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elizabeethan · 4 years

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Spaces Between Us Chapter 6: History

The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.

A Captain Swan Modern AU

***Brief mentions of past physical and emotional abuse and alcohol abuse. Brief mentions of death/loss/grief.***

Reminder that more tags will apply to later chapters and i’ll put warnings where they're necessary, but if you have any concerns or questions feel free to message me!

Weekly updates will be on Tuesdays! (probably)

This chapter is dedicated to AnaSmallGrace because they guessed the title/chapter titles correctly lol.

Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly, and to @donteattheappleshook and @xhookswenchx for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3

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~~~~

She didn’t mean to fall asleep, but when she stirs at the feeling of soft lips pressing damp kisses down her spine, meeting each vertebrae as his fingers tickle against her ribs, she realizes she hasn’t slept this soundly in years. He murmurs, “good morning,” against her skin and she groans in response.

“More sleep,” she whines into the plush pillow.

“What time do you need to pick up Henry?”

She presses up onto her elbows with a start, frantically looking around the room for some indication as to what time it is. “12:30,” she tells him, looking back with wide, anxious eyes.

He smiles and says, “worry not, love. It’s only just after 10.” He slides up along her body until he can lie beside her and smooth out her hair, kissing her nose gently. “I just wanted to make sure you’d have enough time.”

Breathing out a sigh of relief, she nods and collapses back down on the bed, her face pressed into the pillow. She isn’t sure when they ended up beneath the blankets, but she fell asleep so quickly that she’s sure he could’ve easily moved her without her noticing. “Okay,” she sighs. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks with a smirk, and she returns it in kind, rolling onto her side so that she’s facing him and able to see the brilliance in his eyes.

“A few things, I guess,” she starts. “Waking me up, making me come so hard that I basically passed out… loving me…” She trails off but can easily see that her point is well taken.

He’s silent for a beat, appearing to be entranced by her words as he gently traces his fingers along her temple and down her cheek, across her neck until he reaches her shoulder and cups it with his hand. “I know we said that we would talk about this later, but… Well, I don’t intend to let you go again, Emma.”

She feels tears pricking at the backs of her eyes and she blinks hard, trying to hold them in. But for the second time today, she isn’t crying because she’s scared or in pain or hopelessly depressed. It’s because she believes him. She trusts him and knows that he means what he says wholeheartedly.

So she curls further onto her side, snuggling close to him and pressing her bare body to his as he wraps his arms around her and holds her in a warm, comforting embrace. She isn’t sure what she can say about the position they’ve found themselves in. It’s not as if she can leave her husband now, despite how she might want to, because she knows what he’s capable of. She thinks that now that they’ve had the conversation about Henry, he’s even more likely to use that against her and keep him from her if she were to try and leave him. And no matter how she feels about Walsh or Killian or even herself, Henry will always be her first priority.

Killian seems to be able to read her shift in mood, so he gently suggests, “let me make you breakfast. If the way your stomach was screaming in your sleep is any indication, I’d assume you haven’t eaten yet today.”

She sighs, laughing just a bit, and nods against his chest, feeling his coarse hair tickling her cheek. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Not until 1.”

With a contented hum, she smiles up at him and playfully says, “plenty of time to get your story straight. Ruby warned me that she’d be bothering you all night for details.”

“Details… bloody hell, woman, tell me you didn’t go to Ruby for my address.”

She giggles as his fingers brush along her waist, trailing from her hip to her ribs and back down again. “I needed the damn train!”

“Aye, the damn train,” he says with feigned irritation as he kisses the tip of her nose. “Heaven forbid the lad is without his train for a few hours,” he jokes.

“I didn’t want to go home,” she says with more honesty and seriousness, a blush creeping up her cheeks and down her chest. “And once I had an excuse to see you, well…”

He hums thoughtfully and kisses her softly. “I know what you mean.”

“I guess I didn’t expect our meeting to end like this, not that I'm complaining.”

He laughs against her mouth and nods before murmuring, “let me make you breakfast, aye?”

With a nod and a happy sigh, and asks, “can I use your shower quick? I’d rather not smell like sex when I pick up my kid from kindergarten.”

Another kiss later, he says, “of course, love. I’d be happy to provide some support in there as well; I know sometimes that temperature valve can be difficult to navigate.”

She sits up in bed, taking the thin sheet with her to cover her breasts, and turns to face him. “I’m sure it can be. You really did a number on me, too. I’m so exhausted that I might need some help soaping up.”

He smirks and raises a brow, watching as she stands and growling as he chases her into the bathroom.

~~~~

She’s glad that it’s the middle of the morning on a Monday, because that means his neighbors hopefully aren’t home and weren’t able to hear the rather noisy shower they took. Surely the sounds coming out of her were traveling through the pipes, but she couldn’t exactly keep quiet while he fucked her against the wall of the shower.

She’s also not sure how she’ll go on with her day when he keeps planting kisses to her neck as he stands behind her, holding her hips while she tries her damndest to flip the pancakes before they burn. “You've gotta stop,” she groans, panting as his fingers slide around her front and trace the zipper of her jeans.

“But you’re so irresistible,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have time to shower again.”

He hums against her neck, licking along the sensitive spot just below her ear, and says, “you don't have to leave for an hour.”

“Killian…” she giggles. “Grab me a plate.”

He does, holding it out for her so that she can place the pancakes on it before he presses a tender kiss on her cheek and says, “thank you, love.” She hums in question and he responds, “I believe I promised you breakfast, and here you are preparing it.”

“Well,” she shrugs, taking her own plate and carrying it to his small table. “I am a mother now. Breakfast foods are my specialty. Henry’s particularly fond of scrambied eggies.”

“I’m sure they're delicious,” he nods, smiling as he pours syrup over his pancakes and then offers it to her. “He’s quite the character.”

With a smile, she says, “my pride and joy. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I can imagine,” he smiles back. He cuts into the pancake with his fork and takes a bite, humming and smiling around them at her. “Is he… is he why you stay?”

With a gulp and a bite of her own, if only so that she can avoid answering for a moment longer, she nods. “Walsh doesn’t want much to do with him, but he’s spiteful. He would keep him from me just because he can. He thinks he has to maintain his perfect family image if he has any hopes for reelection”

He’s silent for a moment, and she can see the way he bites the inside of his cheek to try and keep quiet. “Aye,” he finally says. “I suppose there isn’t much I can say about staying with someone who isn’t good for you.”

She’s surprised that he’s bringing this up, but supposes it had to be addressed at some point. “In your case, it was going back to that person.”

“I didn’t feel I had much of a choice.”

“I know. I wanted you to stay and you didn’t want to hear it. It’s okay.”

“I heard you, love,” he argues. “I just… I had to go.”

“Then how can you say you heard me?” She takes another bite, trying to remain calm and keep this a discussion rather than an argument. “I wanted you to stay for your own good, Killian. He was abusive to you your whole life; you didn’t owe him anything.”

She hasn’t thought about this in detail in years, but is brought back to one of their final conversations easily. “Liam died,” he says by way of explanation, and she nods. It’s impossible to not be empathetic for his loss, but six years ago when he impulsively decided to take his late brother’s place and care for their dying father despite how badly he’d abused his sons, she lost it.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“What happened to Brennan?”

“He died,” he says casually, with little obvious emotion surrounding his father’s death. “Last year. And… well, you were right. I couldn’t handle it; I drank the whole time I was there. I felt sorry for myself-- I had lost Liam, I lost you… I couldn’t handle it.”

She puts her fork down and takes his hand, although he refuses to look up from his plate. “Killian, alcoholism runs in your family.”

“I know. And after I found out how Liam died… I don't know. I-- I’ll be honest, Swan, I wanted you to come with me so badly; I resented you for not coming.”

In surprise, she says, “Killian, I couldn't condone what you were doing. I know how much it hurt to know that Liam was drunk driving, when you thought he was your perfect older brother. I know you felt like you had to take his place as the prodigal son. But Brennan abused the two of you your whole lives. I couldn’t let you go back to him after what he’d done to you; he didn’t deserve it and neither did you.”

“I know that, looking back.”

His father must’ve died a slow and painful death if he’d only passed away a year ago. Cirrhosis of the liver is bad enough, and when he refused to stop drinking despite his prognosis, Killian became enraged. He refused to speak to his father, and lashed out at his brother who saw it as his duty to care for the dying man despite years of torturous abuse. She thought he had his head on his shoulders when she found out how angry he was with Liam for caring for their father when he deserved the opposite.

But then, Liam died. Killian had no idea that his brother struggled with alcoholism just as his father had, as it was easy to hide from across an ocean. But when he found out that his brother, the man he idolized endlessly, died as a result of driving drunk, he spiraled and became someone she hardly recognized. He began drinking himself, although not quite enough to be concerning, and eventually determined that, in order to do right by his brother, he had to take his place in caring for their father.

She couldn’t watch him destroy himself for the man he hated. So she gave him an ultimatum, and he chose his path.

He didn’t choose her.

“When Liam died, you lost yourself,” she says, explaining her thoughts to herself as much as she is to him. “I wanted to help you find yourself again but you wouldn’t let me. I just couldn’t sit and watch you go back to that life of abuse; even if he was too weak to hit you or burn you with his cigarettes, I’m sure he got on just fine with the verbal abuse.”

“How is that any different from me letting you go back home to your husband with that bloody bruise on your wrist? I’m sure he isn’t any kinder to you than my father was to me.” he argues, and she's taken aback, her eyes widening.

“Don’t throw that in my face,” she returns. “I don’t have a choice just like you thought you didn’t. Only I have a son to think about.”

He sighs and finally looks up at her. “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I just… I don't know. I regret leaving every day, and I have since the moment I boarded that damn plane. The moment I shut the door to our apartment. But sometimes I can't help but think, if I hadn’t, perhaps you wouldn’t have your boy.”

She nods, and in her refusal of his past suspicions, she says, “I wouldn’t.”

“But perhaps you also wouldn’t have your husband.”

She nods again. She doesn’t blame him, and she tries not to blame herself either, but he’s right. If he hadn’t left, she wouldn’t have gone out a month later and slept with the first guy who looked at her. So, again, she says more sadly, “I wouldn’t.”

“Double edged sword, I suppose.”

She smiles sadly and nods. There’s silence between them for a few moments before she considers what they've been through, where he’s been, and asks, “if he died a year ago, what… how did you find me?”

He shrugs and blushes. “I didn’t mean to, actually. I came back to Boston looking for you and had no such luck. Then one night I ran into Elsa at a bar and she told me you were gone, that you left years ago, right after I did, and… I don't know. Something broke in me and I quit drinking-- for the most part. I decided I had to leave Boston and took the first job I could find, and it happened to be here.”

She gives him a small smile and asks, “did you intend to try and win me back?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

His serious tone in response to her joking one is surprising, but she knows he’s telling the truth. She knows he would've been successful, too, if she’d been single when they met again. Hell, he’s successful now.

“I can’t leave him yet, Killian. I want to, but it’s not… I need to put Henry first.”

“I know,” he says sadly.

“But that doesn’t mean… I mean…” she sighs. “Just-- I know this is selfish of me to ask of you but, well, I never-- Killian, I never got over you,” she gulps. “I have every intention of leaving him when I can and when I know that it’s safe to do so. And when I do… I mean, I was hoping--”

“Emma,” he interrupts, taking her hand. “I love you. I told you already, I don't intend to lose you again. I want to build the life with you that we’ve always planned on having. Just… Now, there's a little lad involved, as well.”

With tears in her eyes, she meets his and says, “even though he isn’t yours?”

“He’s yours. That’s enough for me.” She grins at him and stands, leaning over the table until she meets his lips in a soft, meaningful kiss. “But Emma, love, you’ve got to promise me that you’ll stay safe. If he hurts you again, or if he tries to hurt the boy…”

“He won't. He isn’t usually like that, he won't do it again. And he’d have to pay attention to Henry in order to be any threat to him.”

“Swan…”

“I love you, too.”

He laughs lightly and kisses her once more. “Of all the ways I imagined us being together again, an extramarital affair wasn’t on the list.”

She giggles, cradling his head in her hands, and says, “it’s kinda hot, though.”

With a soft scoff and a shake to his head, he rolls his eyes and kisses her chastely before standing up and taking her empty plate. “Come,” he says, “we need to come up with whatever story I’m going to be feeding Ruby all night.”

~~~~

“It’s so beautiful, Emma,” Mary Margaret coos as she shows her photos of the house they’ll be renting in just a few weeks time. “When David suggested we get away, I was just so excited.”

“It’s lovely,” she nods, smiling softly up at her sister as she picks at her salad.

“Mommy, I need more cheppy.”

“Ketchup, bub. Here.”

Henry hums happily as he dips his nuggets into the ketchup, making animated sounds as each dinosaur perishes as he takes a bite.

“You’ve hardly touched your lunch,” her sister complains after a moment, looking at her nearly full plate in disappointment. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says back. “I just had a late breakfast.”

Mary Margaret screws up her face in surprise and says, “you never eat breakfast.”

She shrugs. “Well, today I did.”

“What did you have, mommy? Cheeries, like me?”

“You had Cheerios, my love. I had pancakes.”

“Pancakes?! I want pancakes! You never let me have pancakes on a school day!”

“You must've been in a good mood if you decided to make yourself pancakes.”

Emma shoots her sister a discerning look, furrowing her brows, and shrugs. “Maybe I was.”

“That’s new,” she says, laughing when Emma tosses her napkin at her. “I’m sorry, but come on,” she laughs. “You’ve been miserable for months. What’s changed?”

“Nothing,” she mumbles immediately. “Oh, Henry, I got your train. Here you go.”

With wide eyes, he gasps in excitement and snatches it from her, hugging it to his chest. “You found Tommy! Thank you, mommy! Where was he?”

“Was Tommy missing?”

“Mommy left him in her coat and then she lost it,” he snitches.

“Wasn’t that the coat you wore out? You didn’t leave it at the bar, did you?”

She lets her jaw hang open just a bit too long before shaking her head and explaining, lying, “no, uh, I was… ya know…” she says, giving her sister a knowing look. “A little out of my head when I got home that night. Forgot where I put it.”

