing him clumsily, making him grunt into your mouth before his fingers wove into your hair. His kisses were hungry, foreign and familiar all at once. Your body lit up, losing yourself in the sensation of closeness with another human being. This was so strange, barely-restrained emotions you couldn’t name surging wildly in your chest. You felt almost like you needed to cry.

Roman turned you around in his lap, touching his mouth to the junction of your neck and shoulder. He moved you easily, like he had done it a thousand times before. Maybe he had. Your mind tentatively fluttered a few images in the background when you felt his cock twitch through his pants.

“You’re all set for the night, gorgeous. You rest now.”

The muzzle of the gun pressed to the underside of Roman’s jaw and he went still, obviously comprehending the gravity of the situation. “I want answers.” You breathed, jabbing the unfamiliar weapon up a little harder. In the dim light from the fireplace, you could see the forms of Seth and Dean on the floor sound asleep. You would need to be stealthy about this.

“I don't think the gun is necessary.” Roman murmured back.

“Don’t screw with me.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Serious as cancer.” You gritted out. “Hot lead brain cancer.” You had heard the line in a movie once and you hoped against hope that Roman hadn’t seen the same film. The last thing you needed was him calling your bluff. It was all you could do to keep the gun steady where it dug into his jaw. Roman could easily overpower you. Easily. The easiest out of all of them.

But even he had his Kryptonite. “Damn, you’re intimidating like this.” You could hear the smile in his voice and your body was suddenly flush with heat once more. “What do you want to know?”

“I want straight, succinct answers, not the vague bull that Ambrose was feeding me. Where am I?”

“Different question.”

“You can’t do that!” You protested.

“I can’t, but I will. What are you gonna’ do? Shoot me or ask me a question that will give you an actual answer?” Roman challenged. You swore you could feel the rasp of his stubble travel down the gun’s barrel to the grip.

“Fine.” You spat, biting your lip. “What...what are you guys planning on doing to me?”

His hands stayed on your thighs, fingers digging into your skin while he mulled your question over. For whatever reason his erection didn’t seem to have wilted, continuing to press insistently against the small of your back even with a gun in his face. “I would apologize for my state, but I’m pretty sure you don’t care.” He whispered.

Oh, you cared. You cared immensely. “Naturally. Just answer the damn question.” You hissed. His hands pried your thighs open and shoved your left leg over his own. The right soon followed, spreading you wide in his lap with your back to his chest. You gasped and he covered your mouth, a grunt leaving him when you jabbed the gun upwards against the bottom of his jaw a little harder than before in warning.

“Easy now gorgeous, you’ll bruise me. Just making sure you don’t wake Ambrose or Rollins. They’re…jumpy.” Roman explained in an undertone. “You do have a gun in my face. I’d hate to get my brains blown out because they’re a little excitable.”

“Smart man.” You didn’t trust him as far as you could throw him. “Now, what are you guys planning on doing to me?”

“To you? Nothing. At least, nothing unless you consent to it.” You rolled your eyes. “With you though...we’re trying to figure that out. The people after you obviously have a pretty broad reach. You probably should have pulled this little stunt on Rollins. He’s the brains of the outfit.” Roman admitted. “All I know is that we were assigned to you with the warning of this eventually happening. Our organization figured it was our best bet, and your parents seemed to agree. Hell, why do you think we were hired in the first place? We aren’t security, gorgeous. You've probably already put that together.”

“You were…you were hired to kill me?” You asked weakly.

“What? No. Well...I mean, that might have been what people expected since our specialty is more to…neglect to protect our clients. We make it look accidental if someone winds up dead.” Roman shrugged as best as he could, like he hadn't dropped utterly chilling information onto you. “We were assigned to the rich kid bait under the assumption that your stalkers would know exactly who we are, as well as what we specialize in. It was supposed to press them into action. We just...” Roman hesitated, “We didn't expect you to be kind to us, we expected a spoiled brat. It changed our whole game plan, basically, and that spot with the guy in the bridal store was a little too close for comfort.”

-Seth jumping over the wall, his body shielding yours while the dressing room doorknob jiggled--

“You’re not like our usual assignments. We’ve told you that.” Roman swallowed hard. “We knew we needed to really be on top of things, or risk losing you. So we did what we do best. We trained. We stockpiled. We prepared.” He shifted beneath you. “Even trained you, as I’m sure you’ve put together by now. Taught you a few moves in case something happened and we were separated from you.”

“Bet you regret that.” You said triumphantly, prodding him with the gun.

Roman splayed his palm on your stomach, absently rubbing small circles. “I don’t regret a damn thing, gorgeous. I know you can’t remember much of it, but we've got no reason to lie to you. The months that we’ve had with you were the best that they could have been. We’re not giving that up without a fight.” He replied.

The raw honesty in his voice gave you pause. What if they weren’t lying? A little late for second thoughts, you’ve got a gun at his throat! You scolded yourself.

“Granted, being seduced and pumped for information at gunpoint is uh, a new one on me. But there’s a first time for everything.” He was smiling again, that jackass. You growled in irritation. “Wait, am I not being seduced?”

“You’re such a jerk.” You hated that you were blushing this hard. “Don’t get comfortable, big guy. Let’s not forget that you’re the one without the gun.”

“I haven’t gotten comfortable in the slightest. Mainly because I can tell how wet you are. You’re hot and dripping through my clothes, gorgeous. It’s hard to be comfortable when I should be inside you. Something you need to tell me about your power play fantasies?” He whispered in your ear, “If I didn't know any better, I'd think you like having me at your mercy.”

“Don’t say things like that!” You reprimanded him, feeling your legs trying to close on reflex while your body sought relief. His hands tightened on your thighs though, keeping you spread open on his lap.

“You could, if you wanted to. You can pretty much call the shots here, gorgeous. I know exactly how much power that gun’s got, and I’d rather not have it splitting my head open at this exceptional point blank range.” Roman’s voice was nothing but a deep purr, vibrating against your ear. “Wouldn't mind if you decided to maybe get a little greedy for me. A little demanding, even.”

What had you been planning on doing? Your head was filling slowly with half-memories, tastes and sensations flooding you in an overwhelming surge. You whimpered without meaning to and Roman seized the opportunity to kiss you again.

You somehow knew what to do in response to every curl of his tongue against your own. You remembered forms, caresses, shadowy longing. An aching familiarity mixed with the uncertainty of your piecemeal recollections, fanning the flames of confusion and arousal in your stomach.

“Because of who we are…what we do, we promised each other that we would take priority over every mission.” Roman gasped out when the two of you parted once more. “And then…and then you came along. The bait for the trap. With all your books and your family that wasn't and we just…we lost, gorgeous. We lost hard.” You went to move and Roman grabbed your wrist, keeping the gun firm. “Oh no you don’t. If you’re shooting someone, it’s going to be me.” His eyes were downright ferocious in the dim light from the fire and it slowly dawned on you that he was absolutely serious.

“You would die for them, huh?” You tried to sound nonchalant, pushing the gun up again to punctuate your question.

“For them and you.” Roman replied sternly. “Without hesitation.” He pressed his mouth to your own once more, fervent murmurs escaping his lips to hang half-spoken in the heated air between you.

“I don’t understand.” You managed to murmur through his ravenous kisses. “Why would you…”

“I know.” Roman tapped the elastic band on your borrowed pair of sleeping shorts. “It doesn’t matter. You call the shots.”

“Your cock out, now.” You demanded before you could really think about how crazy this was. “If you can still get it up with a gun to your head.”

“Lord have mercy, you’re a fucking terror.” Roman choked out after a few moments of silence. He reached down to unzip his pants, shoving the fly open and straining to free his cock through the hole in his boxers. You were starting to suspect that Roman might possibly have a few…quirks of his own when it came to this situation. His body obviously didn’t mind being held at gunpoint.

“You’re supposed to be scared.” You snapped.

“Did I not just call you a terror?” Roman asked. “I work decent under pressure. Try not to make me panic here. Won’t end well for me.” He knocked his chin against the barrel of his hand cannon. “You just keep that gun right where you've got it, and I'll do whatever you want.”

