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buckyownsmylife · 4 years

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Lucky - Logan Howlett smut

The one where Logan catches you touching yourself when you’re supposed to be his.

Warnings: masturbation (f), oral sex (f), slight voyeurism, playful possessiveness, reader is a dumbass, Logan is in love, p in v, dirty talk, unprotected sex, a single spank, kind of a cum kink?, creampie

A/N: If a man tries to control when you can orgasm without your consent, please ignore him and get yourself another one. Logan here is obviously jesting and even if he were to create such a rule, he’d only enforce it with his girlfriend’s acceptance, of course. Day 4 of kinktober and the prompts were masturbation + eating out.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

As soon as I hear my room’s door close behind me, the stress of the day started to leave my tense muscles. Just being surrounded by my stuff, that I’d been carefully collecting since my arrival in Charles’ academy four months before, was enough to send the message to my brain: you’re home, relax. No one is going to disturb you here.

It wasn’t necessarily true, of course, which was one of the cons of living in the same place that I worked, but the probability of one of my students coming all the way here to ask for help, advice, or any other sort of guidance was extremely low, thankfully. As 5pm approached, the youngsters too began to relax, opting to look for social activities or hobbies to occupy their time instead of training and studying. In all my time here, no one except teachers had come to bother me in my own bedroom, and even that was extremely rare. Everyone seemed to understand the need for some alone time after a day of responsibilities.

So that’s why this room that was designated to me had this ability to instantly make me feel better, I guess. Up until now, the only other place that managed to make me feel so safe wasn’t actually an environment, but a person.

Logan.

We’d been some sort of unspoken thing for a while now, only about a month. Despite his usual grumpiness that seemed to be directed to keep me away from him right after my arrival, the fact that I didn’t seem to care quickly made him curious, and this curiosity soon became a particular interest in seeing me underneath him, moaning pleasurably in his bed.

He made me feel safe, and the truth was that I didn’t care that after a month, we still hadn’t decided to give a name to what we had. All that mattered to me was that he wanted to spend time with me too and that he treated me right.

But he’d been gone for the last four days on a special mission assigned by Professor X, so that meant that my current situation couldn’t really be blamed solely on my student’s behavior for the day. Oh, no. This particular tension came after my body had grown accustomed to being treated to multiple orgasms night after night, only to be abruptly denied those treats.

I missed him. I hadn’t had to touch myself in over a month and I’d spent the last few nights depriving myself of it because I knew I could never give myself the kind of pleasure that Logan could. Only he wasn’t here, and I was going crazy, especially since no one had any idea of when he would be back.

I needed him.

So I decided to grant me at least some sort of relief, as pathetic as it’d be, in the hopes of calming my longing body. The first thing I did was strip down to nothing. My favorite pampering activity was a nice warm bath after a stressful day of classes, and from Logan’s comments, I knew he liked it when I took the time to lather myself up in essential oils, too. On more than one occasion he commented that it made me smell “good enough to eat”.

It was only after said bath that I laid down on my still-made bed, spread out to appreciate the silkiness of my own skin after a good hydration session. The smell of coconuts from my favorite cream helped to ease me into the right state of mind, that I so desperately needed so I could start softly running my fingers over my thighs without that stupid inner voice that wanted to make me recoil in embarrassment.

I was a grown woman in the privacy of her own room. It was stupid to be timid about needing to touch myself, so I focused on the desire I could feel rising through me, and not on any other pop-up thought that insisted on making its way into my brain.

It became a lot easier when I thought about my lover.

Oh, how I wished Logan was here. He’d love to see me in this position, legs spread open for his eyes to take. Only the thought of his piercing eyes fixated in my naked body was enough to get me wet, and that elicited another memory of him. How he’d groan when the smell of my juices hit his nose, immediately prompting him to get on his knees in front of me and bury his head between my thighs. He’d lap me up eagerly, hungrily, like I was an entire feast dedicated to him after a life of restraint. As passionate a lover as Logan was, I don’t think there was anything he loved more than eating pussy.

If he was here, he’d say mine was the only one that provoked such an animalistic reaction from him. I’d laugh, refusing to believe anything that came out of his mouth when all he could think about was burying himself inside of me, but I’d blush nonetheless. A part of me wanted to believe I was special to him, despite his years and the number of women he’d most certainly laid with, mostly because he was special to me, too.

But I couldn’t afford this sort of thought, so I opted to focus on the memory of how Logan’s tongue felt against my clit. I let a single finger touch it, trying to mirror the same pattern of movement he’d make. It was nowhere near the same sensation, but it was enough to prompt me to release a little moan of pleasure.

We were starting to get somewhere.

Logan’s P.O.V.

After four long days of fuckery, the only thing I could think about was going back home straight to my girl’s arms. So as soon as we were through the academy’s doors, I took the stairs two at a time to go directly into her room, having memorized her schedule long enough to know that she’d most likely be there.

No one tried to get in my way. They knew better.

Much to my surprise, as I approached the now familiar doors to her room, a familiar scent engulfed me, prompting me to tune into the sweet sounds that I’d dreamed about these last nights. They were very discreet, but for someone with my enhanced abilities and extreme focus on her body and reactions, it was very obviously there.

Blindly, I reached for her door, slowly pushing it open and welcoming the warmth and overwhelming perfume that I’d come to associate with her presence, especially during the times she was releasing these delicious little moans. Immediately, my ears picked up on another, much dirtier tune: the squelching sounds her fingers elicited from her sweet pussy as she fucked herself.

I almost fell to my knees, as my legs suddenly lost the ability to keep me upright, but I was able to hold myself back just in time. Wouldn’t want to miss the show, especially when it was making me so fucking hard.

Finally venturing further into the room, I came face to face with the beauty waiting for me. She hadn’t noticed my arrival yet, too preoccupied with her pleasurable activities, her eyes closed shut in concentration as her mouth fell open in that delicious silent scream I liked to swallow so much.

I watched as she touched herself a bit more, attentively looking for the telling signs that she was close to her release, and just when the muscles on her thigh began to clench, I leaned over her and wrapped my hand around her wrist, pulling her fingers from inside her cunt. The surprised gasp she let out made me smirk.

I sucked on her fingers, enjoying my first taste of her after what felt like forever. A deep groan erupted from my chest at her sweetness invading my mouth. “Missed me?” I teased when I finally reopened my eyes to find her staring back at me with a lustful expression.

“You have no idea just how much,” was her answer. I was enough of a man to feel proud of her response, but it also became clear just how much I had actually become soft for the woman under me - a stark contrast to the hardness I could feel restricting my jeans.

When she first arrived at the academy, I hadn’t expected her to become as important to me as she had now, but just as I struggled to take off my clothes as quickly as possible before kneeling before the bed, pulling her by the ankles so she was spread out just in front of my face, I couldn’t really deny it. I’d do anything to keep her with me, just like this.

“I think I have some idea of it…” I teased her just as I softly ran my fingers over her pussy lips, simply collecting the wetness that had gathered there.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

He once more wrapped his lips over his wet fingers and moaned at my taste in his mouth. “How are you this fucking sweet?” Was all he asked before he delved right in, parting my thighs with his large hands and licking from my puckered hole to my clit.

“Fuck!” I cursed, throwing one of my hands over my head, to find something to hold onto, while the other found its way into his hair, pulling on it just the way I knew he liked. I felt his groan reverberating through me before he chuckled, briefly stopping his ministrations to stare up at me with his lower face dripping from my wetness.

“I love when I can make you curse.” Biting my lip, I accepted that I couldn’t retaliate his teasing while he continued to eat me out. His tongue easily engulfed my whole pussy, so just that was enough to bring me to the edge of an orgasm in a way I could never grant it to myself. “Come on, sweet girl,” he admonished, slapping my thigh. “Ride my face. Give me what I came here for.”

I obeyed him without even thinking about it. This was just how it was when it came to us. He asked me to strip, my panties were on the floor before he finished his sentence. He ordered me to get on my knees, my mouth was instantly watering at the sight of him.

But God, did he deliver. My compliance came very easily when it came to a man like him, so eager to please beyond what his body could already offer. I’d been with many men before who, while obviously not as well-endowed as him, had been on the bigger side, and they always left me needing more, like they believed their dick’s length was enough to satisfy me without any real effort from their part.

Not Logan, though. Oh, no. Logan thrived on making me cum, over and over again. He liked to say he’d live on my pussy alone if possible, and by the way he very hungrily ate me out for hours on end at times, I knew he was being honest.

I sometimes liked to entertain the idea that I was the one who brought out that side of him, but I knew better. Someone like Logan had a lot of experience, I was dumb to think that I might be somewhat special to him, somehow. So I didn’t.

Instead, I allowed the filthy sounds of my wetness being gurgled down by him to bring me back to this moment, choosing to focus instead on how delicious his tongue felt against my clit, how he happily accepted my movements as I buckled up, in search of my orgasm.

I was right over the edge, in need of just a little something else to push me over it when Logan suddenly decided to open his eyes and focus them on me. The sight of his darkened eyes and dilated pupils was enough to make me throw my head back against the soft pillows of my bed as I reached bliss.

When the stars of light disappeared from my vision and I came to my senses, Logan was still in the same spot in front of me, his thumbs softly caressing the inside of my thighs. “You’re back with me, darlin’?” He asked in that deliciously gruff voice of his, and I shivered, nodding breathlessly as I wetted my lips. “So now, let’s have a talk. Who said you could touch yourself while I’m away, huh?”

I blinked once, then twice. My mouth was slightly agape as I looked down at Logan, still sprawled out for his viewing pleasure while my mind raced to make sense of his words. “I-I don’t understand,” I finally confessed, my eyes following his movement as he climbed up on the bed until we were face to face for the first time since his return.

Logan’s P.O.V.

I tsked teasingly, leaning down to deposit a quick kiss on the corner of her lips. “I asked you…” I breathed out on her ear, watching as goosebumps raised over her skin. “... who said you could touch yourself, darlin'. Because last I checked…” I cupped her cunt with one of my hands, chuckling lightly at how I was able to cover it with my palm. “... this pussy was mine and only mine.”

“I-it was?” Now, hold my heart (and my cock) but she just looked too fucking cute with that confused look on her face, her eyebrows frowned as she stared at me like I had grown two fucking heads.

“Of course, sweetheart. Now, I know we hadn’t talked about this before, so I’ll let your pretty little ass spank free this time, but be warned…” I leaned over her again, my nose touching hers as I felt her little breaths against my own lips. “... next time you’re feeling horny, you ask your boyfriend to help you deal with it. And if he’s not around, you wait.”

Now, I was expecting some kind of reaction from my little rule, and I was 100% ready to negotiate, but what I wasn’t expecting was for her eyes to grow twice their size as she suddenly sat up on the bed, forcing me to lean back and take a seat, too.

“Boyfriend?” She definitely looked confused, her eyes searching mine for something I didn’t know since I was just as puzzled. Opting to stay silent, I simply stared back at her, both of my eyebrows raised high as I waited for her explanation. “You mean… you?”

The familiar fire of anger rose up quickly inside my chest, and I had to curl my hands into fists to control myself. “Of course it’s me, who the fuck would it be? Are you sleeping with anyone else?”

Rationally, I knew my problem was less anger and more disappointment. I’d let my guard down for her - way too quickly, faster than I’d done for anyone else throughout my life. And I’d done it because she touched my heart in a way no one else had. I was falling for her, and I thought she felt the same way too.

“NO! Of course not!” She all but jumped, her hands reaching out to cradle my face and I found myself actually relaxing against her touch, as my heartbeat started to slow down at the knowledge that she really was all mine. “I just… I didn’t know… I didn’t think we were dating. I thought you saw me as…”

She didn’t seem to have the courage to finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to. I understood what she meant, and as realization fell upon me, I found myself throwing my head back and full-on laughing, much to her displeasure. When I managed to calm down, she was pouting at me, which only made the arousal that had dissipated by the fear reappear that much stronger.

“Oh, darlin’...” I started, pulling on her ankles to force her on her back again as I hovered over her, watching, analyzing. “I’ve fucked you every single night for the last month. Now, I know I’m not the kind to talk about my feelings, but I figured that made it pretty obvious…”

Leaning down, I took possession of her mouth to give her a breathtaking kiss, forcing her to accept my eager tongue, to taste herself on my lips. Then I went further, kissing her jaw, her neck, until I reached her collarbones, where I sucked a bruise, all the while rubbing my aching cock against her clit before pushing it inside of her in one forceful thrust.

“... You’re mine. Only mine. Mine to fuck, mine to bruise and mark, mine to cum into.” Her mouth immediately fell open at the feeling of my hardness stretching her open, and I couldn’t help the smirk that took over my lips. “You okay with that, sweetheart?” I asked, waiting for her to adjust to the feeling of being invaded as I nibbled on her earlobe.

Finally, after a few minutes of her struggling to breathe as I felt her squeezing my biceps, she nodded. “Y-yeah.” Grinning, I took that as an okay to start moving and immediately started to pound her against the mattress, just like I loved and had come to learn that she did, too. Her nails bit on my flesh, but it only added to my own arousal, making me growl against the skin of her chest.

“This fucking pussy… You really thought I’d just treat you like a fuckbuddy?” Abruptly pulling out of her, I manhandled her onto her hands and knees before pushing her face down against the mattress, all the while laughing at the little scream of surprise she let out. “I’m never gonna stop fucking you, pretty thing. You better watch out.”

She was moaning desperately now, just how I’d dreamt of hearing while I was away from her, and it made my sack even heavier as it slapped against her clit with each thrust I gave. “Fuck… ‘m gonna cum, sweetheart. Do you want it? Say you want my cum in your pretty little pussy, come on.”

After a gasp that followed my slap on her ass, she flipped her head back, looking at me with those fucking sultry eyes that I loved so damn much. “Please, Logan, cum inside of me. Wanna feel it dripping from me, please, I need it so bad.” And this is why I was convinced she was some sort of siren or whatever. The second that our eyes connected, I was fulfilling her wishes, releasing all of my milky cum inside of her throbbing pussy, as she came at the same time as me.

Once I was able to breathe again, after having thrown myself by her side on the bed, I pulled her so she’d rest her face on my chest, chuckling to myself over how much of a cuddle lover I’d become ever since we’d started sleeping together.

“Hey, Logan,” she called out my attention, making me hum in response as I looked down to find her staring up expectantly at me. “I hope you know that this goes both ways.” I blinked twice as I waited for her words to make sense to me, but before they did, she was giggling, already clarifying her meaning. “You’re mine too.”

To say that those words filled me with the happiest kind of warmth would be an understatement. I didn’t know what to say, I’d never been good at this lovey-dovey shit, so I settled for pulling her back to me again and giving her forehead a kiss.

“Believe me, darlin’... I know.”

#logan howlett #Logan Howlett smut #wolverine #wolverine smut #smut #my fics #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett imagines #wolverine imagine #wolverine imagines #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fan fiction #wolverine fanfiction #wolverin fan fiction

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laboflove · 3 years

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Megumi x FR

•Megumi aged up•

Megumi X Cheerleader

❗Warnings❗{Smut, degradation, hard dom, dacryphilia, spanking, drinking}

A/N: Megumi thinks you're pretty much an airhead since you're a cheerleader so he tries to take advantage of that but ends up falling for you

Your body drops letting him see those tight safety shorts all the cheerleaders wore, it's like you were all made for slutty clothes. It was pretty hot but for some reason he never looked at the other girls, only at you. It was probably because you werent like the others, you were so naive, so innocent and such an airhead. It was fun teasing you, making fun of you for getting simple answers wrong and tugging at your skirt even though you hated it.

"Megumi" he looks up seeing your bright eyes and large smile, "Hey" he says with a nod as you sit down in front of him, "so whatre you doing here?" You ask while opening a bottle of water. "You left this at class" he shows you a white book covered in stickers making you blush beet red. "G-give it!" You rush to grab it but he pulls it back, wrapping his arm around your waist.

So close! Megumi was super good looking! One of the hottest guys at the campus in fact but this wasnt important. "Give it Megumi" you say but he doesnt, only holding you down with a smirk. "I was being nice but now I'm kinda curious" and worry fills your mind. "D-dont" you say but he opens it and looks through the pages.

"What's this?" He asks as he looks through the pages filled with notes and drawings of buildings with measurements, but arent you in arts? He notices you looking away, you gave up? That's weird, you never gave up. "Dont worry about it, its nothing" you say while taking the book back and grabbing your stuff. "See you later" you leave making him shocked, so personal things like that make you pissed? How fun.

"C'mon" his fingers graze against your thigh making you curl up, "Leave me alone" you whisper, your hand pressing against his chest. "Why? You're always flirting with Megumi so why cant I?", "I-I dont flirt with him" you mutter feeling your blood boil. You talked to Megumi yeah, but it was because he was always being a dick or when you needed help with assignments but that was it. "Hey" both of your heads turn and the guy is sent flying across the hall.

"M-megumi" he looks at you with a look hes never given before, worry, "Are you okay?" He asks in a softer voice too. Is he okay? "I'm fine" you whisper, fixing your bag and taking your sweater out of it to wrap around your waist. "What the fuck Megumi" he hears from on the ground, "I may be a douchebag but I'd never touch a girl if she didnt want it" he says then grabs your wrist, pulling you down the hallway. Uh oh.

"You're so fucking stupid" he says as he pushes you into an empty classroom, "So fucking naive and you cant even stick up for yourself" you look down at the floor but he tilts your face up, grabbing your cheeks hard to make you look into his eyes. "When something like that happens do anything to stop it, because if you dont, bad shit will happen and I'm not alw-" he stops but you both know the end of that sentence making you blush a soft pink.

"I'm sorry" you whisper and as your phone buzzes you pull away, "Thank you, if you're still here by six maybe I can take you to eat somewhere" you leave in a rush as he looks at his hand. Hes getting too close, way too close.

You dance to the blaring music, holding a plastic red cup in your hand filled with who knows what. He watches your body move, holding a bottle of beer and listening to Yuji ramble about girls and which ones hed like to sleep with but it was Yuji, he never got any girls unless Sukuna was taking over his body.

"But my first one would have to be Y/N, I mean just look at her, shes got an amazing body and I'd love to hear her scream my name" he clenches the bottle tight feeling his anger build up, almost overflowing but he calms himself down. "Eh, shes not that special, total airhead" he says then leaves to a different room, Yuji could do whatever he wanted, it didn't matter because he didnt like you that way and never would.

He watches as he walks up to you and suddenly hes walking towards you as well. Your eyes glance back slightly shocked as arms slowly wrap around you but your widened eyes soften. "Megumi" he smiles hearing his name come out of your mouth, "Hey Beautiful" and you blush, you've been told it often but the way he said it sounded so meaningful and honestly it was the first time you've ever liked being told it.

Time passes as you both dance and talk, giggles filling whatever silence there is and soon enough you and him are drunk, muttering things into each others ears, sitting on his lap, his hands holding your skirt down to make sure no one sees anything and your arms wrapped around his neck. "Why're you so pretty?" He whispers as he leans into your lips, barely touching them making you slightly mad. You wanted to kiss him but he wouldnt get close enough, wouldnt let you get close enough too and you could feel your need building up.

"You want to kiss me?" he whispers into your ear and you drunkenly nod with a small giggle. "So drunk arent you" you lean into his lips but he stops you, "Gimme a kiss" you mumble but he shakes his head.

"Sorry Princess but you're incredibly drunk and I cant just do that to you" he says, trying to make you feel better but all you do is grumble and whine. You were worked up, he had a massive boner and it got you horny too and all you wanted was to please him.

"Your place or mine?" He asks after some time of walking but finds you asleep, "I guess mine" he says then heads to his.

You nuzzle into his chest as his arms wrap around your body, "Megumi" he looks down but you're still asleep making him smile. You looked so peaceful but the shared smell of liquor was making it less comforting. Maybe he should wake you, it wouldnt be good to sleep like this. But then again you didnt have any clothes and you needed to sleep.

You turn around and his slightly intoxicated self heightens the feeling of you pressed right up against him. He whispers your name into your ear, making your eyes open slightly, "Hm" you hum out, you start sobering up and he whispers something into your ear making you turn red.

"P-pervert" he chuckles as his hand rub your side, you were soft but goosebumps were forming which was cute. So shy and so innocent now that you're sobering up. His eyes close again feeling sleep take over him but your grinding against his crotch keeps him from it. "Stop it" he says but you dont, "Play with me" you mumble and as his hand runs up your body you expect him to tilt your face to kiss you but instead his hand wraps around your neck, grabbing it with a bit of force eliciting a gasp from you.

"Take your clothes off, say Red to stop" he mutters in a lower tone and you nod fast, he sounded irritated and you didnt want to make him angry. Once your clothes are off you look back, turning red, seeing him naked as well with only his hipbone and down covered. He smirks seeing your eyes take in the sight, you knew he worked out but you didnt know he was this strong.

"Want a kiss now?" You nod fast as your eyes shine and he smiles, "Take it then" you rush to kiss him making him chuckle at your eagerness, he pulls you onto his lap, looking up at you slightly as his hands rest on your backside, grinding you against him slowly. Tiny, soft moans escape your mouth feeling his hardness rub between your folds, "Megumi" you whine out into his neck.

"I have con-", "No, want you" his mouth goes dry and he lifts you slightly, "You want me?" He asks earning fast nods. "Like this?" A gasp fills the room as he pushes in a single finger, "N-no, want you" he chuckles against your neck thinking of endless ways to tease you but the main thing he wants is for you to beg so, he doesnt remove his finger, he pushes it in and out slowly, not doing anything only making you angry.

"Please" he leans into your ear and bites it slightly, "What do you want?" You shake your head earning a spank. "Tell me" he says but you shake your head again earning another one making you hiss and whine. "Please Megu- ah!" You cover your mouth as he delivers another spank but it's harder this time.

The process goes on, him asking to barely receive an answer and none are what he wants, he sighs then pulls your hair back as you softly cry, "One last chance" he growls out slightly, "Y-your cock, please" he pulls you down onto him making you whine and sob into his neck.

"Such a naughty girl arent you?" He asks as he guides you on him, you felt like actual Heaven, your insides were nice and tight, warm and you were sucking him in so nicely. You nod as tears fall down your face making him twitch, "Fuck me, you're so perfect" he growls into your ear, insults coming after of him telling you how needy you were, that you were just a hole to him, a cumdump, something to use making more tears fall down your face but you loved it, something about being put down like this made it feel so good.

You move your hips to his movements feeling yourself about to break and as it's about to crash he keeps you still. "Try to come without me again and I wont be very nice", "Sorry" you whisper, leaning into him more, feeling soft, mushy and needy.

You both go again and the insults slowly turn into compliments, he moans as you clench around him and you whimper, "Come" he says and your body shakes, immediately at his demand. He thrusts up into you hard making you sob out into the room, "Shh Baby, I've got you" he whispers, hands rubbing your back, pulling you as close as possible and leaving soft kisses on your head.

"So perfect for me, such a good girl. Everything I said isnt true, okay?" You nod with soft cries and he kisses you softly, too rough for the first time and definitely not the right time but you were both definitely sober by now. "I love you" he suddenly says making you stop crying, "I love you too" and he stands. He always said hed never date, especially with someone like you but here he is, confessing his love for you and needing you more than ever.

#jjk smut #jjk imagines #jjk megumi #jujutsu kaisen #megumifushiguro #megumi x y/n #fushiguro megumi

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peachy-panic · 3 years

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Only Temporary: Sebastian Tate

Hello. I was completely blown away by the positive response I got on the first piece of Jaime’s story (title under construction). Thank you to everyone who had a kind word to say about it! You made me really happy I made the mildly frightening choice to post.

In the interest of acclimating to the no-rules, freedom-to-post-out-of-order structure of this community, I wanted to introduce a new piece of the puzzle this time, with a new character that will come into play later.

Also, this piece goes into a little bit of the details, but for frame of reference on the BBU-adjacent thing: this story takes place in a not-so-distant future of the BBU, where WRU has undergone some changes. I look forward to exploring this world building more as I go.

Anyway, I’m rambling again. Thanks for reading. Here it is:

WARNINGS: General BBU warnings, talk of institutionalized slavery, classism, and general terribleness of large corporations. Referenced past homophobia and rough parental relationships, briefly implied/referenced non-con.

When Sebastian reflects on the day he graduated from med school, a sort of emptiness is the memory that first bobs to the surface. Among the cheers and camera flashes in the crowd, white coats and proud smiles, what Sebastian recalls most vividly from that day is looking out into the sea of parents and families and people there to support their loved ones on one of the biggest days of their lives, and not seeing a single person that had come for him.

What should have been one of the happiest moments of his life had been quickly overshadowed by the sinking feeling that none of it mattered as much as it would have if he had someone to share it with. Like there was something so fundamentally wrong with his life, that even something as objectively good and right and decent as becoming a doctor could be dulled over into a feeling of nothingness.

Perhaps, he thinks in hindsight, that moment had been foreshadowing for the following months ahead of him.

Watching rejection after rejection pour in from his top residency programs had felt like nothing short of his own personalized nightmare. He had spent several nights in a row on the phone with Alex, his undergrad roommate and only friend, clamoring back from the edge of many a panic attack, spiraling into all-out existential dread about the future and the past and what all of it meant for him if he couldn’t land an internship, let alone a real job out of school. To his credit, Alex never gave up hope in his friend. Or at least, he did a decent job hiding it if he did. Which was probably exactly what Sebastian needed to get through that particularly dark time in his life, and a good reminder of what a solid friend he had. Even if it was a party of two.

Unfortunately, Sebastian did not have the same faith in himself.

He was able to keep up some facade of optimism as his top five were picked off one by one. Telling himself, despite his devastation, that they were a pretty far reach, anyway. Even with good academic standing, it was famously no walk in the park to land yourself at John Hopkins or Mayo as a first-year. He even maintained a brave face as his first few safety programs reached capacity and moved forward without his name on the roster.

It wasn’t until he received his final rejection letter from some internal medicine place in Bumfuck, Idaho that he felt himself slip into dangerous territory. Sebastian knew himself well enough to know his own depressive patterns by then, and he knew it was only exponential decay from there.

Rock bottom came, as it did, in the wee hours of the night, after a full bottle of wine. Alone in his small apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes with no destination, Sebastian found himself sprawled out on the floor with his laptop hot against his thighs. He couldn’t have explained why he opted for a privacy browser, but something about it allowed him to justify the words that he typed into the search bar.

It was a new low, and one he had sworn to himself he would never stoop to. Yet there he was.