Mary Margaret hums and nods her head before saying, “you know, I think I saw the sheriff there that night.”

Henry gasps again, his gray eyes wider than she’s ever seen them, and asks, “mommy, do you know the sheriff?”

She gulps again, choking on her breath, and says, “yeah, I do.”

“You do?” her sister asks, and she wants to kick her under the table.

“Yes, Henry,” she says pointedly. “The sheriff and I are friends. How were your chicken nuggets?”

“They’re dinosaur-ies.”

“Dinosaurs.”

“Yeah.”

She smiles at him fondly and says, “I love you,” before she can stop the words from slipping past her lips.

He smiles back at her and returns, “I love you too, mommy. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, baby. I just wanted you to know that I love you.”

Based on the way her sister is staring at her, she thinks she may have made a mistake opening her mouth.

“Are we going to get Leo?”

“Yeah,” she laughs. “Auntie M’s, are we going to go get Leo?”

She hums and picks up her plate, grabbing Emma's as well and shaking her head at how much salad is left. “I’m sure we should. Ashley is probably sick of him by now.”

~~~~

Arriving at the station should feel like any other day, but when he walks in, Ruby smirks at him. And he’s just about had it before he even gets to his office.

“Morning, sheriff,” she says salaciously, wriggling her brows.

“It’s 1 pm.”

“Right.”

“What?”

She shrugs and giggles to herself, looking back at her computer screen with wide eyes and a hidden smile. ”How’s your friend?”

“Ruby,” he starts, groaning as he tosses his keys onto his desk, sitting down forcefully and dropping his head onto his forearms.

She follows him into his office, despite him desperately hoping she won’t, and places a printed sheet of paper onto his desk.

“What’s this?” he asks, picking it up and staring at the sheet that makes no sense.

“Something I found while I was bored today. My boss made me work a double.”

“Ruby,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Sometimes you just have to work a double. I’m sorry, but when you're the only deputy, it sort of comes with the territory. What did you find?”

“Yeah, whatever,” she rolls her eyes. “Look at the name on the account.”

He looks down at the sheet she’s given him and, at the top corner, sees a name. Walsh Oswald.

Bloody hell.

“How’d you get this?”

She ignores him, giving him a look that tells him that perhaps he doesn’t want to know. “That’s a lot of money,” she remarks obviously, nodding towards the printout. He isn't sure how she got access to his transfer records, but he must admit, he’s impressed, despite the fact that it’s likely inadmissible. Either way, it’s a start.

“Aye. Where does it come from?”

“I don't know. But I have a feeling we should do some police work.”

~~~~

#tw #tw alcohol abuse #tw past abuse #tw death #all mentions of these things #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #spaces between us #spaces ff #cs ff au #captain swan au #killian jones #emma swan #ouat ff #ouat ff au

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yoditorian · 4 years

Text

lacuna- part 3

din/reader

she’s dropping early because i have no patience and i’m extremely proud of the last 2/3rds of this. thanks as always to my darling @brothersdrxke for being encouraging and yelling with me 💛

MASTERLIST

word count: 3.5k

warnings: swears, overuse of italics, discussion of violence including graphic injury, mentions of scars (causes not discussed), one use of ‘their’ as a pronoun for reader, usual poetic smut, 18+ no babies thanks

You didn’t think you’d be back here.

Maybe ever, but definitely not after only a couple of years, and your smile is tight as you flick the lever to lower the small freighter’s boarding ramp. You’re sure it won’t come back if you drop it.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Qin’s teeth are sharp in his own smile.

“You’re not.”

His snarled response is cut off by Ran’s booming laugh before it starts. Your old boss claps him on the shoulder, saying something in lieu of a real greeting about how he’s missed your jokes. It’s a little tense, the way the men take you in for a moment. You didn’t wear your uniform, there’s not a thing on the ship that points any fingers towards the Rebellion, but it’s clear you’ve done well for yourself since leaving. Something they clearly have not, judging by the holes in the jacket tied around Qin’s hips.

“Thanks for letting me stay, system hopping takes a lot longer when your hyperdrive’s busted.” You relax a little, let your shoulders drop, let them think you’re more than comfortable under their scrutinizing gazes.

“We’ve probably got something laying around here you could use. For a price, of course.” Ran grins, in that predatory way that he always has. He seems so unassuming, but you know different. You know better.

“Your prices always land me on the wrong end of a blaster. I’ll take my chances in open space, thanks.”

He laughs heartily again, and you can breathe. At least they seem to believe you.

Ran had offered you your old room, something you’d graciously thanked him for, and left you to it. The station seems to run the same, more or less. He hasn’t hired anyone in your place, or in Din’s for that matter, but it’s difficult to find somebody without loyalties to any one side of the war. Leaving the spots open for now is probably safer for him. You’d raised a hand in greeting to Xi’an when you passed her in the hall, she’d hissed in return but any time she didn’t threaten to cut you is always a win. So at least you’re still in somebody’s good graces here.

Still, good graces don’t last long. And neither does your patience. It’s only a few hours into the night cycle on the station when you creep out of your room and towards the main hangar. Your old workspace looks exactly the same, a few bits and pieces missing, but mostly untouched by time and sticky fingers. Good. It takes less than an hour to completely gut the bench. Every single old motivator, circuit board, gear, and valve packed up neatly in the cargo hold of the ship. There’s still larger engine pieces that the base mechanics are in desperate need of, but Shara’s working on that lead. You find a black marker lying on a nearby workbench and draw a big smiley face on the dulled metal. For good measure.

It’s with a deep breath, and a prayer you never have to return, that you maneuver your ship up and out of the station. You ease it into lightspeed, the definitely-not-busted hyperdrive humming, and disappear.

“Did you think I don’t keep tabs on people, Mando?”

Din would rather go swimming on Mustafar, or get swallowed by a Krayt dragon, or be literally anywhere else in the galaxy than the hangar on Ran’s station. How he’d even known he’d joined the Bounty Hunters’ Guild is a mystery to him, but the call came through nonetheless. The new representative on Nevarro, a very theatrical man if their short contact was anything to go by, had popped up in the holo-com display talking about a special assignment and given him coordinates he knew all too well. Whatever it is, it isn’t good.

“You know, Xi’an’s still broken up about you leaving. Convinced herself that you and the pilot organised it, that you’re holed up somewhere together. But we both know that’s not true.”

Din says nothing. He doesn’t need to, Ran’s tone leaves nothing to be discussed. Whether he knows for sure that you went straight to the rebels or not, he has his suspicions. Xi’an can think whatever she likes, he’s just grateful he doesn’t have to deal with her trailing after him like a lost puppy anymore.

“They said you have a job for me.”

Ran gestures out for him to follow, leading him to a desk he knows all too well. Your workstation was always cluttered, always a tangled heap of wires and unidentifiable spare parts. Organised chaos, you said, it was about the piles. Except it’s been completely cleared out. There’s shelves underneath that he didn’t even know existed, and a big smiley face drawn carefully on the worktop. Din turns his head towards Ran, a wordless question.

“We had a visit from our old friend, a favour done out of the kindness of my heart. So imagine my surprise when we all woke up to find their room empty, and my hangar pillaged.” Ran’s laying it on thick, thicker than usual. Pillaged is a strong word, it’s clear you only touched your own bench, those parts belong to you as far as Din’s concerned. But it’s not his concern that’s the problem.

“So, what’s the job?” He doesn’t feel like playing games anymore. He doesn’t see what any of this has to do with him anyway.

“I’m putting a bounty on that little thief, it can be yours or it can go to the Guild. Or,” Ran hesitates, watching the way Din’s shoulders tense, “You can help me out. Help me with this one thing and I’ll drop it.”

Din doesn’t even ask what he needs to do, he only nods and finds himself trying his best to tolerate Qin’s chatter from the Crest’s passenger seat while he flies.

It should worry him, that he didn’t even consider his own safety. But something about it feels right, he’s sure he’d put anything on the line if it meant you were safe.

It’s almost boring, standing guard at the door as Qin ransacks some official’s office on a planet he’s already forgotten the name of. Ran mentioned something about a trade agreement, although given the largely illegal nature of his dealings it doesn’t take a genius to work out exactly why something like that would have been refused by any law abiding citizen. Although law in the Outer Rim is generally subjective to everyone’s personal code.

“One more office and we’re done.” Qin assures him as he exits the upturned office, pressing a drive into Din’s gloved palm. He pockets it without question, experience has taught him that wasting time asking will only get them in trouble.

Trouble seems to find them anyway. It always does.

He races through the beige hallways, following the blinking dot on the display of his vambrace with Qin hot on his heels. The security guards aren’t fast, they aren’t even armed, there’s no point in shooting when the two of them so clearly have the upper hand. Until a burly Trandoshan leaps out of a doorway and tackles Qin to the ground. But Din doesn’t look back, he just presses forward to the Crest.

Din hightails it out of there, jumping to lightspeed still in atmosphere. Just in case. And breathes his first sigh of relief since he stepped onto the station. He’s not sure what’s on the drive, honestly he doesn’t want to know, and he just hopes it’s important enough to Ran that he might overlook the tiny detail of leaving Qin to the guards.

Ran only seems mildly annoyed that Din comes back alone, more interested in the drive dropped into his waiting hand, and agrees to forget about setting a bounty. So long as you don’t turn up on his doorstep, lie, and steal from him again. Din promises to pass on the message.

You’re on Tatooine, arguing with a scrapper in Mos Espa over the price of a rusted laser cannon, when he finds you. The scrapper quiets when he appears over your shoulder, and nods reluctantly at your suggested fifty percent of the asking price. It’s hot and you’re tired, you don’t have the patience to pretend to be surprised when you turn to see him standing behind you.

“Help me with this?” You ask. Din watches a bead of sweat drip down your temple, tries not to wish it was his tongue instead, and nods wordlessly.

Between the two of you, you manage to haul the cannon to your docking bay and roll it up the loading ramp. Only once it’s secure in the hold do you take a moment to survey his armour, the way you did last time.

There’s no obvious new scratches, although the dust on this rock of a planet will dirty anything in a matter of seconds, but you find yourself relieved by the familiarity of his dark red armour. Nothing has been replaced since the last time you saw him, it seems. You’ve come a long way since then.

“You’re stealing from our old boss now?” Din’s voice breaks your careful study of his armour, and your brow furrows. You thought he might understand, out of everyone in the galaxy, but you don’t even know how he found out.

“We’re in a war.”

“You’re in a war.”

Your eyes snap up to his visor, and he has to physically plant himself so he isn’t rocked back by the intensity of your stare. You find his eyes every time, you always have. But yours have never held such a cold fury for him than they do now. It’s kind of terrifying, it’s kind of beautiful.

“This is not about me. This is so much bigger than just me. You may have grown up underground learning how to kill people with your thumbs but I grew up under imperial rule. I grew up building parts for star destroyers and running messages for rebels. All I know is this fucking war.” You’re rambling but you don’t care. He has to know, he has to understand that this is what you do now. The last couple of years have been the best of your life, you’ve found a purpose. Something that makes you want to get out of bed in the mornings and reluctant to go back to it at night, you’ve thrown yourself into the brewing fight and it feels like you were born for it. The names of all the friends you’ve lost to the Empire sit heavy on your tongue for every TIE you take down, every supply you steal, every bit of intel you scrape together. It’s for them, it’s for everyone who came before, it’s for everyone who will come after.

Din says your name softly, but the tears are falling and you can’t stop.

“I’ve been fighting my whole life so kids in the future don’t have to live the way I have. I think a few spare parts are worth that.”

You tell him your whole story, standing there awkwardly in the belly of the freighter. You tell him about the messages you ran between workers who resisted, who rebelled, who heard whispers of uprising and felt the roar of hope in their chests. You’d started young, too young really to understand the danger of what you were doing. But what about being young on Corellia was not dangerous? You tell him how the group started to grow, branching out from your factory line to the docks and the mechanics and further. The way they started to include you more as you got older, planning and whispering in darkened corners and safehouses away from the ears of the Empire.

Not that it did anyone any good in the end. You tell him how they stormed the house one night. No warning, no whispers. Blew the door out of the wall and started shooting. So you’d started running. Nothing but the blanket from your bed, the one you’d had since you were a child, around your shoulders and a younger girl’s hand in yours. You’d almost gotten her to the loading docks. To safety. Almost. You can still taste the blood in your mouth when the blaster bolt split her head open, but you’d left her where she fell and kept running. You tell him how you dove into the first open cargo bay you saw and hid. For days. How you’d cried when you felt it finally lift from the bay. How it had been Ran’s ship, one of his first trades. You hadn’t had the courage to leave the station until somebody had shown you it was possible.

Din doesn’t interrupt once. He only watches. Watches as the tears stop streaming, as you pull yourself back together again. He’s sure you didn’t want him, anyone, to see you so vulnerable. You’ve always had that mask of quick jokes and bright smiles, it’s only now that he realises it's a mask, and it’s oddly fascinating to watch you piece it together. You wipe at your cheeks with the sleeve of your jacket until there’s no trace of your tears and take a deep breath. In the blink of an eye, it’s as though you never cried at all.

Even so, the bags under your eyes don’t lie. He’s sure he’s got a pair to match.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asks quietly, and if you didn’t know better you’d swear he was concerned about you. But you do know better.

You shoot a glance over to the freighter’s sorry excuse of a bunk. It’s even worse than the last one he took you in, although you’re not sure he’s suggesting a good fuck will get you off to sleep. It’s very pointedly not been touched, starched sheets still stretched military-tight over the mattress. Not that it’s much of a mattress.

“Let’s find a room somewhere. I think a real bed might do us both some good.” He makes it sound like an offer, but you know it’s non-negotiable. And deep down, you really could use a good hour or two before you have to fly back to base. The pilot’s seat is definitely more comfortable than the bunk, just about. You dip into the cockpit at the last second to snag your old blanket. For comfort’s sake.