You reached down silently, your fingers closing around his own on his shaft. Roman's breath hitched. “I think you wanted this, Roman.” You whispered. “Is it hard being like you all the time? So strong and brave and in charge?” You gave him a lazy stroke and his head fell back against the door, baring his entire throat to you. You watched his adam's apple bob with his next convulsive swallow.

“Please.” His voice was hardly there. “God damn it, please gorgeous.”

You nuzzled your nose into his neck beside the barrel of the gun and Roman shuddered all over, one hand moving downwards to cup your groin through the thin material of your sleeping shorts. “You're not putting your cock inside me.” You murmured. “I'm not that dumb.”

He wrapped his other hand back around his cock and started stroking himself. “That's fine. I don't need to put my cock inside you.” He grunted. “You're wet through these shorts, gorgeous. This pussy wants me. But hey, deprivation is self-discipline, right? It's not like I can't get myself off like this.” He gently pressed the heel of his palm down on your pubic mound, igniting sparks in your core. “That's right.” He murmured in response to your harsh inhale. “Grind against my hand, circle those hips and use me to get off. Do it gorgeous, do it.”

Your grip on the gun faltered but Roman didn't even seem to notice, kissing you again and rutting his hips upwards to meet his fist. His index finger sought out your clit through the thin fabric of your shorts, stroking over the sensitive nub and grinning when you gasped into his mouth.

“I've got you now, gorgeous. You want someone to dominate? Someone to boss around? I'm pretty sure I can fufill that particular need even better than the guys in your books. You just keep wriggling like that and-” Roman's words choked off as you jabbed him with the gun again, cutting off his breath and forcing his chin up.

“So full of yourself.” You muttered, taking his shaft in your hand and feeling more than hearing him groan. “You're not going to do anything except be obedient.” You rubbed the head of his cock roughly, running your thumb over the slit with firm, repetitive strokes.

“I'm gonna' come.” He choked out suddenly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm coming--” Roman shuddered beneath you, his hips jerking as his cock spurted onto your thighs and stomach. “Hah, fuck.” He gasped, his chest heaving against your back. “That's fucking embarrassing. Oh well.”

His arms suddenly wrapped around you from behind, pinning your arms to your sides. The gun hung uselessly down by his thigh as Roman took a few deep, steadying breaths. You squirmed, marveling inwardly at the lack of terror that you felt even while being restrained.

“You alright, Reigns?” Oh no, Ambrose was awake. You watched in horror as Rollins sat up next to Dean, rubbing his eyes and yawning widely.

Roman ignored the other men for a moment. “A gun only works under two conditions, gorgeous. One: you have to be mentally prepared to pull the trigger. And two: it needs to be loaded.” Roman hissed in your ear.

Your eyes widened.

Roman paused. “Oh, and the safety needs to be off. Three conditions.” His grin was insufferably smug.

“You…oh wow.” Seth seemed to be at a loss for words. You didn’t miss the way his eyes rested on Roman’s cock, still twitching against your stomach over your night shirt.

“This could be the kinkiest shit I see in person in my lifetime.” Dean announced, making Roman laugh. “You fucked him, with a gun to his head? Ku-fuckin’-dos, gorgeous. Kinda’ surprised he didn’t pump you full in retaliation, honestly.”

“You knew it wasn’t loaded!” You exclaimed, knowing that you had no real right to be upset. This strategy had been half-baked at best. Roman tapped your wrist and you released his gun without a fight. You felt yourself go bright red in the face with embarrassed frustration while Roman flipped open the revolver with a practiced flick of his wrist and spun the dry chambers, illustrating that there hadn’t been any danger whatsoever. “Why even go along with it then? You just wanted me to make a fool of myself or something?”

Roman shook his head. “I liked it, why wouldn't I go along with it?” He grinned, “Granted, you startled me at first. I didn't think you had it in you, gorgeous.”

A hand cupped your chin, gently pulling it upwards. Seth offered you a smile. “Hey, it was a good try. Would have worked in a scenario where you were actually in danger, no doubt. You used the resources you had access to.” He praised.

“Fat lot of good it did me!”

“It would have kept you alive. That’s all that matters.” Seth said firmly. “Now, how about you come with me and I’ll get you cleaned up, okay?”

Roman gave you a teasing nip on the neck before you got up and you squealed, smacking his chest. Dean chuckled, “Show him who’s boss, gorgeous,” loudly smooching your cheek on the way by.

Seth led you to the bathroom, sitting you up on the sink like you were a small child and then rummaging in the closet for a washcloth. “Are you alright?” He asked softly while he ran the tap.

You nodded, pursing your lips. “Not like I won’t get over being embarrassed.” You raked a hand through your hair, feeling the twitch of an aftershock send a delicious shudder down your spine. You hadn't come from Roman's haphazard ministrations and you couldn't help but wonder whether he would have fucked you if you had let him.

“I’m glad. Glad you didn’t hurt Roman, either.” Seth was dangerous. Seth meant what he said. “We’re all we’ve got in the world, so we try to take care of one another.”

“Roman mentioned.” You grumbled.

“Did he tell you why?” You shook your head and Seth sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “There was an assignment that…the client got in my head. Real deep.” He muttered, seeming ashamed. “I almost got Reigns and Ambrose killed. It was so close to happening. Ambrose…heh, he can take a lot, but that just about broke him.” Seth stared down at the now-wet washcloth in his hands.

“What happened?” You asked, your curiosity getting the best of you. “I mean, if you want to tell me you can. You don’t have to.” You hurriedly amended.

“We hadn’t really uh, spilled the beans to one another. About…about the fact that we all liked each other a little more than partners normally do. Look, specifics don’t matter. Long story short, Ambrose got fucked up pretty badly. Roman could at least still move but…shit, I thought he was going to kill me himself.” Seth’s little laugh was mirthless, a hollow noise. “There was blood everywhere and I was bawling my eyes out. Roman had his cannon to my head saying that he wanted answers while he’s trying to hold pressure on his shoulder with his other hand and Ambrose just…it was like he came back from the dead out of sheer spite.”

“-don’t bring a knife to a gun fight-”

“So he’s stubborn.” You shook off the memory of Dean’s voice, unsure of when that had even been from.

“That’s the understatement of the century. Dean cracked his head into mine and he screamed, ‘you’ll have to do better than that!’, this maniac grin on his face the whole time. He had his fingers wrapped around my throat, Roman’s hand cannon all primed up against my skull itching to pull that trigger. I’ve never apologized so hard in my life. I begged for forgiveness.”

Seth spread your legs and carefully smoothed the washcloth over your thighs, making you shiver. You wrapped your arms around his neck to steady yourself, needing an anchor. He hummed soothingly, letting you rock against the pressure of his hand.

“Once we had Ambrose safe and sound in a hospital, Roman took me aside and told me in no uncertain terms that I was on thin ice with him. He absolutely would have killed me.” Recalling Roman’s deadly fierce expression from earlier, you could see it happening. “’Love is a garbage thing, Rollins. Makes my hands shake. Makes me hesitate, second-guess.’ He sounded so angry with himself.” Rollins shook his head, working the warm cloth in small circles. “He punched me right in the mouth and then he hugged me so tight I thought he was gonna’ break my spine.”

Your whine seemed to catch him by surprise. His story was doing nothing to distract from the fact that he was absolutely teasing you on purpose, the warm washcloth equal parts calming and riling. You hiccupped in a breath and he groaned, a kiss landing right beneath your ear. “Seth.” You said softly.

“Yes, gorgeous?”

It had been so much simpler with Roman. You hadn't had time to think. Now you felt shaky, restless in a way that made your knees tremble. Hungry. “Seth, I...I'm scared.” You admitted. He immediately went to move back, his expression concerned. But you caught the back of his neck, rooting him in place. “Not of you. Any of you. I'm scared because if...if what you guys told me is true, that means that we're all in trouble.”