He gave himself a moment to reconsider, to back out of what was undoubtedly a morally-gray train wreck waiting to happen as his thumb hovered over the enter key. And then the alcohol decided to override his moral compass.

Facility Care is the open secret of the medical profession. It comes with its fair share of stigma, and rightfully so, but it is notoriously easy to break into and pays a decent wage.

There are two types of people who end up stooping to that kind of employment. More often than not, it consists of doctors and nurses who had their licenses revoked or suspended somewhere along the line and needed a way back in. As far as Sebastian understood, they aren’t terribly ridgid about the particulars of each circumstance. After all, in the eyes of the law, the patients they would be treating are a price tag away from being entirely expendable.

The other percentage of Facility Care workers, and the reason Sebastian found himself staring at his too-bright computer screen with a sinking feeling of dread that night, are young medical graduates who find themselves in a tough spot. It isn’t difficult to spell out the logic behind that one when you open the WRU CAREERS tab on the home page and see the bright white words printed across the top of the screen:

LOAN FORGIVENESS.

It is shamelessly predatory and aggressively capitalistic, but Sebastian supposes that particular exploitation is pretty far down on the list of transgressions for an institution of legalized slavery. A few broke and hopeless medical students were hardly going to keep the Powers That Be up at night when they were able to rest easy under the weight of hundreds of thousands of stolen lives.

The whole thing is part of the massive PR overhaul the company did a few years back. In a world that was slowly inching toward civil activism and with the accessibility of platforms like social media to hold them accountable, WRU had to adapt to survive. Adaptation, in this case, took the form of changing the barest of minimums in order to keep themselves above board — to the public eye, anyway. Anyone who dares to take a closer look at the policy changes can see that it’s bullshit.

Changing ownership conditions to a rent-by-contract basis isn’t the humanitarian move they try to paint it as. In the end, it probably just equals out to more money in the company’s pocket when they can get more return on their “investments,” and a larger chance of exploitation for the people being moved around.

Getting rid of the Romantic division is an entirely meaningless gesture when they are still loaning out human beings with no legal rights and the inability to say “no.”

And offering an open job market with good wages and healthcare options to lower class individuals is a pretty convenient way to mute the backlash.

Essentially, you can tie a system of slavery and abuse up in a bow and make it pretty on the outside, but at the end of the day, it’s still fucking slavery.

Not that he has any room to criticize now. Now that he’s one of them.

In the end, Seb tries to justify his decision a few different ways. He is, after all, more or less a young man alone in the world. The odds are stacked against him and have been for a while. With only his own two legs to stand on, the only force stronger than his internal ambition is his instinct for survival, and he’s been running on those fumes for longer than he can count.

He had lasted less than two months under his parents’ roof after he came out of the closet at eighteen. It wasn’t exactly a surprise for anyone involved; Sebastian’s parents had known about (and subsequently bottled) his… urges… since he was in high school. Probably before that, if he is being honest with himself. And Sebastian, for his part, had spent the better part of his teenage years mentally preparing for the inevitable. He can recall long, late nights he had spent crying into his pillow and the perfectly-scripted ‘coming out’ speeches he recited to his mirror when he was one-hundred percent sure his parents were asleep.

Of course, none of the preparation had been anywhere near adequate when he actually found himself wilting beneath the heat of his father’s glare, the weight of his mother’s grief.

But. He had recovered. That is the point he tries to remember when the memories sting fresh beneath his skin, even all these years later. He has more-than proven himself to be a survivor. He has worked harder than anyone he knows for every scholarship, every grant, every dollar to put himself through school. Sacrificed nights out and real relationships for night shifts at shitty diners and long weekends cramming for exams. It hadn’t been easy, but he considers it the price he had to pay for his independence. For freedom, to live the life as the person he is meant to be, despite his unfortunate odds. He spent years telling himself it would be worth it. That one day, his hard work would pay off.

He can’t stop now.

Sebastian doesn’t have the luxury of taking time off to reroute when his navigation has gone amiss. He is walking the precarious line of rapidly accruing interest and student loans and a dwindling savings account, and there is no safety net below him.

Beggars can’t be choosers, and as it turns out, beggars sometimes have to compromise their moral integrity in order to survive.

It’s only temporary.

That is the mantra that gets him through the (half-drunken) application process and the (disturbingly lax) interview process. It is a job. One job. In the medical field, though the details are up for debate, and it is real-life money for rent and food and a savings that will hopefully be sizable enough to get him where he really wanted to be. Which is… really, anywhere else.

He can do ‘temporary.’ And perhaps, some misguided part of him thinks he can do some genuine good from the inside, too. ‘Be the change you want to see’ and all that.

It is a far jump from the floor of his apartment, sloshed and exhausted and desperate, to the cold, sharp reality of walking into his place of employment on his first day of work. Ironically, it feels a lot like an echo of the emptiness from his graduation day.

‘Sterile’ doesn’t quite cover it. ‘Sterile’ is the expectation of any well-respected medical establishment, but the inside of the facility walls has been wiped clean of far more than bacteria and germs. It is completely devoid of humanity. The long corridors that connect the medical wing to the general ward are windowless and dimly lit by flickering fluorescent panels that had make his head pound for the entirety of his first week.

He is given an office, though it is a term he, himself, might use loosely, as it is more akin to what was probably a storage closet before the old prison had been converted into the state’s training headquarters. It leaves him just enough space for a small desk and two chairs. On his first day, he asks if it is okay to bring in some personal items to spruce the place up. The older, balding doctor who had been assigned to show him around merely shrugs, and Sebastian decides to take that as a yes.

The small, pink-framed photo of a six-year-old Sebastian Tate in his grandfather’s white coat and an old-school stethoscope around his neck is hardly enough to make the place cozy from the corner of his desk, but it’s a good enough reminder of why he has to make this work.

‘It’s only temporary.’

‘Be the change you want to see.’

He will do his best.

#Sebastian Tate #bbu #like bbu adjacent?#tw: human trafficking #tw: slavery #implied noncon #whump #Do No Harm: Jaime & Sebastian

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honsoolie · 3 years

Text

don’t rush | 04

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings: excessive amounts of pining, explicit smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, semi-public sex, mutual masturbation

words: 10.3k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: thank you for waiting... if you've stuck around this long :") i've tried so hard for the past couple months to condense this story into the original length (3 chapters) but i've gotten attached and i'm afraid that this will turn into a longfic at the rate i'm going. so after this chapter, i'll be sure to post lots of drabbles of the scenes i couldn't fit in!! thank you so much for the wild ride, and without further ado, i present to you don't rush 04.

start from the beginning?

You can’t bring yourself to fault Yoongi for what happened that morning. You also can’t bring yourself to say that it was your fault either–or even that there may be a single person to blame.

24 hours of radio silence. No good morning text, no morning after–or really, afternoon after–text. Nothing.

The thing about silence–absolute silence, with the exception the low hum of the air-con, or the distant sounds of a city, or footsteps from the room above you–is how slowly it passes. Maybe that’s why you’re a music student, spending all your time filling the silence with your own music.

Silence is such an empty space–and can breed such bored thoughts. And where else for your mind to wander but Yoongi?

It’s not that you were waiting for a text from him, it’s just that… you were half-expecting a text from him. Like he owed it to you. Even if none of this had ever happened, he would have texted you good morning by now.

At least in your head, it seems fair that the onus is on Yoongi to text first. After all, he was the one who dragged you tightly by the wrist back to his apartment. He pushed you down on his couch, and in a very roundabout way, made you late for class.

It’s not that you let this whole affair happen to you, but he started it. So it’s his job to text first. That’s the excuse you use, for not being brave enough to do it instead.

It honestly feels a little pathetic that most of your thoughts outside of music and school are occupied by Min Yoongi. Even now, weeks after you’ve started talking to him, even mere thoughts of him elicit physical reactions from you.

Your heart rate picking up, skin flushing where your neck meets your collarbone… maybe you’re allergic to Min Yoongi.

It’s hard for your mind not to run wild with conclusions and assumptions after what happened between the two of you, even if a day hasn’t elapsed yet.

Why hadn’t he texted? Does he do this often? Did he hate it? Did he ghost me, and now I’m never going to hear from him again? Should I text him first? Why is this so hard?

Why do I care so much?

The worst part is, you can’t turn it off. The thoughts follow you throughout the day, a weight sitting on your shoulders as you flit from class to class, building to building, rehearsal to rehearsal. Once the sun dips below the horizon, you’ve almost completed the process of resigning yourself to never knowing the answers to any of your questions.

You make a note to yourself that you might start grieving the loss of any sort of closure–other than what Yoongi had given you the day before. All evenings this semester have been relegated to the confines of the practice room, so that’s where you head next after chamber music rehearsals end. Finally, the Bach partita has a purpose in your life other than plaguing your waking dreams–something to focus on other than Yoongi. But for God’s sake, it sounds pathetic when it’s put like that.

Your. Life. Doesn’t. Revolve. Around. Min. Yoongi. You tell yourself, punctuating each word as you march down the stairwell in the music building. You clutch your violin case to your body, seeking warmth in the cold plastic.

The universe likes to play tricks on people, and its language is irony. Yoongi taught you that lesson, the hard way.

So it almost makes sense that the next time you encounter Yoongi is when you collide head-on with Yoongi’s smooth chest as you speed-walk through the doorway once you’re at the foot of the stairs. Just as you dreaded (and knew was going to happen anyway), your cheeks light up, some light from deep within you turning on. You kick yourself for the fact that your entire body perks up in his existence, erasing the cold and the tiredness from the night before.

“Oh–I didn’t expect to see you here.” At the very least, Yoongi doesn’t look like he hates you. Or is disgusted by you. If anything, he looks a bit coy. If you could let yourself believe it, there might even be the warmth of fondness in his eyes, and even more incredulously, maybe the hard edge of guilt.

“Didn’t expect? Yoongi, I’m here more than my own room.” You laugh despite the thoughts that have been trailing you all day, sounding something like cherry blossoms floating on the new breeze that spring has brought. You feel like you’ve forgiven him for something that he didn’t do, even if he hasn’t said anything yet.

Just seeing him makes you feel better, the devil in the back of your head whispers.

“Right, right.” His answering laughter is familiar. Even now, ever after everything, he still has the audacity to smooth his hands over your shoulders, make sure you’re intact and okay. “Violin okay? You okay?”

You try not to let his scant touches send a shiver down your spine, just so you don’t give him that satisfaction, but you fail all the same. You manage a nod, but can barely bring yourself to look in his eyes. But is it for fear of seeing that warm tenderness again, or something else?

“So…” With no prompting from you, Yoongi slides a fingertip underneath your chin. It feels simultaneously casual and momentous, and you’re not sure which one you prefer.

Is this really happening right now?

He looks deep into your eyes, taking inventory of something that you’re too self-conscious to think about right now.

Of course, you’re self-conscious. You bump into your hookup a day after the fact, now that it’s nighttime in the practice rooms on the second floor of the music building. Both of you should be somewhere else, anywhere else, preferably drunk. How could it not be awkward, and how could you not feel self-conscious?

His eyes flick lower, to your lips, and you avert your gaze. Yoongi’s hand returns to his side, and he coughs.

“Sooo…” You say, digging your foot through the carpet, the warmth of his hands lingering on your skin. You play with the buckles on your violin case, just to give your hands something to do. You hope he says something first, because you’re sure as hell not going to do it.

“Got something to say?” There’s a hint of a laugh in his words. He coughs again.

“I thought you were going to say something,” You say, still not looking at him. It’s all you can do to not shrink away. In the dim lighting of the mouth of the hallway, there’s no way he can see your blush, but you turn away all the same.

He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t, or maybe like he’s purged the last thirty-six hours from his memory. “Let’s not be strangers, come on. Are you busy?”

“Not… particularly.” You commit to the words before you can finish the thought.

“Can you do me a favor?” Right. So he wants something from you. Of course, of course he wants something from you.

“What kind of favor?”

“I was going to print something downstairs, but now that you’re here, can you listen to my piece? I need a second opinion.” He sighs, as if remembering something sweet. “It’s time I made it even, right? I’ve kept you waiting for long enough.” He smiles, just barely, and yet it feels like a gift.

So that’s it. It’s confirmed. This is officially Not a Thing, you consign yourself to the fact. It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t a little bit relieved. At least you have an answer.

There’s no need for a great step forward that’s necessary. No more awkward conversations like these, no admitting of feelings, let alone reciprocation of feelings.

Nothing has to change between the two of you. Isn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” You say, like it shouldn’t have been a question in the first place. You hate that even despite his silence on the matter, you’re running back to his side. You hate that you’re happy that he still wants anything to do with you. You ignore the empty kind of ache in your chest, too hollow and too full at the same time.

You follow him down the narrow hallway, past the couch where it all began, and into the practice room. Of course, Yoongi’s already booked the only one isn’t a dingy cesspool.

He pats the space next to him on the piano bench, beckoning you closer.

“Sit down, don’t stand the whole time.”

“Don’t you need the space?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Come here.” If it’s even possible, your face burns even hotter when you sit down next to him, shoulders brushing just so. It’s harder to forget about the fact that you are hopelessly crushing on Min Yoongi when you’re literally touching him again.

It reminds you of all his touches from before, because it was good. The sex was good. If it had been awkward and fumbling, if Min Yoongi hadn’t been able to push you over the edge with only his mouth and that look in his eye, you would be a lot more inclined to leave those memories in the past.

You don’t need to relive the memory over and over, an endless reel. And yet, glimpses, flashes, disjointed stills of that morning still follow you everywhere. But you look at him now, silently flipping through the marked pages on his score, and now you see more than just a good lay. Looking at him now, in his natural state, you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, you’re whipped, there’s no chance for you.

“I don’t have it memorized yet, please don’t judge me.” You try not to think about the way he had pulled you closer by your hips. You try not to think about what you might have thought was lovesickness in his eyes. You try not to think of the timbre of his voice, when he told you to come for him. You try not to think about that.

“Really, a pianist who can’t memorize his pieces? Sacreligious.” The delivery of your jibe falls flat. You steady the ricketing breath in your lungs. You’re nervous, and tired. Accepting that your Min Yoongi has absolutely no interest in you other than when he needs you for something isn’t easy, you know.

“Oh come oooon y/n, this is something I’m learning this semester.” He pouts, just like he had before the both of you had fallen into this nebulous mess of feelings. Or maybe, it’s all one-sided and you’re the only one feeling like things have gotten messy.

You poke him in the side, which you regret immediately after doing so. “I’m just joking. Show me your piece. Are you warmed up?” Yoongi turns pink, again.

You remember the pink dusting his cheeks when he was–right, you’re supposed to be forgetting that ever happened.

He runs his tongue along his lower lip, everything moving in slow motion. Your head is swimming.

Well, maybe things aren’t moving in slow motion, and it’s the proximity to Min Yoongi that’s making time distort. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m fine. Are you ready to listen?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

Yoongi hovers his hands over the keys. He does that pianist thing you’ve always loved, where he pauses before the keys, preparing to play.

He leans in slowly, sinking his hands down, pulling out a sound so sweet and, so, so solemn. This is a different Yoongi than the one thirty seconds ago.

You realize somewhat belatedly that the fluorescent lights, the same ones that erase any sort of proper time telling in windowless rooms like these, still make Yoongi look good. The light bounces off of him just right, his cheekbones casting a gentle shadow on the sloped panes of his face. Like the rest of him, there’s no harsh angles, just soft gentle slopes that feel like home. Like comfort. Your gut twists in yearning. The hollow of his cheekbone is the perfect place to kiss, you ponder.

Things should be easier now. All of it was a mistake. It’s in the past. It seems that Yoongi doesn’t seem to care at all. It should be forgotten about. Things, in theory, should be easier now. You should be able to carry on as you’ve always been able to. The path of least resistance, right?

He pauses, and begins what must be the main theme, cascading sixteenth-notes that sound about as tumultuous and troubled as you feel.

He looks like he’s about to cry. Sure, you’ve seen sleepy Yoongi, cranky Yoongi, even a little bit of earnest, pleading Yoongi. But whoever is in front of you is entirely different. He’s approaching the main theme again, hands jumping over the keys as if they were hot irons. You can see all the versions of him laid out before you. Younger Yoongi, hands too small to reach the tenths written in his score. Hungover Yoongi that shuffles into class a couple minutes late, remnants of a late night out drinking written all over his face. The Yoongi that holds your hands between his and tells you that everything is going to be okay.

When he reaches the final cadence, he doesn’t look at you immediately, still trained on the keys. His hands are still placed in the final chord, lifting them off slowly so the sound doesn’t quite fade away yet. The both of you stay like that, in the aftermath of what he just played. You hear the click as he takes his foot off the pedal. The tension that he was churning out doesn’t fade away when the sound stops. If anything, it gets worse. Blood rushes to your cheeks, the room warmer than it was before.

“So… that’s what I’ve been working on so far. I, uh, hope you liked it.” It’s shocking how that compelling spirit from just minutes ago dissipates into thin air. He looks vulnerable, naked despite the fact that he’s fully clothed.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Min Yoongi.” You laugh in disbelief, blinking away tears. God, you are so fucked. Sure, you’ve heard him play before, practicing with him. But you’re not practicing with him now, you’re watching. You’ve become the audience, and the dynamic has changed once again.

There’s been many a night where you googled his previous performances and competitions on Youtube, but this doesn’t compare. Not in the slightest. So this is what all your teachers were talking about when they were lecturing you about the importance of stage presence.

“Uh, wow. Wow.” You’re still tearing up, no matter how much you try to will it away.

You’re not even really sure why you’re tearing up or why you can’t stop. It’s usually difficult for music to elicit such a visceral reaction from you. Goosebumps, sure. That very specific thrill down your spine when you hear music that isn’t so much as something that you hear, but feel in your blood, thumping, alive, real.

But tears, no. That doesn’t happen.

It feels like your body is reacting to something that isn’t tangible, that you can’t see with your eyes or hear with your ears. Like there’s something else in the room that you can’t quite register. Like you’re crying despite yourself.

You desperately want to kiss him. You want to pull him close and breathe in his familar scent and feel him pull you closer. It feels like the only appropriate thing to do, rather than just say “wow” over and over, in that stupid longing voice because you don’t what else to say. This is too overwhelming. More overwhelming than what it feels like when he finally puts his hands on you.

It’s the only thing you want to do. You can’t imagine the night ending in any other way. It seems like it was prewritten in the stars, like the universe came together to stitch this scene together. Like it was fate for you to find him here, long after the sun disappeared over the horizon, practicing just like you were.

But you can’t, so you hug him. Like an absolute idiot.

You regret it as soon as your arms circle around his shoulders. Yoongi stiffens, as if startled, as if he wasn’t expecting the hug either. Then his hand come to awkwardly pat the space between your shoulder blades, as if this couldn’t get any worse. This feels like a consolation prize.

He can’t see your face nestled against his shoulder, but you cringe.

You feel the vibration of his laughter against you, his shoulders shaking, “You liked it that much?” You can feel the way his voice resonates in his chest, and like everything else about this ordeal, it’s overwhelming.

“Yeah,” You pull back away from him, relieved that the moment is over, “Yeah, I liked it. Winter Wind, right?”

“Yeah, fitting for this fucking weather.”

You laugh. “Look, thanks. But I gotta go, it’s getting late and I have a paper due tonight. Thank you, again. It’s really good.” You pick up your case, “You have good start, but keep practicing. Can’t stop until you have it memorized, ha.” You try to force a laugh.

You hope you don’t look like you’re fleeing the scene. (Except you are. You leave the building without even practicing. But you don’t tell him that.)

As you stream down the steps leading to the music building, the cool night air blotting away the swelling tears in your eyes, there’s something else that takes up residence in your heart: jealousy, and initiative.

You envy the lucky bitch that ends up with Min Yoongi. And if Yoongi won’t talk about it, then you will. You won’t let him drag you around on a whim without a real answer. You can’t bring yourself to wait any longer.

Min Yoongi doesn’t like you back.

At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself before he goes to sleep, as if lying to himself might make sleep come more easily.

The truth is, you are Min Yoongi’s favorite bedtime story. Like many other nights before, Yoongi falls asleep thinking of you, hashing and rehashing all the little details and inside jokes and past conversations. It’s a small comfort during this semester, thoughts of you keeping him warm.

Tonight, Yoongi is replaying the conversation from earlier, the way he saw you nervously rubbed at the tough calluses on your left hand while he was playing for you, out of the corner of his eye. It made Yoongi want to make you smile, laugh at his bad jokes, and maybe, if you’d let him, gasp against his lips. It’s been less than a day since he saw you and yet he misses your laugh.

That morning after class, you had sat up, blinking away the sun filtering through his shades, or maybe trying to clear the post-orgasm fog. Post- orgasms fog. Then you mumbled something about being late for class, a thin layer of sweat shining down to your chest.

You had thanked him, then laughed at the misstep. God, you were so dorky that you thanked him. How was he ever supposed to resist you?

How had the two of you come so far?

And the guiltiest indulgences Yoongi would allow himself in the middle of the night were the things he hadn’t experienced with you. Like a kiss. He hasn’t gotten a chance to do that, not yet. Maybe not ever. Would it be chaste? Slow and romantic? Or would it be impassioned and angry?

Yoongi is particularly fond of the image of taking you to the jazz cafe a little ways away from campus. Would you wear a dress, once the weather warms up a little bit? What kind of coffee would you order? Do you even like jazz? What would it feel like to feel your hand slotted against his?

He definitely wasn’t been thinking about pushing you up against the mirror in the practice room and seeing if the soundproof padding was actually properly installed. Or about that morning after classes, and those little mewling noises you made to urge him on. You were so desperate. It was cute, to say the least.

But Yoongi wasn’t trying to think about that right now. He was thinking more about your unwavering diligence. Or the merriment in your eyes despite the tired shadows that hung beneath them. Or the way you didn’t back down from the way that he was obviously flirting with him, fighting fire with fire.

How much longer can the both of you live in denial, waiting for the other to make a tentative step forward?

The more he thinks about it–about you–the less he can comfortably stay in his little bubble of denial. Denial can only get him so far. He tells himself that whatever relationship between the two of you is inevitable, and someone is going to do something eventually, and that’s why he’s not making a move just yet.

Much of your relationship (or lack thereof) has been stepwise progression, slow steps. Graduating slowly from classmate to study partners to friends and closer, still. And now Yoongi had made this great leap and it felt like the both of you were lost amid the signals and the truths neither of you knew how to broach.

And no matter how brave he is on stage, it’s nothing compared to being up close and personal with you. Cheesily enough, it’s easy enough to show a crowd what he’s been working on for months, but with you, he has to improvise.

Truth be told, Yoongi knew he was being idealistic. The space that you two existed in had become precious to him, and he didn’t want to do anything to upset the balance, until now. There’s no easy way to make this all go away. Both of you were in too deep now.

He saw the way you sighed into his touch, the way your eyes would go unfocused when he said something that was even remotely flirtatious, then then snap back to reality, as if you were reminding yourself of something. He knew you wouldn’t do anything any time soon. The past evening had shown him that.

And how was he supposed to admit his feelings for you… when he could hardly admit them to himself, in the privacy of his own room?

And now, how could Yoongi make sense of anything? Every quiet moment carried the ghost of your voice. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the way you had squeezed your eyes shut when he brought you to rapture. Even when you’re not with him, you’re filling up his senses. His thoughts.

Am I in love with my friend? Are we friends because we’re in love? Am I feeling like this because of the way she says my name? Am I feeling like this because of the way she touches me?

So those are all the reasons. To not talk to you. To talk to you. God, how the fuck was Yoongi supposed to know?

You (5:03pm): hey, I think we should talk soon

The minutes tick by. Does the time always pass this slowly, you think to yourself. Your hand hovers over your phone keyboard.

Fuck… what have I done.

You (5:15pm): that sounds sooo scary lol no pressure okay?

You grow desperate in the wake of his silence. Have you ruined it all?

Yoongi (5:30pm) yeah

Yoongi (5:31pm): sorry I was practicing

Yoongi (5:31pm): wasn’t looking at my phone

Yoongi (5:31pm): let’s talk then

Yoongi (5:32pm): where are you?

You find yourself at his apartment once again, the closed door spelling out all the possibilities in front of you. At least give him the benefit of the doubt, something reasons inside of you, but something darker says, think of what he’s put you through.

Think of what you’ve put yourself through, you finally think. You’ve stood outside long enough. You’ve overwrought this, alone, long enough.

Each knock that you rap against the door sounds like another nail in the coffin, but you still cling onto the last dregs of hope left in you.

The door opens immediately, a rush of warm air enveloping you from outside. “Hey,” Yoongi says, shyly, almost demure in his lounge clothes and undone hair.

You want to take him apart.

“Hey,” You mirror, and try to pretend like Min Yoongi hasn’t stolen the breath out of you for what seems like the thousandth time. You hate that he has this effect on you. With nothing but a simple greeting, it seems like you’ve forgiven him for all your grief already. You try to push that feeling further down, trying to stay objective.

Yoongi leads you to his couch. “Here… sit down. It’s cold outside, I made tea,” He says, padding into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything else, but it looks like he knows exactly what you want to talk about. There’s something in the little tick in his jaw that tells you he’s just as sure as you are, but you’re tired of guessing. Your eyes are blurring from looking in between the lines for so long.

There’s a big difference between overt facts and implied certainties. Fact: You and Yoongi are friends who study together, and now, ex-hookups. Implied: There’s something more there, something between friend and one-time hookup.

“Um, what did you want to talk about?” Yoongi says, setting down a steaming mug in front of you. You don’t reach for it.

“I–” You steel yourself for the words to tumble out of your mouth, but you lose your nerve. You had prepared a whole monologue on the walk to his apartment, but it doesn’t seem right now. You sigh, loosening the tension in your shoulders. “I wanted to talk about… about the last time I was at your apartment.” You hope it’s enough for him to get your point, and you hope that he’ll be honest and direct. He owes at least that much to you.

“What about last time? Like specifically, what about last time?” Yoongi says, not flippantly. Please, you silently plead, please… just say something good.

“Yoongi,” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come, “What happens now? What does it mean? Please, just be honest.” When you hear your voice leave your body, you can hear how pained you sound. It wasn’t something you intended. You match his gaze and his eyes are like mirrors. “Yoongi… whatever you say, I won’t be angry. I just–I just want to know how you feel.” Your voice trembles. You hope you don’t sound as pathetic and humiliated as you feel, the scorned hookup.