There’s not a lot in the room that an older Twi’lek woman hands you the keycard to. Only a desk with a chair, an attached refresher, and a small bed. But it’s big enough for the two of you. The suns start to dip below the horizon, and Din finally reaches out to touch you. Just barely, just a light stroke of his fingers along your shoulder. But it’s enough to convince you to take a shower, you’re sandy and sweaty and tired and it’ll take more energy to argue than it would to just take the shower.

You’re in there for longer than you intended, zoning out as your eyes lose focus of the little square tiles on the wall, and it’s dark outside by the time you’re dried and dressed in the spare clothes you keep in your go-bag. Din’s pulled blinds shut, locked the door, and piled his armour carefully on the desk. The ancient wood creaks under the weight of the metal. The man himself is lying spreadeagled on the bed, in only his underclothes and his helmet, the dull light from the single bulb in the refresher reflects off of his visor when he turns to look at you. It might make you laugh if you weren’t so tired.

“Better?”

You nod. Of course you feel better, anyone would after scrubbing what felt like an inch thick layer of sweat and sand off of their skin. You smell of the pleasantly neutral soap from the dispenser and, for the first time in days, you think you can breathe again. Although the weight of exhaustion threatens to drag your bones through the floor.

Din pulls himself to stand with a low groan, shoulders protesting when he rolls them, and tucks the sheet back far enough that you can get in comfortably. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s laid your blanket out beneath them, a thought that sits jagged in your throat. He approaches you slowly, carefully, as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt if he moves too fast. But you take his hand the moment he offers it and leans around you to switch the fresher’s light off, let him lead you back to the bed, and follow him down onto it.

There’s the barest sound of metal brushing against his hair as he pulls the helmet off and sits up for a moment to set it down on the floor.

“Din?” Your voice is quiet, careful not to disturb the peace that’s settled in the room, but it makes him shudder all the same. He returns to you, tucks the blankets up around you both, and tugs you into him. The Armourer’s words, the ones that swirl in his head every time he thinks of you like this, are silent. Din finds he’s not even a little bit guilty.

Warm fingers trace your body, soft over your exposed skin, light as they dip under your shirt. He says nothing, only traces the scars on your back, on your sides, along your ribs. He doesn’t ask how they got there, running his touch along the raised marks you’ve collected through your life and leaving goosebumps in his wake. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel quite so empty.

You shift further into the warmth underneath you, a vain attempt to keep a hold of the last few dregs of sleep. But you feel rested, at least. That’s not something particularly familiar, and you bask in the feeling. A hum rumbles beneath you. Oh, that’s where you are. You’re not embarrassed, or shocked, like you thought you might be if this ever happened. If you ever thought it possible he wouldn’t leave you to wake up alone. But Din is solid under your head, under your arm, the soft fabric of his shirt clutched in your fist. He’s speaking softly, coaxing you from dreams. It’s still dark as anything when you finally open your eyes, so it can’t have been more than a few hours you spent snoozing.

It’s his story, you realise when your brain finally kicks into gear. He’s whispering about the memories he has from before, his parents. You’d always assumed he was born and raised Mandalorian, how he carries his Way so heavily on his shoulders, but the shake in his ribs as he recounts them tells you all you need to know. Your fist tightens in his shirt when you shuffle a little closer, press your face into his shoulder, a little more over the top of him. A human blanket.

Din likes it, the weight of you on him, your body helps him to keep focus. He never thought he’d tell anyone what happened to him. A dirty secret to be kept hidden away. But something about you pulls it out of him, something about the peace he’s created here with you in this little room makes the truth ease its way out of his throat. You’re not the only one who felt the wrath of the Empire as a child, you’re not the only one who wants it gone, he needs you to know that.

It breaks something inside you, to hear him so clearly struggle through the details of the attack and his rescue, and you can’t help but push yourself up further. Unwrap your hand from his shirt to find his cheek, press your lips to his softly, slowly. He’s suffered enough. You need him to know that you’re here, you have him. You’ll always have him. You let him lose himself in your body, and maybe your heart. He’s already made a home there anyways.

It’s careful, tentative, more so than the other times. The way you hold each other as though you’re made of glass. There’s no rush, no pressure of a goodbye, no adrenaline of a hunt. You have time. And, god, does it show. The way Din touches you is reverent, like you’re holy. You put everything you are, everything you have, behind every kiss, every touch, every whisper. It belongs to him, you’re happy to give yourself over. Just as he belongs to you, you’re sure of it. The fear that he touches someone else in the way he does you is soothed by the roughness of his voice in your ear, the way his teeth scrape against your throat, the way you hear the words without them needing to be said. Because he does, as you do.

You’re the first one to leave this time, blindly finding your clothes in the dark. You leave him a neutral comm, one you already have the pin saved for. He’ll know what it is. It connects to your personal pin without leaving a trace, and you can buzz him at any point. So long as he keeps it, you think he will. You take a moment to listen to him breathing, steadily in the dark, and raise your blanket to your nose. Din.

There won’t be a day goes by where you don’t think of him, of that you’re certain.

TAGLIST (lmk if u want on or off the list):

@brothersdrxke @remmysbounty @aq-vetina @1800-fight-me @mandos-co @kesskirata @sarahjkl82-blog @firstofficerwiggles @keeper0fthestars

#lacuna #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star war #fic #liz does words #obligatory prayer to the tag gods that they work #smut

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roanniom · 4 years

Note

hey! thanks for opening requests. could you do a charlie X soft dom!reader smut with the line 'let me take care of you'?

Hi anon, yes I can! Let’s see what we can do to help Charlie out. Hope this is to your liking!

Pressure

Charlie Barber x Soft Dom!Reader

Word Count: 1,763

Warnings: N S F W, language, soft dom/sub, oral sex (male receiving)

Charlie’s had a long day. It’s the price of being a leader, of always having to have the answers, no matter who is asking and no matter the question. As far as his company is concerned, the buck stops with him, and lately it seems things have been going wrong almost as often as they’ve been going right. You know it’s just the ebb and flow of the business. Charlie knows that, too. But it doesn’t stop him from returning to your apartment weary and worn, weighed down by choices he still has to make and problems he still has to solve.

When you hear the front door open and close, you walk cautiously into the living room, wondering what mood Charlie will be in today. Sometime it’s a maelstrom – a flurry of curses and listing of concerns and retelling of grievances. On those days Charlie needs someone who can keep up. Who can challenge his irrational assumptions and provide alternative solutions.

Today, however, Charlie is quiet. He is sitting on the couch, not even having bothered to remove his coat. This Charlie is more defeated than frustrated. He’s slumped forward, elbows resting on his knees and head in his hands. You know this Charlie.

And you know what he needs.

Without a word you make your way over to him and kneel before his open knees. When he doesn’t look up, you grasp his forearms to pull his face from his hands. Bleary eyes look back at you from underneath a mop of tousled hair. Running his hands through it is one of his nervous habits, and one look at the state of his waves tells you all you need to know about this particular day.

“Hi,” he says quietly. You don’t respond. Instead, you let go of his arms to grasp his knees, dragging your hands up and down over the muscles of his meaty thighs. He reaches a hand to touch your hair but you swat him away.

You sit up taller and press a kiss to his willing mouth. One of your hands continues to knead his right thigh while the other slides up his chest to work nimbly at the buttons of his rumpled dress shirt. He groans when one hand makes contact with the expanse of skin beneath his collar bone just as the other slides over the space where his leg meets his pelvis. The latter hand follows the curve of his leg inward, to high on his inner thigh and the place where his pants are tenting quite proudly.

Your left hand rubs his right nipple while your right traces the rigid outline of his cock through the fabric. His massive hand closes over your smaller one, adding pressure on his lap that you had previously not afforded him. You withdraw your left hand from his open shirt and grab his wrist. Wordlessly you move it, placing his open palm firmly down on the couch beside him. Charlie pouts from above you.

“But - ” His words die on his lips when you give him a stern look. His chin trembles but he behaves, gripping the couch tightly on both sides of his spread legs now.

You lightly press against his abdomen so that he leans his weary body against the back of the couch instead of slouching over. He complies, head lolling against the cushion as he releases a long, shaking breath.

You stroke his now-throbbing length more firmly through his pants and lean in. Your open mouth hovers over his lap, getting as close as you can without touching. Your hot breath dampens the fabric just a bit and he tenses all over in anticipation. Slowly, oh so slowly, your hot open mouth descends onto his clothed cock, wetting the fabric and making Charlie buck up into your face and grab the back of your neck with one of the hands previously relegated to gripping the couch.

You lean back immediately and Charlie looks sheepish behind black-blown pupils.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Sit on your hands,” you say simply. Charlie shakes his head.

“But I…I want to touch you.”

“You don’t get to touch me,” you say, cupping your own breast as you say it, as though providing a visual aid for exactly what it is he cannot have. Charlie swallows audibly.

“Please.” He’s breathing harder. You’ve barely touched him, but his tension needs an outlet like the steam in a pressure cooker. And you’re teasingly fingering his release valve.

His face crumples when you shake your head and you’re quick to soothe him.

“You don’t get to touch me because I want you to just lie back and feel me touching you.” Your words are quiet, and not even particularly lewd, but Charlie’s eyes flutter closed and he melts back into the couch, shifting obediently so his hands are beneath him.

“That’s a good Charlie,” you coo. You unbutton and unzip his pants to finally release his aching cock. It’s practically swollen with need, shining at the tip with precum that looks just too tantalizing not to taste. So you do taste it, licking a fat stripe from the underside of his cock, over the head, and across the top of his shaft. Charlie shudders beneath your touch but doesn’t break the rules, hands still firmly beneath him.

You tease his tip for a while, swirling your tongue around it as your hand grips him, stroking slowly up from the root. Charlie’s feet shuffle slightly against the floor on either side of you. He’s clearly working very hard to stop himself from thrusting up into you again. He hisses when you dig the nails of both of your hands into his thighs and drag up till you reach his abdomen, where you splay your hands over his lower belly. Feeling it rise and fall with each shallow breath.

You look up at him from between his legs until he opens his eyes and looks back down at you when he realizes you’ve stopped moving. He swallows his groan at the sight of you. On your knees between his, big eyes staring up at him as his cock bobs not even a centimeter from your wet, plump lips. When you speak, your lips ghost his tip, hot breath washing over his cock, making it twitch.

“Let me take care of you, Charlie.”

He nods and you lower your mouth slowly onto him, never breaking eye contact. The feeling of your hot, wet mouth brings him immediate relief from the agony of waiting for more contact, but it only amps up his desire to be fucking in and out of you. In any way that you will allow him.

He whimpers as you begin to move, taking him in and out, your tongue cushioning the underside of his cock as your jaw widens to take him ever deeper.

“Oh fuck,” he lets out, gasping when he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He watches you warily, not sure if that, too, is against the rules. You nod around his cock in response and he understands. Touching is off limits. But noise? Noise is on the table.

With your permission squared away, Charlie becomes more vocal in tiny increments. His whimpers turn into whines, pulled from his throat in a strangled way that runs straight to your clit. You swallow him down, taking him more fully into your throat with each movement, and Charlie lets out a quiet yelp. You’re letting him make sounds, but he is still keeping it down, afraid to shatter the intimacy of the moment.

“Oh my god. Oh god oh yes.” His words are tense and whispered through gritted teeth. Your grip moves back to his thighs for leverage as you begin moving up and down over his cock more frantically. One hand moves to cup his balls, feeling them tense, knowing he’s close.

“Feel so good. So good to me, sweetheart.”

“Fuck…oh shit…fuck – fuck me!”

“God. Please. Oh god…”

He’s babbling almost incoherently now, squirming in his seat, hands still beneath him like you asked. His face is scrunched up, having lost the ability to maintain eye contact some time ago in the onslaught of all this pleasure.

You drop your head down abruptly, gagging yourself almost forcefully on his pulsing cock. The tip presses deeply against the back of your throat and you make choking and sputtering sounds, but succeed in holding it there. One hand wraps around the base of his cock and squeezes upward, milking the part of him that you can’t fit down your throat.

All of this drives him wild in a way he can’t possibly express. But what does it is the feeling of your other hand, creeping back up to splay on the soft lower belly again, pressing down against him. Your thumb brushes back and forth at the skin there and he cums. Violently down your throat, finally thrusting up into you involuntarily, beyond gone at this point. A guttural moan fills the room and you swallow what he gives you. All the while caressing him his skin softly.

When his hips stop bucking you pull off of him and wipe your mouth, gazing up to find him looking absolutely obliterated. His clothes are still mainly on, just open and askew, pushed haphazardly aside to expose glimpses of his naked skin below. A slight sheen of sweat coats his chest and his face is flushed, mouth open as he takes in deep breaths. He looks like he wants to cry, or like he’s been crying and this is the cathartic aftermath, shudders racking his body.

You climb up onto the couch beside him and tug at his arms to get him to release the hands he’s been sitting on. He pulls his hands out as you wish but places them on his lap, palms up. Still following your no-touching instructions. Your good Charlie, through and through.

You grasp his arms and drape them around you, assisting him in pulling you closer. You pull on the back of his neck encouraging his face to fall down to your chest, which it does. His cheek presses into the swell of your breasts and he presses his lips to the cleft of your cleavage in the softest of kisses.

You continue to hold him like that for a long while. Your thumb caressing a swath of exposed skin. He’ll still have choices to make and problems to solve later. But for now he feels empty of worry with his arms so full of you.

~*~

Tagging some lovely people (please let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in future work!): @mariesackler @direnightshade @safarigirlsp @sacklerscumrag @paper-in-ashes-fanfiction @historyandfandoms50 @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @thegreenmatt @barbers-glimmerin-darlin

*I promise you guys I’m done tagging you in my smutty thoughts for the day lol. It’s been a whirlwind 24 hrs of content.

#anon #request #charlie barber x read #Charlie Barber/reader #charlie barber x you #Charlie Barber/you #Charlie Barber smut #Charlie Barber Fanfiction #Marriage Story smut #smut #writing #Roanniom #tw: dom/sub

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spacestationdaedalus · 3 years

Text

post-canon JM but make them vigilante monster hunters

never seen a single episode but i think this might be the plot of supernatural? idk i bugged the server with this and now other ppl have to see it.

tw for general monster-related horror and descriptions of it, and very very mild injury

ao3 link here!