“Not unless we lose you.” Seth breathed, touching his forehead to your own. “Trust me, that's when the real trouble would happen.”

“I want to believe you.”

“It's okay if you don't.” Seth replied kindly. He kissed you and you leaned into it, fingers grasping desperately at his shirt. “Easy gorgeous. I'm not going anywhere.” He murmured, sliding down your body and spreading your legs. “I'm here. Only us. Even if you don't remember, only us.”

...

“Only us.” A large, tan hand dug into Seth's hair, tugging hard enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. Roman kissed the other man's throat when he bared it, gently nipping the stubbled skin with his teeth.

You had gone back to bed after spending a considerable amount of time with Rollins in the bathroom. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the two of you had been doing, so both Dean and Roman were a little surprised when their brother in arms emerged red-faced and clearly hard. The slick coating his beard had offered an excellent clue though, and Ambrose wasted no time cleaning up.

“They taste so damn good, don't they?” He gasped into Seth’s mouth, sloppily tracing his tongue along his facial hair. Seth nodded furiously. “You took care of them? Made sure they didn't go to bed riled up?”

“They're better, yeah. I just wish they would believe us.” Seth sighed, tearing up a little and doing his best to play it off. “They remember bits and pieces. Nothing solid. I know they trust us. I doubt they would have let me get them cleaned up and put my mouth on them if they didn't trust me.” He twiddled his fingers and then moaned as Roman slid his hand into his boxers.

“You're dripping, Rollins. See somethin’ you like?” Dean teased, his tongue poking out from between his teeth.

“Hah, Roman with his cock out and a gun to his head was uh…” Seth shuddered all over as he recalled the moment: stirred from his sleep by rhythmic motion, turning over into his side and realizing that Ambrose was already awake and watching, always watching, as Roman cradled you in his lap and rolled his hips up to meet your hand.

Ambrose had shot Seth a predatory grin and jerked his chin up, pointing out the gun that you held underneath Reigns’ jaw. It was Roman's gun. Roman always had it with him, but he never actually had it loaded unless they were actively working. His reasoning was that if someone was planning on doing anything unsavory, the last thing he wanted was them swiping his gun with bullets ready in the chamber. Obviously you didn't remember that, and it sure as hell made for a thrilling display.

“Maybe I could get ‘em to hold a knife on me.” Dean mused in the here and now, laughing quietly at the responding pitiful whine from Seth. “Oh you like that idea? Good.”

“I dunno’, Dean. Can't exactly unload a knife.” Roman warned pragmatically.

Dean's grin was even wider than before. “Yeah, ain't it great?”

“You got some weird kinks, Ambrose.”

“Uh, I'm sorry, were you not the one fucking the hand of someone with a gun ready inna’ position to pulp ya’ tongue and brains? It would seem that someone in the group is finally freakier than I am.” Dean nudged Roman in the ribs. “Knives are one thing, but guns, Ro?”

“Only if I know it's unloaded!” Roman protested. “I...It's the feeling of it, I guess. I'm so used to the cannon it's kinda’ mundane. Someone else touching it, holding it-”

“Strokin’ the trigger, slidin’ it under your jaw nice an’ easy...are we still talkin’ about the gun, or did ya’ change y’ dick's name while I wasn't payin’ attention?”

“I was talking about the gun.” Roman palmed over Seth's stomach.

“Can we do that sometime?” Seth begged. “Promise I'll be careful.”

“As if I need incentive to rail you harder.” Roman muttered, his rude words achingly fond. “Sure, I'll let you play with my gun if you let me play with yours. Unloaded. Deal?”

Rollins’ voice cracked when Roman groped his cock, his thumb rubbing small circles just beneath the head exactly how Seth liked it. Dean quickly got in on the action himself, shoving Seth's shirt up to lick and suck at his nipples until Seth had to bite down on his own knuckles in a losing effort to keep quiet. “N--not fair, Dean-” He gasped.

His partners knew every button to press, every inch of sensitive skin to torment. He was helpless under their attentions, trapped between them in the best way possible. His surrender wasn't something instinctive. Seth was not a submissive person by nature; he had fought his way to the top of every pile he had ever been thrown under. But this wasn't about submission. He could tease Roman until the other man begged to be fucked. He could make Ambrose do whatever he asked, whenever he asked. It wasn't about submission. It was about the trust the three of them had.

The four of them had.

Seth felt tears roll down his cheeks when he came and he rubbed at his eyes, sniffling pitifully. Roman enveloped him in a warm hug and Dean began stroking his hair in a comforting manner. “It's alright, Seth.” Reigns whispered. “We miss them too.”

Seth gave in to crying in earnest then, his whole body wracked with sobs as he just slumped against Dean's chest and felt Roman hug him a little tighter. “Cry it out, y’ big baby.” Ambrose encouraged roughly. “We got work t’ do, so clear your system and then we'll put y’ to bed.”

“Thank you.” Rollins huffed out, feeling stupid for losing his composure but grateful that his brothers didn't judge him.

Eventually the three of them made their way to the blankets on the floor, all tucked up against one another in a tangle of limbs. Seth found sleep quickly, even with his face half-crushed into Roman's chest.

…

The whole exchange with Seth had given you goosebumps. Just like Roman, there had been an odd melancholy that seemed to lurk in his eyes when he looked at you. Seth was all heat, more focus, his attention wholly on you while he worked you over with eager, expert motions.

Despite his delicious efforts, sleep was not in your future. You found yourself lying on your back in the bed (which seemed far too large now), fidgeting with the covers. Soft sounds from the other room caught your attention, and you craned your neck in an effort to listen harder.

Uncertain as to whether the noises you were hearing were pained or...otherwise, swamped with a sense of deja vu, you snuck to the door and peeked into the next room.

Seth was sandwiched between the other two men, his shoulders heaving with deep sobs. Roman was holding him and Dean was running his hands through his hair, both men quietly reassuring him while he wept. It was a surprisingly tender scene and your heart ached a little, that foreign familiarity striking yet again.

You kept watching as the three of them laid down, huddled up on blankets on the floor. You felt a spike of shame lance through your stomach. Here you were, taking up the bed while the three of them (one of them still healing from a gunshot wound, no less) bedded down on the floor.

You slipped from your room and sidled up to Dean, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “I'm awake.” He muttered, startling you enough that you flinched. “Need somethin’, gorgeous?” He blinked up at you, his arms still folded across his chest.

You silently extended your hand and Dean took it after a second, his brow furrowing when you knelt and whispered, “You guys should come sleep in my room.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, sounding suspicious. “Why's that?”

“Because I really doubt that the floor is more comfortable than the bed, and the bed is huge-”

“We ain't tryin’ to hurt you, gorgeous. We also ain't tryin' to get ourselves hurt.” Dean said seriously. “Facts is facts. You believed that gun was functionin’ an’ the only thing that kept Reigns from gettin’ his brains blown out is his own goddamn forethought.” He shook his head, getting to his feet. “Ain't a pretty picture.”

“What have you done in situations where you were alone and thought you couldn't win?” You snapped.

“That's the key right there, ain't it. ‘Thought’. Listen to me, gorgeous. Hear this, even if you wanna’ ignore everythin’ else.” Ambrose tilted your chin up so you had to look him in the eye. “I never believed that there was a situation I wouldn't get out of. I've put all my trust in those two over there. And into you, more recently.” He shrugged, “Sure, I've been concerned once or twice. Rollins probably toldja’ about that though.”

“What actually happened?” You whispered. Dean looked down at the other two men, carefully took your arm and silently led you back into the bedroom. Once you sat down, he stood in front of you with his hands at his sides. Despite the obvious attempt at looking relaxed, you could see his fingers twitching every so often.

“I took my own knife to the back.” He said finally. “Guy was a big fan of brute force vindication, so he whipped it around on me an’ gave me a nice couple of kidney divots.” Ambrose tugged at the neck of his t-shirt and tapped the top of a faded scar that crested his shoulder. “He ripped me open from hip to nape, plain and simple. Blood loss was one thing. The internal damage was kinda’ what had me woozy, though.”