Worse yet, the scorned hookup who didn’t get the hint the first time.

“No, no. You deserve the truth.” He sets his mug on the table, and you bristle at the fact that he doesn’t use a coaster. “I’ll, um, tell you my side of the story. Just to be clear I’m not like, mad at you, or anything like that. I’m also not the type to fuck and go… even though it looks like that. And I’m not like, going to ghost you or anything. Unless you want me to do that. In that case,” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, lingering on the nape of his neck, “I’ll do that.”

“Can you do something for me, y/n? Can you just–” Yoongi holds his hands out in front of him, and he clasps his hands between yours. He always knows exactly how to comfort you, even now.

He sighs. “I wasn’t… expecting everything to happen like this. y/n, I… Just let me think about what to say for a second. But I promise, you’ll get the explanation you’re owed.” Another deep breath in. Another deep breath out.

You sit like that for what seems like a long, stretched out moment, your hands clasped in Yoongi’s, his brow furrowed.

“Why didn’t you say something yesterday?” You burst out.

Yoongi clears his throat. “Okay, look. I have… a lot of… okay, I just, I wasn’t sure how to go about this whole thing. And that morning in class, I rushed everything and after that I wasn’t sure how to approach you. Then when I saw you in the music building afterward, I just wanted to talk to you… to make sure you were okay. I saw you and I blanked. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know what to do without making it weird. That’s a shitty reason, but I blanked and didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“So,” You blink, frustrated, confused, flushed hot with embarrassment and maybe a little bit of arousal, “Okay,” You say. At least you’re getting somewhere. “So… why did it happen? Why… why did we…”

Your eyes sting, and you breathe deeply, as if you might run out of words. “Was it all in my head?”

Yoongi’s clammy hands tighten around yours, as if he’s afraid you’ll leave.

“No,” Yoongi exhales, “No, it wasn’t.”

Your body is running hot and cold. It feels like something in the air has been punctured, all the tension, all the doubts, rushing away. Something new rushes in.

“I spent all this time guessing and wondering and hoping. I ran myself ragged with all my thinking. It’s not your fault, mostly, but I’m so tired. Of guessing.”

He smiles. Well, smirks, in that Yoongi fashion that makes it feel like the top of your head is spinning. “Stop thinking so much then.”

“It was–” Yoongi’s voice breaks, rips in half. “It was a mistake,” Yoongi lies. You know he’s lying. You can tell from the way his eyes are looking everywhere on your face but your eyes. You can tell from the way that he wrings his hands, like he’s reading a pre-written apology from behind the camera. “I’m so, so confused about everything. This isn’t going the way I thought it would–not that–it’s just my words aren’t coming out like I thought they would. I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like a bad thing.”

Yoongi sighs, “I thought this would be easier.” And when you look at him again, you can see the pink on his cheeks. And how dilated his pupils are, and the decreasing proximity between his lips and your lips, because again Yoongi is still death-gripping your hands in his. If you could let yourself entertain the idea, he might be pulling you closer.

“You’re going to need to be more specific,” You say. You lean away from him, hoping that the energy in the room will simmer down if you’re not centimeters away from falling into his arms. You need to hear him talk more, say everything, explain himself. You can’t leave this room without knowing more, you won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth and the full truth. You really don’t have the energy to wait more.

“Well, even before everything–” And this is where Yoongi waves his hands in the air, gesticulating wildly. He doesn’t elaborate, although you suppose “before the almost-handjob in class and the whole mouth-fucking each other on your couch” is a bit of a mouthful.

“Even before everything– I knew you liked me. Like, you can’t even be surprised that I knew. Because you were really obvious. Like so obvious. But yeah. I knew, and I thought it was cute, and it was super flattering.”

You open your mouth for a response, but you concede that he’s right. You flush ever hotter.

Yoongi’s voice drops a little lower, like he’s telling you a secret, “And it was so fun to mess with you. Like, I could make this cute fucking girl blush and giggle and squirm and it was all because of me, how can I not be flattered? How can I not want to spend more time with you, push all your buttons? I figured you’d eventually do something about it. But you never did, no matter how much I pushed it with you. I wanted you to make the first move. But we started getting closer, and I thought maybe you were never going to do anything about it. Like we agreed to be friends, but on the inside we both liked each other? I didn’t want that to happen, but I was too scared to just go and ask you out. So I was getting frustrated. So that morning, I was just messing around with you again. I wanted to annoy you during class, I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of it. But you–I guess you were frustrated too, because you called me on my bluff. And then, you know, one thing leads to another and we’re somehow at my apartment, which I barely remember how we got there in one piece before–” Yoongi stops, breathless and something tender sparkling in his eyes. His hands aren’t gripping you like you might run away, just resting on the tops of your knees. Reminding you that he’s there.

“And now, in the present, I’m just confused? Did I like you before or after we…” He trails off, bashful still, even now. “Or do I feel like this now because we were together? And does that even matter now, because I like you regardless?”

All the blood has rushed away from your chest. It feels like someone has knocked all the air from you but also as if a winch has tightened ever-so around your heart.

“Let’s take it slow, if that’s something you want. Nobody…” You grapple for something to say, after that hell of a fucking lovesick speech, “Nobody said that you needed all the answers now. Don’t rush.” You take his hands back into yours.

The weight of it all hits you slowly, in successive waves. You don’t have to filter anything out, never have to make yourself feel appropriate for him. When you practice with him, study with him, eat with him… all the quiet spaces and body-wracking laughter just feel like a perfect fit. Nothing out of place. There’s never a conversation topic or something to stray away from, other than circumventing the feelings you have for him. Even then, it’s not like Yoongi pretends like the attraction isn’t there. He doesn’t skirt around it, avoid it like taboo conversation. It really only serves to amplify your conversations, a red thread pulled taut underneath everything else.

And now, you can give into that? You can show him how you really feel, and there’s just one less thing to hide?

“You know, you’re not blameless. I was super stressed out at the time, and with the Bach Festival and midterms and everything I guess… you gave me the opportunity to lessen that a little, so. I know, I know. It’s a shitty excuse. But I wanted things with you and with the way that things converged, it seemed like–”

“Serendipity?”

“A bit like that, yes.” You tighten your hands around his, and he pulls you a little closer. You’re leaning over his lap now.

You can’t choose whether to look into his eyes or at his lips. It looks like Yoongi has the same problem. He pulls you imperceptibly closer.

“Can I kiss you? If that’s not rushing, of course.”

“Yeah. Yes, please.” You soften yourself into his lap, Yoongi pulling you closer by the shoulders, sliding down to rest on your arms. You relish in the sensation, knowing it’s something that you can enjoy with a reassured heart now.

He plants a closed kiss against your lips, and somehow that makes your heart flutter more than anything else he’s ever done before. The pads of his fingertips are soft and gentle against your arms, pulling you closer by the bicep.

“I like you… I like you a lot…” Yoongi whispers against your lips, laughing at the confession. So sweet, so soft.

“I like you too…” You whisper, kissing back. Slow, chaste, if a bit restrained. The realization hits you again, slowly, like an ocean wave washing over wet sand.

Yoongi likes you back. Yoongi wants you back. You laugh at how absurd it sounds, even in your own head, nipping at his lip. “Say it again, Yoongi.”

“I like you…” Yoongi sounds coy.

You smile against him, “Say it again,” You gasp, pushing him back on the couch, gentle but firm, “I like you too, in case you didn’t know.” You can’t help but laugh. Not at the absurdity at the situation, but just out of happy shock.

“y/n, I like you…” Yoongi chuckles, deep in his chest, looking up at you. His hair falls out of his eyes.

“Do you know how happy it makes me, to hear you say that?”

You’re honestly surprised that you don’t have whiplash. Whiplash from the weeks of tension and denial, feeling like you would never get this relief, but now you have a whole new set of problems. Dating Min Yoongi.

This whole “taking it slow” thing is fucking bullshit. The past couple weeks have been one long sustained effort, some kind of marathon in testing the waters, drawing back and then pushing forward.

Maybe you spoke too soon. You have to admit that the slow build, chaste romantic courtship is nice .

The study dates are more than nice. The coffee shop dates feel almost luxurious, expensive in time in the same way that the actual coffee is cheap.

Actually, all of this is a lot nicer than having to guess his every intention, the message between the lines. But you already know what it’s like to have Min Yoongi.

In fact, things have been largely the same for the past couple weeks, except now you can feel the weight of his flirtatious jokes. You can now confidently say that Yoongi says what he means. The more time you spend with Yoongi, the more liberated you feel in letting yourself delight in the feeling of being allowed to show your feelings for him, and having them be duly reciprocated.

After the confessional evening the both of you had, Yoongi had agreed to take it slow. In your lovesick state, you probably would have said yes to anything that Min Yoongi put on the table. Which is probably why you agreed to the whole courtship thing.

“y/n… think about it like this! If we take our time then when the time finally comes… to… uh, you know, then it’ll be so much more gratifying. And I want to be with you more, like this,” Yoongi says, as you lean against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his words.

“Delayed gratification, have you ever heard of that?” Yoongi had said, smiling wider than you’d ever seen.

“Although from my experience with you, I think you like instant gratification more,” He said, a touch darker. Your memory blurs now, because that was about the time he started tickling you relentlessly. And then kissing you relentlessly.

And at the time, you had agreed. The delayed gratification would make everything better, make the world a little more rose-colored than before.

You don’t want to push his boundaries, he doesn’t want to push yours, but now it’s begun nearly feels both of you are so afraid of each other that you haven’t touched each other in what seems like fucking forever–and it’s reached a boiling point, from what you can gather this evening.

The newfound tension between the two of you is new, maybe a day or two at most, but annoying nonetheless.

“Y/n, how many times have I told you? Stop rushing. Do you need me to count your part out? One, two, three, four.” He punctuates every count with a clap in your face, and a sneer to boot.

Yoongi has been especially volatile this evening. His normal jokes and jabs at you fall just short of endearing. Your initial approach at remedying the situation by focusing on the music at hand has only seemed to make things worse, and you’ve given in to your slowly-growing temper.

“I am fucking counting, and I’m not the one playing fucking half notes, okay? How about you just focus on making the harmony, I don’t know, harmonious ?” You lower your violin, face screwing up in anger, only you don’t know how much of it is joking anymore.

You don’t know how much longer you can take this kind of tension in the air. It feels angry and red and biting, but you can’t help it. The stale air-conditioned air in the practice room only seems to make your face warmer and warmer as time passes.

All this tension, and no release. That’s what music is all about. The build-up of musical intensity, the expectation and anticipation for resolution. It’s like you’ve been stuck on the same chord of a cadence, waiting for a release that feels like it isn’t coming anytime soon.

You take a deep breath, the frustration tightening in your chest. “From measure eighty-four, and take the fucking repeat this time. Let’s just move onto the next section after this, we’ll just come back to it later.”

You fight the urge to huff and sigh, knowing it would only earn you a comment from Yoongi about being, as he had put it, ‘wound up.’ Yeah, no shit, you’re wound up. Wound up is putting it lightly. Just last week Yoongi had made a mess of you at his apartment, teasing you apart and then stopping just short of an orgasm. And he said the same thing last week too: delayed gratification.

You try again, cueing him in with a sharp breath and the uptake of your bow.

And again, and again, and again.

“This isn’t working.” You set your violin on the soft lining of your case and rub your temples, resting your upper body on the body of the piano. You swipe the back of your hand across your face, breathing in the clean smell of the hand soap from Yoongi’s apartment bathroom, from when you were there a couple hours ago. Warm. Brown sugar. It feels like his embrace–if only you’d ever feel it again.

God, why did you let him push all your buttons? All evening–ever since the two of you left his apartment to come to the practice rooms–he’s been acting like this. You know it has something to do with you, another game. But you don’t have the energy to divine his ulterior motive, whatever it is. You shut your eyes to provide some reprieve from the strain of staring at the same phrase that you have been stuck on for what has felt like an eternity.

“Yeah, this isn’t fucking working,” He says. It reminds you of the way he talked to you when you found him practicing in the early morning that one Tuesday. You only open your eyes when you hear him get up from his bench.

Min Yoongi is standing too close to you. His eyes are on your lips and not your eyes. Even in the dim light of the practice room, you can see how dilated his pupils are.

You meet his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, more breathless than he’d like to admit, “You’re provoking me. Why?”

“Who said I was trying to do that? I think you,” You point a finger at his chest, looking into his eyes, “Are provoking me.” You try to sound as petulant as possible, and it works.

Yoongi’s lips meet yours before you can even take your hands off of him.

In the best sense of the word, you are cornered. Backed up against the piano, enclosed by his arms. He slips his hands up underneath the cotton of your sweatshirt, pulling you flush against him. His cool fingertips grazing the small of your back have you gasping against his soft lips.

“Tell me, why are you provoking me?”

“I, well-” You don’t continue with an excuse, because you’re finally getting what you want. What you both want.

He presses on. “Gonna answer my question, or are you just gonna keep being a little brat?” He wedges his thigh between your legs, closer to where you need him most. You stifle a moan, it’s too soon to be making those kinds of sounds, but you grind down on him anyway. “What?” He laughs, the sound sitting deep in his chest. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

You try to focus on the possessiveness in the way that he holds you by the waist, so you’re not thinking about how weak your knees are.

He sighs, as if in disappointment. Only you’re not sure who it’s directed towards.

“If I touch you right now, will you be wet?” He laughs. “I don’t even have to guess.” The ghost of his breath fans against your upper lip. “Is this what you want? Do you, do you, want to keep going?” Yoongi stops his ministrations. When you meet his eyes, both of you breathless, you can see the inquiring concern in his eyes again.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you say, trying, and failing, not to sound frantic, “Only if you’ll see it through to the end this time,” You bite.

He laughs, devoid of mirth. “You say that like it’s not hard for me, either.” His hands trail down your torso to rest at the waist of your jeans. You don’t want to pseudo-argue with him anymore, so you just whine a little from the back of your throat, hoping he’ll get the point.

You don’t want him to think that this isn’t what you want, because truth be told, it is exactly what you want. Your hands come to meet his when you reach to undo the button.

“You know exactly what to do.” He laughs, lighter this time. He’s laughing like he’s not mad at you. He helps undo your jeans, pushing them and your panties just past your thighs. You gasp when he starts rubbing gentle circles on your clit. His fingers slip against your wet, slippery pussy.

Yoongi is everywhere. He’s crowding your space against the wall, hand down your pants, the other holding your neck in place. It’s getting overwhelming with his beautiful hand rubbing little circles on your clit. So simple, and yet it feels like you’re breaking apart underneath him. It’s getting harder and harder to bite back the moans, stay in control.

“You know, these rooms are soundproof. Let me hear you,” He murmurs, pulling you closer. “Stop hiding from me.”

Yoongi shifts his attention from your wet cunt to the collar of your shirt. “What’s this? Getting busy without me?” Yoongi brushes his free hand over the circular dark mark coloring the crook of your jaw. You’re starting to get impatient with all this teasing, how much more can you take?

“Haven’t you ever heard of a violin hickey?” You spit, grinding down on his hand, but it’s not enough. God, it really has been too long since he last touched you. He never stops the gentle advance he makes on your clit, never faster, never slower. Just barely enough. “We were just practicing, it gets darker when I play.” You try to explain yourself, as if that might make him show mercy later on.

“You’re not in any position to talk back right now, don’t forget that.” He leaves open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking gently. “I’ll just help you add to your little collection.” Your eyes roll back, unable to help yourself. It’s been so long since anyone has touched you. It’s been so long since anyone has held you so closely.

Your desperation is beginning to show. With every movement of his hands, Yoongi starts to lessen his touch, your hips dogging his hand. You come to the realization that you’re not above begging to get what you want. He doesn’t even have to ask.

He continues his gentle assault on your clit. “Do you know what these mirrors are for? They’re for checking your posture as you practice, but I guess this is just a different kind of practice.” He turns you around, your hips digging into the wood panelling of the piano. You’re confronted by your own fucked-out reflection, flushed and panting. You’re still mostly clothed, and yet you look debaucherous, like some ancient painting of a study into the nuances of female pleasure. “Look at you. All messy. And for what? I’ve barely touched you.”

The frustration is too much, reaching a boiling point. “Please, I swear to God.” You bury your hands in your head, wiping away frustrated tears. Your legs are trembling now, now that Yoongi is only using one of his arms to brace you against him.

“Please, what?” He digs his nails into the soft skin of your hip, and you can’t help but like it. He lowers his head so it’s level with your ear, sultry, low. “Use your words.”

“Can’t you just, just-” Again, you buck your hips against his hand, as if that might make him get the point, only for him to nip at your inner thigh with his hand.

“Don’t rush me, babe.” Babe. Min Yoongi is calling you babe. Is the universe playing some trick on you?

He takes advantage of your position and leverages his knee on the inside of yours, spreading your legs further. “That’s it, just take it. Take it.” Finally, he takes pity on you and slips a finger inside. He earns an answering gasp. You can tell he means business, because he doesn’t take it slow, he doesn’t let you adjust, going directly at that spot inside of you that makes you keen for him.

You struggle to stay upright, eyes rolling back. Your fingers scrabble along the dark wood of the piano, struggling to find purchase.

“Fuck, Yoongi…”

“So needy, look at you, so fucking needy...” He drives his point home further by adding a second finger.

“I’m sooooo sorry… how can I ever make it up to you…?” Even despite the mind-bending pleasure and the prospect of Min Yoongi blowing your back out this evening, you roll your eyes.

“What if someone hears?” Your point is lost when Yoongi changes the angle of his hand, and you break off into a ragged whimper. It’s loud enough to make you embarrassed to have made that sound in the presence of another person.

“Oh, so you care about that now?” “What about that one time in class,” Yoongi all but pants in your ear, digging his nails into your thigh, “That you were being a desperate little cocktease?”

You don’t answer, shame stoking the embers in your belly, driving lower and lower. You hate, and love, that he can make you feel like this with only some stern wording and a firm hand. Because it feels that good. Because you like him that much.

“What then, hmm?” Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response however, before he’s yanking your jeans and panties further down your thighs. “Do me a favor. Touch yourself for me. Show me.”

“Why?”

“Wanna see you all messy for me,” Yoongi says, voice silky soft, liquid sex. He guides your hand down to your pussy, and god, you realize just how embarrassingly wet you are for such little foreplay. “Please?” He presses his chest flush to your back, leaning his forehead into the crook of your neck.

You oblige him. You’re wet to the point where it’s difficult to find purchase against your clit. “Okay… but you have to forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“For being needy…” You say, sweetly.

“Sure. I’ll forgive anything you do if you do this every time.” He says it like it’s a matter of fact.

You giggle, like a lovesick idiot. At the very least, you’re glad that Yoongi can make you laugh even when you’re half-play-fighting, half-on-the-verge-of-having-sex-in-your-favorite-practice room.

The vibrations of your laughter traveling through your body have you moving in new, novel ways against your own hand, and you break off into a moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, voice barely above a scratchy whisper. He sounds genuine, and the tenderness of the moment isn’t lost to you, even despite your pleasure. At least now that you’re touching yourself, you don’t have to suffer the patient wrath of Yoongi and can touch yourself the way that you see fit.

You feel his free hand nudge against the back of your thigh and when you look, he’s dragging the heel of his hand across his pants.

Fuck. Fuck, you are so wrecked for Min Yoongi.

“No, you too,” you say, “Show me too.”

Yoongi moves away from you, pushing his waistband past his hips. He’s gripping his cock in one hand. He’s reaching for your waist again, his hand traveling up to grasp your throat. He jerks your head back. “Look, look at yourself.”

The combined sensation of his hand on your neck and own hand on your pussy is too much. Your eyes water. “Yoongi,” You gasp, “I’m going to come.”

“No, not yet. Not yet.” He wrenches your hand away, and the sudden lack of touch is almost cruel.

You buck against him, his back to you. “Please, please let me come, I can’t–you can’t do this again, fuck,” Your desperation comes out in whines, all shame lost.

“Be patient, come here.” He turns you around again, your back against the wood of the piano. And you’re looking into his eyes, dark and filled with something like lust. Min Yoongi wants you. You reach up to brush his hair out of his eyes.

Yoongi’s on your clit again, drawing light circles, testing the wetness before slipping a finger inside again. “I wanna hear you,” He says, adding another finger, more tenacity behind his strokes. He rocks his thumb against your clit. “I wasn’t asking.”

Up until now you’ve been biting your lip, muffling your cries as best as you can. You look up at him again, drawing up your courage. You feel exposed–how can you not, half-naked in the practice room, when you’re not completely confident that the soundproof padding on the walls can contain the sounds of your rapture.

“You-you fuck me so good Yoongi–” And you keen, just because he asked you to.

He stops in his fucking tracks. Again.

“Well. You fuck me so well. You can’t describe a verb with an adjective. God, I really shouldn’t let you come…”

“Oh my God, are you really going to do this right now.” You bear down on his hand with your hips again, seeking more friction. “Please… please, I can’t wait anymore.” You can hardly finish your sentence, as Yoongi fucks into you with a particularly hard thrust. You’re finding it difficult to keep your eyes open, instead opting to rest your head on his shoulder.

God, he smells so good. Like fresh laundry and the melting snow outside, warm and human and reassuring.

You can feel his smile ghosting over your neck as he leans down to suck another mark into your collarbone. “Yes, yes, I am.”

“I’m–I’m getting close again,” You say, fisting your hands in his shirt, “Just, ah–” It takes you by surprise, crashing over you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to stay upright, pulling Yoongi against you. You can feel his satisfied smile, as he pants against the curve of your neck, hot and heady and everything you need.

“Good?” He asks, after your breathing has calmed, even though you know that he knows that he’s done more than a good job.

“Okay, okay, enough bragging,” You half-laugh, half-scoff, pulling your pants up past your hips again.

“I wasn’t bragging,” He whines. It’s endearing, and you pepper his face with kisses before you get to business again.

You sink to your knees before him, and his expression immediately softens. You try to bridge the gap between the two of you, placing the palm of your hand on his thigh. Asking for permission.

“Are you sure?” He says, but the expression in his eyes saying something to the effect of “I really hope you’re sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” You say, smiling as you tease the head of his cock with your parted lips. You replace his hand with yours. It’s barely any contact, really, but Yoongi closes his eyes in pleasure nonetheless, head tilted back. Normally, in any other situation like this, you’d be at least a little bit nervous. Or shy, hoping that Yoongi keeps his eyes closed so he’s not looking at you. But the absolute deprivation you’ve felt for the past couple weeks is enough for you to not care.

You sink lower, in the wake of remembering how pent up and frustrated you’ve felt for the past couple weeks. You even, at least try to, bat your eyelashes at him. But like you guessed (or had hoped), his eyes are squeezed shut. You try not to delight in the sudden change of power too much, but it’s impossible not to.

He tightens his grip on the back of your neck, groaning. “You’re so good to me.” You take him further in your mouth, eager to please. Eager to hear him make more of those sounds. Eager to take this further.

You try your best to make it slick, flattening your tongue against him. You’re a little out of practice, after months of being alone, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. And if he does, he’s still enjoying himself. Thoroughly.

“Fuck, fuck,” He gasps, in hushed whispers.

“What a mouth on you…” Yoongi moves stray hairs out of your face, surprisingly tender given the lewdness of the situation. The sounds of your mouth fill the practice room, although hopefully not loud enough to expose your vulnerable position. You truly hope that the soundproof padding lining the walls works as advertised.

“Ah–ah wait, I’m getting close, wait–ah, y/n, fuck,” He rasps. You don’t let up quite yet, letting him sit in that in-between space between ‘on the edge’ and ‘letting go’. His free hand makes a weak fist against his leg.

Someone knocks on the door. Your first thought is that it may be security wrapping up rounds for the night.

Your eyes widen in shock as you stand upright and zip up your jeans. The surge from adrenaline at the prospect of getting caught in the act makes your head pulse and spin. Your heart seems to have fallen from the left side of your chest all the way into the pit of your stomach.

It’s hard to remember how aroused you were, not thirty seconds ago.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” For someone who was quite literally about to be balls-deep inside you, Yoongi tucks his dick back inside his pants with a surprising amount of tact and speed.

Yoongi is fixing his hair in the practice mirror as you cross the room at the piano bench, pulling out your phone to make it look like the two of you were just dawdling or taking a practice break.

Maybe twenty seconds have elapsed since the first knock at the door, which you reason might be a reasonable time for someone to stop practicing, and walk to the door to answer it. You hope it might seem reasonable.

You can feel the pulse in your neck moving as Yoongi opens the door. You train your eyes on your phone screen, as if that might make you more nonchalant.

“Hey, Yoongi-hyung.” The voice at the door is youthful, and energetic. You can even hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t know you were here this late. I was looking for you!” You finally muster up the courage to stop staring at your phone, your eyes venturing to the other side of the room.

It’s… Jungkook?

Jungkook, as in, the only bassoonist in the department, Jungkook?

Jungkook must have had the same idea as you, because he looks over at you at the same time you do.

His smile falters, albeit briefly. Whatever replaces it is something akin to a smirk. A knowing smirk. An accusatory smirk. A proud smirk.

“Hyung, who’s that?”

#armywriterssupport #btsgoldnet #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenarios #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #min yoongi x reader #bts x reader

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yniswaifu · 3 years

Text

The bet - 1

You look at the crowd in front of you, eyeing each person for a split second before turning to other. They were talking, they were smiling, they looked happy. Everyone around you and your group were in similar situation – talking, smiling, being happy. But how do we know it was genuine?

Someone tapped your shoulder. You snap back to reality and look at Osamu, the gray head who was also your boyfriend. He had a questioning look on his face, but kept quiet and just smiled at you. You too, smiled back and finished the rest of your food on the lunch tray. Ten more minutes till the end of lunch break.

While you and Osamu weren't the type to be openly affectionate, with the maximum being a kiss on the forehead, the same couldn't be said about the blonde guy sitting across you. He had his girl on his lap, and his head tucked in the crook of her neck. To you, that looked uncomfortable as heck.

"dude, we're in school. Please curb your love." Osamu chimes in, a distasteful expression on his face. His hand was on top of yours, and the other held the special pork bread you get every Friday.

Your eyes turn to the girl, who was blushing at the comment made by your boyfriend. She was pretty, and popular. But she was also nice. So nice that she will might as well take her heart out for you. Her kindness irked you as well, because in today's world kindness was rare, and you weren't sure how genuine that kindness was. You observed her some more. Her hands were intertwined with the blonde's, and she looked happy. Her happy face made something in you hurt when you looked at the 'genuine' love in her eyes, and the 'genuine' love in Atsumu's eyes. Something in you hurt so bad, it made you angry.