...

It's late. Again.

She sighs, rubbing at her eyes until starbursts dance in her vision. If her lab manager knew she was in here at god, is it already 3? in the morning, he would probably have a fit. But it's not her fault her work has been so. Uncooperative. Realistically, she could be doing some of this at home, but the lab computer already has everything she needs, and it's so much easier to focus here.

Well. Most of the time.

Her water bottle is still half full, but she decides a walk to the vending machine at the end of the hall would do her some good. She can stretch her legs and get some caffeine at the same time. Best of both worlds.

Right then, a sound cuts through the air. It's a dull roar, crescendoing to a peak that it maintains for a handful of seconds before fading away. As jumpy as she gets this late, she hardly bats an eye as she digs her wallet out of her backpack. It's a common sound to hear in the building, one that you get used to quickly once you spend some time here. The university has a wind tunnel it uses for classes, as well as research. She's seen it before, used it first hand - even down in the basement of the building, the roar of the compressed air tank when the valve is switched practically shakes the foundation. That's how you tell the first years apart from everyone else. They're the ones who jump when they hear it, looking around in confusion, and sometimes fear. But it doesn't take long for it to become background noise.

She's more concerned about the fact that it's so late. Some poor graduate student, down in the basement in the middle of the night running the tunnel instead of sleeping. Or doing literally anything else. Unfortunately, she can relate.

The door shuts with a weighty slam behind her. The silence of the building is even sharper after the echo of the wind, and she fights down the urge to shudder. The hall is long, dark - the university installed motion activated lights in most of the buildings a few years back, and the effect they create as she walks down the hall is surprisingly eerie. The fluorescents flicker on with the faintest clicks and hums as she walks below them, boots clicking against the tile floor. She's a fast walker, always had been - and the incessant sound of her footfalls in the quiet somehow puts her even more on edge.

The pale light from the vending machine reflects against the linoleum in a way that could be inviting. In theory. But it's really more off-putting than anything else, like the sickly glow of a motel sign off of the interstate, flickering a destitute "no vacancy" into the night. The selection is slim, but she punches in the code for an overpriced iced coffee that feels cool and familiar in her hand.

The scream of the wind tunnel comes and goes again, louder, now that she's outside the lab. She can't help the unease creeping down her spine in the wake of its silence. On one hand, it's a comfort to know at least one other person is in the building with her. But even then, the still quiet it leaves behind is always worse, and it sends the hair on the back of her head standing at attention.

It only gets worse as she walks, and she fights the urge to look over her shoulder. Everyone knows the feeling - when you're a kid, and you sneak into the kitchen in the dead of night to get a drink, only to sprint back up to your room as soon as you can because you're so, so sure something is coming for you.

And now that she's thinking about it, she can't not think about it, which is as futile as it is frustrating. She tries to force it down along with the beating of her heart, but the fear simmers beneath the surface like a pot on the stove, two seconds from boiling over. She's already more than halfway back, just a few more seconds and she can slam the lab door shut behind her and feel almost safe.

The roar of the tunnel, again. She can't help the jump, this time, on edge as she is. Strange, they don't usually run it so many times in so few minutes-

A thought comes to her then, without warning, the way they do when you realize you've forgotten something important. She remembers the conversation with striking clarity - Ajay, her roommate, working on a big research project. He needed to test his prototype in the wind tunnel, and he'd lamented to her over dinner the other day that a replacement part they needed downstairs wouldn't arrive until next week. Which sucked, because he has a deadline for a paper submission coming up and needed more data-

Most of this is useless. But she remembers, now, better than anything she ever has, that the wind tunnel hasn't been working all week. The lab is closed, would be until Wednesday, until the new part comes in.

The roaring shriek comes again, pounding against her eardrums in a way it never has before. Oppressive. Almost hungry. It's closer, it's louder.

It's behind her.

She turns. As she chokes on her own heartbeat and sinking dread, she turns.

And something is behind her.

Thin and wrong, inky black and too many limbs. A long torso with a long head attached, crooked on its neck. Gaping white sockets where eyes would, should, be. It has no mouth, and yet she knows with absolute certainty that it was making that sound. A mocking imitation of something so familiar.

And she knows, an anchor sinking into pitch black water, that it's going to kill her.

blood blood i need blood your blood your face you

It's in her head, a voice with no mouth to speak it. She opens her own mouth to scream, but it's useless to her. Nothing comes out, not even air. Maybe she can run, she has to run, has to get away. But she can't bring herself to turn even a sliver from the nightmare in front of her. A deep, primal fear convincing her that the second she can't see that thing is the second it will get her.

Maybe she can run, still, with her eyes on it. But one of her feet finds the other in her panic, and she falls to the floor. She thinks she feels a pain in her wrist, but it's dull and far away. Hardly a blip on the radar of fear fear oh my god what is that thing-

It's coming for her, all bending joints like limbs of a puppet, pulled by invisible strings, limping, creaking in unnatural steps and lunges. Its eyes never once leave her, glued to her in hungry determination. The roar comes again, but it's twisted and warped like scrap metal and just as jagged around the edges.

And then it stops. Not more than ten feet from her. Frozen. She doesn't breathe, she doesn't think she could if she wanted to.

"That's enough."

It's a man's voice, from behind her. She doesn't have it in her to turn around, to look away. But it doesn't matter. Whoever it is god she hopes it's a who and not a what steps up next to her, in front of her. It might not be accurate to say he's shielding her, but he's between her and it, and she doesn't feel relief, but she feels. Safer, somehow.

She's never seen him before. His hair is long, streaked with grey, half tied up in a bun at the back of his head. He's wearing a long dark coat over long dark pants, tucked into black combat boots. And that's really all she can see from the floor.

As he steps forward, the creature seems to recoil. It hisses, maybe, and then another sound follows. A sad remixing of its own imitating screech from before, not quite a howl but more of a cry. It sounds pained, almost, creaking and desperate. Limbs rear up, but amount to nothing. It's an uncoordinated movement as it falls back on something like haunches.

"I'm watching you, now. There's nowhere you can hide from me."

The man's voice sounds strange to her. There's a cracking, almost static quality to it. She has no idea what the man could possibly be doing, but it looks like it's working.

Until it isn't.

The thing writhes and shrieks again, louder. She can feel it down into her bones, scraping at her marrow, god she wants to throw up. The man in front of her staggers slightly. He mutters something like a curse under his breath, brings a hand to his head. The thing is moving again, shambling towards them. It looks weaker, shakier than before but no less threatening. No less horrifying. Maybe even more so, with the look of a sick, maimed animal as it staggers down the street.

She thinks she might be about to pass out with the sudden chill that overtakes her. But the fading of her vision never comes, and is that. Her breath? She can see it in the air in front of her, condensing like it does on cold winter mornings. With a blink she realizes there's a fog as well, come seemingly from nothing. It's thick and low-hanging, coating the floor of the hall and swirling upwards. It chills her exposed skin, goosebumps racing up and down her arms.

She assumes the thing must be doing this, a defense mechanism or something, but it's slower than before. Subdued. It's still making its way toward them, but it looks lost, like a fawn trying to walk on new legs.

Until another man comes from an adjoining hallway, and bashes its head in with a baseball bat.

It's a solid hit, and the thing goes down almost immediately. The man, the new one, gives another swing, and another, and a few more, for good measure. His bat is slick with something dark and oily. And then the thing is still.

It's quiet for a second, two, then-

"Excellent timing as always, dear." The staticy click of the first man's voice is gone. He sounds out of breath, even though he hardly moved.

The second man laughs, and the cold and the fog seems to fade with it. He's bigger than the first man, taller. He's wearing a bomber jacket over a nondescript t-shirt, fingerless gloves and jeans frayed at the edges. Like he just walked out of an action movie. Or a horror movie. With the thing laying at his feet, the second might be more fitting.

"That was cutting it a little close, Jon. We knew it was with the Stranger, that it could fight you off-"

"Yes, yes, thank you, Martin. That's what the bat is for, after all. The Lonely was probably a bit overkill, though."

"It's not overkill if we don't get ourselves maimed, Jon-"

The first man - Jon, apparently - turns to her then. His face is scarred, and dark shadows hang under oddly bright green eyes. But his gaze isn't unkind as he looks down at her.

"Sorry, are you alright? I was hoping we could take care of this when everyone was gone, but-" He laughs darkly. "Well, I was in university once, I should have known at least one student would still be here in the middle of the night, even on the weekend."

The man going by Martin walks over, as Jon extends a hand to help her up. She's lost all hope of her brain trying to process what's happening but step one can at least be get off the floor. But she can't even do that properly. The hand she raises is the same one she fell on, and the twinge from her wrist shoots up her arm almost immediately in a shout for attention.

It must show on her face too, because Jon makes a sound and then Martin's asking her, "Oh, are you hurt?"

"Uh, n-no, I mean…'s just, uh, my wrist. Kinda, fell on it funny." Her voice isn't exactly steady, but it's a far cry from where she was expecting it to be. At least she's orbiting the realm of comprehensible.

Martin crouches next to her. Up close she can see his face in more detail - his eyes are a slate grey, like the fog from before. But they're kind, wrinkled at the edges when he smiles softly at her. "Mind if I take a look?"

She's not exactly in a position to say no, so she gingerly holds her arm out. His hands are rough, calloused, but surprisingly gentle as they probe her wrist. She can't stop the trembling, now, completely unrelated to the pain.

"It's a sprain." Jon says, laced with certainty somewhere above her.

Martin sighs, long-suffering. "Thank you, Jon, I was getting to that."

"Just trying to help." She can't see him, but she can practically hear the cheeky smile tacked to the end of that sentence.

"As much as I hate saying it, he's right." Martin eyes her with something close to humor, like they're in on a joke together. He shrugs a backpack off of his shoulders, rummages through it with one hand. "I think we have some elastic bandages left for something like this…"

"Front pocket." Jon says again. He's moved closer to the thing, the corpse, it must be, now. He's turned away from her, and she can't see his face.

"Thank you, love."

"Of course."

"Um-" She cuts in suddenly, her nerves and panic getting the best of her. Martin looks up from her hand, and Jon turns back to glance at her.

"Sorry, uh, I just- what the fuck was that?"

"I'd tell you not to worry yourself over it, but I don't think that's much of an answer." Jon says, coming back towards them. He crouches down before he continues. "Let's just say this is...our day job."

"It is three in the morning, though."

"That would be the, colloquial use of the term, Martin."

"Just saying." With Martin in front of her she can actually see the cheeky grin, this time.

He uses the bandage to wrap her wrist. It smarts a bit, but the pressure helps. He's clearly adept enough to do this and talk at the same time, because he cuts in next. "We're here to make sure things like that-" he gestures with a nod of his head. "-don't hurt anyone."

Her mouth is full of sawdust. "W- what, like, monsters and shit?" She always did swear a lot when she was stressed.

"More or less."

"If it's any consolation," Jon says. "These things aren't exactly...common. You have to have a special kind of luck to run into something like this."

Yeah, luck.

He sighs, then. He looks tired. "I'm so sorry. If it means anything. This isn't the kind of thing you'll be able to just forget, or-"

"That's why we're here." Martin cuts in. He's finished with her wrist, neatly wrapped and held in place with little wire clips. "To try to stop stuff like this from happening, before it happens. Sorry we were late."

It's not a stretch to imagine what would have happened if they hadn't shown up even later, or not at all. But it's something she will try very, very hard not to think about.

She swallows. "I guess...thank you, then."

"Of course."

The adrenaline and sudden lack thereof leaves her with a jittery exhaustion deep in her core. But she has so many questions, how could she not-

A chill, and a rush of wind and waves hit her before she can get another word out. It's gone as quickly as it had come, so much so she thinks she imagined it. But suddenly, she's alone.

The men going by Jon and Martin and the misshapen corpse of that thing are gone. The hall is just as it had been before, dim lights and freshly polished tile. No sign of anything, or anyone. Except for her.

She knows with crushing certainty that it wasn't a dream. Couldn't be a dream. But she knows that's what people will tell her. So she says nothing. She says nothing, and hopes nothing ever leads her to cross paths with those two ever again.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #tma fics #my writing #wrote this at 4 in the morning and realized i actually vibed w it so here we are

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punksarahreese · 4 years

Text

Panic | Reesker |anxious!ava

Content warnings: medical talk (duh), mentions of surgical gore, panic attacks/meltdown, very brief mention of self injury (hitting)

***

Doctor Bekker to the ED, Doctor Ava Bekker to the ED immediately

Ava looked up from the chart she was writing just as the PA system and her pager went of simultaneously. She set the tablet down on the nurse’s station, saying a hasty farewell to the CT floor head nurse, and broke off into a sprint. She made it down the stairs in record time, knowing Connor was in surgery so she would be the only CT fellow prepared to take a trauma.

“Maggie?” She asked breathlessly as she came up to the charge nurse, who looked at her in relief.

“Jason Abrams, 35, came in to the ED with shortness of breath and heart palpitations. Passed out during a family reunion and didn’t wake up until he was in the ambo. Wife’s in there with him and half the reunion is taking up space in my waiting room.”

“Heart attack?” Ava questioned as she slid into the treatment room beside April, pulling on her gloves.

“Doesn’t look like it,” she replied, passing Ava her stethoscope, “Take a listen.”

Dr. Bekker nodded and turned to the patient, “Mr. Abrams? I’m doctor Bekker, I’m going to figure out what’s wrong okay?”

The patient gasped out an acknowledgment, clearly struggling to breathe despite the oxygen cannula. April leaned over to check his stats, humming in annoyance at what she saw, “Stats are falling, down to 90%.”

Ava had been listening to the patient’s heart and lungs and met April’s eye, “I’m hearing a murmur, someone get me a 15 lead EKG and a chest X-ray.”

“Right away, Doctor,” Monique replied, attaching the leads to the patient and setting up the machine. While she did that, Ava turned to the patient again.