You put a hand over your mouth, stunned. Rollins had dumbed down the scenario, it would seem.

“I was layin’ there in a pool of my own blood, Rollins all curled up around me fightin’ the guy off, protectin’ me a day late and a dollar fuckin’ short.” Dean pointed his index finger at your temple like it was the barrel of a gun. “Reigns came in and blew our client away, then he was on Rollins like a bad suit. Never heard Roman yell like that before.”

“You guys forgave Seth, though. Why?” You cast a glance over at the ajar door. “He could have gotten you killed.”

“Death's a workin’ hazard. I knew that, a’ course. Made peace with it. If he had any sense, Rollins would have ditched us before that went down. I think he was havin’ second thoughts. Doubtin’ himself an' his motives.” Dean stretched, wincing as the bandaging on his ribs pulled at his skin. “Day late and a dollar short, like I said, but at least he knew he fucked up.”

“Why do you guys even do this stuff? Why not just work as normal security or something?”

“I do it because I ain't got nowhere else to go, gorgeous. No blood family. Nobody else except me.” Dean's expression had gone hard. “Roman does it because his pops wanted him to be in the business. Seth does it because he had somethin' to prove and he didn't wanna’ get eaten alive in Spec Ops.” Dean sighed, smoothing his shaggy hair back from his face. “I do it as a way to even the shit odds of this planet. We ain't assigned to good people, okay? You were a weird case. We jumped on it because your parents were totally willing to offer you up as bait. It was our best chance at nabbing these fucks, especially since you'd already had a visit from ‘em.”

“Instead, you had to play babysitter.” The pieces were starting to fall into place for you.

“We figured, fuck it, we can take care of this rich fuck's spawn. We're professionals. Cut off one head to get to the next. We didn't expect you to be so...I dunno’, genuine.” Dean admitted. “Didn't expect you to be so pretty. Didn't expect you to be so damn kind to us.” He gestured up and down, taking in your entire body. “You wrecked us, gorgeous.” He sounded almost angry. “Bent us to y’ fuckin’ will without even tryin’. We stopped plannin’ how we would step over you to get to the bad guys and started payin’ more attention to the way your dad an’ y’ mom treated you. The long bouts of fuckin’ silence, the momentary affections an’...I mean, I still don't get what the end game is. But it don't matter. Cards on the table.” He finished firmly, “We're not lettin' you get kidnapped or ransomed or whatever the hell.”

“Oh.” You said weakly.

“Sorry, I know you were jus’ bein’ polite. Probably weren't expecting the word vomit.” Ambrose muttered self-consciously. “Tryin' to clear up any confusion is all. Been runnin' it over in my head tryin’ to phrase shit right.”

“It's okay. Thank you.” You took his hand, smiling up at him. “You guys have been so kind to me.”

“It's the other way around. Trust me.”

…

Your phone buzzed with a message, waking you from a sound sleep. You wondered at that, thoroughly confused as you fumbled to pick up the phone and unlock it. You didn't think you even had service out here!

-Come outside

You were wide awake now, staring down at the screen with your brow furrowed. A few seconds passed with you just...stock still, reading and rereading the message. It was from a private number, and it was too short to really discern anything about the person's identity.

You slipped out of bed, tiptoeing into the living room.

-Who is this?

-Unless you want those men to get hurt do as I say come outside NOW

Your mind whirled with confusion. Who could this be from? Was this person even able to cause harm to the three men currently sleeping? You gulped, wondering if the cabin had been staked out by snipers or people with night vision goggles.

You remembered the haunted look on Seth's face.

Were you willing to risk it?

You heard movement in the other room and cursed your luck as Rollins leaned against the doorway. “Gorgeous, what're you doing up so early? Y'woke up Roman n’ I.” He yawned, running a hand through his hair. You quickly stepped into an old pair of boots that you had taken note of beside the door. Seth cocked his head to the side. “Gorgeous?” He sounded a little more awake now and you knew you had to act fast. Your hand closed around the doorknob. “Hey, wait, what-”

You yanked open the door and were greeted with a frigid blast of cold air, ignoring it in favor of continuing to bolt.

“Gorgeous!” Seth shouted from the door and you whirled to face him, wrapping your arms around your body.

“Don’t try to follow me!” You said firmly, already shivering. “I'm serious, Seth!”

“I'm not letting you go out here, dammit! You'll freeze dressed like that!” Seth swore, yanking on his own boots. “We're not letting you die out here!”

“You need to stay inside for your own good!” You yelled, making him pause.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘for my own-'!” His words were drowned out by the sound of a rapidly-approaching small motor. You had only half-turned when something struck the back of your head, sending you tumbling face-first into the snow. For the second time in your life, the warm blackness devoured you.

…

Diesel groaned, scratching the nape of his neck and making his spiked gray hair fluff up even further. “Lemme’ get this straight.” He began slowly. “You guys want permission to...go after this kid. We scrubbed the assignment but you guys want my permission to go after Gold to get the kid back. The one that he kidnapped from you because you swiped them out from beneath his nose, right?”

“Yes sir.” Seth continued to stare straight ahead.

Diesel sighed. “Why the fuck do you want to go after him yourselves? The kid was supposed to be bait, remember? We were gonna’ send another team-”

“It’s personal now sir.”

“That gives me like, even less incentive to put you three back on this. What the fuck Rollins, c'mon.” Diesel scolded. “You coulda’ tried to make up an excuse or something, man. Am I not worth lying to?”

“I'm not going to damage my reputation by lying to you, sir. I know there's plenty of people here that still see me as a traitor. I am being one hundred percent honest with you.” Seth's voice shook a little and Ambrose placed a hand on his shoulder. “We need to be put back on this.”

“No, you want to be put back on this.” Diesel opened a drawer in his desk. “I'm not redoing your briefing, I can't guarantee any backup-”

“Understood.”

“Let me finish, damn it.” Diesel jabbed a finger at Seth, his brow furrowed. “I might be lazy, little man, but I'm no fool. You three and your relations with one another are quickly becoming a working hazard. You add another person into your mess and it might just blow up in your face. I ain't hatin' on your free and easy lifestyle, just your lack of regard for your own wellbeing! You guys are good at what you do. Don't fuck this up for yourselves.”

“We need to save them. We...We're all they have.” Rollins said quietly. “Imagine being alone and scared with a gaping hole in your memories, with parents that would willingly hand you over to be bait! Goldberg is going to hurt them, I know he is. We need to stop him.”

“Cut the bleeding-heart bullshit, Rollins. You three trying your luck at Errol Flynn-ing this kid isn't something that I can condone.” Diesel slid a folder out of the drawer, opening it up and spreading the contents so they were easily viewable from the other side of the desk. “My hands are tied here, boys. I'm sorry.” He paused, then winked, tapping his finger on a highlighted paragraph. “We don't really know where Goldberg’s gone to ground anyway. This is a dead end.”

“Of course. We're sorry we wasted your time.” Dean muttered, his eyes still latched onto the pages on the desk. “Thank you anyway. For er, bein’ willing to listen to us.”

Diesel waited until Ambrose shot him a sidelong look beneath his bangs before he tucked the file back into his desk. “Now, you boys enjoy the holidays. See Michaels for another assignment if you don't want the time off.”

“Yeah.”

Rollins was squinting at the older man, as if he was waiting for him to do something. Diesel grunted and made a shooing motion. “Get outta’ my office.”

Once the trio had left, Diesel leaned back in his chair and speed dialed Michaels.

“What's up Big?”

“Who do we have active right now? Yeah, I know you sent the report this morning. Just humor me and refresh my memory, man.” Diesel leaned back even further in his chair, running a hand through his hair yet again.

There was a pregnant pause and then Michaels grudgingly obliged, “Logs showin’ recent check ins from our kid in Bulgaria, the Everglades lightin’ up like a damn Zemeckis star field, we have more activity in Canada and Mexico-”

“Well at least I didn't lie to ‘em about the no backup.” Diesel sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Why the fuck can't the clowns of the world take the holidays off?” He grumbled.