You look down and clenched your fist. Conflict was raging in you, making you feel worse with the seconds. You had to decide, and you had to do it now.

The bell rang, and you got up from your seat. Osamu offered to take your tray along with his, and Atsumu followed his brother - trying to be the gentleman he never was. Suna and Ginjima, the other two classmates and friends you had, they too went to keep their trays at the counter. You and f/n were the only people left.

You weren't very close to her. The relationship was confined till "the other twin's girlfriend" category. And since you and her hung out in the same group, you were friendly with each other. A blanket of awkward silence covered the both of you, and while f/n may look uncomfortable, you were scared. Scared of being fake.

"the boys are taking their time." f/n said, and smiled at you. Your eyes widened at her smile, and then turned to her frown. This is wrong. This is so wrong.

"yeah, it seems so. We'll be late for class." you reply, trying your best to smile.

"I know right. Should I go call them?" she asks, pointing towards where four tall dudes stood, talking about something.

You nod your head, and f/n walks over to them to call them. Shutting your eyes tightly, you pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. That's it, you have to tell her the truth. You can't continue like this.

When f/n returns with the rest of the gang, you stare at them blankly, void of any emotion as you feel drained. Osamu eyes you for a second, and quietly asks, "are you okay?"

His arms wraps around your shoulders and he pulls you closer as you all walked back to class. You were in a different section from others, as your grades were better than theirs. But that didn't affect anyone.

"yeah I'm fine. Just feeling a little tired that's all."

Osamu nods, clearly not accepting your answer, but he let it go for the time being. In the two years of relationship you two had, communication was never an issue. So he knew you will tell him sooner or later anyway.

The boys enter their class, bidding you and f/n goodbye. Atsumu places a kiss on her lips, while Osamu just squeezes your hand a little. You cringe at Atsumu and he sticks out his tongue at you before leaving. Again, it's just y/n and f/n.

"f/n..." you start.

She turns to you and smiles, tilting her head. "yes?"

"when the boys leave for their volleyball practice, would you like to walk home with me?"

You wanted to be direct, but you decided to do it nice and slow.

F/n couldn't believe her ears. The girl she admired was asking her to walk home with her. She wanted to jump in excitement but kept her calm. "sure." she smiles.

You give her a small smile as well, and enter your class. You were going to make it right, even if it hinders your relations.

***

You kick the pebbles on your path, waiting for f/n. Nervousness had a grip on you, but you knew that this was the right thing to do. Best or not, you weren't up for discussing that. You were also aware how this was going to affect the people around you, specially a specific pair of twins – one of who was someone you held dear to your heart.

Speaking of Osamu, your mind drifted to him, and his pretty poker face, and his subtle way of caring. He wasn't the most expressive in the block, but you knew, how much he cherished you. Not like you were any different. Maybe that's why you two vibed well, seeing both of you were introverts.

"let's go."

You see f/n approaching, a smile etched on her face. You force a smile yourself, mentally preparing for the upcoming storm.

It was awkward to say the least. You have never done anything like this before, and now that you have decided to be genuine and honest, all sorts of doubts enveloped you. None of you spoke a word, and you wondered what was going on in her head.

Meanwhile f/n is way too nervous to be walking with you. Being in a class below, hanging out with people like Atsumu and others was overwhelming. She may be popular for her looks or personality, but it wasn't like she asked for it. But when she had seen you for the first time, she was fascinated. She liked how well you kept yourself together, how you were honest with your words, and how cool you were in general. You didn't need someone's validation to make yourself better, and f/n really appreciated that. Sometimes she felt as if her way of living was inside of a bubble, and she wasn't exactly being herself.

For f/n, you were someone she looked up to, and Atsumu was someone she looked down at. His extravagant way of portraying himself for being one of the best volleyball player in Japan, and his superiority complex, got on her nerves. She wanted to avoid him as much as possible, and she did succeed. But not for long, because Atsumu's charms surpassed his cons and she soon found herself falling for him. It was pathetic on her side, seeing how deep she was in this ordeal, and developed a form of self hatred for lowering her morals. Or so she thought. That's why seeing and being with y/n made herself feel a little better, or worse, and she felt she could correct herself through the 'cool' senior who walked beside her in silence.

Soon the silence was broken by you, and you stopped under the streetlight, calling out for f/n. F/n turned to see a pitiful expression. It was almost like...you felt bad for her.

"is everything okay?" she asks, concerned.

Sighing, you meet her eyes and say, "no. It's not."

"huh? What happened?" she asks, confused.

Gulping the lump at the base of your throat, you continue. "Atsumu started dating you because of a dare."

There it was. The bomb. You dropped it without a warning, and the blast is going to injure a lot of people.

F/n stared at you for a good minute before speaking. "why...?"

Her blurred eyes signal the start of waterworks, but you chose to ignore it and continue. "entertainment." you shrug. "you weren't really into Atsumu, so everyone made a bet that he will make you fall for him in a month. And...he succeeded. The bet has been going on for four months now."

Your eyes were cold, f/n noticed. She wasn't sure why you decided to bestow her with this news, and why now. After four months of bliss and in love. Why her, of all the people in the world.

SLAP!

A hand flew across your cheek, the painful sting making it's way on your face. You didn't expect that, but you also knew somewhere deep down you deserved that. You couldn't bring up to look at the now crying girl in front of you, so you kept looking down.

"screw you all." were the last words you heard before the footsteps faded away.

Ah, I went and did it. You think, as your own tears streamed down your face while thinking of the aftermath.

Chapter 1 is up! Wow I'm nervous. Anyway, I hope you like it. The second chapter may be posted sometime within this week, so stay tuned.

Have a beautiful day. ✌️

#Haikyuu #Fanfiction #Anime #Osamu x reader #Atsumu x reader #Suna #Ginjima #Volleyball #Imagines #Haikyuu scenario

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giorno-plays-piano · 3 years

Text

No Mercy

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x thief!Reader

Warnings: non-con, yandere, sex pollen, minor depiction of violence, threats, stalking, allusion to kidnapping, both Bakugo and reader are adults!

Words: 2388.

Summary: Obviously, you have chosen a wrong night to rob that electronics store.

P.S. Yay, this is my first BNHA story!

By the way, there is absolutely no real science in this fic, please don’t bully me for it ahahahah

_________________________

Oh dear, it was getting worse.

That morning you had a feeling you better stay home tonight, but your rent wasn't going to pay itself, so you still went out to rob that ugly little electronics store you stumbled upon a few days ago. Now you were being chased by one of the most popular pros, Ground Zero, and saints, you really hoped to keep all your limbs attached to your body: the guy was mad.

Really, you weren't such a villain he had probably pictured you to be. Your job in the cafe wasn't paying well, but with no education whatsoever it was hard to find something else, especially since that big makeup store you finally got yourself in went bankrupt after a villain attack. Your dad wasn't the one to help you stay afloat either, so, with that odd Quirk of yours, there was just one thing left to do.

With a loud sound of something exploding to your right, you jumped in the narrow back alley on the left and prayed Bakugo to at least bring you to a police station instead of finishing you off here. Seriously, who he thought you were? Someone from the League of Villains, huh? You were miserable enough trying to evade his punches, and your knees were already trembling as you were reaching your limit.

Shit, now you'd have to use that embarrassing Quirk of yours and hope it will do something decent.

Despite your Quirk manifesting itself when you were 4 just like everybody else, you were so ashamed of it you did all you could to never bring it up or use it. How embarrassing was it to have an ability to produce animal secretion right out of your hands? One time you had literally sprayed skunk defensive secretion in the class, and after that you had been called a Stinky Girl for the rest of your school days. Damn, even remembering it now was making you ashamed of yourself.

Of course, your control over your Quirk was miserable. You struggled to predict which secretion it would produce, hoping it would be something distracting enough for a hero to let you go, but oh boy Ground Zero didn't seem like the type to be scared of skunk's spray.

Staring at the dead end, you were ready to laugh hysterically - that is, if you had any time left, but Bakugo had already grabbed you by the shoulder and yelled something offensive in your ear, ready to put you down to the ground. Well, it was now or never.

Within a second you took off your black glove you'd always worn on your missions and slapped hero's cheek, leaving an angry red mark on his pale skin. The next moment you were on the ground with a very, very mad Bakugo hovering over you with such expression as if he was going to murder you in cold blood right now.

Apparently, your Quirk was useless, after all. Preparing for the worst, you stared at him, wide-eyed and trembling like a leaf, your hands up defensively to prevent him from harming you. In the end, you didn’t even steal anything as Ground Zero stormed off in the store.

But he didn't hit you. Actually, he didn't do anything at all as you stared at him nervously. He just... stood there with a grimace on his face and did nothing at all.

Oh, was it something new? Did you Quirk finally prove itself useful for once? It was a damn miracle.

"What did you do to me, bitch?" He suddenly barked, and you saw his cheeks slowly getting red as if the temperature went up all of a sudden. "What the fuck is this?!"

Shit. Civet oil. Of course, you couldn't even make some decent quantity to make him repulsed, so now all you got was a completely opposite effect.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?"

Hiccupping, you got up just as he seemed to lean closer to you, so you ended up smashing your forehead against his, and both of your groaned. Although you fell back again, in a couple of seconds you were running for your life with Ground Zero being unusually slow somewhere behind you. Oh shit, now he was going to fuck and kill you. What a nice day you were having.

Struggling to keep running - you didn’t even understand at what part of the city you were now - you were getting out of breath, but you no longer heard Bakugo behind your back, and it was certainly calming. Did civet oil make him slow? You weren't sure what exact effects it had except for the most obvious one. Maybe you got lucky, for once. Maybe he'd let you go just this time, and you'd do your absolute best to find a decent job and stop robbing people. Well, you weren't even robbing regular people, just snobby store owners who'd get their money back with an insurance, anyway. You had never hurt anyone physically! Why treating you as if you were some dangerous criminal?

Whatever. Ground Zero was nowhere to be seen, so you simply landed on the ground in one of small filthy backyards in a shady part of the city. Oh boy, what a run. You thought the guy was literally ready to kill you.

The cold wall you leaned on didn't feel pleasant, but it was better than staying on your feet with your knees trembling and heart beating so fast as if you ran a marathon. Yeah, to think of it, you definitely could call it a marathon.

As you finally took off your mask and wiped your face with your palm, you heard a low growl somewhere to your left, "I'm gonna fucking break you, woman."

Shit.

Scrambling to your feet, you tried dodging him but you were no match to a real pro, especially someone as good at combat as Ground Zero: you ended beneath him within a second, painfully slammed to the ground as he cursed at you, pulling your hair. Apparently, this was the end of you. The civet oil only made the hero more enraged instead of distracting him.

"Ah! It hurts!" You whined at the hair pulling and heard a dangerous hiss above you.

"Do you think this doesn't fucking hurt?"

It was impossible not to feel his obvious arousal, his painfully hard cock pressing against your lower back as the hero suddenly sniffed your hair, then making some weird noises while trying to undo his pants. Nononono, you weren't having this, you'd gladly accompany the hero to the police station where they'd cuff you and put you in prison but not let Ground Zero have his way with you.

"Get off! GET OFF!"

Your attempts to throw him off were futile, and soon he was pulling down your own pants, "You did this to me, didn't you?! So be a good girl and maybe I won't fucking kill you."

You bit down on your lower lip, your hands bound together with his belt.

Huh, there was no other way.

______________

You came back home around 3 am completely exhausted, dirty and hurt, but it was still better than being thrown in prison after a long Interrogation in a police station. Ground Zero had finally taken some pity on you after all he'd done - oh it hurt, it hurt so bad in between your thighs because you hadn't been in relationship for long, but the hero was neither patient nor gentle with you. It was a miracle he actually let you go after this miserable incident somewhere in the outskirts of the city. Was he at least a little ashamed at what he did? Did he feel any remorse? Although it certainly didn't seem like, maybe he let you go because of it.

"Or he was just afraid to deliver me to police in such state," you chuckled grimly at yourself, grabbing first-aid kit and trying to do something with all these bruises and bites. You still had to take your 10-hour shift in the cafe today, and you could barely imagine how you were going to survive.

Of course, you only slept for a couple of hours before you had to get up: that morning you put so much makeup your boss would definitely scold you, but it was better than showing up with a face of a zombie. Of course, everyone managed to see how you winced while walking. Thank god you were able to convince them of your fall yesterday's evening: you actually only worked half a day as your boss took pity on you and let you go home.

Shit, it was time to put an end to your night adventures. You'd better find one more job and work a whole night long than live through this one more time, humiliated and hurt.

By the time you got home with a grocery bag in your hand, you felt like all you were going to do today was falling down on your bed and staring into the ceiling for hours. It still hurt. It was still embarrassing to remember what he did to you. You still wanted to slap him real hard and then yell at him at the top of your voice.

Funny enough, you actually had a chance to do all that since you found Ground Zero dressed as civilian sitting on your couch.

For a couple of seconds you froze on your place, unable to believe your eyes. What the hell was he doing here? What, yesterday's wasn't enough for this bastard, was it? Did he come to make you even more miserable?

Despite fear rising in your chest, it was soon replaced by fury mixed with disgust: who did he think he were to just break into your apartment like this? You might be a thief, but even you had the right to be delivered to police and then wait till the court decided upon your punishment. Nobody had given Ground Zero permission to rape you or follow you like some sick stalker!

"You live in some fucking hole." He grumbled as he saw you walking much slower than your usual pace, and you thought it was guilt you saw on his face for a mere second.

"Welcome to a fucking hole, then." You hissed at him in return and put your bag on the floor while taking your shoes off and wincing from pain. "If you came to finally take me to a police station, let me put food in the fridge, at least."

Not that you'd need it after your arrest, but the thought of leaving the grocery bag on the floor and let the food rot made you nauseated. You detested throwing away food with all your heart.

"Food? You call this food, huh?" He was already peeking inside the bag and scrunching his face at the sight of cheep noodles and gyoza.

"Yeah, we call it food here, rich boy." You let out a growl, mad at his attempts to make you feel humiliated even more than you already did.

He clearly didn't expect such treatment from someone whom he had taken advantage of so easily, and for several moment the man had a perplexed expression, unable to believe you were so brave despite the fact your knees were trembling. He probably thought it was a facade, but you didn't care. All this wouldn't end well for you, anyway.

"I'm not rich." He sent you a glare, and you felt like laughing in his face.

"If you don't have to steal to pay your rent, you're rich."

He grimaced but said nothing at all as you went to the kitchen, dragging the bag with you. You wondered if he felt sorry for you, but you didn't want his pity. Not from the one who did this to you. In fact, the only thing you wanted from him was leaving you alone.

Besides, you kept thinking why on Earth wasn't he dressed as a hero if he came explicitly to take you to a police station? Heroes like him loved showing off, you were sure. Why did he come like this? If he thought of repeating yesterday's night, you'd fucking stab him in the groin with a kitchen knife.

"So, how many heroes have you fucked like that?"

You felt a sudden urge to stab him right now and barely kept yourself away from a box where you kept cutlery. "I do three heroes a day and three villains at night," you growled at him, disgusted with his attitude, "what, didn't you feel it when you were raping me?"

Your reply took him aback, but he recovered quickly, "Who was raping you, silly woman? You did it to yourself!"

"Yeah, I've always dreamed of being taken by some sickening, primitive hero in a dirty alley, that's more than any girl could ask for."

Huh, apparently, cat got his tongue: Ground Zero stared at you, unable to believe your words. What, did he really think you loved being treated like this? Did he have any idea what making love was? Anything about normal, adequate relationship between a man and a woman? Maybe you weren't the most law-abiding woman in the city, but you were still a decent person, and the fact that Ground Zero expected you to manipulate him into raping you was repulsive.

"Listen, just hand me over to police already. What are you waiting for, Ground Zero?"

All the food was long put in the fridge and kitchen cabinets. Staring intensely at the man who shouldn't even be here, you crossed your arms over your chest, expecting him to drag you out of the house, but when he stepped closer to you it felt suffocating. Shit, the fear was coming back when you saw his expression darkened, his red pupils dilating when he grabbed your arm above the elbow and pulled you to him. Was he really going to do this to you?

You expected him to snap at you, but when he spoke he sounded strangely cold and collected.

"First, you will call me Bakugo from now on," he voice was dangerously low, "Second, I haven't come all the way here to bring to a fucking police station. You will come with me, do you understand?"

_______________

I didn’t put my regular taglist here since it was only made for Marvel fics, but please let me know if your want to be on my BNHA taglist, too!

#bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugō #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bnha #yandere

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wickedpact · 4 years

Note

and see the thing is, because booker appears the be the oldest of the group (and also the most.... white frenchman of the group) all of the wealthy men like him (not romantically but like. in the straight rich businessmen way men would like each other.) so while nicky and joe (...and andy) are being sought after (andy’s prob doing most of the pursuing of women tho) by all these women (and the one man in nickys case) booker is sought after by their fathers/brothers/husbands to go hunting together and play croquet and discuss rich man things over drinks in the fancy sitting room (that one at least includes drinking so booker hates it the least.) however. idk i’m feeling a touch bad for mr booker here. maybe there is 1 woman who has a crush on him, maybe one of the quieter types, perhaps maybe even a *gasp* lower class woman? like rich people had like... paid servants back then? (im basing this knowledge of this era on the fact that i’ve seen most of downton abbey and i’m picturing an estate similar to that? but with. less nice rich people? idk) extra hillarious if booker is... completely unaware that this woman is Absolutely Smitten with him, the others All See it but whenever they say smth about it booker is all “nonsense! she’s just very nice that’s all :)”

god if this woman turns her attention to nicky... oh dear. i feel like nicky wouldn’t take very kindly to the woman who tried to poison andromache (“she also tried to steal my heart, nicolò, you could be angry about that too nicolò” “don’t be ridiculous yusuf, that woman could never even come near to your heart. however she came very near to poisoning andromache.”) so he’s probably pretty... cold to her (or as cold to her as he can be if she is nobility, though would nicky really care hsvdbdb) but as we know this woman does not Back Down Easily. nicky eventually will just, zone out when she starts speaking to him, and she takes it with a Very Fake Sweetness (“...sorry, what was that? i was thinking about the price of potatoes” “oh? you’re so intelligent :) i would love to hear your thoughts on the price of potatoes :)” and i can’t decide if it’s funnier if nicolò was genuinely thinking about the price of potatoes (really honestly probably not that out of character) and then just fuckin. starts a full on speech about it right there. or she asks nicolò for his thoughts and he just responds with a very quick “no :)” and then leaves the room.)

also i will only say this Once but andy will tease the boys about all the ladies lusting after them only for her to be over there knee deep in [redacted] - 2ta

joe nicky and andy: running around, having Shenanigans, desperately trying to avoid getting hit on by nobility of varying genders

booker and the lads:

if there is any goal to the con besides posing as nobility (ie. discovering information or smth) then booker is def the only one making any headway on that goal. he is absolutely socially drinking his way to that intel and loving every second of it

BOOKER AND HIS 1 ADMIRER I LOVE IT andy joe and nicky are just (largely unwillingly) participating in this bizarre love polygon and watching booker and this 1 single lady, like a maid or smth?, be heartbreakingly adorable with each other

nicky: wow i want what they have.

joe:

joe: we have been married

joe: FOR SEVEN HUNDRED YEARS,

nicky ABSOLUTELY was thinking about the price of potatoes and joke’s on that lady, bc he will spend the whole ball/event/whatever talking about the price of potatoes, and joke’s also on nicky, bc she will sit there and pretend to actually be engaged with the potato discussion the whole time

and she TOTALLY knows he hates her ass bc of the poisoning andy thing (tho she thinks its older brother (well.. younger brother) protectiveness) and shes like yeah.... this is definitely a sexy hatred.... meanwhile nicky is gayly thinking about potatoes, his husband in that new suit, and wondering what annabelle is up to at that moment. this woman just Cannot score for the life of her

re: booker i was also thinking like.... some little girl, like the daughter of one of the rich white guys hes always hanging out with, takes a liking to him, like 7 or 8 years old, and he occasionally buys her gifts, like bits of ribbon or a doll or smth.... and hes like 50% ‘man i wish i had a daughter’ and 50% ‘boy am i glad i didnt have any more kids than i did bc Dead Child Angst’‘

i was also laughing my own ass off last night thinking about the Squad buying all these rich people clothes pre-con and bc nicky’s supposed to be andy’s brother and is thus prolly going to have to help her get into some of her outfits, he has to go to the fittings with her, like idk maybe andy’s pretending to be a Common Girl who just got married to some rich guy, and so the Tailor Lady/Dude at the Rich People Fashion Store(TM) gives them an afternoon of lessons on the 17 Steps On Getting Into Victorian Finery and The Fifteen Different Outfit Changes You’ll Have To Go Through Throughout the day, etc etc

and nicky’s just over here Absolutely Hating that he knows what an s curve corset is, much less how to lace one, and andy’s like ‘you think you hate knowing what it is, try wearing it, you bastard fiend’

meanwhile joe and booker are out somewhere drinking and smoking cigars and uh [checks notes]

and watching a soccer game

#'andy knee deep in [redacted]' SENT ME #also joe and nicky play croquet with booker and the lads Once but theyre both so inhumanely good at it that booker forbids them from doing #--it again #god help them if andy gets on that croquet field #2thoughts anon #the regency con au #Anonymous

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monstersdownthepath · 3 years

Text

Spiritual Spotlight: Hanspur, the Water Rat (and Ashkaelae)

Chaotic Neutral God of Rivers, River Travel, and Smugglers

Domains: Chaos, Death, Travel, Water Subdomains: Exploration, Murder, Rivers, Trade

Inner Sea Faiths, pg. 58~63

Obedience: With the assistance of another priest of Hanspur or by yourself, simulate the act of drowning. You can do this by fully submerging yourself in a body of water, exhaling all of your breath, and painfully inhaling water instead of air. Alternatively, you can lie on your back with your head at a lower elevation than your legs while water is slowly poured on your face and up your nose. If you choose the latter method, you must cover your face with a cloth while the water is poured. When you conclude this simulated drowning, contemplate your life and how your goals coincide with the teachings of Hanspur and the Six River Freedoms. Benefit: You gain a +4 sacred or profane bonus on Survival checks attempted while on or near rivers.

Just reading this makes my sinuses burn and my lungs itch, and not just because it’s springtime and I have allergies! As anyone who’s ever been in a body of water large enough to slap their face with a wave can attest to, inhaling large amounts of water sucks. While this Obedience requires only one wet breath, some... well, some pretty severe complications can arise from it, if your DM ponders even slightly what doing this to yourself every day would do. Dry drowning and secondary drowning are both real dangers from brief immersion, let alone concentrated efforts at simulating one of the worst fates someone can experience (I say this a lot but basically anything that deprives you of air is pretty terrible). The ‘simulation’ will likely only last a few seconds while the rest of the hour is spent recovering from your experience and meditating, but even that may not be enough to offset the fluid likely building up in your lungs. Priests of Hanspur must sound atrocious, coughing themselves ragged every day! No wonder it’s recommended your ritual is overseen by another priest, either, because they’d likely be skilled in helping you manage your symptoms.

Dangers of daily drownings aside, keeping up with the demands of this ritual is pretty easy so long as you’re somewhere with easy access to water. In Hanspur’s homelands, the River Kingdoms, this is pathetically simple! Everywhere else? It’s a lot harder! While I do appreciate that there’s a secondary ritual you can do if total immersion is impossible, but what happens if you’re stuck somewhere with no easy water access? Your waterskins won’t carry you for very long, even if you pilfer them from your party as well. Better invest in a Decanter of Endless Water! Or do something ridiculous like fill the party’s Bag of Holding up so you can just hop in and out whenever you need to.

That benefit is also the weakest I’ve seen in a long time, granting a bonus to only a single skill type and only while near rivers. Survival checks aren’t even all that commonly made, unless your DM is kind enough to let you use Survival to navigate with river rafts rather than Profession or Ride checks. Hanspur really doesn’t want his faithful straying too far from the River Kingdoms, which is only further exacerbated by how his Boons work, so if you’re not the type to linger near rivers you may just want to skip him entirely.

Boons are gathered slowly, typically obtained when a given character has 12, 16, and 20 hit dice. Unlike fiend-worshipers, servants of the Eldest, and devoted of the Empyreal Lords, characters worshiping Neutral gods do not have catch-all classes… but Neutral-aligned characters can enter the Evangelist, Sentinel, and Exalted Prestige Classes earlier than Evil characters, classing in as early as level 6 (they need +5 BAB, 5 ranks in a single skill, or the ability to cast lvl 3 spells); entered ASAP, one can gain the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14.

-------

EVANGELIST

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Boon 1: River Sage. Gain Hydraulic Push 3/day, River Whip 2/day, or Hydraulic Torrent 1/day.

Hydraulic Push and Hydraulic Torrent live in the same niche of “giant water spouts what push stuff around,” with Torrent being obviously an order of magnitude more powerful than Push. While Push has a range of Close and can target only a single creature or square, Torrent is a 60ft line that Bull Rushes or attempts to destroy everything it encounters, so it really depends on if you’re thinking you’ll need three small streams or one really, really big one. Notably, Torrent can Bull Rush targets of any size, unrestricted by the limits of your pathetic frame, while Push contains no such limiter removal and thus likely means you can only blast creatures up to a size larger than you.

Also of note, Torrent attempts to shatter everything it comes into contact with until it runs into something or someone it cannot destroy or push past. The Strength score the Torrent uses is equal to your caster level plus your casting ability modifier, meaning it will start out barely stronger than you are but will eventually be able to punch holes in iron and shatter stone. Hell, with a lucky roll, it may be able to do that anyway. Your choice on which two to take wholly depends on if you want to push three Medium critters around or launch one Colossal one.

What? River Whip? I don’t see any spell like that here! Lets move on! (alright alright; i just don’t like it. it’s good as an emergency weapon but more or less anything else is better in any scenario)

Boon 2: River Scion. As a free action you can breathe underwater, as if affected by Water Breathing, for a number of hours per day equal to the number of Hit Dice you possess. These hours need not be used consecutively, but must be used in 1-hour increments.

A disappointingly weak Boon. Really, what else is there to see or say? If you need to go underwater, this ability is great and has zero downsides. If you don’t, this Boon doesn’t exist. It’s a very binary Boon that relies on your environment, which means that if you’re overjoyed if you’ve remained in the River Kingdoms, but in a desert or jungle or mountain peak, you’re going to be extremely disappointed upon hitting level 11.