“Alright, Jason, so I’m hearing a bit of blood splash back in your heart. We’re going to run some tests to confirm what I’m hearing, do you have any history of heart issues?”

Jason shook his head but was unable to respond, his breathing clearly worsening. His wife spoke up from her worried hovering beside his head, “Heart disease... i-it runs in the family but we’ve had no indication of Jace being at risk.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” Ava nodded and took the EKG reading from Monique, “Right, so we’re going to send you up for an echocardiogram, just to get a look at your heart better.”

“Call radiology, let them know we’re taking him up,” Ava said to Monique, watching as the nurse rushed off to make the call.

“Doctor, what’s wrong with him?” The concern in the wife’s voice was apparent and she was fussing over her husband, who had begun to perspire as his lungs worked overtime.

“I can’t be certain without the echo but I believe what I’m hearing is a defect in your husband’s mitral valve. It is sending blood backwards into the heart and that’s causing less oxygen to get through his body.”

“Oh God, my baby,” Mrs. Abrams cried, “What does that mean?”

“I-I uh, won’t know the full extent until we get the test results back, but... if medication doesn’t fix our issue we may be looking at surgery to fix the valve.”

Ava nodded at April, “Push 10 mg of bisoprolol and page me when you get his scan results, please.”

The blonde ducked out of the room and made her way over to Maggie, who was watching the waiting room with a pained look.

“Well?” She asked, “Are you gonna get the Abrams family reunion out of my ED any time soon?”

“Sounds like mitral regurge to me, Maggie. Might be a while, especially if he needs surgery.”

“Of course,” the nurse sighed, “Alright, let me know.”

“Will do,” with that Ava took off to locate a tablet to add to his chart. She snagged one off the nurses’ station and logged in, charting the course of treatment given. She planned to go back upstairs and meet them in radiology, walking as she noted the enlarged chamber on the EKG. She didn’t even notice she had gotten in the way until she had collided with someone while trying to get on the elevator.

“Woah, will you watch-“ she began to say but stopped herself when she realized who it was, “Oh, sorry, Reese cup.”

Sarah Reese stood in front of her in all her glory, eyebrow raised at the immediate tone change and nickname, “That was a whole 180, Dr. Bekker.”

“Oh hush,” Ava sighed, “You know I didn’t mean it.”

“Only because it was me,” Sarah remarked with a chuckle, “Anyone else and you would have snapped enough to make them cry.”

“You know me that well, do you?”

“Well I’d hope so,” Sarah’s hand had snuck it’s way to her wrist as she responded to the quip, “Busy?”

“Checking my pulse? What’s your diagnosis, Doctor?” Ava teased lightly.

“Hm, heart rate of 100, cheeks flushed and breathing uneven,” Sarah stated factually, “Either you’re nervous or you’ve been running, and you hate running.”

“You caught me,” Ava laughed, “Was in the ED.”

“Ah,” the psych resident nodded and kept hold of the older woman’s wrist, tugging her around the corner to a quieter part of the hallway. She saw Ava was about to protest and held up a hand.

“Shh, humour me, Ava.”

Noting the stern look the other woman gave her, Ava sighed in digression, gesturing for her to go on.

“Is the ED still making you that nervous?”

“I’m just not used to the hustle of it,” Ava sighed, “It’s not a big deal, Reese cup.”

“You sure?”

She nodded, “I’m a CT surgeon, love, I’m not made for the chaos Maggie runs down here.”

Sarah’s cheeks flushed a little at the pet name, though she knew well enough that Ava pulled that card simply to win her over.

“I promise I’m fine,” she continued, a smile playing on her lips at the other woman’s worry.

“You have your earplugs if you need them?”

Ava nodded, patting her scrub pocket. She often got overwhelmed by too much noise at once, a symptom of her newly diagnosed sensory issues, so earplugs helped her stay calm.

“I’ll be okay, Sarah,” Ava promised again, “But I really need to get up to radiology.”

The resident nodded, “Okay, don’t let me keep you.”

Ava saw the little spark of regret in the younger woman’s eyes, knew she felt insecure with her forwardness and was afraid she had pushed her too far. Ava’s anxiety about the emergency department and patient interaction was a sensitive topic, but Reese was too curious for her own good.

“Hey,” Ava grabbed her hand and gave it a light squeeze, “Thank you for caring. Coffee later?”

Sarah smiled a little and nodded, “Yeah.”

“Great,” a mischievous grin and then a quick kiss was pressed to her cheek, “See you, Reese cup.”

“Ava!” The brunette was left standing in the hallway with bright red cheeks, making the other doctor laugh as she went back to the elevator.

The surgeon still had a grin on her face as she made it onto the elevator. She couldn’t help but feel giddy around Sarah, something about her just made the hospital feel 100 times safer. Their relationship started off as merely occupational, speaking when patient cases crossed or in passing around the hospital. They got along fine, of course, but Ava was up in CT way more than in the emergency department, so their paths didn’t cross often. This changed when one day Ava had a bad case, when she lost that instrument inside the patient’s heart.

She had a panic attack, rushed out of the operating room and leaving Connor to close the patient. He had stormed into the locker room, starting to yell at her, but stopped when he saw the state Ava was in. She was clearly shaking, cheeks streaked with tears and makeup. He tried to talk her down but she wouldn’t listen, didn’t want his pity, especially not after he had been a major ass all day.

Eventually Connor gave up, leaving the room with a dramatic sigh. Ava had immediately dropped to the floor when the door closed, slumping against a locker as she sobbed quietly. She didn’t want to act like this, didn’t want to be so dramatic when they saved the patient, but she couldn’t help it. What if they hadn’t saved him? What if they missed the instrument and had closed him up? She had let down Connor and Dr. Latham, but mostly, she let down herself.

Ava hastily wiped away her tears when she heard a knock at the door, cursing her anxiety for making her act like such a baby. She tried to put on a brave face but stayed slumped down, letting her hair hide her for the most part.

“Doctor Bekker?” Sarah had come around the corner, “Doctor Rhodes said you were panicking. Are you okay?”

“J-just like him,” the blonde scoffed, “Goes and tells people about my mistake and calls psych on me? Of course.”

Sarah just sighed, crouching down in front of the older woman, “Are you okay?”

“Oh I’m peachy keen, Doctor Reese,” she replied sarcastically through her tears. It’s not that she wanted to be mean to Sarah, the younger woman didn’t deserve that, but it was her defence mechanism. She hated to show weakness, so she lashed out. It was something she had never been able to grow out of.

“Ava... I’m not here as a psych resident, not if you don’t want me to be. I can be here as a friend, or even as a stranger, I just want to help.”

The CT surgeon had huffed at that, swiping at the stray tears still creeping down her cheeks, “Nothing to help with, Sarah. I’m just ashamed with my work today.”

“Ava... this is classic signs of a panic attack,” even though she said she wasn’t there as a doctor, Sarah couldn’t help the psychoanalysis, “What happened?”

“Lost an instrument in a patient’s heart,” Ava groaned at the sheer stupidity, “Had to reopen him and then just left Connor to clean up my mess. I fucked up.”

“No, Ava, you just made a mistake,” Sarah looked at the door before sitting down on the floor beside the other woman, “Human error happens, please don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“I could have killed him, Sarah,” she hit her leg with a closed fist out of frustration, “I just keep reliving the moment and all the ways it could have gone wrong.”

“The important thing is you saved him.”

Ava laughed bitterly, “Barely. How could I be so careless?”

“What was it?”

“The end of a suction catheter...”

“Ava,” Sarah reached a hand out to cautiously hold hers, saving her whitened knuckles from the angry fist they were in, “That’s so small and they shouldn’t come off that easy, of course you wouldn’t expect to lose something like that inside a patient. It was a mistake and you fixed it, please don’t beat yourself up.”

“I let Dr. Latham down... and Connor was so mad...”

“I know, and I know that’s scary,” Doctor Reese agreed, “But you fixed it and all you can do is monitor your patient and grow from the mistake.”

Ava sighed and looked down at their hands, still tightly clasped together. She didn’t remember twining their fingers together or leaning closer to Sarah, but it felt right at the time. The younger girl was her source of stability in that moment, someone she knew wouldn’t judge her or break her trust. It was that moment that Ava decided she would quite like to be more friendly with the psych resident, as she seemed like someone worth knowing.

The rest was history, really. They got closer, became friends over time. Walks for coffee on breaks and discussing cases over lunch quickly became habitual for them. Reese would stop to talk to Ava as she walked through the CICU, something she had never done before. They just worked, the two seemed to realize, and their bond only got strong. It escalated quickly one night, when they got a little too wine drunk on a well deserved night off. Sarah’s usual apprehension disappeared with every drink, returning Ava’s relentless flirting without hesitation. One drunken kiss and they knew, there was no turning back and to be honest neither of them wanted it any other way.

That had been almost eight months ago and somehow they had kept their relationship under wraps in the hospital. Sarah was the one who helped diagnose Ava’s panic and sensory processing disorders, so it was kind of an issue that they were together. She was going to have to switch to a different psychiatrist if word of their relationship spread, but that would be the least of her problems.

Ava knew it would get out eventually, probably the second Maggie caught wind of it, but she didn’t mind. She knew her feelings for Sarah and was unabashed about her bisexuality at that point. It’s not like they were the first doctors in this hospital to be involved, much less the last. She knew Connor might take it a bit hard, felt bad for stringing him along, but really he deserved it in some twisted way. Maybe it would hurt his ego just enough to crush his God complex; losing Ava to a female psych resident.

Ava was still lost in thought as the elevator doors opened to the radiology floor. She jumped when a medical student brushed past her with a halfhearted apology, tearing from her memories to walk off onto the floor. She found her way to the echo waiting area, finding the radiologist quickly.

“Jason Abrams,” the tech said with a terse tone, “You’re gonna want to see this.”

“Mitral regurge?” Ava guessed before she even saw the scan, knowing she was probably correct in her first diagnosis.

“Correct,” he replied, “Very progressed too. Looking at maybe a few weeks before complete prolapse.”

“Poor man.”

“Meds won’t fix it, then?” The tech guessed.

Ava studied the scan before shaking her head, “No, too far gone. I’m probably going to have to replace the valve ASAP, depending on how his body responds to the beta blockers.”

“Shame,” the man shook his head, “Good luck, Doctor Bekker.”

“Thanks.”

With that Ava motioned a nurse in and asked her to take Mr. Abrams up to the cardiac ICU so she could speak to him and his wife in a more comfortable location. The nurse nodded and disappeared to do just that, leaving Ava to make her way upstairs on her own.

She took out her phone and made a call as she was in the elevator alone.

“This is Doctor Reese.”

“Hey, Reese cup,” Ava smiled at the professional tone her girlfriend had answered the call with. She never looked at her caller ID and always made a habit of a professional answer.

“Oh, hi, Aves.”

“You’re cute when you sound all professional,” Ava teased.

“Oh hush,” she could almost see Sarah rolling her eyes, “What’s up?”

“Might have to push our coffee date back a little,” Ava began apologetically, “I might have to do a valve replacement now now.”

“Okay, no worries,” of course Sarah was immediately understanding, “Good luck with your surgery then.”

“Thank you, you’re a doll.”

“So you tell me,” Sarah laughed, “Your slang is sneaking in again, by the way.”

“Is it?” Ava pretended to be shocked, stepping off the elevator, “Hadn’t noticed.”

“Mhm, makes the accent even cuter.”

“Aw, bokkie~” she made sure to use the Afrikaans pet name that Sarah found embarrassingly adorable, “You flatter me.”

“What does that mean again?” Sarah asked after a moment of hesitation and Ava knew she was probably blushing like mad.

“Little doe,” The blonde supplied, “I’d say it suits you.”

“Cheesy.”

“Always,” Ava shot back, “Okay I’m up in the CICU, I’ll page you later?”

“Of course, Doctor Bekker,” Sarah’s voice changed, though not unfriendly,” I’ll see you then.”

“Charles?” Ava laughed, “Bye, love.”

“Bye, Aves.”

Ava sighed as she rounded to corner to her patient’s room, pocketing her phone, “Here goes nothing.”

***

Forty minutes later Ava was scrubbing in, taking off her rings to wash her hands thoroughly. She was humming quietly to herself, trying to ground her thoughts before surgery.

“A valve replacement?” The door had opened to reveal an annoyed Connor, “You weren’t going to page me?”

“My patient, Connor.”

“I’m the trauma surgeon, Ava!”

“You were busy,” she retorted, “And besides he wasn’t even really a trauma. I can do a valve replacement on my own, thanks.”

“You need an assist.”

“You just saying that to steal my lead surgeon position,” she rolled her eyes, “Learn to share, Connor.”

“I’m scrubbing in,” he grumbled.

“I’m lead surgeon,” Ava shook her head as she brushed past him, “Accept that or get off my case.”

She went into the OR and accepted her gown and gloves from the scrub nurse. As she was tying up her gown, she made eye contact with Jason who looked rather nervous.

She gestured for Marty to start the anesthesia, getting into her position and rolling her shoulders a little. Connor stalked into the room and got his gloves and gown, not acknowledging her placement.

“No temper tantrums in my OR, Connor.”

The surgery started completely as normal. Eventually their argument fizzled out and they fell back into the familiar rhythm of operating together. The two CT fellows may have had their ups and downs but there was no doubt that they worked well together in surgery.

“Mechanical valve?” Connor asked, as they had already removed the damaged mitral valve.

“On back order,” the scrub nurse said, “We don’t have this size right now.”

“Oh for fok’s sake,” Ava muttered, glaring sharply at Connor when he immediately mocked her accent.

“It’s funny, Ava, lighten up.”

“I don’t mock yours, Connor.”

“Size 3 porcine valve then,” Connor changed the subject, not needing to start another fight during the hardest part of the surgery.

“They degenerate in half the amount of time,” Ava groaned, “And blood thinners wouldn’t have been a problem for him.”

Connor didn’t answer and they continued the replacement, not speaking other than to direct each other’s movements or ask for other instruments. They had transplanted the valve just fine and things seemed to work out perfectly. Ava was just about to ask for the proper suture size for the pericardium when the monitor started beeping like crazy.