…

You woke up in your own bed. You laid there motionless for a second, then bolted upright as memories flooded you. You remembered hitting your head, not knowing who your security team was, the cabin, trying to hold Roman at gunpoint, Seth-

Goldberg. Your blood ran cold. So that was why you'd been offered up as bait. Your father had sometimes griped about him in the background of Skype calls. You only vaguely remembered seeing the large bald man on television once, and it wasn't for anything good. So this was what he was up to? Kidnapping? Or extortion? Both? You could hope it was something that simple.

“Rise and shine kiddo. It's Christmas morning.” You jolted, so deep in thought you hadn't even heard the man approach. “Spacey as usual, I see. Daddy dearest wasn't lying there.” He sighed, seeming disappointed. “Really hoped you'd put up more of a fight, honestly. Wanted to have a few bruises to help ease the bucks out of your parents’ wallet.”

Your fists clenched beneath the blankets.

“Ah well, can't be helped. C'mon, it's time for lunch already. You've been sleeping for ages, blunt force trauma does that to a person.” Giving you no option to argue, Bill Goldberg took your elbow and hauled you out of bed. Your knees shook and he grunted when you almost collapsed. “Shit, you're frail. Neglect, I guess.” The hand on your arm was like a vice. You could feel the strength in his fingers alone, like Seth but entirely malicious. There was no holding it in check to keep from scaring you, he was attempting to intimidate and it was absolutely working.

You followed him downstairs, doing your best to appear docile. The whole time your mind was pitching back and forth, rattling down a list of options that grew more and more farfetched. Fear suddenly squeezed at your heart and before you could think about it you blurted out, “did you hurt them?”

“Who?” Goldberg asked nonchalantly.

“Don't play dumb with me!” You snapped.

“Easy with that attitude, kiddo. You want a beating? Just for the sake of argument I'll assume you're talking about your ‘security’ team.” Goldberg chuckled. “What a joke! They didn't even come after me! Of course, me being on a snowmobile probably factored in to the nonexistent pursuit of your kill squad.” He mused, his eyes fixed on you while you flushed uncomfortably. “I guess they really had you fooled. You know they don't really do security, right? Or did they not even have the balls to tell you that much?”

“Ambrose told me-”

“Can’t even believe he's still alive.” Goldberg muttered like he was talking to himself. “Never mind. I don't really give a shit. I whipped up something for lunch and I expect you to eat. After we've got some food into you, we'll give your folks a little Christmas call. Can't have you passing out from hunger, now can I?”

You stared at your plate once he sat you down at the long table in the dining room, your brow furrowed. “What did you do to this?” You asked incredulously, poking the lump of charcoal that might have been a pile of hamburger at one point. “You're how old and you don't even know how to cook something as simple as a burger?” You knew that your flippant words were reckless, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You were on your own, with nothing but the training that you'd been given by Seth, Dean and Roman.

How to take down an opponent larger than you: You’re already going to be at a disadvantage. First things first, get your opponent off-balance.

Bill appeared to be ignoring you. The only indicator that he heard you was the vein in his forehead growing more and more prominent.

“You do realize that my family regularly frequents high-class restaurants, right?” You needled, folding your arms across your chest and making a show out of turning your nose up. “I wouldn't feed this to a dog, Mr. Goldberg.”

“Keep it up kiddo.” He hissed, twisting the handle of his fork in the tablecloth. “I'm sure your parents wouldn't care if I had you skip a few meals.”

“Naturally. They'd probably applaud you. Should have heard my mother wailing about getting my gala dress refitted.” You shot back. He was jealous, you realized, taking in how he had set the table. Silverware in the wrong places, too many dishes for the lone course he had made and the fanciest tablecloth in the linen closet. He appreciated the finer things in life despite obviously having little practice in utilizing them, playing at opulence with the clumsy enthusiasm of a child.

There was a crash that sounded like it came from the foyer and Goldberg glanced up in confusion, his fork hovering in midair. You saw his hand shaking. Just a tiny bit.

“Kiddo, did you invite anyone else for lunch?” He asked you calmly, the furrow between his brows a textbook warning sign.

You shook your head and the older man struck, his fingers clamping down on the back of your neck and slamming your head into the table. Your vision greyed out for a second, right hand instinctively digging at your hip for the knife Ambrose had given you as a birthday present. But you didn’t have it. Of course you didn’t.

“Don’t lie to me, you little brat.” Goldberg hissed. “No one else could be out there. No one else gives a fuck about you. Not even your own parents. How much did you pay them to get them on your side? Whatever it is, I can double it easily.” He was seething. “This game is over.”

Pay? You think their loyalty can be bought, you mused inwardly. And I’m the dumb one.

The French doors to the foyer burst open and in strode three very familiar men. “Guys!” You cried, wincing in pain when Goldberg slammed your head down a second time.

“Not another step closer.” Goldberg warned. “Whatever they’re paying you, I can top it. You boys would be damn useful on my side of the law.”

Seth looked about ready to explode out of his own skin. He had that sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, nearly as long as he was tall, and he just…tossed it aside. You felt Goldberg twitch at the motion. “You're going to regret this.” Rollins said softly.

“Whoa whoa whoa, hang on a sec.” Dean clapped a hand on Seth’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Look old man, if you’re willin’ to up the ante…” He paused, raising an eyebrow. “We can be reasonable. Ain’t no need for bloodshed on our part, right Rollins?”

“Consider your payment doubled.” Goldberg was grinning wildly. “See kiddo? This is why people like me win, and people like you lose.” He released you, and then caught you by surprise when he slammed your head back down a final time in passing.

…

Seth bit his lip so hard that his skin crunched in warning. His eyes were fixed on you, breath pulling unevenly in his chest as he barely kept himself from blindly lunging at Goldberg. Remember how to do this. Keep quiet. Make him forget that you’re here. Ambrose will talk. Roman will be obvious. You can be invisible.

You hadn’t moved since Bill had cracked your skull into the table. Seth forced himself to ignore your motionless form.

“Gold, I know you say you can double what they’re givin’ us. But uh, you gonna’ give us any proof? Our current handlers ain't exactly hurtin’ for cash, so I’m kinda’ drawin’ a blank on this whole ‘doubling’ thing.” Dean drawled, leaning on Roman’s shoulder and giving the older man a leering smirk. “You’re willing to kidnap and threaten a defenseless person with violence to get a couple hundred thou’ outta’ their family, collateral damage don’t mean shit to you. Plus the little stunt you pulled with your posse invadin’ the house in the dead of night almost had me buyin’ the farm. Didn't want us collectin’ your paycheck?”

“You boys were getting ready to strike. It was a fun game we played, you three trying to lull me into a false sense of security with bowling.” The older man accused. He was wisely keeping his distance, making sure the long banquet table stayed between him and the three men. “I’m sorry, I didn’t consider bowling to be a vital part in your strategy!”

“We needed to get the kid outta’ the house.” Ambrose shrugged, picking at a scab on his chin. “It’d be easier to manipulate them an’ make it look like an accident if they trusted us. You know that from personal experience. Ain’t our fault they were a shut-in.”

While Ambrose prattled on Seth eased back a step, then another. Casual, nonchalant. Dean's hand behind his back flashed a series of fingers at him. Two together, a pause, and then one. Wait a minute.

“Gold, you know above all that we're reasonable guys. You wanna’ know how much our sweet little thing was payin’ us to keep them safe?” Seth could picture the shit-eating grin on Dean's face. “Not a fuckin’ cent. We're paid by our organization. That's it. So if you can double nothin’, I guess y’ must be a man of great fuckin’ substance.”

Goldberg sputtered, obviously at a loss for words, and Dean quickly beckoned Rollins on behind his back while Roman grabbed hold of Dean's other wrist. Seth had a running start of only a few feet and he hoped and prayed it was enough, bolting forward and planting his boot in the cradle his brothers had created to launch him up and over.