Boon 3: River’s Embodiment. 1/day as a standard action, you can transform yourself into a Huge water elemental, as per Elemental Body IV. You can stay in this form for 1 minute per Hit Die you possess, and can dismiss this effect as a free action.

Finally, a transformation ability that doesn’t suck! What does suck is that this is a level 7 spell being granted to you 1/day, when other Boons are equivalent to level 9 spells in power. Hanspur could have at least given you a little bonus on top of it, or made it 2/day, but it’s hard to complain about the force you become under Elemental Body IV. You become immune to bleed, critical hits, Sneak Attacks, and on top of it all get insurmountable DR 5, and the stack of stats you get? Mmmm-mm! Chef’s kiss!

+6 AC, +8 Con, +4 Str, all for the price of -2 Dex (more than made up for with the +AC). And, of course, a swim speed and the power to collapse yourself into a destructive Vortex, but those are only useful if you’re in water, while the rest of the stat buffs are far more universally useful. You’re not exactly the destructive and terrifying Fire Elemental or the deceptively sneaky Earth Elemental, but a wall of surging water can still wreak all manner of havoc on your enemies, your new dual slams able to smash ships (and bones) to pieces, and since Water Elementals are capable of speech and gesture, you can merely bask in your new tank stats while still casting spells.

There’s also the much more amusing but niche use of transforming while already polymorphed by a hostile effect, as having a new polymorph effect used on you while you’re already changed can end the first automatically.

While I wish the effect was usable more often, or at least broken into 1-minute increments, I can’t call it a bad Boon by any means.

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EXALTED

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Boon 1: River Guide. Gain Obscuring Mist 3/day, Haunting Mists2/day, or Aqueous Orb 1/day.

I love the name of this ability because two of the three spells do the opposite of guiding people. Now I’m a big fan of Obscuring Mist; it’s a simple staple in my list for almost every caster I make just because of how versatile it is! But now that I know there’s an alternative, it may have competition. Both Obscuring Mist and Haunting Mists do roughly the same thing, but one could argue that Haunting Mists does it better; in addition to granting concealment and shutting off an enemy’s eyes, it deals 1d2 Wisdom damage and shakes up anyone starting their turn inside the mist... But as a Figment spell with the Fear descriptor, there are a great many creatures immune to its unique power, and True Seeing allows one to see through it perfectly, whereas Obscuring Mist remains impenetrable to the apex predator of the Illusion school.

While it cannot be dispelled by wind or motion like a tangible fog, it’s important to note that there’s no way to protect specific creatures from the sanity-damaging effects of Haunting Mists, and its casting distance of 20ft and 20ft spread means that you will likely always be caught in its radius. The range means using it offensively is painfully limited, unless you want to cast it from invisibility after sneaking into the middle of an enemy formation, which... you probably, definitely don’t want to make a habit of.

It’s great for covering your retreat, but not your advance or setup like the normal Mist is.

Aqueous Orb is a good choice if your party is getting screwed over by the mist more than the enemy, creating a big ol’ 10ft ball of water that intercepts and engulfs anything that moves into it, or which it moves into. It deals 2d6 nonlethal damage whenever it rams into a creature and a further 2d6 to everything it has engulfed each round, but the damage isn’t so much the main draw as the fact it’s a massive, roving Sphere of Grappling, snaring and drowning any creature it manages to get ahold of if they fail the Reflex save. It’s a fun little spell that’s great for mopping up and controlling minions, especially ones you don’t actually want to kill, and even at its worst it can become a makeshift barrier in a narrow hallway since there’s no written way to actually move through it beyond wasting 2, 3, or more rounds by slamming into it and swimming through to the other side while your party books it in the other direction.

Boon 2: River Traveler. As a free action, you can grant yourself and any allies within 30 feet of you a swim speed of 60 feet. This effect lasts for 1 round per Hit Die you possess or until you dismiss it as a free action, whichever comes first. Your allies must remain within 30 feet of you or lose this benefit. In addition, you gain a +2 profane or sacred bonus on saves against spells with the Water descriptor.

See, this should have been added to River Scion as a bonus. River Scion and River Traveler feel like they could have combined into a single Boon to make something decent, but as it is they both fall into the same niche: Solves the encounter they’re meant to solve, useless otherwise. This ability is noteworthy for having no restrictions about how many times it can be used, essentially letting you switch swimming off and on at will. The fact it doesn’t take an action is incredibly important, because using the massive 60ft swim speed the ability grants actually removes the bonus, as getting further than 30ft from you makes it fizzle.

I don’t really understand why it would grant 60ft of movespeed if they’re restricted to a 30ft bubble, nor do I understand the purpose of the bubble in the first place. It makes exploration a slog, and escape scenarios more finicky than they should be. Since it can be activated whenever you need to as a free action, the duration feels unneeded. There’s so much about this ability that conflicts with itself that it bugs me too much to say much in the way of positives. The +2 to saves vs Water spells is a fun little ribbon, though most Water spells tend to be harmless utility spells rather than ones you’d need to make a save against.

Boon 3: River’s Depths. 1/day as a standard action, you can cause one creature within 30 feet to begin drowning, filling its lungs with water. The target of this ability can attempt a Fortitude save (DC = 10 + 1/2 your HD + your Wis mod) to negate the effect. If the target succeeds, it is staggered for 1 round. If it fails, the target immediately begins to suffocate. On the target’s next turn, it falls unconscious and is reduced to 0 hit points. One round later, the target drops to –1 hit points and is dying. One round after that, the target dies. Each round, the target can attempt a Fortitude save to end the effect. This ability affects only living creatures that must breathe and cannot breathe underwater. This is a curse effect.

Now this one’s just insulting, being a technically weaker version of a level 5 spell, Suffocation. It’s weaker in four ways: 1) It fails against creatures which are amphibious which, if you’re in the River Kingdoms, is many. 2) It’s curse effect, which can mean some creatures are resistant or immune to it. 3) It has a 30ft range, unlike Suffocation’s range of Close (25ft + 5ft/level). And, finally, 4) Just ONE successful save ends the effect entirely, while Suffocation continues to torment and stagger the victim for 3 rounds until its effects finally expire.

It’s hard to ignore fact that it’s a basically a Save-Or-Die with excellent DC scaling, but I can’t get over it being weaker than an existing level 5 spell! ... Granted, Suffocation could probably get away with being bumped an extra level or two higher given how frighteningly effective it is at shutting down any creature who needs to breathe even if they succeed their save. I’m probably slamming down too hard on an ability that, again, is a Save-Or-Die at best and an unavoidable stagger at worst (good for making some emergency repairs against a powerful full-attacker), and for extra fun can be used without any components involved, so you can just drop it on someone out of the blue and they’ll have no idea who just tried to kill them. While I am disappointed it doesn’t meet the power of other Boons, it’s undeniably effective against a large portion of the creatures you’ll be fighting, even at 1/day.

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SENTINEL

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Boon 1: River Warden. Gain Wave Shield 3/day, Masterwork Transformation 2/day, or Quench 1/day.

Wave Shield is one of those rare spells that are amazing to have, but not especially good to prepare or to waste a precious Spells Known slot on. It’s an immediate action spell that grants insurmountable DR and Fire Resistance equal to half your caster level in response to a single incoming attack, which isn’t stupendous at low levels but is a generous equivalent to immediate, on-demand temporary HP as you get higher and higher level. If a creature relies on a lot of little hits rather than a few big ones, blocking even one of them can save you in the long run, and if your DR cancels out the damage from a poisoned or diseased attack, all the better!

It’s not an especially strong spell given how it only works once before fading away, but it’s better than the other two options by a country mile. Masterwork Transformation is something you’ll rarely need more than a few times in a campaign before masterwork items fall into your laps (or you can simply buy them), and by the time you gain this ability it will likely no longer matter. That being said, if you’re in a low-wealth campaign or have been forced to scavenge for your gear, Masterwork Transformation will save you THOUSANDS of gp over the course of your life, because as a spell-like, the material components are ignored and thus you can slowly upgrade your entire party’s armaments for free. Given its ability to affect a generous 50 pieces of ammunition per casting as well means the Ranger and Gunslinger will adore you, and you can work in tandem with a mystic craftsman (PC or otherwise) to get all of your favorite gear enchanted without discarding your precious family heirloom sword for that masterwork one you looted.

Not to mention the simple joy in taking all the gear off a bandit clan, Masterworking all of it, and selling it for a tidy profit.

Compared to the combat utility of Wave Shield and noncombat utility of Masterwork Transformation, it’s hard to make a case for Quench, which falls into the category of ‘niche spell’ like Water Breathing and Water Walking in that it will instantly solve a handful of scenarios and be utterly useless in the rest. Yes, you may need to put out a forest fire or stop a building you’re in from burning to a crisp, but you’ll have to decide if it’s worth giving up three emergency DR 4/-- and Fire Resistance 4 bandages... as the martial-focused Sentinel. If you plan on fighting a fire that day or encountering a magic item that can generate fires (which Quench shuts off for 1d4 hours) and no one else in your party bothered learning Quench, by all means, but as the Sentinel having the DR is probably better in most cases.

Boon 2: River Champion. 3/day as a standard action, you can sculpt water into the form of a melee weapon that you are proficient with. You must have enough water to form the weapon, an amount equal to the weapon’s normal weight. Once formed, the weapon behaves as a weapon of its type with an enhancement bonus of +1, which increases by 1 for every 5 additional HD you have beyond 5 (max +4). This weapon deals double damage to creatures with the Fire subtype. The weapon dissolves into ordinary water after a number of rounds equal to your HD or as soon as it leaves your hand, whichever happens first.

Boons which call weapons to your hand are alright in cases where your signature weapon has been taken from you, and by the time you receive this ability you will have a signature weapon, but such times tend to come few and far between. This one also has the additional caveat that you don’t actually create the weapon from nowhere, there must already be water around to make it, at least enough water to match the weapon’s typical weight. The good news is that a gallon of water weighs about 8 pounds, and a trident--Hanspur’s holy weapon--weighs only 4, with most other weapons barely ever approaching 10, so you can reasonably carry around an emergency weapon in a waterskin or in your backpack... And you know, now that I think about it, it’s kind of cool to be able to turn a glass of water into a dagger.

But when will you need to? How often do you find yourself bereft of a usable weapon often enough to need an emergency armament like this? I can see the niche in front of me, making a new weapon as-needed against creatures whose DR makes them difficult to damage with your normal gear or taking advantage of that delicious little tidbit about doing double-damage to fire-based creatures, but they take your whole standard action to make and last for only a single combat (if that), and you can’t even shuffle around the +1 bonuses for additional effects!

Don’t get me wrong, it’s by no means bad (unless you’re both in a waterless area and haven’t filled your waterskin), especially at 3/day, but I can’t help but wonder when you’d actually need it at level 11+ when you likely already have a primary weapon and several backups.

Boon 3: River’s Renewal. When completely submerged in water, you gain Fast Healing 2. You can recover a total number of hit points equal to twice your HD in this manner each day. At 20 HD, if you fall below 0 hit points and your body is fully submerged in a river, you automatically stabilize.

As a final Boon, I wish the Fast Healing had a higher threshold than just 28 points a day (+2 per level). In combat it likely won’t matter, and while out of combat it’s a decent amount of healing, usually enough to spare a couple spell slots from your healers or some potions, it’s just not all that impressive for a third and final Boon. Sentinels are the only followers of Hanspur who don’t get some method to easily navigate the seas, so taking advantage of this Boon to its fullest extent relies on an outside method of gaining water breathing or a swim speed.

Funnily enough, you can carry around a Bag of Holding filled with water and use it as a recuperative pod in case you don’t have access to a deep puddle, which is dubiously useful but not entirely terrible. HOWEVER, the little addition at the end is also a kick in the teeth; why does that only happen at level 20? Why can’t that be a base part of the Boon? It’s just insul--Wait, it only works if you’re submerged in a river, too? You can’t stabilize with some good old pond water? The mighty ocean? Can’t take a dip in a bathtub to stop bleeding out? Come on, Hanspur!!! Be a little more generous to your worshipers!

I dunno, maybe I’m underselling the out-of-combat healing this Boon offers, but it just doesn’t feel worth it to put up with the Water Rat for your entire adventuring career just for an extra 1/8th of an HP bar.

You can read more about him here.

#Spiritual Spotlight #Neutrality Notes #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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ambvtchous · 2 years

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Not everyone can say they’ve been to the Big Apple, but [ PAOLA LOVATELLI ], a [ TWENTY-EIGHT ] year-old [ CISFEMALE ] has lived in [ NEW YORK, MANHATTAN ] for [ FIVE YEARS ]. This is the city of dreams and [ SHE ] knows it, because they came to NYC to be an [ GOLDDIGGER ]. Living in the city means they meet all kinds of people, but everyone always seems to think they look like [ CAMILA QUEIROZ ]. They even got away with free cab fare once because of it! [N, 25, she/her, est, n/a]

tw: addiction, alcoholism, terminal illess, cheating, parental neglect

paola grew up in a lower class family, always struggling to make rent due, with the token absent alcoholic father, watching the medical bills pile up on the table as her mother’s condition worsened every day

but growing up poor never stopped her from dreaming big ---- ever since she was little, she always knew she had one thing, and one thing only going for her: her looks. she was never the brightest or the most dedicated when it came to school, but she was always the prettiest, and she was willing to take full advantage of that

paola started off running small schemes: she’d pickpocket, steal things from people unaware of their surroundings, and whenever she was caught, she’d bat those beautiful, long lashes of hers and get away with a slap on the wrist

after her mother died, she didn’t want to spend another day living with that sad excuse of a human being her father had become --- she ranaway from home and never looked back, leaving behind an older sister and a father whom she never made a single attempt to contact, and taking with her her mother’s car, which she’d then procceed to call a home for the next years of her life

she lived in the streets for awhile, from 14-16, doing whatever she had to do to get by --- until her petty theft escalated and she was able to sleep somewhere with a concrete roof over her head. she got a gig at a stripper joint, and thats how she met her best friend in the world --- together they were unstoppable. some of the sneakiest con artists you’ll ever meet this century; they were countesses one days and the next, they were a pair of singers just trying to make due in this cruel, terrible world. one time she was even a ghost--- can you imagine? the production value was unmatched. it wasn’t just about the money, although, that was certainly a driving force, it was about finally holding the power in their hands. they’d run the most intricane cons on people, and easily get away with it.

eventually, she and her friend followed the money and began running cons on the wallstreet guys who’d always stop by the same bar, at the same ungodly hour--- they were great marks, and making up lies to them was significantly easier given their often inhebriated state.

it was during one of these nights that she met her future husband: he was tall, charming, and wearing a rolex that was easily worth five times what she made in a year. life wasn’t fair, so why should she be? she insinuated herself into his life with ease, and he fell for every little white lie she told him, and by the time he realized what a skilled liar paola was, it was too late--- he had already fallen for her.

in a way, she loved him too--- he took her from that terrible life and gave her everything she’d always dreamed off, but never stopped her from wanting more, new, better things

she even agreed to dot upon the two children from his previous marriage that she’d unapologetically cut short, although, she wasn’t too happy about having them around. the truth is she’d never had whatever maternal gene women are supposed to be born with--- she never wanted to be a mother, but that was the role she was hired to play.

she didn’t hesitate to cheat on her husband when the opportunity presented itself, paola was unchangable in that way: she always wanted to have things that she couldn’t, and she was never satisfied for too long. although, her indiscretions were always nothing more than vague suspicions in his mind, and she did what she could to soothe his worries

she got everything she’d ever dreamed of, she abandoned that life of poverty and was now a rich and powerful woman, so, why is it that she can’t be happy? could it be that she’d dreamed about the wrong things all along?

that’s all i have !! i’m still figuring her out but come at me for plots, i am accepting anything and everything !

#enyc.intro

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grailfinders · 4 years

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Fate and Phantasms #38: Cú Chulainn (Caster)

That’s right, the good boy with the good boys is back once again for another DnD build. CasCú’s a Wildfire Druid, which replaces his wildshape ability with the ability to summon a flaming elemental to crush his enemies (convenient, huh?).

As always, there’s a spreadsheet for the build, or you can check out the level-by-level breakdown below the cut!

Race and Background

You’re the son of the sun, meaning you’re still an Aasimar. We’re changing things up a bit this time, though! Thanks to your dedication to being a guide in this spearless form, you’re not a fallen Aasimar, but a Protector Aasimar instead!. This gives you +1 to Wisdom and +2 to Charisma, 60′ of Darkvision, Celestial Resistance to necrotic and radiant damage, Healing Hands that can heal your level in HP per long rest, and the Light cantrip.

Your background is a trickier question. You could have the same background as your other selves, but you seem to know a lot more than you’re letting on. That and your self-imposed ‘druid’ shtick should be just enough to push you into the Hermit background, giving you proficiency in Medicine and (It should be religion, but let’s swap it out for Arcana. Nobody will notice).

Stats

Your goal is to guide others, so your Wisdom and Intelligence are pretty high. You’re no Emiya, but you also don’t try to sit people down for a lecture in the middle of Fuyuki, so you’ve got that going for you. Next is your Dexterity, you may not have a spear but you do have your training. Following that is your Constitution; you’ve been trained by one of the most brutal masters out there, so even as a caster you’re pretty tough. After that is Charisma, you’re still pretty rough when it comes to dealing with other people outside of mentoring them. Finally, dump Strength. We don’t need it, nor do we want it.

Class Levels

1. As stated in the opening, you’re a Druid, and first level druids learn Druidic and how to cast Spells. Druidic is a secret written language that only you and other druids know and requires a perception check for others to even find, let alone decipher. You prepare spells from the druid spell list, and use your wisdom to cast them. Because they’re swapped out so easily, I won’t be covering individual spells here.

As a druid, you also get proficiency in Intelligence and Wisdom saving throws, as well as in two skills from the druid list, here Nature and Survival.

On top of their spells, druids get two cantrips, so grab Guidance because that’s what you do (and it won’t be useful past level one anyway) and Shillelagh because sometimes you’ll have to deal with people who refuse to learn. Shillelagh has the additional bonus of being almost as difficult to sound out as your own name.

2. At second level you gain Wild Shape, a.k.a. the reason druid won’t be showing up that often in these builds. At this level, you can use your action to transform into a beast with CR 1/4 or lower, as long as it doesn’t have a flying or swimming speed. A beast shape lasts for half your druid level in hours, and you can use it twice per short rest. In beast mode, you have the beast’s physical stats, your mental stats, and combine your proficiencies, using whichever is higher. You can’t cast spells, but you can use actions of spells you’ve already cast. Technically, we never see Cu turn into a bear in FGO, but we never see him say he can’t, so technically we’re still canon compliant.

You also join the wildfire circle this level, letting you Summon Wildfire Spirit. With this feature, you can burn a wild shape charge to instead create your Wicker Man, sort of. The wildfire spirit you can summon is technically small and can fly, but it’s nothing a little creativity won’t solve. You summon the spirit somewhere within 30′ of you, and every creature within 10′ of where it comes in must make a dex save vs your spell DC or take 2d6 fire damage. The spirit is friendly, but you have to use your bonus action each turn to give it orders. The spirit sticks around for an hour, until reduced to 0 hp, or until you summon another spirit.

You can also use your Wild Shape uses to summon a Wild Companion, giving you a free casting of Find Familiar. It’s not quite a wolf, but it’s something.

You also also get Circle spells, like Burning Hands and Cure Wounds. Good for you.

3. Third level druids get second level spells, including your circle spells Flaming Sphere and Scorching Ray. A little extra fire power (ha ha, funny pun) never hurt anyone-except who you want it to.

Also, your solar ancestry kicks in and you become a Radiant Soul. You can spend your action to transform in a different way for one minute, making your eyes glow and giving yourself spectral wings. You gain a flying speed of 30′, and can deal radiant damage equal to your level to something you’re already hitting once per turn. You can use this feature once per long rest.

4. You get a Wild Shape Improvement, letting you transform into beasts of CR 1/2 that can swim. You also get an Ability Score Improvement, which we’re spending on the Elemental Adept feat, because spoilers, we’re going to be using a lot of fire. Now you ignore resistance to fire, and you count 1s rolled on fire damage as 2s. Unfortunately, I don’t think this applies to Wicker Man, as they’re their own person.

Speaking of fire damage, you get another cantrip at this level, so grab Produce Flame to produce some flames.

5. Fifth level druids get third level spells, including your circle spells Revivify and Plant Growth. The latter gives you more stuff to set on fire, and the former will help out any teammates who wander too close to your firing range.

6. You now have an Enhanced Bond with your Wicker Man. While your wildfire spirit is active, you can add 1d8 to your fire or healing spells. This bonus only affects the damage or healing of one creature. You can also cast spells with a range longer than self from your wildfire spirit. This means your spirit can now cast Hold Person, which is the closest we’re getting to a proper rendition of your NP in this build.

7. You can now prepare fourth level spells! Your new circle spells are Aura of Life and Fire Shield. The latter is a good multipurpose “don’t hit me” spell, and the former is nice if your teammates refuse to stop dying in front of you.

8. Your Wild Shape improves once more, and you can now transform into any beast of CR 1 or lower. You’re pretty smart when it comes to using rune magic, so use your next ASI to become a Ritual Caster. When you get this feat, you learn two first level rituals from the wizard spell list, and you can learn even more by coming across other spells that have been written down. The spells you copy have to be half your level, rounded down.

9. You learn 5th level spells, including Flame Strike to marry your fire damage and radiant damage halves and Mass Cure Wounds to try and keep your various lancer forms from shindeiru-ing.

10. At tenth level, you get another cantrip. Druidcraft lets you see the future, and unlike most clairvoyance spells has no chance of being wrong. Forcing your DM to stick with a decision can be very powerful in the right circumstances. As a wildfire druid, you also learn to create Cauterizing Flames. When a small or larger creature dies near the Wicker Man, a spectral flame pops out of their corpse for a minute. You can use your reaction when a creature enters the same space as the flame to either heal them or deal fire damage. In either case, it’s 2d10+ your wisdom modifier. You can react this way a number of times per long rest equal to your proficiency bonus.

11. You get 6th level spells, and unfortunately you no longer get any circle spells. I would suggest looking at Sunbeam for more radiant damage or Find the Path to enhance your role as a guide to others.

12. Use your next ASI to finally improve your ability score, specifically boosting Wisdom.

13. You get 7th level spells, and I’d suggest Fire Storm, for the obvious connection it has with your build.

14. Your last wildfire bonus is your Blazing Revival. If your spirit is nearby when you drop to 0 HP, your spirit can take the hit instead, healing you to half your hit points. You can use this once per long rest. Dying is for the other yous.

15. You gain the ability to prepare 8th level spells, including Sunburst.

16. Max out your Wisdom with this next ASI.

17. You can now prepare and cast any spell in the cleric spell list, including 9th level spells, including Foresight in case you want to be right in literally every way.

18. You now have a Timeless Body, which ages one year for every 10 that pass. You also get the Beast Spells feature, letting you cast spells from your wild shape, so long as they don’t have material components.

19. Put your last ASI into Constitution for better concentration and a little more survivability.

20. You become an Archdruid, giving you unlimited wild shape uses. You can also cast any spells in your wild shape, so long as it doesn’t include materials that cost money.

Pros: High level druids are already difficult to kill thanks to their wild shapes. You take it to a whole new level by cheating death with your Blazing Endurance, then immediately healing yourself back up with your Flames of Life. Your wildfire spirit is also very useful for casting spells at range. Picking up Ritual Caster also gives the build a lot of utility that doesn’t require your wild shape or spell slots to be useful.

Cons: Your wicker man doesn’t really hold up at higher levels. It will always have a low AC, and 1d6+6 fire damage per turn doesn’t mean much at level 20. Combined with your own reliance on fire damage, you may find yourself in situations where you can’t really use a major part of your build.

Looking on the positive side, this is just another chance for you to step back and help other members of the party be their best, which is the most in-character thing you can do.

Next time: We’re going swallow hunting.

#fgo #fate grand order #cu chulainn caster #dnd 5e #Fate and Phantasms

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simsadventures · 4 years

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Till the End of the World

Dark! Alpha Clint x Omega! Reader

Summary: Thanos has blipped the world. Now you find yourself in a strange city where everything seems just a tiny bit darker. And Clint is there to protect you, or is he?

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics, darker story, you’ve been warned, mentions of blood, death, violence, kidnapping, mentions of rape, brief non-con turning into dub-con, turning into con-con, smut (MUST BE 18+ TO READ THIS STORY)

Word Count: 2688

A/N: This story has been requested by a nonnie some time ago, apologies for taking so long. It’s also my first dark-ish story, so be gentle with me. Let me know what I can do better next time, or what was your favourite part, please.

Full request here: Would you be willing to write a dark Clint (doesn't have to be, it's just so rarely seen) x reader soulmate au? It's the end of the world, Clint’s gone rogue after losing his family. Stumbles upon his soulmate by accident, doesn't want to let her go. Thank you.

Other Avengers Masterlist __ Masterlist

Walking down the street in Tokyo, you try to walk as fast as possible. Ever since Thanos snapped his fingers, the world turned into a dark place. Too many times did it happen to you that somebody jumped at you from behind a corner, demanding whatever you were carrying with you. Lucky for you, your dad made you undergo a self-defence course a long time ago, and it suddenly proved useful. Not to mention, you were an unmated Omega. All the Alphas of this new world and even some Betas seemed to only care about one thing, you pussy, and you were adamant on protecting what was left of your dignity.

Overall, you didn’t feel safe walking around the city. Truth be told, you weren’t even feeling that safe in your own tiny apartment. You had to run away from American because too many places reminded you of all those you’ve lost. You didn’t want to dwell on the past, and so one day, you just packed the essentials and flew to Japan, trying to start a new life.

You did find some new friends, but nothing too close. Everyone was a bit too reserved after all that happened, trying not to get too attached to anybody. You only talked to Omegas nowadays, and they were all too scared for your taste. You weren’t surprised, but you missed talking to the variety of people the old world offered.

You gripped your purse a little tighter as you thought about all the dangers that could await you till you got back home when suddenly you heard voices from behind you. You didn’t even have to look to know they were two Alphas, and from all the smells you could tell they were drunk. You speeded up, hugging your body closer and praying that they wouldn’t follow you.