“Shit,” Connor cursed lowly, “Marty?”

“Afib.”

“Why?” Ava looked desperately at Connor, “What happened?”

Connor was fumbling to figure out the issue amidst the rapid, uneven beating of the patient’s heart. Ava cursed herself when she realized the issue.

“Valve must have thrown a clot.”

“Already? How?”

“I don’t know, Connor!” Ava was too overwhelmed to think straight let alone answer his mindless questions, “Internal paddles!”

They worked to regain proper rhythm, shocking the heart to restart its beating. That didn’t seem to help though, unfortunately the opposite happened. Just as they had gotten the atrial fibrillation under control, another thing went wrong.

“Blood pressure’s dropping,” a nurse called out, making Ava look up at the monitors for clarification.

“Connor.”

“I know,” he replied, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

“Doctor Bekker,” the anesthesiologist shouted just as the machine went wild again, “He’s in vfib!”

“Jesus,” Ava’s own heart felt like it was about to jump out of her chest, “Starting intracardiac massage.” Ava began internal compressions as she muttered under her breath, “Come on, Jason, you can’t die on all of them.”

Connor was ordering the nurses around to get epinephrine and recharging the paddles. Ava could barely breathe in the moment, questioning how everything went wrong and what had even happened.

“Charging,” Connor was saying, “Clear!”

Ava moved out of the way so Connor could shock the heart, but it didn’t help the rhythm any. Ava ordered another round of epi, restarting internal compressions.

“How long’s he been down?”

“Three minutes.”

“Damn,” Connor sighed, “Charge again.”

The next bout of electricity didn’t help to restart the heart and it was clear that this wouldn’t be resolved so easily. Ava didn’t give up on compressions, still mumbling half to herself and half to the patient. By the time they had reached the ten minute mark with no improvement, Connor had to grab Ava’s wrist to get her attention.

“Ava,” he halted her movements, “Doctor Bekker, he’s been down for too long. I’m sorry.”

“No...”

“You did what you could, Ava,” Connor’s voice was softer than ever as he tried to keep her calm, “It’s time to call it.”

“Connor...” Ava’s voice sounded pained as she glanced at the clock, “... time of death, 13:47.”

The other surgeon noticed how hard Ava was shaking when they left the OR to scrub out. He watched as she washed her hands roughly, her whole body trembling. No matter how many patients they lost, it would still affect Ava like the first every time.

“Ava...”

She just shook her head, not able to make eye contact, sliding her rings back on with a frustrated movement.

“You tried your best,” he tried again, “And we won’t know what happened until an autopsy’s done. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I don’t want your foking pity, Connor.” Ava snapped, accent even thicker as she held back tears, turning on her heels to rush out of the room.

“Damn it,” Connor cursed, pulling out his phone as the door slammed shut behind the panicking woman.

***

Ava had made it to the CT doctor’s lounge before promptly collapsing on the floor. She let out a gasping breath as the panic overtook her, shame flooding her system at this reaction. Why couldn’t she just be a normal doctor and depersonalize from the loss? Instead every dead patient and lost cause had to make her feel like she was the one who was dying.

She shook her hands out aggressively, trying to channel her anxiety and frustration into motion. It didn’t help though and a pained sob ripped its way from her throat. Covering her ears as if to block out the sounds of her own anxiety, Ava was shaking even harder than before. She knew this was a full blown panic attack and she should call Sarah to get her meds, but she could bring herself to breathe much less find her phone.

“What did I do? F-fuck where did I... w-hat went wrong?”

She was hyperventilating at this point, could feel her heart beating rapidly in her own chest. The sensation only made things worse, made her thing about how Jason’s heart was no longer beating because of her. Ava was so wrapped up in her panic that she didn’t hear the door open, she didn’t even notice when someone was calling her name.

“Ava?” A familiar voice was just barely audible as she still had her hands over her ears. She felt someone sit down on the floor in front of her and could just barely make out a mass of curly hair through her tears.

“Ava, honey,” Sarah was trying to gently catch her attention, “Look at me. Ava, you’re okay.”

“S-Sarah?”

“I’m right here, see?” Sarah reached her arm out but didn’t touch her girlfriend, knowing that touch while she was panicking could only make things worse. Sarah frowned as she let out another shaky sob, “Breathe, baby. You’re okay, I promise.”

“No!” Ava suddenly shrieked, clasped her hands even tighter over her ears. Sarah flinched at the outburst and apologized softly.

“I’m... it’s not- not okay.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Sarah agreed, “What’s not okay?”

“He’s dead,” Ava spat, “He’s dead... dead because of m-me.”

Sarah sighed, “Your patient? Oh, Ava, I’m sure you did everything to save him.”

“He- he just...” her sentence was cut off as she whined in frustration, hands coming off her head to smack her legs.

“Hey, hey, Ava,” Sarah said firmly, “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I- I don’t care!”

“I know, but I do,” Sarah reached out a hand gently but didn’t touch her, “Can I hold your hands? I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

Ava looked at her with tear-filled eyes, “Too much.”

“Too much?” Sarah repeated, “What is? The lights or the sound?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Okay,” Sarah stood up to go shut off the lights, sighing when Ava cried even harder when she left. “I’m coming back, baby,” she said as she rushed back over once the room was darkened significantly. She sat back down in front of Ava, who had her face hidden in her forearms and was slouched over painfully.

“Ava,” she tried to get her attention again, “Do you have your earplugs?”

The blonde made some kind of confirming sound, shifting in a way that Sarah saw as an invitation to get them from her pocket. She spoke softly as she did so, making sure not to spook her girlfriend.

“Okay, I have them right here,” she said as she held the orange foam in her hand, “But I wanna talk to you first, then you can have these and we can be as quiet as you need.”

“Don’t want... to talk.”

“You don’t have to, but I would like to talk to you, is that okay? I missed you today.”

Ava didn’t respond, though she did peek through her arms a little bit. A minuscule nod preceded a little sniffle, making Sarah’s heart ache at the pain her girlfriend was in.

“Can you take a deep breath for me, Ava?”

Ava hesitated but eventually a shaky breath left her lungs, her arms slowly coming away from her face. Sarah smiled sadly at her, noting the makeup streaked down her cheeks and her red eyes; this had been a bad panic attack.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” Sarah said gently, hoping to make her feel a bit better with the lighthearted words. Ava squeaked at that, lip still quivering as her anxiety hadn’t completely left yet.

“Breathe,” Sarah reminded her, taking her own deep breath to prompt the surgeon to do the same. This next one was less shaky, though a big sniffle preceded it.

“Good,” Sarah smiled again, “You’re okay, baby.”

“Not... not really.”

“Not now, maybe,” Sarah agreed, “But you’re safe and I’m going to help you.”

“I... I- let him down, S-Sarah.”

“Who?” Sarah prompted, shifting a little bit closer without touching her yet.

“Connor... Latham,” Ava’s eyes welled back up with tears as she spoke the last name, “J-Jason.”

“Oh, Ava. You didn’t let anyone down. You did your very best as a surgeon, okay?”

“H-how do you know that?”

Sarah sighed, “Baby?”

“Y-yeah?”

“C’mere,” the resident opened her arms, an invitation for Ava to find comfort in them. The older woman hesitated, still half in panic mode, but Sarah’s gentle eyes won her over in the end.

Sarah smiled sadly as Ava half crawled the short distance to slump in her arms, her face quickly finding its hiding place in her neck. Sarah just wrapped her arms around her securely, holding her girlfriend’s shaking body in an attempt to slow her heart rate.

“You, Ava Bekker, are an amazing surgeon,” she began softly, “You work so tirelessly, you’re so selfless when it comes to patients. You love your job, Ava, and you’re insanely good at it. How did you let anyone down today?”

“He... he didn’t- didn’t make it.”

“That happens,” Sarah replied, “Unfortunately. He wasn’t your first loss and he won’t be your last. I know you hurt for him and I know it’s a horrible feeling. You did everything you could, though.”

“How do you know that?” Ava repeated, pained eyes meeting Sarah’s.

“Because you’re the most caring and meticulous surgeon I know. I know you and you certainly wouldn’t give up unless it was the only thing to do.”

“I hate this.”

“I know, love,” Sarah’s gentle hand came up to take the elastic out of Ava’s hair, “I’m so sorry.”

Ava leaned into the loving touch as she smoothed down her hair, her breathing finally even. Tears were still steadily falling down her cheeks, falling into the crook of Sarah’s neck and staining her dress shirt.

“I have your pills,” Sarah said softly, “You want one? It might help.”

There was an extended silence before another minuscule nod. Sarah went to pull back, trying to get the bottle out of her coat, but Ava whined and held tightly onto her.

“Hey,” Sarah cooed softly, “Calm down, Aves. I’m not going anywhere. I just wanna get you some Ativan and water, okay? Then we can sit on the couch together and calm down.”

It took some gentle persuasion before Ava untangled herself from Sarah and stood on shaky legs. Her girlfriend smiled at her sadly, taking her trembling hand to lead her to one of the couches in the lounge. She pressed gently on Ava’s shoulders to get her to sit, leading down to drop a kiss to her forehead.

“Just getting some water,” she promised as she made her way to the counter, grabbing a familiar mug of Ava’s off the drying rack. She filled it with cold water from the cooler, taking out the bottle of sedatives and grabbing one for her as well. Sarah turned back to find Ava curled into herself on the couch, face buried in her hands again. Coming over, she crouched in front of the surgeon and nudged her leg. “Here, my love,” her voice was impossibly gentle, “You need to relax.”

Ava frowned but moved her hands, taking the cup and allowing Sarah to place the pill under her tongue. She let the thing melt, wincing at the taste, but knew the sublingual method would get it into her bloodstream faster. She took a sip of water when it was gone, finally realizing how dehydrated she was from crying so long. She finished the mug in under a minute, making Sarah chuckle lowly when she took the cup back.

The brunette set the cup down on the table, sitting beside Ava on the couch. She held out her hand, the earplugs nestled on her palm like a peace offering. Her girlfriend gave her a pained smile and took them back, debating on if she wanted them in or not.

“Sarah?” Ava sighed shakily, “I’m... I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, Aves?”

“Being such a pain,” Ava mumbled, “This was highly dramatic of me.”

Sarah shook her head, a gentle hand coming to rest on Ava’s thigh, “This is my job, babe, I can assure you that this was an entirely nature response to stress. You have two diagnoses that make this 100x times harder and you still manage to be an amazing surgeon; sometimes you’re going to have meltdowns.”

“I still hate it.”

“I know,” Sarah nodded, “But we got through it, right?”

Ava shrugged again and they fell into silence for a moment, Ava letting out a very shaky sigh. Her girlfriend turned to look at her, smiling at what she saw. The Ativan had clearly taken affect, Ava’s eyes were drooping and her breathing had evened out finally. She looked at Sarah wearily, mumbling something under her breath.

“Tired?”

“Mm,” Ava agreed, “Don’t like pills. Wanna... be awake.”

“I know, baby,” Sarah laughed, “But they help, don’t they?”

Another nod, Ava blinked sleepily at her, “Hug?”

The younger woman immediately opened her arms, pulling her close once again. Ava sighed and leaned into her embrace, finally calm for the first time in hours.

“You can nap here, if you want,” Sarah murmured, “No sense moving to a on call room or anything. You don’t need to see patients right now, Doctor Latham would understand.”

“No... stay...”

“Ava,” Sarah chuckled and shimmied until she was laying down on the couch, pulling her girlfriend down with her, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ava seemed happy with their current position, shifting her weight on top of Sarah and snuggling down comfortably. She handed her earplugs to Sarah, letting her put them in her ears because her hands were still unsteady. With the sound of the room dramatically decreased and her eyes heavy from the sedative, she felt her anxiety ebbing away to exhaustion.

“Get some rest,” she heard Sarah’s muffled words, “You’re safe and you did so well today.” Ava felt soft hands on her back, smoothing down her unruly hair again and rubbing gently at the tense muscles of her upper back. She sighed, finally letting herself relax into her girlfriend’s safe embrace.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel things, yeah? You know I’m always here.”

Ava nodded against her chest, “Ja,” the Afrikaans slipping into her vocabulary as she drifted between sleep and wake, “I... love you, Bokkie.”

Sarah’s cheeks flushed and she was very glad that Ava couldn’t see that reaction to tease her about it, “I love you too, Aves.”

***

Connor rubbed at his face tiredly, making his way down the hallway. He knew he must have left his jacket around the CT floor somewhere, just couldn’t remember where. He reached the doctor’s lounge, hoping he would find it thrown across a chair or something so he could go home. He did not expect to find the sight in front of him when he opened the door.

In the darkened room, the minimal sunlight from the windows highlighted the two figures on the couch closest to the door. Ava was fast asleep on top of Sarah Reese, neon orange earplugs peeking out from under her hair and makeup streaked down her cheeks. Sarah had her arms protectively around Ava’s waist and the younger woman was still awake. She was occupying herself by playing with Ava’s soft blonde hair, the gentle gesture evidently tender. Connor was not expecting her to lean down and press a kiss to Ava’s head, a loving action he immediately knew indicated something way beyond friendship.

He must have made a sound, shifted too heavy or something, because Sarah jumped and looked up. He could see her cheeks turn bright red with embarrassment and knew she wasn’t expecting to be caught in such a vulnerable situation with the least vulnerable surgeon in Gaffney.

“Doctor Rhodes...” Sarah’s voice was a barely audible whisper, clearly trying not to wake the exhausted woman in her arms.

Connor hushed her, shaking his head with a small smile. Maybe it was better this way, even if his initial reaction was the wish to curse and fight for Ava like he always did. Seeing her like this, soft and vulnerable in a way even he had scarcely seen, made him know. Ava loved the psych resident, and the feeling was mutual. She clearly found her safety net in Sarah, and who was he to fight that when he knew how much she needed that?

“Thank you,” he whispered, pointing at Ava with a sad look. He grabbed his jacket off the desk chair, waving goodbye to Sarah and taking one last glance at his beloved fellow surgeon in her arms.