It was apparently more than adequate momentum. Seth hastily tucked his head in for the flip over Dean and Roman, bending his knees and rolling through the landing to skid to a halt bare inches from Goldberg’s face. The dishes on the table clattered in his wake and Bill just...stared at him, nose to nose.

“Like I said.” Seth whispered, grabbing the collar of the larger man's shirt. “You're going to regret this.”

“Oh I doubt th-” Whatever smug remark Goldberg had been about to make was cut short by the sound of a blade being drawn. Seth hadn't even noticed Dean and Roman moving to flank him, and from the look on Goldberg's face it appeared that he hadn't either.

“Choose your words real careful, paycheck.” Dean growled, the blade of his knife sliding lazily beneath Goldberg's chin. “I ain't merciful like Rollins. And I won't make it quick like Reigns. I'll make it ugly.”

“This is illegal.” Bill pointed out, his voice shaking.

“You've got to be shitting me.” Dean replied incredulously. “All of a sudden your dumb ass knows right from wrong? Don't make me fuckin’ laugh. I could slit your throat and there ain't a jury that would convict me, Bill.”

Seth saw a flurry of motion out of the corner of his eye and then you were clinging to Goldberg's arm, mumbling no no no. They hadn't even noticed the gun that Bill had, a concealed belt holster maybe? Rollins cursed his own inattention, his grip never wavering. Goldberg easily shook you off and jabbed the barrel into Dean's side, chuckling.

Ambrose grinned back in that way that made it look like he was baring his teeth, devoid of mirth with ice in his eyes. “Nice try, Bill. Better luck next time.”

Roman struck, his arm rocketing forward to slam the butt of his hand cannon down on Goldberg's wrist. Bill yelped, releasing his gun on reflex and Seth cheered inwardly when you caught it. That deadly click announced that Roman was losing his patience, the large man cordially asking, “Gorgeous, how’s your head?”

“Better than ever.” You grumbled, wiping away the trickle of blood from a small cut over your eyebrow. “So what now? The police, right?”

“Nah. This scumbag is special.” Dean mused. “Why the long face? Big’s gonna’ be thrilled to see ya’, Bill! Lighten up.”

“You're sure I can't change your minds?” Goldberg implored as Seth pulled out a handful of zipties. “You boys are wasting your talent working with that asshole. Just think of what you could do if you joined me instead. C'mon!” His eyes landed on you and Seth hated with a passion the smirk that crept across his face. “Imagine what you could get away with, what you could do to them-”

“You'd better shut your mouth before one of us gags you.” Roman’s tone was calm, a stark contrast to the subject matter of his words. “You have the right to remain silent. I suggest you take full advantage of that and shut the fuck up.”

Bill wisely clammed up and allowed the three men to secure him to a dining room chair, where he waited silently.

“Nash is on his way. He had a patrol a few miles south. No backup, my ass.” Ambrose grumbled after he got off the phone.

“Let me see your head, gorgeous.” Seth gave you as thorough of a checkup as he could, trying not to fixate on the swollen cut over your eyebrow. “How do you feel? Woozy? Halo in your vision? Any disturbances?” He asked worriedly, cupping your face so he could see if your pupils were equal and tracking motion properly.

He was distraught when your eyes filled with tears, but then you smiled up at him. “I'm okay! I promise.” You laughed, wiping at your eyes. “I mean, my head is sore, yeah. But I'm okay Seth.”

Rollins silently embraced you, carefully stroking the back of your head as you sniffled into his tactical vest and clung to him. “We told you we would keep you safe. I'm sorry we were a little late.”

“I tried really hard to keep him off-balance.”

“You did good, gorgeous.” Dean rasped, rumpling your hair. “Kept his ass yammerin’ until the cavalry arrived. We're a pretty small cavalry, a’ course. Kinda’ raggedy. But we do our best.” Dean nudged his nose into Seth's cheek. “We gotta’ talk about y’ somersault there, Rollins.”

“It was a combat roll.” Seth huffed, knocking his forehead back into Dean's.

“Great half-ass cartwheel.”

“I didn't see you doing any flips, Ambrose!” Dean flipped him off in reply and Seth couldn't help the hysterical cackle that exploded out of him. He heard you start to giggle into his chest and he held you a little tighter, unable to keep the smile off his face.

…

The latest holiday movie played on in the background and you dimly heard Roman making his way back upstairs, no doubt with fresh popcorn in hand. The three of you had settled in on your bed after Mr. Diesel and his associates had come to collect the docile Goldberg, the extremely tall man shaking your hand as though you were a new business partner.

“I'll be in touch,” he’d said with a sly wink, shooting a glare at the three men behind you. “And as for you boys, you have any idea how much paperwork I'm gonna’ have to fill out to take care of this mess?”

You nudged Seth's side and his arm moved to hug your shoulders. “You want to sit on my lap?” Seth offered and you quickly took him up on it, immensely enjoying the way he pulled you back into his chest. “No guns, right?” He murmured, his hands moving to your hips so he could tuck you tighter into his lap.

You shook your head with a laugh, making an embarrassing noise when he ground his hardening length up against you.

“Uh oh, sounds like Rollins is gettin’ handsy.” Dean teased, leaning over to peck you on the cheek. “What’s the matter gorgeous, he grindin’ his dick against you? He loves doin’ that shit.”

You couldn’t answer as Seth tugged your panties to the side, kisses falling at random on your neck. You could almost hear Dean smirking.

Roman sauntered back onto the bed and settled against the headboard, lazily extending one arm laden with your snack of choice. He wiggled it just out of reach and you crawled forward to grab it, whispering a thank-you. You hoped and prayed that your excitement hadn’t left any embarrassing slick marks on Rollins’ pants. You knew you were wet through your underwear already, feeling the heat on your inner thighs.

Seth flipped your skirt up over your hips as you hungrily tucked in to your snack, his hands rubbing gentle circles into your exposed skin.

Dean swore under his breath, nothing but a gritty, low, “fuck.” Roman glanced over at that, grinning when he saw your position and the way Seth’s hands were moving.

“Fucking ridiculous.” He laughed. “Not that I can blame you. We're all safe and sound. It's a relief. Feels almost normal again, right?”

You looked back at Seth, who actually whimpered at you in a ridiculous manner. “Please?” He asked softly. “You’re already so wet, and Dean and Roman are right here. All you have to do is sit down, I promise.” There was the ticking sound of a zipper pulling open. “Please, gorgeous, please please.”

Feeling like an entirely different person, bold and maybe (just maybe) a little needy, you handed off your snack to Ambrose. “Only if I get to finish my snack after I’ve gotten a treat.” You bargained, dragging a sharp inhale from Roman.

“Anything you want.” Seth agreed rapidly.

“Shit, I think we’d give you a ‘treat’ any old time.” Dean growled.

You settled back down on Seth’s lap, squeezing his freed cock teasingly between your thighs for a moment before you rose back up and let him have his way. Seth’s hands dug beneath your top and into your bra to toy with your breasts, making you tremble in his grip. “I am gonna’ fill you up and make you come on my dick.” He promised in your ear, his cock sliding over your pussy. “Up a little, and then relax.” He coached and you obeyed, the head of his dick breaching you slowly.

“God, gorgeous, you always take him so good. Just like me, just like Roman.” Dean murmured. “We oughta’ fuck him open while he’s tryin’ to fuck you. See how far his focus gets him before he starts beggin’.”

“Easy man, don’t wanna’ come before them.” Seth protested, his voice a little shaky. “That’s right gorgeous, you just lean into my hands. Lean into them, so I can fuck you.”

You had watched Dean and Roman finish Seth off more than once, watched them jerk him until he came with a gasping sigh of completion. The idea of him actually getting fucked by one of them was relatively untouched territory, though apparently not for them judging by how hard Seth was bucking up into you. You couldn't deny that the notion had merit.

“When we fuck each other, we fuckin’ spread each other open. Seth makes the best noises outta’ everyone, don’t you Seth?” Dean rasped, “Whimpers and whines, loves it. One time Roman and I pinned him to the wall and took turns railin’ him.”