But it wouldn’t be your life if it didn’t throw all the shit your way. You could hear them talking about an Omega pussy before they started yelling insults at you. When you looked behind yourself, you could see they were getting closer by every passing second, and you started running.

This was no longer fun. They were two adult Alphas, and your self-defence classes would be completely useless with them. You thought you got rid of them because you couldn’t hear them any longer, but the second you started to calm down, you could feel a hand on your shoulder.

You shrieked and tried to get away from the person’s grip, but he wouldn’t budge.

“What do we have here, huh? I bet you’re gonna be real tight for my knot, aren’t ya, sweetheart?” The man growled into your ear, while his buddy came closer, gripping your other shoulder. They were goth disgusting and reeked even worse.

This was it, you thought, and you closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable when you felt the men pushing down your blouse. You didn’t have any more fight in you. The whole year, you tried to fight, tried to push through whatever happened to you, but this was the last straw.

Just when you felt your consciousness drifting away to your happy place, you felt something wet and weird on your face, and then you heard two huge thuds. Nobody was touching you anymore, and when you opened your eyes to see what the hell was happening, you could see the two Alphas dead on the ground, their throats slit.

And when you touched your cheek, you could see evening the dim light from the street that the wet thing was their blood. You would’ve been sick if you relief didn’t wash over you. You took a deep breath, and then it hit you.

Somebody must have killed them. Somebody who was most possibly still somewhere there. You took another whiff to discern whether the person was Alpha or not, and to your utter surprise, his scent didn’t make you wanna die. It was actually pretty sweet, but like musky sweet with undertones of wood. You were getting lost in his scent, that you were sure of.

When he finally stepped out of the shadows, you weren’t much wiser, because he was wearing a mask over his face. His hand was still gripping the machete or whatever the big knife was that sliced the guys’ throats. There was a big part of you that told you to be afraid of this stranger Alpha, but a voice in your head told you he wouldn’t hurt you.

The voice shut up pretty quickly when the man gripped you by your throat and squeezed harshly. You gasped for air as your hand flew to his bicep, trying to get his attention. Even through the mask, you could see his eyes staring at you bare neck. Where seconds ago you were willing to stop fighting, the adrenaline in your veins kicked in, and you wanted to live. And live as an unmated Omega, no matter how sweet this stranger’s scent was.

“Name,” the man spit out through the mask, and you had a hard time making out what he actually said, but when you did, you quickly said him your name. You heard that the more rapists or murderers knew about you, the less likely they were to actually hurt you. You didn’t know if it was true or not, but it didn’t matter.

“My name is Y/N. I’m 28 years old, I’ve lived in Tokyo for the last 6 months, I’ve got friends here, I’ve got a job here. Please, please don’t kill me, mister,” you wheezed, your voice taking to toll of all the choking.

“Any boyfriend that I should take care of?” He asked harshly, and you blinked again. Why did he need to know about a possible boyfriend of yours if he was about to kill you?

“No, I’m single,” you whispered and looked down at your feet. You could feel his grip on your throat loosening, but he was still holding you, making sure you couldn’t run away from him.

“Good, now you’re mine, Omega. Let’s go,” he said, and before you knew it, he was throwing you over his shoulder and sprinting away from the now crime scene. You tried to punch his broad back, but it did nothing to stop him.

When he finally did stop, it was in a dark building, but that wasn’t surprising. All the buildings were now dark and scary. He ascended the stairs with you on his back as if you weighed nothing.

He put you down ungentlemanly because he let you fall like a sack of potatoes. You gasped as you scrambled to all fours and tried to find your footing again. But before you could do it, he was on you once again.

He pushed you back down to the ground and tore your blouse away, harshly sniffling at your exposed neck. Weird sounds were coming out of his throat, something between purring and growling. You felt him licking up and down your neck before he sucked a hickey where your Alpha’s mark would be.

Despite the situation being the furthest from comfortable or consensual, the Omega in you didn’t seem to care. You could feel slick coating your panties, and you were sure he would soon smell the pheromones emitted from your body.

“Why are you doing this?” you screeched as you felt him kneading your breasts, still harshly sniffling the side of your neck where your scent glands were most prominent.

“Because you’re mine! Can’t you tell that I’m yours as well?” he mumbled against your neck, continuing his attack on your neck and chest.

You could feel your bra slipping away from your breasts, and you gasped loudly.

“Why does it have to be this way then, Alpha? Can’t you take it at least a bit slower?” You cried out as he latched himself on your right nipple, sucking like a man starved. He ceased his moment the second you stopped talking and looked into your eyes.

You could finally see his whole face because somewhere along the attack, he lost the mask he was wearing. You expected a lot, but you didn’t fathom he would look so handsome. He was, most objectively, one of the sexiest men you’ve ever met, his cheekbones and jaw so sharp that you had the feeling you’d cut yourself were you to caress him there.

His eyes bore into yours, and you reluctantly raised your hand and slowly touched the side of his face. He was still highly alerted, watching your every movement like a hawk watching its prey, but you suddenly didn’t mind. There was something in his eyes that told you there was more to him than just the facade he let everyone see.

You raised on your elbow, continuing to stare at him while you explored his face. There were wrinkles around his eyes, so you knew he wasn’t the youngest of Alphas, but you didn’t mind one bit.

Once you both calmed down, you could finally smell his scent properly, and that’s when it hit you that he was right all along. He was your mate, you could tell by the growing need in your lower belly and the way your skin tingled where you were touching the side of his neck.

He understood what you wanted from him without you having to say anything, because he suddenly rose and let you sit up as well, allowing you to scent him properly. You were right the first time, he really smelled like something sweet, which you know discerned as chocolate, while the wood you now realised was sandalwood. The perfect combination, you thought to yourself as you gently stuck out your tongue to taste him.

A growl sounded from his chest, and you quickly pulled away from him, realising the situation you found yourself in.

“Don’t stop, Omega. It’s just that I haven’t felt so good in a long time, didn’t let myself enjoy the little things,” the Alpha said with a side, and without thinking, you nuzzled his cheek with yours.

The action surprised both of you, but before you could regret it, you felt his arms snaking around your waist, bringing you closer to him so that you were sitting in his lap on the ground.

“My name is Clint, by the way. And I’m awfully sorry, ‘Mega, In this world, I’m used to taking what I want, and didn’t realise I might be hurting you,” he whispered.

You looked up at him, seeing the sadness in his eyes that felt like a mirror to your own soul. You were too broken people who were so lucky as to find their true mates. You weren’t about to give that up, even if it was just for tonight.

You leaned into him and kissed his lips sweetly and gently, not wanting to spook him or awaken the beast you knew was hiding there just yet. He seemed shocked by your actions, but when you wiggled your hips, trying to get “comfortable” he seemed to have awoken.

While his right arm was still around your waist, his left travelled up your spine to get tangled in your hair, pulling it from the roots ever so slightly, making your moan into his mouth. He took it as an opportunity to devour your mouth, licking into it and exploring it with his tongue, leaving you a breathless mess.

By the time you were both naked, you were panting as if you ran a marathon and slick was now running down your legs like a bitch in heat. You needed to feel your Alpha, and from the looks of it, he needed to feel his Omega just as bad. His cock was standing proudly against his stomach, the ring of his knot dark purple, calling out to you.

You marvelled at the look of him, licking your lips absent-mindedly before Clint caught your attention by speaking out.

“If you wanna have a taste, I’m not gonna stop you, Omega,” he husked out, and it was all the invitation you needed.

You dropped to your knees and crawled to him before you were comfortably kneeling in front of him. Without further speaking, you grabbed his cock with your spit-coated hand and pumped him a few times, to get him all nice and wet. Before he could tell you what to do, you took him in your mouth almost to the hilt, choking slightly but not caring. It was too long since you tasted an Alpha and you needed it.

Clint groaned from above, gripping the chair behind him for leverage, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. Your Omega was giddy from the power over this tall and manly Alpha, and you started sucking like he was your favourite lollipop.

Every time you took him deep into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, which only resulted in his cock twitching in your mouth. Before he could blow his load into your mouth, he pulled out and pulled you up by your elbow, licking the side of your neck before he kissed you passionately.

He then threw you back, and for a second, you were scared he was pushing you on the ground before your back hit the soft mattress. Clint chuckled seeing your scared face and climbed on top of you to nuzzle your cheek while playing with your soaked folds.

“I will never let you go, Omega, and I will never hurt you again. I’m sorry for my behaviour earlier, and I want you to give me a chance to redeem myself,” Clint mumbled against your lips, and your only answer was spreading your legs wide, while your hand pushed on his backside to make him slide his cock up and down your folds.

“You sure about this, Y/N? I can wait as long as you want. I want you to feel comfortable with me,” Clint said with a smile, and you swooned over his sudden change of behaviour.

“I’m fine, and I’ll be better with your knot wedged deeply inside me.”

“Your wish is my command,” Clint growled, and before you knew it, he was sheeted in you to the hilt. You felt slight discomfort, but Clint waited long enough for the painful stretch to turn into pleasure. You moaned when you felt him twitch inside you, and he took it as his cue to finally move.

You could feel the tip of his cock nudge at your cervix with every stroke, and you couldn’t contain just how much you enjoy it. You’ve never taken a larger Alpha than Clint, and you knew that he successfully ruined you for everyone who would potentially come after him. Although you hoped that there would never be anybody else.

You writhed and moaned loudly, not caring if anyone heard you. You actually hoped people would hear you so that they knew just how good your Alpha was.

Clint could tell you were nearing your high by the way your moaned turned slowly into screams and how your walls squeezed him tighter and tighter.

When you were almost there, he suddenly grabbed your head and pushed it to the side, revealing your neck and biting deep inside your scent glands.

Everything around you stilled, and you felt ecstasy licking at you from the tips of your toes, slowly travelling upwards until it reached your belly, where it burst.

You released a high-pitched moan, just as Clint stilled deep inside you, filling you to the brim with his seed. Not that he necessarily thought about the consequences, he just needed to come inside you. The Alpha in him insisted.

When everything inside both you calmed down and you were comfortably laid on Clint’s chest, he buried his face in your hair, and mumbled,

“I’m going to protect you from this crazy world, Omega, you’ve got my word.”

You just hummed, too tired to say anything else, and closed your eyes, feeling safe for the first time since Thanos snapped his fingers. You just hoped it would stay this way.

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the-odd-job · 3 years

Text

Harem AU Chapter 18 - Made Of

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Sunstreaker & Sideswipe Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Soundwave, Shockwave, Chromia, Lancer, First Aid, Perceptor, Greenlight Additional Tags: Noncon Experimentation, Angst Words: 14547

( Previous )

Sunstreaker still had a limp the next day. It wasn’t just pain that had stolen his legs from under him—apparently Megatron had generously messed up his entire hips. Knock Out had fixed or replaced everything, but they didn’t have the time to wait for the parts to fully integrate before Hot Shot came to let them know they were wanted at the door.

They could guess what that was about.

At least Sunstreaker stayed on his pedes well enough, partially numb areas making his movement lag or not. The guards opened the doors for them, and on the other side was waiting… The same blue mech that had given them their dinner instructions. He had another smile to give them. “Good morning. Master Shockwave sent me to get you.”

As they’d guessed, then. They nodded their understanding and the mate waved them along. No guards moved to accompany them, oddly enough. Was it because the way wasn’t that long?

It didn’t seem like that was the case when they headed for the elevators instead of any of the other wings on the same floor. Sideswipe watched the number the mate picked on the lift’s control panel. They were way high up, nearly at the top of the whole damn tower.

Their destination, according to the floor the elevator was directed to go to, was far, far lower. He wasn't sure they'd ever gone that low in the tower. They'd been brought in via a rotorflier that had already landed pretty high up, and they'd only gone higher still from there.

Total opposite now. It was going to be a long ride.

And awkwardly quiet if no one said anything, in Sideswipe's opinion. Or, well, awkward for him. Sunstreaker wasn't likely to care, and he wasn't sure the other mate would either.

But in the name of not feeling so awkward himself, Sideswipe spoke up. “You’re from… Shockwave’s harem?” he asked. The blue mech had a brand on him and was clearly running around on Shockwave's business, so…

They confirmed it. "I am. We never had proper introductions, did we? I'm Chromia." His field flared in proper greeting and Sideswipe's automatically responded to it. Sunstreaker's did too, after a moment's delay.

"You probably know our designations already," Sideswipe hazarded, a guess Chromia confirmed with a nod. He had to have asked for them specifically, anyways. Hard to do that if you didn't know who you were supposed to get.

But if they were going to have some small talk… There were things Sideswipe was curious about, and Chromia might just have some answers.

Firstly, "How high ranking is Shockwave, exactly?"

"He answers only to Lords Megatron and Soundwave," Chromia said, and it looked like this wasn't an off limits topic, because he stayed relaxed and casual. "He's Lord Megatron's Head of Scientific Research. Rather important figure, as I'm sure you can imagine."

As for his part, Sideswipe wasn't feeling very relaxed or casual when keeping in mind where they were going, but tried to pretend he was anyway. Just chit chat, that was all! And learning a bit more about Kaon's ruling class or whatever you wanted to call it while at it. That couldn't hurt.

But. So. They were headed to get experimented on by what might be the third most powerful mech in Kaon, when they'd already established to themselves that you didn't make it to ranks like that by being nice. "What's he like? Shockwave I mean,” Sideswipe asked carefully. What kind of things could one even say about their mate? ‘Oh, they’re a total rapist and abuser, real jackass, I hate their guts’.

No one in Megatron’s harem would’ve said that. Well, aside from him and Sunstreaker. They would’ve said that.

"Hm?" Chromia looked at him, although Sideswipe wouldn't have called his expression all the way surprised.

He really wasn't sure what to call it at all, but Chromia answered him anyway, unreadable emotions or not. "He's fair, I'll give him that. Unapologetic in the pursuit of knowledge, but you don't need to worry about that. Lord Megatron doesn't allow harm to come to his mates. Master Shockwave respects that."

Out of genuine respect, or because Megatron would do something very bad to him if he broke his rules? Probably the latter.

"What do you mean, 'unapologetic'?" Sunstreaker spoke up sharply. Chromia gave him that same look that neither of them could quite name.

"He'll go as far as he needs to to get answers, when orders otherwise aren't holding him back."

Like orders would be holding him back in his and Sunstreaker's case. Hopefully. But the implications behind those words were… Heavy. Chromia didn't outright say so, but Sideswipe could imagine that as far as he needs to really did mean as far as he needs to. Ethics, morals? Damn those, most likely. It would fit the rest of the place. All the other things they’d already seen and felt them do… What was some experimentation while at it? The subjects probably didn’t consent, but consent meant jackall here.

They weren’t consenting either, but Megatron had given them up for tests and whatever else, so… That was what was going to happen. Chromia’s assurances that no harm would come to them felt thin when he fully expected that even some very unpleasant things would count as not harm.

Then, was it too personal to ask… Sideswipe asked anyway. “How long have you been in his harem?”

Megatron’s harem didn’t talk about things like that, but then again, they hadn’t gone out of their way to ask either. They had no idea how long anyone there had been in Megatron’s clutches, or how they’d gotten caught in that net, what their life was like before… None of that. They had no idea.

But Chromia wasn’t put off by that question either and merely chuckled. “Oh, most of my life at this point. I wasn’t that old when I fought in the Pits to prove my worth and gain the interest of the court—and succeeded! Master Shockwave chose me over all the others.”

He sounded… Proud. Really proud, but Sideswipe couldn’t get past the feeling that this didn’t quite compute.

Fought? Gain interest? Chose, like that was a… A good thing?

Sunstreaker recovered from their shock slightly faster, at least partway—enough to ask an entirely incredulous, “You… Wanted to become a mate?”

Chromia nodded, still looking all kinds of self-satisfied. “It is an honor. Not everyone wants it, understandably, but– You’re not Kaonites, are you? Here, those that desire it are given the option to try to impress the court enough to be chosen. Lord Megatron has a pair too, ah, what were their names… Runamuck and Runabout? They were quite a sight when they fought; I’m not surprised Lord Megatron himself would choose them.”

Primus. That was a hell of a lot to digest after all the slag they’d gone through and seen and heard about and… Slag. And they sure as pit hadn’t known that about Runamuck and Runabout, but that was no surprise since they didn’t know that much about anyone.

Sideswipe released a ventilation he hadn’t realized he was holding, leaning against the wall of the elevator. He felt a little woozy right there. This, the information that some came to this life willingly and even thought of it as a good thing, an honor as Chromia put it… It went against everything they felt. This was hell to them. There was nothing good about any of it.

And some fought to get to their garbage standing.

But not everyone. “Why doesn’t everyone want it?” Sideswipe had to ask, not particularly fond of the way his voice was caught somewhere between a squeak and a wheeze, but at least his vocalizer worked. That was something.

“It’s a sacrifice,” Chromia shrugged. “You give up a lot of your freedoms and lay your future in the hands of another. It’s not a choice that should be made lightly.

“But many consider the tradeoff worth it. You get to be so close to our leaders, to serve Kaon in such a way, maybe make yourself more useful than you would’ve been otherwise. And obviously, the surroundings you’re given are very lavish and comfortable. There isn’t a hell of a lot to complain about, at the end of the day.”

Not a lot to complain about.

Right on the heels of admitting that even those that took the role willingly lost their freedom, as if Runamuck and Runabout weren’t enough proof of that. They had never suspected there was anything different about them, because they didn’t get treated any differently. They were as stuck in the harem wing as everyone else. They didn’t have magical rights to leave at will.

But… What? It was worth it because they got to be Megatron’s berth toys and ‘serve Kaon’ through their servitude to its sovereign leader?

If that was the logic, then the other set of twins was probably even more honored than Chromia. Chromia only belonged to the third most powerful mech, whereas Runamuck and Runabout belonged to the most powerful.

It was so messed up.

Arguing probably wouldn’t have worked any better than it did with Megatron’s mates, though. If outlanders, those that had clearly come from outside of Kaon, bought into this bullshit, then how much more were natives going to do the same? They were raised here, into this culture of… What was it? Extreme nationalism or something? If it was drilled into them from the moment they were activated, how was Sideswipe going to change their mind in the duration of one elevator ride?

“How often do those fights take place?” Sunstreaker asked, his voice tight.

“Rarely, sadly. The court does try to keep the sizes of their harems manageable, and that won’t work if they’re hoarding new mates at every turn.”

And it looked like quite a few mecha were brought from outside for some reason. Why even do that if there were willing mecha within your own city?

He asked that much, and Chromia didn’t withhold that answer either. “In part it’s kindness, to rescue mecha from Unified Cybertron into the cultural freedom of Kaon. But maybe a bit more than that, it’s… How would I put it. A delicacy for the ruling class? They have a far wider range of frame types to choose from, and there is always allure to frames you might not find in Kaon at all, or at least not often.”

Kindness.

Delicacy.

So ultimately this whole thing was just because of the arrogance and egotism of Kaon’s ruling class. It wasn’t enough to take willing mecha from within their city’s walls, they wanted the exotic goods from elsewhere too—nevermind what those goods thought about. Living mecha with wills and sparks of their own, brought here to… To…

Slag. Slag it all.

Maybe they were better off not knowing any of this. Blissful ignorance had kept them from realizing the full extent of Kaon’s depravity, but they were quickly falling down the rabbit hole of being horrifically informed of how Kaonites thought. It didn’t look a hell of a lot like it was only the court that thought this was somehow acceptable. Was the general populace of that opinion too? Did they think being a mate was such an honor that anyone who got brought here for it should be grateful and devote their damn lives to Kaon without question?

“How many harems are there?” Sunstreaker asked while Sideswipe was still busy trying to sort his thoughts into any kind of a functional order with very little success.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually counted,” Chromia mused, then began to tick mecha off with his digits without actually saying anything before he’d apparently counted them all. “Nine or ten, if I remember everyone? Lord Soundwave should have one too, but he’s never taken any mates himself, for whatever reason.”

“Is that why Megatron shares… Us? With him?”

“Possibly. I won’t pretend to know their reasoning, but Lord Megatron and Lord Soundwave are good friends.”

So apparently they could build friendships too. That was almost surprising.

“How big are the harems?” Sunstreaker, again.

“Usually around ten members, and I think there’s at least one that is over twenty mates strong. Lord Megatron’s is undoubtedly the largest, though, as is fitting for a mech of his standing.”

Several times the size of his subordinates’ harems, in other words. What greed.

The elevator stopped, effectively cutting their bit of interrogation short. Chromia, still, didn’t look at all perturbed by all of their questions, just gestured them along when the doors opened to a hallway that didn’t look that different from any of the other hallways they’d seen. They took a couple of turns until they came to double doors similar to what led to the wings located on the harem’s floor. There were guards here too, like there were everywhere, but the doors opened on Chromias approach and in they went.

At first it didn’t look so different and he wondered just where Shockwave was going to do their testing, but then they went through another set of doors, and suddenly there were hallways and doors all over the place leading to who knew where. Maybe just rooms, maybe other, closed off hallways. They took two ramps down, then through big doors, again, and he was getting kind of lost already.

But Chromia walked ahead of them with confidence, so they followed and tried not to worry about it too much.

More smaller doors and corridors, up until they stopped in front of one specific door that, to Sideswipe, didn’t look any different from all the others. Chromia pinged for entrance, and with minimal delay the door slid out of their way. They followed the blue mech into the room, although they didn’t follow in the short bow Chromia gave to… Shockwave.

Shockwave was looking at them. “Here they are, master,” Chromia said.

The apparent scientist only responded with, “Dismissed,” and at once their guide took his leave. The door closed behind him, and there they were. In a room. With the very creepy Shockwave. The door probably wouldn’t open for them even if they tried to get out.

“First Aid,” Shockwave called without actually raising his voice, and a mech they hadn’t noticed set something down on the other side of the room before scurrying over. They could just catch a glimpse of a brand on his shoulder. Another of Shockwave’s mates, then, which… Was a little weird. Were they working together?

“Yes, master?” First Aid asked once he got closer, and pits but it grated to hear the title at every turn. They were clearly too used to the casual air in Megatron’s harem, at least when the tyrant wasn’t present. Even Megatron’s mates spoke in a more respectful manner around him. Yes, my Lord; of course, master—the works.

It didn’t look to be so different with Shockwave, in that aspect.

“Get them ready,” was the instruction Shockwave said before he turned away. First Aid voiced his understanding, then waved the twins forward.

To the center of the room, where there were two berths, currently pushed together to form one larger slab. The lights in the ceiling above it were too bright for comfort, and Sideswipe couldn’t even begin to name the contraptions that circled around the lights, ready to be pulled down for use. “If you’d lay down and open your chestplates, please,” First Aid requested once they got next to the berths.

Righty! Apparently there was going to be no warmup whatsoever. “Not even a single date first?” Sideswipe said, and it was such a weak joke and his obvious nervousness only made it weaker, but First Aid nevertheless snorted before quickly smoothing his field. Sideswipe could imagine the same happened to his face, if he had one, but once again there was both a mask and a visor in use. It was impossible to tell what was behind them.

Sunstreaker reached to squeeze his arm before his brother hopped onto one of the berths. Sideswipe followed, and only after they were both sitting on their respective berths did they lay down fully.

“Open your chestplates and bare your sparks, please,” First Aid repeated when they didn’t do that right away. Sunstreaker bit his denta together so hard his jaw ached and Sideswipe gnawed on his bottom lip until he was sure to leave marks–

But after a few more moments of hesitation, they both initiated the transformation in their chassis—their chestplates pushed apart, then their internals moved out of the way, and even more reluctantly their spark chambers pushed forward, until those too opened to let their sparklight through.

“Thank you,” was all First Aid said, looking back in Shockwave’s direction. They didn’t know what the scientist was doing, but fraggit, could he hurry up with it. It wasn’t exactly pleasant to lay around with their spark in plain view, even if there were only two other mecha present to see.

Two mecha too many.

Luckily Shockwave didn’t take that long before he came over, pulling along a cart with more… Things on it. Probably some science thingies, but they wouldn’t know one whit about that sort of stuff.

“Don’t close your chestplates,” Shockwave ordered them, and Sideswipe had just the time to worry why he saw fit to say that much–

And then Shockwave had already brought a fancy looking vernier right up to his spark, and by the pits his first instinct was to slam his chestplates right back shut alright. There wasn’t even a warning! Unless the order was the warning. It was a crappy warning if that was the case.

Instead of trying to close his chestplates, though, Sideswipe tried to sit up instead, not because he was really thinking clearly, but just because it wasn’t cool to have something so close to his spark–

But First Aid caught him by the shoulders before he could get anywhere and pressed him back down with surprising strength.

“Stay still,” Shockwave said, staring at him with that one lonely optic. “You will be restrained if you don’t cooperate.”

...Right. Okay. So. Reminder. There was no saying no to any of this, and honestly he was getting pretty damn worried here–

But Sideswipe bit his lip harder and nodded his understanding even as Sunstreaker growled deep from his frame.

Shockwave stared at him for a few more seconds before he repeated his original motion and… Brought the measuring tool to his spark. Then he tightened it until it was just on this side if uncomfortable, stopping only when Sideswipe hissed at the near pain.

But he got the diameter as far as Sideswipe could tell, and seemed satisfied with that. He left Sideswipe and his half of their spark alone and went to do the same to Sunstreaker, and Sunstreaker growled some more but didn’t put up a fight. There was exactly nothing they could do whether or not they were tied down, but they’d still rather have even the illusion of being able to protect themselves.

Better behave, then.

Scanners came next, a whole assortment of them. Some worked from a distance, others were pushed right up to their spark, and it was a fight and a half to not try to stop the process at every turn. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t comfortable. Their instincts were screaming at them about protecting their core and lifeforce and they felt really damn naked keeping their sparks bared like that, but Shockwave undoubtedly had Megatron’s authority behind him.

And he would force them if they didn’t submit willingly.

So they tried. And succeeded, mostly, only earning themselves a couple of warnings when they jerked or flinched when they shouldn’t have.

First Aid jacked into their medical ports on Shockwave’s order and took some more readings with their frames’ built-in scanners and diagnostics systems, and rooted around in general. He seemed to know what he was doing, at least, although Sideswipe worried over the amount of data he downloaded from each of them. The pit was he going to need all of that for? Or what was Shockwave going to need it for, rather?

They didn’t ask. Shockwave didn’t seem the chatty type. He sure as pit didn’t tell what he was doing or going to do any step of the way. It would’ve been really nice if he had, but they kept their silence the same Shockwave kept his.