Take care of her, Reese

#pls give feedback this is my first med oneshot 😭#tumblr’s paragraph limit hates me #anxious!ava #chicago med #ava bekker #sarah reese #reesker #connor rhodes #chicago med fanfiction #reesker fanfiction #my-writing

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the-odd-job · 4 years

Text

Harem AU Chapter 6 - Waiting Game

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Skywarp, Starscream, Unnamed Characters Relationships: Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Referenced Rape, Referenced Orgy, Coercion, Angst Words: 9428

No I’m not late with this or anything, what are you talking about.

I’m really excited for chapter 7, ngl. But this first.

He would have never guessed that it was possible to fall asleep after something like that. How could the mind calm down enough to allow for rest?

But it wasn’t about the mind. It was about the body, pushed to its limit by an overload after overload—energy reserves used to depletion, all charge drained from one’s batteries.

Exhaustion.

It didn’t matter how the mind suffered and reeled, at that point. The frame took over, demanding things. Demanding rest. A chance to recharge.

And that was what it had decreed in the end. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure how long it had taken, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Those memories were best blurry and out of focus.

Like how many unwanted overloads it had taken to finally knock him out. Sideswipe, too. How much distress it had taken for their minds to shut down, only now beginning to return to him as he climbed out from the grasp of pitch black sleep.

He wished he could’ve fallen straight back into it when reality began to creep in, but his processors’ march to consciousness was unrelenting. Memories began to flood in too, fuzzy as they were, and long before he wanted to, he became aware of where he was.

Of where he still was.

The only upside in the whole situation was that he couldn’t feel his field or scan his spark signature. Before his optics opened, Sunstreaker was already mostly confident that Megatron was not in the vicinity, and once his optics did open, a glance around confirmed that the tyrant was nowhere to be seen.

Figures. He probably had more important things to go, being the leader of the whole goddamned city and whatnot. Have his fun, fuck and rape, then go on his merry way without a backwards glance!

He couldn’t confirm that last one, but it wouldn’t have surprised him.

There were plenty other spark signatures around him, other fields—Sideswipe was passed out next to him, warm to the touch and–

And covered in all manner of fluids.

Sunstreaker averted his gaze quickly, scanning the rest of the room. They were still on the large berth, and although there were a couple of other mates on it as well, most were recharging in their own cots. Some were already awake, talking in hushed tones to avoid disturbing those that were still resting, but even that didn’t account for everyone.

It appeared quite a few of the mates had recovered faster than him and Sideswipe had. But considering they had gotten most of Megatron—and Soundwave’s—attention, Sunstreaker thought that was fair enough. They hadn’t been allowed to choose their pace, or whether or not they’d like to have breaks, or—Primus, if they even wanted to interface in the first place.

He was shaking, his plating rattling just so. Were his ventilations a little faster than what they were supposed to be? Those were probably just the aftereffects of everything that had happened during the course of the night.

Everything else he shoved down deep, twice as resolutely when Sideswipe began to stir next to him. A small, wounded moan was the first sign of life his brother made, and it was nearly enough to break Sunstreaker’s spark all over again.

As if it had ever recovered from the first time.

Sideswipe returned to awareness much faster, panic seeping in before conscious thought. His optics snapped open to a wild look around, an uncoordinated jerk in his limbs.

“Hey, hey,” Sunstreaker said at once, battling his own frame to roll onto his knees and land a servo on Sideswipe’s shoulder—and wincing from the stab of pain from his lower body.

Megatron hadn’t gone out of his way to damage them this time around (and Soundwave hadn’t seemed interested in that either), but his valve was still throbbing angrily and his hip joints protested how much time they’d spent spread around someone’s hips.

He wanted to purge, but pushed that down with the rest of it to focus on Sideswipe instead. His twin’s optics locked on him after a pass around the room, and slowly the look of prey faded from them as his mind caught up.

Megatron wasn’t here, relief. Sunstreaker was here, relief.

Sideswipe’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. What was there to say anyway? What could they say? Something to make things better?

There was nothing that would make things better.

That thought snapped between them like a whiplash, and Sideswipe caught his lower lip between his denta before he dropped his gaze. Sunstreaker’s servo on his shoulder tightened.

He hated to see his brother like this. Sideswipe was supposed to be larger than life, the light in the room, centerpiece of any party—everyone’s friend, always cheerful, refusing to let anything bring him down.

Here and now? What Sideswipe was meant to be and what he was were… Miles apart.

But was that any wonder? There was the whole of a planet between where they were and where they were supposed to be.

Their life had been torn from them. They had been given no chances to let that sink in. All there had been was a relentless input of new things intermittent with abuse, abuse, and more abuse. Change after change after change… And more trauma than he had wanted to believe was possible.

And he feared this was only just the beginning.

That thought he didn’t want to reach Sideswipe, though, so instead he gave his brother a gentle shake to earn those optics back on him.

Sunstreaker smiled. Just a small smile, but even that felt so… Fake. And like it hurt to even produce the expression.

There was no reason to smile, but for Sideswipe he’d try to do so anyway.

“How-” he started, before thinking better of it and cutting his vocalizer. There was no point in asking how Sideswipe felt. Useless words, when he could feel and see all too well how Sideswipe was feeling.

Not well.

To put it mildly.

What to say instead? Or should he let there be silence?

“We- We should probably visit the washracks. Would you like to?”

Sideswipe took a moment to register his words before he nodded carefully, and swallowed, hard.

They both cringed at the taste of transfluid on his glossa and at the back of his throat, but Sideswipe nodded again, more firmly this time around, and began to push himself up. “Yeah, that… That sounds like a good idea,” he said quietly, flinching when he caught a sight of his frame.

Paint transfers and fluids were splattered liberally all over him. Sunstreaker knew he didn’t look any better.

They really needed those washracks.

As one they scooted over to the edge of the berth and dropped down onto the dais it was on, and from there to the level of the rest of the berthroom. Some of the other mates glanced their way, but they didn’t stick around to see if anyone would’ve liked to say something to them.

They had been a part of it. All of them. Mecha in the same situation as they were… There was no way all of them were here any more willingly than them, and yet.

The fragging shit they’d done. To them. To each other. Just…

He didn’t even want to think about it. He could feel his anger rising, but it had no target in the present, and he didn’t want to take it out on Sideswipe. Sideswipe stumbled along next to him as they crossed the short distance through the hallway into the washracks, that weren’t empty—of course they weren’t, that would’ve been far too much to ask—but that still held the promise of washing away at least some of the signs of the… Orgy.

They scurried over to the far end of the room, to the last showerheads, and then under their hot sprays. Solvent pattered down their frames, and slowly it began to loosen the dried fluids, a process made much faster by the smooth coat Knock Out had applied onto their paint jobs, compared to the rough texture of…

Of before.

How many times did it need to be said he’d rather have that life than this? It might’ve been a life of poverty, of scraping by, of going hungry, of uncertainty—but was there any more certainty in this?

Beyond the certainty of more ways to hurt them, physically and emotionally.

They had fuel, they had access to high quality paints and polishes, to washracks… A roof over their helms.

But the price wasn’t worth it.

Sunstreaker shuttered his optics, letting the solvent fall over him and soothe aching cables as it trailed into his internals through the gaps in his armor. Beside him Sideswipe did the same, and blissfully the other occupants didn’t break the silence of the washracks either. Maybe it was just because of the two of them, but the mood felt so somber. Like it wouldn’t have been right to speak.

So they didn’t. Without a word, but together, they grabbed scrubs and began to clean their plating to the best of their ability, helping each other where appropriate. The sealant Knock Out had used to protect their new paint was surprisingly good at its job. The paint transfers littering them came off in a way Sunstreaker hadn’t experienced before. Usually that amount of scuffs would’ve required touching up the underlying paint afterwards, but now… That didn’t seem necessary.

He wasn’t sure how grateful he was about that. It was one less thing to worry about, but also another consequence of their situation—a separation from before, when they evidently hadn’t sealed their paint properly, or hadn’t had the ability to seal their paint properly. Whichever it was.

Same result.

It always came back to it: he’d rather have the before, even with all of the supposed downsides it had come with.

They hardly even seemed like downsides anymore, compared to the downsides of being held captive in Kaon like this.

But as easily as the paint transfers came off, and no matter how well the solvent and the scrub dislodged the fluids that had dried on him, they did little to remove the ghost sensations that were left behind—and they did nothing to the way lubricant and transfluid streamed from his valve when he opened his cover against his better judgement. The moment he did, Sideswipe wished he hadn’t, but… He just wanted it out. Was that too much to ask? Too much to hope that he could make it feel like nothing had happened?

It was, wasn’t it? Gravity pulled out quite a bit of it, but he knew, he just knew there was still so much left inside that he had no way to remove.

And he didn’t want to touch it. Primus, he just…

His helm hung. He knew Sunstreaker was worried about him, and Sideswipe knew he was… Acting out of character in a lot of ways.

But could he be blamed for it? Look at what had happened to them. What did they have but each other, anymore?

What had they ever had besides that?

Freedom, that’s what. A right to self-dictate.

His paint was gleaming already, but that was only because of the repaint Knock Out had given them. He looked good.

He didn’t feel good. He didn’t want to look good. He wished he looked the part of the guttermech he was, even if he’d spent his life fighting that very appearance. But it was better than this—being a pretty, polished doll for one tyrant and his lackeys to use. And if he’d ever thought… If he’d ever thought that the other mates could be allies in this situation, those hopes had been crushed last night.

They were complicit. They did what Megatron told, even if… Even when that involved what it had.

It was so wrong. Didn’t they see how wrong it was? How could they just…

How could they?

Sunstreaker’s servo closed around his wrist and Sideswipe was snapped back to the present enough to realize he had washed the same spot for a needlessly long amount of time already. There was nothing left to clean in that area. There was nothing coming out of his valve anymore, his crotch and inner thighs washed clean by the running solvent, and he let his cover close back up.

So why didn’t he feel clean?

Why couldn’t he forget how many servos had grabbed him by the hips to–

His claws, sharp like they hadn’t been since they were first activated, had dug furrows into the soft scrub. Sunstreaker’s hold on his wrist tightened. “I’m fine,” Sideswipe whispered on reflex, knowing full well his brother’s concern.

He was lying. They both knew he was. He couldn’t lift his helm. Couldn’t… Couldn’t just put on an act and pretend that was the truth. He’d always been able to before, no matter what had happened.

But never before had this happened. Evidently there were limits to what even he could fake his way through.

Sunstreaker didn’t say anything, but let go of his arm to go back to cleaning himself up. They were both clean already though, at least visually. There was nothing more to wash away. No paint transfers, no lubricant, no transfluid.

Nothing but the feel of it all, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure if that could be washed away. Maybe in a million years they could’ve.

But not so quickly.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice from behind them and Sideswipe jolted from his thoughts. Both him and Sunstreaker spun on their heels to face Skywarp, Sideswipe with wide optics, Sunstreaker with a growl.

Skywarp shrunk back a little bit from the aggression aimed at him, but wasn’t wholly discouraged. “Um, I came to see if you needed help washing up, but it looks like you got it already,” the Seeker said. He was clean too, but that wasn’t a surprise considering he hadn’t been in the berthroom anymore when they’d woken up.

Under different circumstances, the offer would’ve been a nice gesture.

Under these circumstances?

“You have some fucking gall,” Sunstreaker hissed. Sideswipe’s ventilations hitched, and he didn’t, couldn’t look at Skywarp, letting his gaze drop again. Sunstreaker stepped up in front of him, between him and the Seeker, and he was angry. He was so angry it was like a physical wall between him and the rest of the world.

Skywarp wasn’t completely blind to the danger and took a step back from Sunstreaker’s righteous fury. And it was righteous.

Look at what Skywarp had done. Right along with the rest of them.

And now he was here, acting like none of it had happened.

This place was so upside down. If it wasn’t for Sunstreaker, Sideswipe thought he might’ve started doubting the whole fabric of reality at this rate.

‘Yeah, I participated in your gang rape, but would you like me to help you wash up?’

Not even an apology. “You and the whole rest in this Primus forsaken place!” Sunstreaker continued, his voice rising until it was nothing short of a bellow. Skywarp took another step back.

Sunstreaker didn’t pursue, but Sideswipe knew the only reason for that was that he didn’t want to leave Sideswipe alone. If it wasn’t him inadvertently holding Sunstreaker back, there would’ve been nothing to save the Seeker from his brother’s wrath.

Justified wrath, if you asked Sideswipe.

“I just thought-” Skywarp tried to say, but Sunstreaker didn’t let him finish.

“Get. Out,” the golden twin snarled instead, pointing at the door. He probably had no rights to order anyone around, yet in the face of the anger directed at him, Skywarp took yet another step back.

“If-” he tried to speak again, and again Sunstreaker cut him off.

“OUT!”

Sideswipe was pretty sure that could be heard all throughout the harem wing, but at least Skywarp finally believed there was nothing he could achieve here, and hurried to the door with just one backwards glance.

He looked… Sad? Hurt?

He had no right.

The few other mates that had been in washracks cleared out quickly after their winged compatriot, sending more glances their way.

And then they were alone.

Sunstreaker’s engine revved, but Sideswipe slumped back against the wall under the still running shower. Numbly he reached for the controls and turned it off—to conserve the amount of solvent used, but what did it matter how much of it was used? Whose solvent was it?

Megatron’s. Everything here was Megatron’s.

Including them.

His vents hitched again at that thought, at the reminder—why Sunstreaker was angry at Skywarp.

The whole fucking mess of it.

Skywarp had been a part of it. And– He hadn’t come to apologize, had he? Unless offering help was his way of apologizing.

But he could’ve said something too. Some acknowledgment that what had happened was so, so wrong. They too had to think it wasn’t right, didn’t they? How could anyone think it was okay? He was pretty sure Megatron knew it was messed up too, but Megatron just enjoyed that fact.

What about the rest of them, though? If Megatron’s behavior could be explained away with just sadism and cruelty, what was the excuse for the others?

Was it going to happen again? Were they, all of them, going to do it again? Turn their audials off to any protests they had, because… What, just because Megatron told them to?