That was an image for sure, your mind running wild. Your pussy clenched on Seth's cock and he gasped, his breath coming in sharp bursts. “No fair, you can't say shit like--hngh, they like it Ambrose you can't-” He choked.

“He likes being sloppy.” Roman confided. “Would you like that, Seth? You want to get fucked while you fuck them?”

Seth went dead still inside you. You could feel his thighs trembling and jerking with the effort of not moving and you rolled your hips, making Seth bury his face in your shoulder helplessly.

“You wanna’ get fucked, doncha’? Wanna' get bent over and filled up?” Dean crooned, a hand already fisted in Seth's hair. “Maybe twice, right? Maybe maybe?”

“You want Dean to fuck you while you fuck them? Or do you want to sit in my lap?” Roman purred. “Grind on my cock while you fuck yours into them? We're waiting.”

“D-Dean first then you Roman,” Seth said all in a rush, avoiding looking at your eyes like he was embarrassed. “Please, I--”

“Shh, we've got you.” Roman soothed, sitting up and moving to lift you bodily off of Seth's cock. You whined in complaint and Roman chuckled, rubbing his nose against your cheek. “So impatient. I have to prep him, gorgeous. Do me a favor and jerk him slow while I open him up, okay? I want to see how long he can go without coming.” He greedily fondled your breast through your shirt, like he couldn't help himself. You whimpered and rocked against the comforting bulk of his body and Dean chuckled.

“We're all so greedy for you, gorgeous.”

Seth groaned when you finally laid beside him on the bed, his head hanging while he stayed on his hands and knees. You skimmed a hand over his now-shirtless chest, watching in delighted surprise as he jolted and gritted his teeth after you circled his nipples. Your fingers moved lower, finding his cock and gripping it loosely. It was still dripping from your own slick and you crooned, “good boy,” in his ear, making him swear under his breath and rock his hips down into your hand.

Roman began the careful, gentle process of working Seth's body open, preparing him for the eventual intrusion with two lubricated fingers. Dean knelt in front of Seth, his jeans unzipped and his cock out. He stroked himself a few times and you were certain he was making a show of it, staying out of Seth's reach for a few precious minutes to keep him distracted from any initial pain. Seth wasted little time swallowing down the other man's length once Dean did move close enough, whining and grunting around it in response to either Roman or you, you weren't entirely certain. Rollins seemed torn between humping your hand or fucking back onto Roman's fingers, settling for a weird twitch of his hips every few seconds that seemed to satisfy him.

“How it usually works, gorgeous, is that I prep him for Dean, who in turn preps him for me.” Roman said conversationally to you while scissoring and crooking his fingers. Seth cried out, saliva trickling down the side of his jaw as Dean continued to thrust roughly into his mouth. “I'm a little thicker than Dean, so it's for the best that Ambrose goes first and warms him up.” Reigns brought his palm down lightly on the curve of Seth's rear, not really hard enough to be considered a swat. More of a caress. “Seth loves it when we go one right after the other. Loves feeling all used and fucked out.”

Rollins nodded rapidly, Dean helpfully holding his hair back out of the way.

“Not sure how it might change with you in the mix, but it's going to be interesting.” Roman mused, his eyes narrowing. “Rollins, you’d better not be about to come. Gorgeous, give the base of his cock a tight squeeze.” Seth made a despairing noise that sent shivers down your spine, the power you held over him suddenly obvious. “Hey, no complaining. This is your own fault for being so quick on the trigger.” Roman chided, his fingers wrapping around your own to firmly grip the base of Seth's cock. It twitched like it had a mind of its own, throbbing hot in your hand as Seth squirmed a little. “Sneaky brat. Stop whining and let them milk you like a good fuck toy.”

“Enough.” Dean gasped, pulling back out of Rollins’ mouth. “Wanna' fuck him now.”

“I'm ready, I promise, I promise.” Seth arched his back. “Fuck me Dean, c'mon, I want to fuck them-”

“Alright gorgeous, on your belly underneath him.” Roman got you into position, smirking at the noise Seth made and the way he rubbed his cock against the swell of your rear. “Ambrose, mount him once he's got his cock in them.”

Seth peppered the back of your neck with hungry kisses, one hand entwined with your own as he guided his cock to penetrate you from behind with a slow roll of his hips. You gasped and squirmed up, loving the new angle, then froze when Seth cried out, “F--uck's sake, A-Ambrose!” His breathing hitched and you heard a low groan from Dean.

“Christ Reigns, you always slick him up so nice. Slid right in.” Dean rasped. He leaned down to grab your hand, the one that Seth already had a death grip on. “How you doin’, Rollins? Gonna’ come? If you hold off, I'll make it worth your while.”

“Dean-” Seth half-sobbed, his hips working furiously to fuck into you. His hands groped at the bed beneath you, searching out your breasts and cupping them. “Dean, God, gorgeous you feel so good, so fucking good--”

You were breathless underneath the two men, feeling the pace Ambrose set through Seth's motions. Rollins brought his hips flush to your rear, seating himself as deeply as he could inside you. All you could do was try to arch up and fuck back at him, every inch of skin tingling with heat and arousal.

“Oh no, oh no--” Seth panted in your ear, digging beneath you again to rub his fingers over your clit. You cried out at the lightning bolt of sensation and Ambrose snarled.

“Holy fuck, easy Rollins. Loosen up.” He choked out. “Deep breaths, I don't wanna’ hurt you.”

Seth was clearly paying him no mind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he hammered down into you with sharp, precise strokes. He had gone nearly silent, his teeth digging fiercely into his lower lip.

“Seth.” Dean snapped, Rollins’ chin suddenly gone from your shoulder. “You want me to pull your hair, I'll pull your fuckin’ hair, but you need to relax around me otherwise this shit is gonna’ hurt you.” Ambrose warned. Seth whined pitifully and you caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. He looked dazed, his lips slightly parted and wet while Ambrose kept that grip on his hair. The angle his back was bent at couldn't have been comfortable but he didn't even seem to care, letting Dean push him into you.

“M’ sorry.” Seth apologized, licking his lips and then biting them nervously.

“Now fuck them like you mean it.” Dean ordered, releasing Seth's hair. Rollins propped himself up with his elbows on either side of your body, rapidly sliding his length in and out of you. You felt like you were melting, molten hot from proximity and activity. Your thighs were shaking with the strain of holding back from coming, your clit aching for more attention as you tried not to grind back against Seth. You didn't want this to end! It was just too good, filthy and sweet and full.

“Damn Rollins, you're almost as wet as they get.” Dean grunted. “Fuck toy likes gettin' railed. You love it when I get balls deep, don't you?”

Seth pushed his forehead in between your shoulder blades, twitching and moaning as he desperately kept moving. “Ambrose y' gonna' make me come if you keep talking-”

“I love it when you fuckin' squirm for me, you tighten up around me like you want me to fuckin' snap you in half.” Dean growled.

Your body went into spasm, the idea of Seth being fucked into submission apparently too much for you. Your mouth opened to scream but nothing came out, fingers clawing for purchase on the sheets beneath you.

“Oh God, oh God, they're coming, Dean they're coming, fuck--” Seth sighed, circling his hips. “Fuck me, they feel so good...” You sobbed out a breath and took his hand again, kissing his knuckles.

“Don't mind if I fuckin' do.” Dean muttered, snapping his hips forward to meet Seth's body. A few more strokes was all it took for Ambrose to come, the light-haired man planting a hand on the bed beside your head as he shuddered and gasped his way to his own completion. You watched the muscles in his arm flex and shake with the force of holding his weight and you couldn't help shivering again, all the while whispering thank you, thank you...

…

When Dean pulled out, Seth felt his cock twitch needily. He had to stay still, had to stay still. He'd been told not to come, so he had to stay still.

Roman settled back onto his knees, hissing and then smearing some of Dean's come down the back of Seth's thigh as it dripped out of him. “I'm fucking taking you now, Rollins. You're not allowed to come unless they do again, got it?”