Sunstreaker snarled even harder when Shockwave had taken an ungodly amount of readings out of them and then… “Merge.”

They really should’ve expected this too. And had, honestly.

Didn’t make them any more happy about it.

First Aid stayed connected to their ports and that didn’t help make things feel any less awkward, nor did the fact Shockwave had all of his scanners ready to record the whole damn process, but all the same Sunstreaker rolled over to be atop Sideswipe. He only barely even made it to straddling his thighs before their spark halves already surged from their chambers, meeting between their frames and merging in midair, as per usual—the scant few times they’d had the chance to do this.

The world imploded.

It was fucking heaven. He always forgot what it felt like, and then he wondered how could he ever forget. When the physical separation between their spark halves was removed, so was… Everything. It all stopped mattering, everything their frames had ever gone through—inconsequential.

All there was was the unity and the rightness of being together in the way they were supposed to be, but weren’t allowed to be, not even just temporarily—too risky, not safe enough, always someone who could hurt.

It was that thought that made them attach to the physical world a bit better, now. Sunstreaker’s frame had entirely collapsed on Sideswipe’s, all sense removed from their physical shackles for precious moments. It left their spark mostly protected, at the very least, out of sight aside from the light that bled from the gaps between their frames.

Sunstreaker lifted himself laboriously, just enough that he could look Sideswipe in the optic—rest their forehelms together. It didn’t matter that the circumstances of this were… Less than ideal.

What mattered was doing it. Fuck everyone else when they could have this. Their spark pulsed, whole, comfortable, full, swirling into itself and blending together until there was no end to him and no beginning to Sunstreaker.

They just were.

He just was.

Shockwave still didn’t say anything, but they could feel the intrigue in First Aid’s field. Split-sparks were rare, weren’t they? Mech had probably never seen this before. Had Shockwave either? They didn’t know.

More scans, more diagnostics, more of everything, but it didn’t matter. They basked in being what they were supposed to be, and it didn’t matter. Maybe they were too compliant right then, too withdrawn, too careless, and maybe this was why they barely ever merged–

But in the moment, it was all the same as long as their spark was whole.

“Can you overload?” Shockwave asked after a while of observing them. They both shook their helms, not quite finding the will to speak—but it was a simple answer to a simple question, wasn’t?

Could they overload their spark like this?

No. Of course not, where would they have even found the energy for that from? Did the whole sparked walk around overloading all the damn time? No? Then neither would they.

First Aid logged and downloaded those thoughts, and those were some high level privileges he’d given himself in their systems.

They didn’t quite find it in themselves to care.

“Pull partway apart,” Shockwave ordered them next, and they did only because they knew nothing would come of it—that their halves wouldn’t part from that. Sunstreaker pushed himself up on his arms, but their spark remained merged, suspended in the halfway point between their chambers. Only tendrils connected it to either frame, once Sunstreaker lifted himself high enough.

Tendrils that weren’t enough life for their frames. Grey began to form at their extremities and creeped towards their core slowly. First Aid outright gasped in surprise—had they never seen that before, either?—but they weren’t dying, no matter what their frames thought. And really, what were their frames supposed to think when they could register the spark weakening? It was only their link to the spark, not the spark itself, but their bodies didn’t differentiate between those two.

Sideswipe grinned all of a sudden, full of mischief. “Watch this,” and he brought his servo between their spark and its connection to Sunstreaker’s chamber.

The tendrils were severed entirely and Sideswipe heaved his brother’s frame to the side before it could fall back over him—his brother’s frame that was, now, fully grey. Without a spark signature, or indeed, a spark.

Dead, for all intents and purposes.

First Aid’s field was full of a mix of shock, horror, and surprise, though he didn’t say anything and didn’t disconnect from them. Sideswipe giggled even as their spark sank into his chamber, larger than before and fitting in so snugly. He would’ve closed his chestplates out of reflex too, if Shockwave hadn’t chosen that moment to start poking around his core again.

This time… He was floating, a little bit, or so it felt like. Light. Right.

He didn’t really care that Shockwave repeated the whole entire process he’d already put their spark halves through, but now with their spark fully merged. So many scans and physical measurements and who knew what else.

But he was floating. Happy.

When was the last time he’d been happy?

Shockwave did step back eventually and Sideswipe very lazily turned his helm to look at him. “How do you separate?” the scientist or whatever asked, and Sideswipe focused on his frame enough to remember all of its parts.

Stupid, stupid frame that usually acted as a physical barrier between himself and himself.

Was he supposed to step back to that reality again?

He didn’t really want to.

...But some part of him reminded him it’d be best to follow the instructions they were given, and answer the questions. “Like… Oof. Like this,” Sideswipe managed to click, turning over and taking his turn to straddle his other frame. Grey frame.

It wasn’t nearly as upsetting as it should’ve been. Why would he be upset? He was just about to resurrect it. Sideswipe sat on Sunstreaker’s thighs, leaned over him, and carefully brought his arms between their frames to pull his spark from his chassis, though not so far he would’ve had the whole nearing so-called death, going grey thing happen.

Then he sank his claws into it, all of them—caged portions of it into each of his servos–

And began to pull it apart.

It put up a fight, it did every time, but with a bit of patience and care he managed to separate it into two clear portions that pulsed brightly, but were half the size they had been together. One he pushed back into his own chassis, the other he directed into Sunstreaker’s. It hesitated for a second or two before connecting to Sunstreaker frame with an audible crackle and snap, followed by a clang as Sunstreaker’s chestplates automatically closed around it without any conscious thought on his part. Sideswipe barely pulled his digits free in time.

Color returned to his brother and Sideswipe smiled a satisfied smile even as the gape between them began to yawn again, larger, more uncomfortable by the second.

Not right.

But it was how they lived. One spark in two places at once, directing two separate frames. That was all.

“Move aside, Sideswipe. Sunstreaker, bare your spark,” Shockwave ordered them both once Sunstreaker’s optics had lit up with clarity. Unease was weaving into them and quickly so, but Sideswipe still felt a bit languid when he rolled off of Sunstreaker and back onto the other berth. Sunstreaker was reluctant, but opened his chest back up—not that he even remembered closing it.

And again there was the whole hullabaloo of taking all the readings. That was getting old and tiresome fast, but Sideswipe feared they’d have to bear similar boredom several times still, before Shockwave was through with them.

They laid around all the same, trying to pass the time mostly by focusing on what First Aid was doing in their helms. Unfortunately it wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have already done though, either.

Shockwave only spoke up once he was done and set all of his instruments aside. “How do you know which half belongs to which frame?”

That was… A question. “We… Don’t?” Sideswipe ventured, but it was Sunstreaker who provided the more informative answer.

“Our spark’s one and the same no matter what. It’s the frames that call forth different aspects of it—personalities, if you want to call them that.”

Shockwave seemed to think on it for a moment, then nodded. “Close your chestplates. First Aid, show them to their quarters. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Lancer will interview you later.”

First Aid disconnected from them and handed Shockwave something, probably all the stuff he’d downloaded, before the scientist left entirely. Off to do some sciency stuff with all the sciency stuff he’d managed to pull from them, maybe? Or something.

They wanted to start splitting sparks, huh? That didn’t seem healthy. He had to wonder how many unfortunate test subjects that attempt was going to take.

...Best to not think about it too hard.

“Follow me, please,” First Aid requested once they’d both safely closed their chassis and gotten off the berths.

So they did. There were more doors and hallways, although they didn’t go far this time before First Aid stopped at a door and opened it without going in himself. He gestured for them to do so instead. They did that too.

The room wasn’t big and it was impossibly spartan, but there was a berth big enough for the both of them, a desk with a chair, and some shelving that was entirely empty.

And that was it. There was nothing else.

They glanced back at First Aid when he spoke up. “For everyone’s safety, the door locks and you won’t be able to come out.” That… Wasn’t entirely surprising, although it also wasn’t particularly welcome. But what was the other option? Let them wander around? There was no way in pit anyone was going to allow that. “I’ll have Lancer bring you some entertainment once he comes to do your interview.”

“What kind of an interview is it?” Sideswipe asked before First Aid managed to close the door. It looked like he was in a bit of a hurry, but took the time to answer anyway.

“Just a questionnaire to chart… Well, everything possible about your spark condition and how it affects you. Being as thorough as you can is the most helpful.

“Lancer should be by soon. We’ll probably see later, so…” Without a proper goodbye and a bit awkwardly, First Aid closed the door. They could hear it lock, too, as he’d promised.

And then they were alone.

The silence of the room was only broken by the sounds of their frames, and that was… Was the last time they’d had that when Megatron had separated them, taken turns leaving each of them alone in his quarters to break them?

Those times they hadn’t even had each other. This was different. They were alone in the right way, now, but that was… Weird as all pit, after spending so much time in the harem. There were always others there. Even the library wasn’t real solitude. There were sounds made by the others, their fields, energy signatures, everything their senses would constantly pick up and keep them aware of, even when they were consciously ignoring it all.

Now?

None of that.

It was just them, their one and same spark signature, the energy signatures and the functioning, lowkey whirr, hiss, rumble and whine of each of their frames, sounds changing with every motion they made, every shift of weight. But all of that was so infinitely familiar. Predictable. They knew each other inside and out—their spark, and their frames. So… It was nowhere near the same as being surrounded by the others in the harem.

They weren’t really sure what to make of it. The kind of extreme quiet they were experiencing now they’d only experienced in Megatron’s quarters before this, and if that wasn’t a lovely way to surface some memories they weren’t particularly fond of. In the streets, even during the quietest night, you could hear distant traffic, the hum and clang of the city living around you, its systems making sounds the same any frame did. It was an eternal background noise you could never escape without four walls around you.

Right now? There were four walls around them, and they were who knew how deep into the tower, and here there wasn’t the sounds of the towers’ functions. That was probably deliberate.

They were perfectly isolated in the bright room, locked in so they couldn’t have left even if they’d wanted to, and… They sort of wanted to. There was something infinitely disquieting about the space, its almost clinical emptiness and… Lifelessness.

Sideswipe sat down on the berth even as Sunstreaker frowned and crossed his arms, glaring at the tiny room at large. They couldn’t help but draw more comparisons to the harem wing. Say what you will about it, but it was alive, and not just because of its occupants. There was actual color, and lights placed so that they cast real shadows even as they lit anything that needed to be lit, and never leaving things so dark it would’ve been unwelcoming. There were the scents—of oil and repairs in Knock Out’s medbay, clean as the room was; the electric scent of the book files in the library, sharp and piquing; the mingling of energon and additives in the dining hall, perfect to rouse one’s appetite; solvent and so many scented products in the washracks…

And the entertainment room and berthroom, with the smells that permeated every other part of the wing too. Lubricant, transfluid, overloads. Interface. It was everywhere in the harem, for obvious reasons.

And despite that, he would’ve rather been there. There was something homey about the lush colors and intimate feel of the harem wing.

This? Despite the light colors and offensive brightness, he was mostly reminded of Megatron’s wing. Megatron’s wing had more furniture than this, but it still felt nearly as empty because of its color scheme and lack of any sort of decorations whatsoever, anywhere.

Being reminded of Megatron’s living space wasn’t exactly welcome, either.

Here they were though, all the same. And why?

Because Megatron controlled every aspect of their life.

Sideswipe gushed a sigh from his vents and fell onto his back on the berth. Sunstreaker finally moved to sit down next to him.

Then there was more quiet and growing discomfort. Not physical, despite the amount of prodding and poking their spark had endured, but… Mental. Emotional.

But they could probably expect to be interrupted by their interview pretty soon. It wasn’t the best chance to try to chill out. And there might be cameras, too. That wouldn’t have surprised him.

...You know, he’d never wondered if there were some in the harem wing. It didn’t feel like a space where there would’ve been some, but maybe there were anyway.

“Wonder who Lancer is,” Sideswipe mused, just to break the silence even a little bit.

Sunstreaker, ever the best conversation partner, grunted.

“Think he’s another of Shockwave’s mates? ‘Cause First Aid was, but he was still, like�� Being an assistant to Shockwave or something? In all sciency stuff?” That was weird. Really weird, when all they’d known was Megatron’s harem. Megatron only wanted interfacing out of them. Entertainment.

Were things so different for Shockwave’s harem, or what was going on?

“We should ask, if we get the chance,” Sideswipe concluded. Theorizing with the very limited amount of information they had was hard as pit, and it would be nicer to get actual answers, anyway. Maybe Lancer would be willing to answer some questions, on top of making them answer questions?

Probably a lot of questions.

Weren’t they just real winners.

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

Lancer was, indeed, another of Shockwave’s mates. He was chipper, but efficient, asking all the questions and recording all the answers, prompting them with more questions that didn’t seem to be on his list if their answers weren’t in depth enough. He charted everything from their experience of their activation to medical history and every last detail they could think of over how being split-spark had affected their life, positively or negatively. He didn’t overtly react to anything they said, either, but remained perfectly professional. Which was nice. It kept things from getting so awkward, despite all the stuff they told—right down to how being so connected made them react to all the rape and abuse they’d endured here.

Of course, they were careful to not state or even suggest they were still very much plotting how to leave the whole place, even as they were frank enough about their dislike over the treatment they’d endured.

“Thank you so much! This will help us a lot,” Lancer said with satisfaction once it looked like he’d bombed them with all the questions he was going to. Sideswipe already opened his mouth with questions of his own, but snapped it back shut when Lancer continued, “Oh! Before I forget…”

He subspaced the datapad he had been using, made the twins a bit envious of his ability to actually access his subspace, then proceeded to pull out other datapads that he set on the desk.

Quite a few datapads, in fact—a whole pile by the end of it. “I grabbed some movies, book files, music, and a few games and podcasts for you! I wasn’t sure what you’d like, but hopefully there’s enough variety that you’ll find at least something to your liking.”

Sideswipe blinked, but Sunstreaker remembered their manners. “Thank you.”

“It’s no bother—you’ll have to stay here a few days anyway. Need to pass the time somehow, right?” He turned to leave, but a noise for his attention from Sideswipe had him halting and looking back at them.

Sideswipe spoke quickly, before the opportunity passed them. “Could we ask a few questions?”

Lancer looked a little surprised, but then smiled with a small laugh. “Well, I did just get from questioning you real good. I think it’s fair to repay that. Okay, what would you like to know?”

Okay, wow, they actually got the chance and Lancer seemed very open to questions too. That was a little unexpected, but Sideswipe gathered his thoughts quickly. “Alright, so… You’re in Shockwave’s harem too, right?” he asked first, and continued after Lancer nodded a simple confirmation, “And so’s First Aid? But First Aid was assisting Shockwave when he was taking all sorts of readings and whatnot off of us. Is that… Normal? For the harems? For Shockwave’s harem?”

“Not really normal for the harems, no,” Lancer answered and sat back down on the desk’s chair. “But it’s normal for us—Master Shockwave’s harem, I mean. Most of us have the know-how to help him in his projects, and he makes use of that.”

Lancer really seemed as forward as Chromia. That was… Nice. As far as getting their questions answered went, anyway. “How do you have the know-how? Has he taught you?”

“He continuously teaches us, yeah, but only really those who already had a background in the sciences or medicine—so, again, most of us. Really only Chromia doesn’t.”

“...What does Chromia do, if not that? Why does Shockwave have him?”

“Chromia is kind of… Our Starscream. Starscream takes care of Lord Megatron’s harem, right? Chromia does that here. Enforces Master Shockwave’s rules and orders, makes sure everyone has what they need, runs around doing Master Shockwave’s bidding when the rest of us are busy.” Lancer laughed there. Sideswipe cracked a smile, just to hide his… Confusion? No, not really confusion. There wasn’t that much to be confused over Shockwave having someone who filled Starscream’s role in his own harem.

Disturbance, rather. They knew what Starscream was like, how… Thoroughly he devoted himself to Megatron.

And Chromia did the same with Shockwave? Even when the other mates didn’t necessarily want to cooperate otherwise?

Like that?

But Lancer didn’t seem bitter over it, or like he thought it was a bad thing.

“How come most of you have the kind of backgrounds Shockwave makes use of?”

“We’re not from Kaon, but we were brought here specifically because of our skills. Master Shockwave has enough rank that aside from Lords Megatron and Soundwave, he can pick anyone he wants, and… He wants those with the skills. Lord Megatron has no use for our skill sets, so I don’t know anyone from his harem who could fill our roles.”

Yeah, Megatron really had no use for that kind of stuff, did he? You didn’t need to be a scientist to learn how to suck a spike.

“Doesn’t he work with anyone science type who isn’t from his harem?”

“Oh, he does. Flatline works here full-time, as does Perceptor—and Mixmaster, Hook, and some others occasionally collaborate with him on something. But Master Shockwave finds it… More agreeable, to work with his own harem.”

“...Why?” Sideswipe asked suspiciously, although he thought he might already know the answer.

Lancer shrugged. “We belong to him, and we serve him. He ranks higher than anyone else he works with, of course, and they obey his orders too, but that’s still not the same.”

He was more equal with other free mecha, wasn’t he? Sideswipe suspected they could say no to him, rank or not.

His harem, though? Probably had no such right. Megatron’s sure didn’t, and he didn’t think Shockwave’s was that dissimilar despite his use of his mates as his assistants.

Lancer didn’t say that much, but wasn’t it sort of written between the lines, anyway?

Sideswipe did no more than nod at that.

“Was there anything else?” Lancer asked after neither of the brothers said anything for a moment. Sideswipe gave it an actual thought, but…

“Not right now, ‘least.”

“Cool. If something comes up, ask one of us, we’ll be happy to help.” With that, a smile, and a wave, Lancer took his leave.

The door locked after him. Again. Naturally. Of course.

They both sighed in the silence that was left behind, but Sideswipe plucked the topmost datapad off the pile and turned it on to see what it contained. Sunstreaker did the same with another ‘pad, and… Well. They better get good at passing the time like this, probably.

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

The room had no windows, or clocks of any sort for that matter. If their chronometers hadn’t counted the day, they would’ve never known what time it was. They recharged during what would’ve been the quiet hours in the harem wing, and when no one came to interrupt them right away in the morning… Lazed around a bit.

Hopefully whoever might come to take them for more tests would at least knock or ping first, instead of just barging in. And energon. They’d prefer fuel at some point, as much as it wasn’t strictly necessary. Yet. They probably, hopefully wouldn’t be here long enough for that to matter, but if they were hanging around for a full orn, they’d definitely have the time to get a bit uncomfortable from hunger.

They didn’t worry about that too much right in the moment, though. Sideswipe had draped himself along the full length of Sunstreaker’s side, his brother’s arm around him, tracing patterns on his armor.

Sideswipe did the same to Sunstreaker, dragging his claws along seams he knew were a bit on the sensitive side, and grinning every time he was a little too good at it and made the golden twin squirm. Sunstreaker didn’t tell him to knock it off though, or hadn’t so far.

He might at some point.

But for now he was too… Thoughtful, to really bother. And Sideswipe knew those thought tracks just as well.

They merged so rarely. For obvious reasons, or… What had been obvious reasons. For Primus’ sake, they were guttermechs. They didn’t just have an apartment of their own that they could lock the door of and do what they willed. The best they could do was rent a room someone else would always have access to, too.

Where were they supposed to merge? Nowhere, that’s where.

So… They didn’t. Hadn’t. They had risked it… What, a grand total of three times in their lives, since emerging from the Well to get discarded in no time at all?

They weren’t old, but even for a short life that… Wasn’t very many merges. It wasn’t a necessity so it didn’t really matter, but pits it felt good. It was probably some sort of sucky coping mechanism to forget about the feeling after every time, because what would they have done otherwise except spend every moment of their life wishing they could do it again?

They’d done it now, and they hadn’t forgotten about it, not yet. It populated their thoughts, the… Feeling of it.

Would they get used to it if they did it more often? Seemed likely. The whole sparked walked around the way they did all the time and nothing happened to them, but to him and Sunstreaker… It was so novel. It felt so good, was so right, fixed every problem they’d ever had, or so it felt like. It was how they were supposed to be, but how they weren’t despite it all. Was it any wonder knocking all the wrongness out of their life with just one act would be such a drastic difference that it would muddle their thoughts more than a little? That they’d want to just enjoy it, forever and ever?

Like the whole sparked got to do all the time. They took it for granted, didn’t even think about how else it could be.

Well, the twins knew how else they could be. They couldn’t take it for granted, because it wasn’t their usual state of being.

What kept them from occupying only a single frame, from being just one, in one? Was it just a habit? ‘Because that’s how it’s always been’?

Or was it an… Advantage? It never felt right, but it didn’t cripple them either. They could experience life at twice the pace everyone else could, because they were in two. Wasn’t that a good thing?

And the tradeoff was just to feel wrong on such a deep, inescapable level.

That wasn’t so bad, was it? There were hardly any downsides… That they knew of. They had to admit they didn’t understand their spark very well. They took it at face value, but why did it do the things it did? Why could they be split, when trying to split a normal spark would only result in death? Ask anyone who had ever gotten stabbed in the spark. It didn’t tend to work out so well.

And when they pulled apart, why did their spark exchange its energy perfectly between its halves, neither bigger than the other when they separated? How the pit did it know to do that when there was no… Rift between them, when they were merged? It was just one whole spark with the ability to split for whatever reason, but the re-splitting was always a pretty crude process and still it always worked out.

That wasn’t even getting into their exchange of emotion and thought—or “thought”, rather. Emotion came through raw and unfiltered, but it was never words, never sounds, never perfect images that their spark was made of. Just… A mess. Shapes, textures, color, but they all came together to mean something, if you knew how to interpret it. Put it together. Translate it into something the frame could understand. Their spark was never confused by itself.

It was just the frame that didn’t always keep up with everything.

They were pretty good at that, and they could also do the most important: segregate. Synchronization came naturally to them, but what they needed to do to function was to… Split their thoughts as their spark was split: one set of thoughts for the frame that was Sideswipe, another for the one that was Sunstreaker. They needed to function separately, steer their frames separately, divide themselves, sometimes to the point they became near senseless to one another–

And that went against their very being, but they had to do it. It was a skill. It had taken practice.

They didn’t usually think about any of this, honestly. It wasn’t important, it wasn’t relevant. What mattered was that they made it work.

But after trying to describe the whole mess to Lancer in as much detail and with as little confusion as they could manage, it was hard to not consider it all—wonder if it mattered anyway. They had no idea.

All they knew was that merging was… Better than any drug in the world, and they’d tried quite a few out of curiosity.

And they weren’t on the streets anymore. They were never really alone either, aside from right now, but the other mates weren’t exactly… Threats? Were they? They had never actively tried to hurt them.

Could they even consider doing it again sometime, while they were still here? Because they’d be right back to the streets after they got out, and then they’d again be without the chances to do it.

So many thoughts. They should probably stop before their processors started steaming. Sunstreaker glanced at him at that, cocking one of his optical ridges at him and– Primus, he was just pretty. Beautiful. From helm to pede, their commissioners had done at least that right and given him all the looks in the world.

His optical ridges too. Their arch was just… Elegant, and Sideswipe knew that came without trying.

Sunstreaker’s amusement turned into an outright, huffed laugh when he stared for too long.

Frag it.

Sideswipe lifted himself, just enough that he could silence it by pressing their mouths together—no grace, just want. Sunstreaker returned the kiss with quite a bit more thought behind it, and Sideswipe happily let him take the lead, melting a bit further against that lovely frame.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, you know,” Sunstreaker muttered against his mouth. Sideswipe could feel his grin.

It was his turn to laugh, just a little. “I know.” They were quite a pair, weren’t they?

At least this much Megatron would never take from them—their self-centered love, devotion. There was no tarnishing it, even if he took everything else.

They enjoyed each other for a time, cuddling and making out, lazy and without rush. Not that they couldn’t have done this in the harem, but there was always so much going on there, and that wasn’t even going into the fact there was no real privacy to be found anywhere in the harem wing.

Chances were they’d still have the time to get hella bored here even with the entertainment they were provided, but for now they were going to enjoy it.

They did the entire morning. Only a ping at the door interrupted them when it was starting to tip into the day proper. They untangled themselves at the interruption, and were sitting side by side on the berth by the time the door opened after a polite delay.

First Aid stood on the other side, two cubes held in his servos. “Hope you slept well and have gotten the time to pass. Did Lancer– Oh, I see he did.” He was probably referring to all the datapads; at least those were what he was looking at.

“He brought us stuff, yeah,” Sideswipe confirmed with a wry grin. First Aid’s field flared with something akin to a smile. He moved into the room just enough to place the cubes on the desk before returning to the doorframe.

It looked like he was going to leave, too, but Sideswipe interrupted that process with a, “Hey.” First Aid looked at him in askance, and out of the mates they’d met he seemed the least inclined to start answering any amount of questions, so Sideswipe kept it short. “When will there be more… Tests?”

“Probably not today. Tomorrow at earliest, I think,” First Aid answered, and… That was kind of surprising? But he also explained the reason for it quickly enough. “There’s a lot of data Master Shockwave wants to comb through before he does anything else. Your spark is very unusual.”

Well. At least they were entertaining some scientist with their existence. Could be worse?

Sideswipe nodded and when they asked nothing else, First Aid bid them goodbye and left. They took the cubes they’d been brought and went to enjoy them. It wasn’t anything fancy, just basic midgrade, but that didn’t make it any less delicious.

And it looked like they wouldn’t have to worry about hunger, at least.

As First Aid had guessed, nothing happened for the rest of the day. Sunstreaker went through the datapads for things to read or listen to, Sideswipe grabbed the couple of them with games on them. They were the same games as in the harem, but he had his saves in his own systems, so it wasn’t a big thing to plug into the datapad and continue playing where he’d left off back there.

It wasn’t the most interesting day ever. The harem was… A prison. There was no getting around the fact there wasn’t really anything physical to do, aside from ‘facing. And oh boy did the other mates ‘face a lot. Sideswipe had to wonder if some of that was just to try to make up for the lack of any other exerting activities, on top of being prompted by the protocols corrupted by the infernal transmission.

He and Sunstreaker had put up with it so far because, you know, they didn’t exactly have any other option. They couldn’t just leave to go on drives or whatever. It worked in their favor that they had never had the ability to be as active as they would’ve liked. For the duration of their life, up until coming here, conserving energon had been a necessity. Technically they could have done whatever they wanted to, driven as far as they’d liked to–

But the practice was quite different.

Now they would’ve had the energy, but not the freedom. That sure got flipped around a bit.

But so there weren’t any past habits of long drives that they would’ve missed, for as many things there were that they did miss.