Seth knew he must look delirious, his hair all over the place and his whole body flushed with heat. “Whatever you want.” He breathed, watching hungrily over his shoulder while Roman stroked himself a few times with the lubricant from the bottle on the nightstand.

“I know Ambrose got you plenty fucking wet for me.” Roman muttered, still helping himself to a second coating after he put on a condom. “You ready, Seth? Ready for this fucking cock?”

Seth loved the way Roman would get all heated and almost-angry, swears falling rapid as compliments. Seth knew from experience that the more he would surrender, the better it would be. “Please, Roman.” He whispered.

Seth loved the way you shivered beneath his body, obviously overstimulated but loving every second of it. You tugged him down to kiss you and he went happily, his tongue tangling with your own.

Seth loved the way Ambrose softened and fawned over him when he knew he was about to get fucked, the other man's hands stroking his hair and shoulders in a way that was startlingly tender for someone like Dean.

Rollins dissolved into helpless babbling with his hands fisted in the sheets on either side of your head as Roman slowly, slowly sank the length of his dick into him. Seth's forehead rested on your back, his fingers gripping at your sides as he tentatively eased back onto Roman's cock, taking him inch by inch. The growl Roman let out spiraled down into Seth's core, an unfiltered, guttural noise of pleasure so honest it made him want to come on the spot. Seth was hot, slick, a filthy mixture of come and lubricant allowing him to take Roman better than usual.

Dean wiggled you out from beneath Seth, kissing you fiercely and choking back a laugh when you moved against his body in a sensual manner. “You want a taste, gorgeous? Or do you want the whole experience?” Seth watched hazily as you leaned in and whispered something in his ear, Dean's eyes widening and then half-lidding. “That ain't a bad idea, gorgeous.” He murmured, a lazy grin turning up the corner of his mouth. “Pass me a condom and prepare to have y’ dreams come true.”

“You're fucking them Ambrose?” Roman asked, releasing his hold on Seth's hips to reach beneath him and loosely grip the shaft of Seth's cock.

Rollins didn't mean to come, it just sort of happened, the younger man coating Roman's fingers with a muffled gasp. Seth's breathing rasped in his throat as he came down from the high, dimly aware that Roman was not slowing down in the slightest.

“I told you to wait.” Roman murmured. “You did good though, I guess I shouldn't have touched your cock. Now this means I'll have to fuck a second one out of you.” He slid his palms down over the front of Seth's thighs, digging his fingers in for a better grip and full on rutting his cock into Seth.

Rollins sobbed out, pressing his forehead to the bed. It was so good it was overwhelming, his body in spasm from coming and Roman slip-dragging over that spot inside that made him light up. His cock rubbed against the sheets, half-hard just from the pressure alone.

He heard you moan and he found the strength to raise his head, watching hungrily. Dean and you were both on your knees, your back to his chest while he slowly fucked up into you from behind. Roman chuckled overhead and the next thing Seth knew he was being repositioned, Roman tugging him carefully upright into a mirror of the other two.

Roman’s hand slipped beneath Seth's jaw, holding the younger man's face steady while he tweaked and toyed with his nipples. “You like this, Rollins? I can fuck you just like them.” He hissed, grinning when Dean gripped you tightly and sidled even closer. “You two could even make out while Dean and I fuck you. What do you say, Seth? Give us a show.”

Seth buried his face in Roman's neck to hide his embarrassment, covering the skin there with kisses. It was uncharted territory for you to be around when they were actually fucking one another, normally they just jerked each other off because it was less of a hassle. But with you here, getting fucked while he was getting fucked too...

Seth chanced another look at you and saw Dean fondling your breasts and pressing his hand to your stomach to keep you steady, whispering in your ear. Whatever he was saying was making you writhe on his dick, your eyes fixed on Seth the entire time. Dean managed to move even closer, directly opposite from Seth and Roman with nothing but a few inches separating you and Rollins.

Roman grinned against Seth's shoulder, reaching out to give one of your nipples a teasing flick. Dean did the same to Seth, laughing at Rollins’ pitiful noise in reply. “Fuck, they tightened up when you made that sound. Roman, I think they like watchin’ him gettin’ railed.” Ambrose smirked. “Isn't that right, gorgeous? You like watchin’ Seth gettin’ worked over? I know you like it when we suck or jerk each other off, so I'm sure this is fuckin’ divine for you.”

You caught one of Seth’s hands, bringing it to your mouth and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you.” You said softly.

Rollins huffed out a breath and kissed you as hard as he could, carding his fingers through your hair. “Thank you.” He breathed.

Dean grabbed a handful of Roman's hair, grinning when the larger man snapped his teeth at him. “So mouthy on top!” He teased, letting the black locks slide through his fingers. Roman wrapped his hand around Seth's throat and threw his arm over the other man's chest, effectively pinning Seth's body to his own. “I am just about ready to come.” Roman was grunting with every thrust, a sure sign of his impending orgasm. “So you just stay put like a good little fuck toy and let me fill you up, alright?”

Seth nodded to the best of his ability, his breath barely wheezing past Roman's hand. “God, please-” He gasped, squirming as much as he could.

“Shh, don't try to talk. Just keep those fucking legs spread and take my cock as deep as you can.” Roman murmured against his ear. His hand moved to Seth's cock again, stroking him in time with his thrusts. “Look at how they watch you.” He whispered.

Seth glanced up again, meeting your gaze. You were worrying your lip with your teeth, watching Seth's face while Dean pounded into you from behind.

“They fucking like this, Seth. Bet they'd love to watch you fuck Dean and I.” Roman crooned, gripping Seth's hips and thrusting up into him so hard Seth's mouth popped open. “I know you love it when I beg for you, when Ambrose scratches your back because he can't handle how intense you are.” Roman slammed in and out wordlessly for a few seconds, then grappled with the front of Seth's thighs and sheathed himself as deeply as he could.

Across from him, Ambrose did the same to you, his teeth digging into your neck as you cried out. Roman’s cock twitched inside of Rollins and Seth couldn't help the sounds that came out of him as he came again, the sensation of orgasm almost painful. He groaned and shuddered while Roman continued to slowly rut into him, no doubt enjoying the flex of Seth's violently-shaking inner walls even after he came.

Your voice cracked with a soft, “I'm coming-”, your back arching and Dean growling out some nonsense words before he came.

Seth hungrily reached for you and you moved into his grasp, letting him run his fingers soothingly through your hair as you came down from your high. Dean and Roman, much to Seth's chagrin, actually high-fived each other like they had just won a football game. You sputtered and hiccuped with laughter, your breath still uneven from coming and Seth groaned, rolling his eyes before kissing your forehead. “Nothing quite like working with professionals.” He griped.

“You love us, Rollins. Don't you forget it!” Roman grinned. “Shower? Dean kinda' made a mess.”

“You're telling me.” Seth couldn't help his snicker when Dean pouted at him. “Chill out, Ambrose. I'll get you back.”

“Can I watch?” You asked, an excited smile on your face.

Dean burst out laughing, giving you a gentle swat on the rear. “Good to know your kinks ain't just gunplay. Guess you're a voyeur too. I can live with that.”

“What do you mean, gunplay?! I'm not-”

“Don't even try to deny it gorgeous, you loved that shit! Good thing Reigns didn't uh, go off early, right?”

Roman groaned in exasperation, knuckling Ambrose upside the head. “You're impossible.”

“You know you love me!” Dean protested.

“I really do.” You said softly, startling Rollins. “All of you. Thank you for being with me.”

“Hey,” Seth replied when he trusted his voice, “I mean, what's the holidays without family, right?”

“C'mon, let's hurry up and get showered! We still have to open presents!”

“Presents?!”

#wwe 25 days of chrismuts #25 days of chrismuts #chrismuts 2k18 #on the...twenty second dayyyyyy #dean ambrose #roman reigns #seth rollins #dean ambrose/roman reigns/seth rollins/reader #this is so long #this is so self indulgent #merry holidays #happy shitscram #You beautiful people you #thirst party saturday

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