And some came here willingly?

Frag.

Yeah, no, he wasn’t going to get over that anytime soon, especially after what he’d seen at the dinner—though to be fair he didn’t think he’d get over any of the shit that happened here anytime soon. But there was… Something. Their first time here, their whole initiation? Had been awful in so many ways.

But it was just that one time. They’d had some shit thrown at them since then too, mildly put, but they hadn’t gotten gang raped with that level of brutality since.

And the public servants? It looked a lot like brutal gang rape was their entire existence. He didn’t know where they lived, or were stored, what their downtime was like, but slag… He couldn’t imagine there was anything to want in that life. They looked to be halfway to the scrapyard already, on the inside. If he had to make a guess, they probably wished they could’ve gone the rest of the way.

He thought he would’ve, in their place. All the things Megatron had done to them and had made others do to them… It wasn’t those levels of bad. Maybe there was an instance here or there that compared, but it wasn’t continuous. That made the difference.

Instances like Sunstreaker’s little outburst. Megatron knew how to damage a frame. Getting just beaten would’ve been one thing. Unpleasant and it would’ve hurt too, but it was so outlandish to mutilate a frame with nothing but a spike. Who else could do that but Megatron?

It was just… A more intimate sort of way to punish someone—taking something that was usually done for fun and affection, and using it as a weapon instead.

Violent.

Sunstreaker hardly even ached anymore. The physical signs of the whole incident were all but gone, even at the places where Knock Out hadn’t replaced the parts, only fixed them instead.

But on the inside? His brother was tough, but Megatron was an enemy like nothing they’d faced before. Time and time again they could not win, not even in a small way, and if they stepped out of line… They were returned to it with devastating certainty.

Would Sunstreaker throw a drink at someone again? Was it worth it?

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

It was near the midday of the next day that there was a ping at their door again. Sideswipe paused and saved his game and Sunstreaker set down the bookfile he’d been perusing, seconds before the door opened to reveal Lancer.

He smiled and waved. “Master Shockwave has some more tests he’d like to run. If you’d come with me.”

Of course there was nothing about were they fine with this, or if they agreed to having more tests done on them.

They weren’t and they wouldn’t have, but you know.

They placed their datapads on the desk before following Lancer out of their temporary quarters and back into the same room from before, with its berths and contraptions. “Dismissed,” Shockwave said to Lancer once they were safely deposited in the room, and so he left.

Leaving them with Shockwave and… There was another mech present too. Red, but even searching, they couldn’t see a brand on him.

He didn’t look like Kaonite though, not one bit.

“On the berth,” Shockwave ordered them and they walked a couple of steps ahead of him to do so. Whatever cart the scientist had with him had more things on it, some that they could recognize from last time.

Was this going to be as boring?

Would they get to merge again?

“Perceptor.” With just one word from Shockwave, the red mech came over, although there wasn’t the same… Haste in his motions, as Shockwave’s mates had when they hurried to follow his orders.

There was something different about him in general, although they couldn’t place it. He was nervous though. Not overtly so, but it was still in his field.

“Yes, hello, we haven’t met yet. I’m Perceptor, and I’ll be assisting Shockw–”

“Lay down,” Shockwave entirely interrupted his colleague—were they colleagues?—to order him and Sunstreaker around instead. But at least this much had already happened, so despite their very extant reservations, they laid down.

“Bare your sparks,” was the next thing, and they did that too, reluctant or not. Shockwave pushed and pulled some of the things hanging from the ceiling around, bringing some lower. Sideswipe would’ve guessed it was a scanner of some sort that he positioned around Sunstreaker’s spark, his brother watching the process with so much distrust.

But if they didn’t cooperate, they’d be made to cooperate anyway, so. He’d still rather go unrestrained.

Perceptor did what First Aid had done and jacked into their medical ports to bring up their internal scans and spark readings. One educated guess, they were going to do something to their spark.

And they probably wouldn’t like it.

The scanner thingy was secured directly against Sunstreaker’s chestplates before Shockwave pulled a different device down and aimed that at Sideswipe’s spark-half. It spun just that much more wildly in its casing as his concern grew. It would’ve been great if Shockwave had even told them what he was doing, but of course he couldn’t be bothered with that much.

Perceptor probably noticed that thought with the privileges he’d granted himself in their systems, because he took that role instead. “We’re going to feed some dead energy into your spark to–”

He didn’t get further than that before Shockwave cut him off with a, “Stay still.”

“What do you mean dead energy–?!” Sideswipe tried to demand in full alarm, but he couldn’t get further than that before Shockwave activated the device directly above his half of their spark. It came to life to shoot pure electricity into his spark, or at least Sideswipe thought it might’ve been electricity, it sure was something–

But that wasn’t what he could focus on.

There was just the pain.

It burned and he could scarcely even hear his own scream as his very core lit up with agony, and pain of the frame was one thing–

But this was so much more than that. It was his very being that hurt, that cut straight into his emotions, the well of his thoughts, his life–

His back arched off the berth, and bringing his spark closer to the device didn’t help at all, but he didn’t know what to do, couldn’t do anything with the–

And then it ended.

Sort of.

Sideswipe collapsed back onto the berth when their respective devices powered down and were moved away from them both, sobbing—from relief, and from pain, because his spark wouldn’t stop hurting and feeling like it was going to tear itself into so many pieces until there’d be nothing but shreds left–

He was barely aware Sunstreaker was gasping, feeling all the same he was, that it tore at the both of them, their one–

“Merge.”

They focused enough to make sense of Shockwave. There was no inflection to the order.

Sideswipe shook his helm, crying. Their spark felt so raw and adding more energy into the play, even if it was just his own, was the last thing he wanted to do–

“Your spark is destabilizing. You’re dying. Merge,” Shockwave said, sounding absolutely uncaring as he stared at one of the screens that might’ve had their spark readings or something, Sideswipe didn’t know.

Perceptor’s field had flushed with very real anxiety and concern where Shockwave had none to give, but at least the unfeeling scientist’s words were enough to provide some… Motivation. Sideswipe looked to the side but Sunstreaker was staring resolutely at the lights above, trying to survive the agony in their lifeforce—and presumably doomed to fail at that, if they didn’t merge.

So this was what dying felt like, huh? He could’ve gone without the experience.

But he didn’t want to die. There were still things to live for, and this was an out he didn’t want to take.

He rolled onto his front and heaved himself up, gritting his denta the whole way. It wasn’t his frame that hurt, his frame functioned perfectly, but the pain still threatened to cripple him. His spark throbbed so unevenly, its pulses and rotation stuttering in a way he had never experienced before. It distracted him from the physical world something fierce–

But they were probably on a bit of a timer. He had no idea how long it’d take for a spark to destabilize completely, and how long it would take their spark.

Would merging even fix it, or was Shockwave just grasping at straws? Who the fuck knew. It was sort of their only shot though, wasn’t it?

Sunstreaker reached an arm to help pull him over and Sideswipe barely waited until their chests were even half aligned before he collapsed over his twin. Their halves surged to meet each other before he was even all the way down, wove together, became one, seamless, and…

The pain receded.

They were both shaking, their vents barely functioning, but the tearing stopped. Sideswipe let his forehelm fall against Sunstreaker’s shoulder, feeling the ache in their spark even as things… Evened out. Calmed down.

And they, presumably, stopped dying so actively.

“The pit,” Sideswipe gasped, “was that?” He lifted his helm enough to glare at both Perceptor and Shockwave, as much as he expected Shockwave wouldn’t give a damn.

Perceptor looked apologetic, at least. “The energy approximates a spark merge without the risk of actually bonding two sparks and tests your spark’s response to it. Your reaction was entirely unexpected, I assure you; all sparks respond a little differently, but this?”

Right. So nearly killing them wasn’t the plan. That would’ve sort of gone against Megatron’s orders anyway.

Had to wonder how much trouble Shockwave would’ve been in if they had died.

“Pull back.” Was there no end to the orders? And what was this one for?

That. Shockwave was pulling the same zappy device towards them. Was he seriously trying to kill them?

“No!” Sideswipe said instantly, like any smart person with a sense of self-preservation would’ve, and flattened himself further across Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker was growling, hard, his glare beyond vicious.

“Pull back,” Shockwave repeated, still sounding so utterly indifferent. Like he didn’t really care about any of this, about their resistance or their potential death or… Pit, anything.

“Go frag yourself,” Sideswipe snarled.

Defiance. When had that ever worked?

They were locked in a bit of a staring contest before one of the doors into the room opened to admit Lancer and another of Shockwave’s mates they hadn’t seen before. All Shockwave did was nod at the twins, and at once the mates came over—but what for? They couldn’t possibly have strength on him and Sunstreaker, being smaller, slimmer.

It turned out they didn’t need strength, just speed and deftness, and that they had in spades. “Hey–!” but true to form, no one listened to him. The nameless mate had reached and grabbed his arm before he knew it, and he didn’t have the time to even jerk away before one of his ports had gotten uncovered.

And suddenly Shockwave was there and plugged right in, and pits, his presence in his systems. Shockwave used direct overrides to access exactly what he wanted to access, no detours taken, and–

Severed Sideswipe’s motor controls.

All of them.

His frame immediately fell limp and Sunstreaker started cussing for the both of them, and that was where all of their cooperation ended.

It didn’t matter. Lancer and the other one were fast to grab each of Sunstreaker’s limbs and securely tie them to the berth, as if they’d done this plenty of times before, and once that was done… They, together, lifted Sideswipe’s strutless frame. Shockwave stepped over again and reached between them, doing what they’d done the other day—put his servo between their spark and Sideswipe’s frame, forcing it to disconnect and retreat into Sunstreaker’s chassis only.

Sideswipe’s grey frame was pushed aside, unnecessary.

Sunstreaker snarled and tested the bonds, but they looked to be designed to hold mecha far larger and stronger than him and he got exactly nowhere no matter how he struggled. Shockwave? Had no reactions to give to any of it. Neither did Lancer and the other mate. There was that focus in their fields again, like Chromia had had at the dinner, like… Pits, he didn’t know what to make of it. Were they so task-oriented? How? Why?

Perceptor though, he was different. He was alarmed.

“Get that thing away from me,” Sunstreaker growled when Shockwave unerringly brought the device towards him, clearly intent on trying the whole thing all over again. For what? Did he expect a different outcome, or did he just want to kill them? If merging had saved them, what were they supposed to do when they were already merged?

“Maybe we shouldn’t–” Perceptor tried to say, hovering over them, but once again, he didn’t get to finish.

“Record,” was all Shockwave said, staring directly at Perceptor.

“This isn’t–” Perceptor tried again.

Again Shockwave interrupted him. “Greenlight.”

The other mate, apparently named Greenlight, immediately stepped up, shooed Perceptor away and replaced Perceptor’s jack in Sunstreaker’s medical port with his own. Once he made sure everything relevant was in his reach and available, he nodded at Shockwave.

Impassive, Shockwave brought the device and a scanner to his spark no matter Sunstreaker’s vitriol, and… Activated it all over again.

Sunstreaker grunted when the energy again shot against their spark, and though he feared the worst… That didn’t come to pass. Oh, it wasn’t comfortable and his spark rebelled against the lifeless energy even as it couldn’t escape it–

But there wasn’t the agony. Just discomfort.

Nothing more.

And although Perceptor hadn’t seemed to entirely approve of the whole thing, he now breathed, “Fascinating,” earning a vicious glare from Sunstreaker. It entirely remained that he wasn’t agreeing to any of this, and even when it had looked like Perceptor might care about details like that, clearly his scientific curiosity was winning over.

It was Sunstreaker’s turn to strongly disapprove.

“Yeah, great, you didn’t nearly kill us this time,” he growled, venting a sigh of relief when Shockwave turned the zapper off and pushed it aside.

“Indeed!” Perceptor said, apparently completely missing Sunstreaker’s sarcasm as he hurried over to one of the screens with some readings on it. Sunstreaker couldn’t understand them, but Perceptor sure looked excited. “Your spark’s negative reaction to dead energy when split… Has that ever been recorded before, Shockwave, do you know? But to get a near opposite reaction when you’re merged! I hypothesize that trying to merge with another spark separately would kill you, although we need to go over these readings to find out the reason why—but equally it looks like your spark’s reaction falls into perfectly normal ranges when merged–”

He prattled on further but Sunstreaker tuned that out, judging Shockwave to be a greater concern when the scientist brought more measuring devices of various sorts to their spark and took whatever readings. Many, many more readings. Lancer and Greenlight lingered too, following Shockwave’s instructions to the letter without hesitation even as Perceptor seemed fully distracted by the screens—and was he still ranting? Primus.

The rest had already happened, but when Shockwave took something small, small enough to fit into his spark chamber, and tried to insert it there, Sunstreaker rebelled.

Or tried to, very unsuccessfully seeing he was tied down and whatnot. “The pit is that?” he demanded, but no amount of tugging or squirming would discourage Shockwave.

At least he got an answer out of the mech, for once. “A monitor.”

Just not a very useful answer. Monitor for what?

When he asked this time, no one responded. The little thing was installed into his spark chamber, and then the same was done to Sideswipe’s frame on top having his motor controls reestablished.

Once that was done, they untied him. “Split,” Shockwave ordered him.

Sunstreaker snarled. “No.” Mostly for the sake of it, honestly; he wouldn’t have had anything against having his second frame functional right then.

“Split, or you will be split,” Shockwave said. An ultimatum, huh? So which would be rather have, doing the whole damn thing himself when he at least had some experience at it no matter how inelegant they made it–

Or have someone who had most likely never successfully split a spark do it for him?

Did he really want to have his spark prodded at even more?

No, he’d rather avoid what he could. Sunstreaker glared, but nevertheless moved over to Sideswipe, straddling his brother’s frame and pulling their spark apart until he had one half to push into the grey frame, the other to keep to himself.

Sideswipe’s chestplates slammed shut before life properly returned to him, and when he onlined good and proper, it was with a growl. Not like he had forgotten what had happened.

Shockwave didn’t seem to care at all. “Lancer, return them to their quarters,” was all he said before he accepted their data from Greenlight and left.

Sideswipe wiped at the tear stains on his cheeks before they both got off the berth and, without a fight, followed Lancer. That… Hadn’t been so mighty pleasant. They’d gotten to merge, sure, but pits, they hadn’t wanted it to be because of something like that.

At least it sort of confirmed their theory that they could function pretty normally even when merged. They hadn’t gotten distracted this time like they had before, though hopefully it wouldn’t need to be just situations that registered as highly dangerous that would manage that.

And they still had however many days of this?

Pits.

“What’s the monitors for?” Sideswipe asked once they were at their door.

“Your spark had a pretty extreme reaction to the fake merge,” Lancer answered as he opened the door and they went inside. “It seems to be fine now, but it’s better to keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t destabilize again.”

Was he sulking? Sideswipe was definitely sulking, and he didn’t even feel like trying to pretend otherwise. “Yeah, Megatron would probably be real unhappy if something happened to us,” he grumbled, plopping himself down onto the berth with more force than necessary. Sunstreaker sat down next to him.

Primus forbid someone other than Megatron himself hurt them. He could rape and slag them all he wanted, but the moment someone else tried to do what he did? Lines drawn, big time.

Ugh.

“I imagine so, yeah,” Lancer agreed. “Try to unwind for now though, okay? That was pretty rough.”

With that he left and they were once again locked in their tiny ass room that was getting more claustrophobic by the hour.

They sat in silence for a minute or two before Sideswipe broke the silence with a simple, “Wanna merge?”

Sunstreaker nodded, and merge they did—just to try to wash away even some of what had happened.

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

The next day, again, nothing happened, Shockwave presumably busy with all the data he’d gathered from them.

But every day after that, there was something. They didn’t cooperate half the time, anymore, not when some of the things got increasingly outlandish. Sometimes they were made to merge, other times held separate, many a time Shockwave separated them without even giving them the chance to do it themselves. There were sharp objects, blunt objects, samples taken, the limits of what their spark and its ability to split could withstand truly tested to the last.

More often than not, it hurt. Nothing compared to the whole incident with dead energy, but it still hurt. It wasn’t the last time Shockwave used the zappy thing on them, either, though he never again did so separately at full force—but he did feed smaller amounts of energy into their spark even when they were split, just to test how much they could withstand before their spark started to destabilize all over again.

It never got so bad as the first time, but that wasn’t much of a comfort.

They had so many wires attached to them, too. To their chest, primarily, as Shockwave went about trying to uncover all of the secrets of their spark and recorded everything he could about everything he did. Their heads weren’t left alone either, usually one of the mates always keeping an eye on what their frames thought about what was done to their spark at any given moment.

Oh, and all the times they didn’t agree to keep their chestplates open, only for Shockwave to then jam them open. Sometimes there was a see-through pane involved too, when he wanted to sort of protect their spark from the outside world while still being able to visually observe it.

Wasn’t that just so kind of him.

None of it was pleasant and a few times they honestly feared he’d pushed too far and caused permanent damage, and… Slag, when they were left alone they spent more time merged than separate, now, trying to assure themselves they were fine, that their spark was fine despite everything Shockwave put it through. That was mostly true. Physically they didn’t think he was doing anything that they wouldn’t recover from.

But wasn’t the story always that physically they could recover from everything that was done to them here in the palace, in Kaon, but that matters were quite different as far as their damned emotions went. Sideswipe spent an increasing amount of time crying, not just from the physical pain that sometimes grew to truly uncomfortable extents, but also from the… Helplessness. As ever. If they fought, Shockwave would just have them restrained to whatever point was necessary for him to go through with everything he wanted to do to them without interruptions.

They didn’t see Perceptor again, and they had to wonder if that was because their disagreement with what was happening grew more vehement and their lack of consent ever more obvious. Perceptor had seemed like the type to care about details like that, where Shockwave definitely didn’t, and where his mates followed his lead.

They were just as powerless here as they ever were with Megatron. They couldn’t even say they were very surprised by that, but it still… Hurt.

And no one gave a damn.

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

It was exactly a full orn later that Shockwave finished with another round of doing whatever to their damn spark. Sideswipe was panting hard, his vents wheezing as he tried to center himself after having his spark toyed with—what was it this time, testing how their spark reacted to separation from the frame. After having his half pulled out of chest who knew how many times, every time to the point his frame greyed out… Yeah, excuse him if he wasn’t feeling the greatest.

Sunstreaker wasn’t much better off. He wasn’t even growling anymore, his optics tightly closed where Sideswipe was instead staring at the bright lights, letting them blind him.

Lancer moved to remove their restraints—that by now had severely worn off their paint from the affected areas—first the ones holding their spark chambers and chestplates open. The moment those were gone both of their chassis slammed back shut so fast it hurt.

But it was still an intense relief, despite the sting.

Neither of them got up right away after their limbs were freed, still reeling a little too badly. However, then Chromia entered the room, and what Shockwave said next was right the thing to bring some more life to them. “Return them to Lord Megatron’s harem.”

They both stilled from disbelief, just for a time before Sideswipe shot to sitting and Sunstreaker leveraged himself onto his elbows. They stared at Shockwave first, as much as the scientist’s back was turned to them, before their attention moved to Chromia.

“Yes, master,” the blue mech said with a small bow, then turned their way and requested their compliance.

Normally that would’ve been about the point where they told everyone to go frag themselves, but… Was it over? Was this over? Could they go back to the relative safety of the harem and not have to worry about Shockwave anymore?

Pits, they wanted to. They’d wanted to for quite a while now, and with unparalleled eagerness they both jumped off the berths and followed Chromia out of the room—a little unsteadily at first, but they regained their bearings little by little as they went through the corridors and doors, past even more doors, until they’d left Shockwave’s… Area of the palace entirely. Or what they assumed was the portion of the palace that belonged to Shockwave exclusively.

Things were silent for a time, but once they were closing in on the elevators and their relief increased with every step away from Shockwave they took, Sideswipe’s curiosity got the better of him. “What’s Perceptor’s deal?”

Chromia glanced at him, but answered as readily as he had before. “I assume you mean he doesn’t look too Kaonite? He isn’t. He was brought in because of his scientific proficiency, though I’m not privy to what about him exactly caught the Lords’ attention.”

‘Brought in’? “Did he come… Willingly?” Sideswipe asked carefully.

Chromia smiled at him. “With how protected we keep our city, not many outsiders understand the honor coming to Kaon is. They do with time, though.”

So… No, Perceptor most likely hadn’t come willingly. They had to wonder how close to ‘understanding what an honor it is’ Perceptor was. Shockwave didn’t exactly seem to treat him with a lot of respect, but just as much it hadn’t looked like Perceptor was actively unhappy with being there. He’d looked downright excited at places.

Had to wonder how long he’d been in Kaon and how he had acted when first arriving.

Sideswipe would’ve asked more about it if the elevator doors hadn’t opened to reveal it already had an occupant.

“Lord Onslaught,” Chromia bowed immediately, before he stepped into the elevator anyway, no hesitation.

The twins sure hesitated before Sunstreaker steeled their spark and stepped inside too, Sideswipe following a step behind him.

Then the doors closed and the elevator continued up, with them stuck in the relatively small space with the tank—whose amusement filled the elevator. It was probably their unease that he found entertaining.

“Have you recovered yet, Sunstreaker?” Onslaught asked without much fanfare. Of course, there was no real concern about him. He was just continuing what he’d done at the dinner.

Except this time Sunstreaker didn’t have anything to throw at him.

Likely for the best, honestly.

Instead of attacking Onslaught with objects or liquids, Sunstreaker contented himself with just one hateful glare before he turned away to ignore him, intent on showing as much disrespect as he possibly could. If Motormaster’s case was anything to go by, Onslaught himself wouldn’t be able to do anything about him anyway.

Onslaught chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes. Knock Out is quite good at what he does.”

Then, with a glance at their frames, their scuffed portions in particular, “I hear Shockwave got his hands on you, too.”

They stayed silent. He continued, “Spark splitting—now there is a useful ability. Imagine the applications. Doubling the amount of soldiers while granting the pairs a connection that surpasses that of bonded pairs, even bonded twins. Am I wrong? If Shockwave succeeds… My, you would have truly served Kaon, no doubt even earning yourselves a mention in the history books.

“Think of it. Thanks to you, no one could combat Kaon’s elite army. Unified Cybertron and its Prime could never threaten us again.”

Threaten them? When was the last time that had even happened? After Zeta’s failed conquest, how many times had Free Cybertron actually tried to take Kaon?

Obviously they’d failed even if they’d tried, but they honestly didn’t know if there had been smaller wars since the Unification.

And still… Even speaking of such an advantage, Onslaught didn’t word things as if Kaon would have wanted to go on warpath against the rest of Cybertron. Were they really, honestly that content to just be left alone, or was Onslaught leaving things out?

“I really couldn’t care less about whatever benefits Kaon,” Sunstreaker couldn’t keep himself from growling despite his earlier intent to just ignore the damn mech, even as he still stubbornly didn’t look at Onslaught—whose field burst with amusement, while Chromia’s edged with… Disapproval?

Well, frag Chromia too.

“You should. You are Kaonite now, yourself,” Onslaught disagreed.

This time Sunstreaker glared as well as snarled at him. “Never.”

Onslaught chuckled again, although the sound was cut off when Sideswipe blurted a question before he could stop himself. “Do you uh, have a harem?” Change of topic, anyone?

“I do indeed,” the tank confirmed easily, apparently not taking offense from that either. “One that I share with my team.”

Team? “...How big is your team?”

“There’s five of us.”

Five mecha sharing one harem? He could only hope they had enough mates that… No one got overworked.

Oh, Primus.

Sideswipe swallowed, but still asked further. “Are you the leader?”

“Of my team, yes.”

He had to wonder how high Onslaught ranked overall, though it was probably… Pretty high, all things considered.

“Cool,” Sideswipe said lamely and things lapsed back into silence until the elevator came to a stop—one floor below their final destination.

Onslaught stepped out to a bow from Chromia. “Stay safe,” he drawled in parting before he set down the hall to destinations unknown. The elevator doors closed, they traveled up one more floor, and then they were back to the level of Megatron’s wing and his harem.

Chromia led them out and through the relatively short walk to the harem wing’s doors. Soundwave was standing outside, by all appearances waiting for them.

“Lord Soundwave.” Chromia bowed at him too.

“Dismissed,” was all Soundwave acknowledged that with as if he was a Shockwave copy or something, and Chromia bowed again before giving them a smile and then going right back the way they came.

Leaving them alone with Shockwave. Oh, and the two guards standing at the doors but decidedly not opening them, but the guards barely counted.

They didn’t need to wait for long for what Soundwave was here for. “Experiments went well?”

And… That was what he wanted to know? Sideswipe huffed. “I guess, aside from him nearly killing us. But we didn’t die all the way, so yaaaay.” No one would probably care that it all had sucked in so many other ways too.

Soundwave’s visor flashed, and that was about the most reaction they’d ever seen out of the mech. “Permanent damage?”

“Not as far as we know, no?”

“Why do you care?” Sunstreaker growled, glaring all proper where Sideswipe was mostly just miffed.

“Megatron concerned,” came Soundwave’s answer.

And that… Was a bit concerning in its own right. “...Were there that good chances Shockwave would’ve gone too far?” Sideswipe asked carefully.

The fact Soundwave didn’t say anything was probably answer enough.

So. Megatron had entirely and knowingly risked their life, just for the sake of knowledge. Which… Honestly, wasn’t surprising. They hadn’t expected they meant that much to the tyrant to begin with, and if the whole split-spark deal was as useful as everyone made it out to be, what kind of a tradeoff was it to possibly lose a couple of mates and gain an entire army? Megatron would’ve been dumb as hell to not take that risk, even if he’d have preferred them alive.

Sideswipe’s shoulders slumped. It made sense, but it still wasn’t a nice feeling that their life was valued to be that… Insignificant. Not worthless, really, because if Shockwave succeeded then it would’ve been worth it for the powers that be. A loss for the twins, but not really anyone else.

And who cared about the twins?

...He just wanted to be out of here. No one had given a damn about his life on the streets either, but at least there he’d been in charge of it.

Here no one gave a damn and he was completely at the mercy of another.

“Can we go?” Sideswipe asked, voice quiet as he glanced longingly at the harem’s closed doors. He didn’t see Soundwave’s nod, but Sunstreaker did–

And then the guards opened the doors.

They didn’t hurry in, but it was a close thing.

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #sunstreaker #sideswipe #shockwave #chromia #lancer #greenlight #perceptor #first aid #fic #2021 #harem au

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