He knew all too well what Megatron was like, already, and they’d barely known him for any amount of time. In that he really… He really couldn’t blame the others for not disobeying him.

But he still didn’t understand it. There was no resistance whatsoever, not even any visible reluctance.

They just did it.

They’d said no, and they just did it.

They might act nice towards them, be helpful, or try to be… Skywarp, Runabout. Aside from Starscream’s weird attitude, no one had been mean towards them.

Aside from last night.

They were just as messed up as the rest of this. How was he even supposed to look at any of them anymore, after what they’d done to them? How was he supposed to look at Starscream and not think of the Seeker’s face or valve right next to him as he serviced Megatron right in front of his optics? Without any signs of hesitation?

Or Skywarp. How he had just… How everyone had just…

How much more of this was there going to be?

When was it going to end?

“What are we going to do?” Sideswipe blurted, prompting Sunstreaker to break his angry staring contest with the door. “We need to get the frag away from here.”

Desperate.

Get out.

But how?

When?

“We’ll find a way,” Sunstreaker said, promised, turning back to him and wrapping him into a warm and familiar embrace. And Sideswipe wanted to believe. He buried his face in the crook of his twin’s neck, and he wanted so badly to believe that they would find a way out before… Primus, he wasn’t sure. Before what?

How much more of this could he take? What would happen when he couldn’t take it anymore? “We just need to hold out until we do,” Sunstreaker whispered to him, and Sideswipe could feel the shiver in him. Neither of them was unaffected by this. But they were holding it together pretty well, weren’t they? Despite everything.

They’d beat the odds before. They would this time too. Like Sunstreaker said, they’d just need to survive until then. They could do that.

That thought and the pulse of his brother’s half-spark against his chassis steeled his resolve. It was just them, but that was fine, because it had always been just them. And that was all they’d ever needed.

It would be all they needed here too. They would find a way out, and they would do so before it was too late. No, no. It would never be too late. They would just need to be patient and wily, outsmart the cage they were in, undo all of its locks, and steal back their life.

“Yeah,” he responded to Sunstreaker with no more volume than what Sunstreaker had used, and wrapped his arms around his twin in turn. And he meant it. Maybe… Maybe all they’d need were little moments like these to keep a hold of their sanity until they could break free.

The washrack door opened with the quiet swoosh of a well oiled mechanism and they glanced up in alarm. One of the mates was standing in the doorway, looking a little awkward. Like he didn’t want to be there. “Hey. Sorry about the interruption, but,” and Sideswipe tensed all over, because how could any news borne by their assailants be good ones?

His gut was proven right a second later. “Megatron’s summoned you, Sideswipe.

“Alone.”

“What the pit…” Sideswipe whispered, and Sunstreaker growled, his arms tightening around him.

“No,” his brother said. “You can go tell him to frag off.”

Sideswipe burrowed into Sunstreaker’s embrace, his spark beginning to flutter faster and faster with the implications.

Alone with Megatron.

It was bad enough with Sunstreaker there, when he could draw strength from his brother and share the experience and the attention. Sure, they were used against each other too, but it was still better to be together. Bearable to be together.

It was never bearable.

How was he supposed to go without his brother?

His plating was clattering against Sunstreaker’s, but that only made his twin tighten his hold enough that Sideswipe worried their armors would buckle.

And as much as he trusted his brother, as much as he knew Sunstreaker’s desire to protect him from everything and anything… He feared there was nothing Sunstreaker could do to protect him from this. Not from Megatron.

That was a terrible, terrible thought. He keened at the inevitability of it all, of the– Of the–

“Please please please no,” he pleaded, looking up at the other mate still standing in the doorway. “Please I can’t– I can’t go through that, not again, not with him– Please.”

Tears welled, then fell at the thought of what Megatron could do to him, and oh Primus but there was so much, and he was sure his imagination still couldn’t conjure anything even halfway as awful as what Megatron would think to do. Even with everything that had happened already, no matter how many times and in how many ways they’d already been raped, he was sure Megatron would find new ways to torture and humiliate them.

Him. Just him, if he went alone. “I can’t,” was what it all boiled down to, and he couldn’t even hate how badly his voice cracked when he said that, trying so hard to beg with the newsbringer. Make them understand.

Their look was sad, pitying. Maybe they did understand.

Maybe they’d been through the same thing.

Maybe they didn’t have a twin to share it all with in the first place.

But they were a part of it. Had been, last night. They’d carry out Megatron’s orders.

And even if they didn’t want to do that, what could they do? Could they really just carry the message back to him, ‘hey, they don’t want to, so I guess this isn’t happening’?

Inevitable. Megatron was inevitable. This was his kingdom and all in it lived to serve.

Strength left him, and only Sunstreaker’s hold of him kept him up. “Sunny,” he whined, pathetic, but he was beyond caring about his own dignity. As if he even had any left at this point. “I can’t do it, please.”

Sunstreaker understood, if no one else did, and a protective growl rumbled in his brother’s engine. “He won’t get you,” Sunstreaker promised quietly but resolutely—and despite that, Sideswipe could feel Sunstreaker’s uncertainty.

The want to protect was real, so very real, and there wasn’t a single fiber in his twin’s being that wanted to hand him over to their tormentor.

But neither of them knew how to avoid it. What could they do? They were so powerless against the tyrant.

The mate had disappeared from the doorway, but Sideswipe didn’t feel even a moment’s relief at that fact. And he was right. A moment later two guards and Starscream entered, the Seeker following behind the black clad mechs. “Our Master doesn’t make requests,” he said, sounding annoyed, like this all was just an inconvenience to him. The guards came for them, but Sunstreaker positioned himself between them and him, and Sideswipe cringed further against his chassis.

Inevitable.

“Resistance is futile.” Starscream’s words sounded like they came from a mile away with the way panic began to pound in his audials, but there the Seeker was, echoing thoughts they’d already had.

Turning them into hard truths.

He was frozen in place when the guards took a hold of Sunstreaker and forcibly pulled him away despite his cursing, but without his brother there, fight or flight took over.

He chose flight.

Sideswipe bolted for the doorway the Seeker blissfully wasn’t blocking, through it and into the hallway, and–

And then he didn’t know where to go. Where could he go that would get him away from his fate?

There was further ruckus coming from the washracks behind him, and some other mates either hanging out in the hallway or on their way to here or there looked at him, but Sideswipe didn’t acknowledge them. He didn’t know what to do.

Until the sounds behind him got closer, the fields of the guards, and he took his legs under him again and dashed to the main doors leading in and out of the wing.

What did he do that for?

They were locked, as they had been before. The guards on this side having left them hadn’t changed that fact. Of course it hadn’t.

And he had nowhere else to go.

“Leave him alone!” Sunstreaker yelled behind him, his voice registering dimly but enough that Sideswipe cast one panicked look over his shoulder.

There were mecha peeking through the doorways, curious over what all the fuss was about. There was Sunstreaker, struggling against Starscream’s hold, but unable to break it. Held back. “Sideswipe! You fragging dronebrains, leave him alone!”

And there were the guards, headed straight for Sideswipe.

Give up?

No. That wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t just willingly subject himself to this.

He deserved better.

He had value, he had rights. This was wrong.

Megatron was wrong.

“Get away from me!” His voice was still shrill when he cornered himself against the grand doors. As ever, the guards offered no reaction, too intent on following their orders to the letter no matter what. What Sideswipe wanted was of no consequence when pitted against what Megatron wanted.

It wasn’t right!

The hallway was big, but it wasn’t big enough. When he made one last desperate attempt to get past the guards—and to where? The rest of the harem wing, only to be cornered again?—they only had to reach to get a hold of him, and the grip was like a vice.

“No!” He struggled all the same, but they merely caught him arm apiece, and push-dragged him towards the doors. “Let go of me! You- Don’t!”

He didn’t want to go through those doors. Not like this. He fought, he fought so hard, and he could hear Sunstreaker’s angry and fearful yells, and feel the way Starscream’s claws sank into his armor to keep him in place.

Just until they were through the doors and they closed behind him and the two guards with a decisive slam.

His ventilations came fast and hard and there was no willing them into a calmer pace, not when his spark was a whirlwind of fright and desperation. He offered none of his cooperation, but the guards were big and burly and didn’t give a damn about his struggles. He was marched through the halls and past the other doors until they came to those ones.

The ones he was going to have nightmares about for the rest of his life, most likely.

They opened to admit them to the bleak interior of Megatron’s wing, but where Sideswipe had expected to be merely shoved in to find a place to hide and postpone what couldn’t be avoided, the guards instead pulled him further into the wing.

And further, and further, all the way to the lounge at the end of the hallway.

Megatron was waiting, big and imposing despite the fact he was presently sitting on one of the couches with a cube of energon in one servo, a lit datapad in the other. He glanced up when they entered, his optics brightening with… Pleasure? Glee? Anticipation? Greed?

No matter what it was, Sideswipe wanted nothing to do with it.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” the tyrant said as he set the cube down on the table in front of him and subspaced his datapad. It was so conversational, the way he said it, like there was any damn way Sideswipe would’ve come here voluntarily.

Like there were any faint traces of cordiality or rapport between them.

As if they could have normal conversations.

A flick of Megatron’s servo as he rose to his pedes, and the guards let go of Sideswipe, turned around, and left. The door closed behind them, and Sideswipe doubted it would open again anytime soon.

And once again he was the target of Megatron’s focus, except this time there was nothing and no one to function as a buffer between them. Or as a distraction. Or… Anything.

Now there was nothing but the weight of those red optics staring down at him and making him feel so small and vulnerable.

Which he was, when compared to Megatron.

“Where’s your brother?” Megatron asked, but with the way he grinned when he said that, Sideswipe knew Megatron knew exactly where Sunstreaker was.

He was just toying with him.

Sideswipe responded anyway. “You only wanted me,” he said, trying and failing to keep his voice strong and steady.

Sunstreaker might’ve managed that feat.

He wasn’t Sunstreaker.

He was scared out of his wits without his brother. His voice betrayed him completely on that front, wavering and shaking, but he still hoped even some of his resolve remained and shone through—even one remnant of his belief that Megatron wasn’t within his rights to do this, no matter what the mech seemed to think.

But no one had the rights to do any of this to another living being. Not even the unquestioned ruler of Kaon.

“That I did,” Megatron said, sounding decidedly pleased. “Come. We have much to do.” Again there was a flick of his digits and the expectation that that was all the order Sideswipe would need, as it was all the order everyone else seemed to need.

“No,” was what he said instead, planting his pedes, raising his chin, and keeping his voice steady.

Just for the duration of that single word, but it was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

“No?” the tyrant asked, his amusement palpable. “I see. What would you like to do instead?”

Games. The damn megalomaniac was playing games with him, and Sideswipe’s spark spun wildly, but every moment spent pretending Megatron was in any way interested in what he wanted was one less moment spent doing what Megatron wanted.

“I would like to go home,” Sideswipe said, and his voice was shivering again.

“...Please,” he tacked on after a beat.

You know, just to be polite. Couldn’t hurt.

“Home?” Megatron mused, bending to pick his cube back up and… Sipping from it. As they talked.

So casual.

Sideswipe didn’t feel so casual. He swallowed, hard, but the dreadful anxiety didn’t lessen or go anywhere. Of course it didn’t.

“I hear you were guttermechs, you and your brother,” the grey mech continued while Sideswipe just stood there, with nowhere to go and nothing to say that would change the course of this. And no matter what Megatron said now, Sideswipe was sure it wouldn’t change anything. He was just toying with him.

And having fun while at it, by all appearances. “Do you even have anything to go back to?”

“Yes,” Sideswipe answered, and it was true.

There wasn’t a whole lot, he could admit that much. They hadn’t had a lot.

But they’d had enough.

“Really? Did you have everything you do now?” Games, games, games! Megatron knew what he was doing, and he was enjoying himself. There was that gleam in his optic, the caress of a smile on his lips.

Sideswipe didn’t want to play this game.

“You should thank me.”

For a moment he couldn’t believe what he heard. How had he– Why had he expected Megatron wouldn’t go there? Was there anything the tyrant wouldn’t do, any trick in the book he wouldn’t use?

But did he mean it? Sideswipe didn’t know. Maybe his view of reality was so warped that he did mean it, that he was functioning under the delusion that this was somehow an improvement.

It wasn’t, and damn him if he was ever going to be thankful for the abduction and the rape that Megatron seemed to be the base cause of.

Megatron’s orders, Megatron’s desires. “Never,” Sideswipe hiss-growled in a way that was more at home on Sunstreaker’s vocalizer. He could grasp anger now, his servos balling into fists.

That was the only answer there was to stupid suggestions like that.

“Hmh.” Megatron, so noncommittal, but with one more gulp he emptied his cube and dispersed it.

And Sideswipe’s anger deflated, burst by the spike of fear that thought it knew their little chat was over and they were about to get down to business.

That fear was joined by the fear that the other fear was correct when Megatron began to approach him, and how much fear was that?

A lot, Sideswipe concluded, because his knees nearly buckled from it and he barely managed to stumble away from the tyrant’s approach. His spark was spinning faster than it ever might’ve before. He hadn’t feared a great many things before. Maybe he should’ve, but he hadn’t.

And he’d never feared anything like he feared Megatron.

Megatron didn’t take offense in his escape this time either, and pits but Sideswipe wished he would’ve. It might’ve broken the aura of smug superiority and full control that surrounded the larger mech—compare that to Sideswipe, barely staying upright on weak legs, tripping over himself in his hurry to keep distance between them.

It was a doomed effort, like it had been all the times before. Slowly but surely—like he was drawing things out just for the sake of it—Megatron cornered him and snatched him by the arm before unceremoniously dragging him to the berthroom. That door closed too, once they were through it, and then he was once again tossed onto a massive berth. Megatron followed him onto it, but slowly enough that Sideswipe had the time to scoot to its furthest corner.

Out of reach.

Not that Megatron cared. Oh no, the tyrant had entirely different plans that apparently didn’t involve chasing Sideswipe around any more at all. Because Megatron merely settled himself onto the other end of the berth and spread his legs in invitation, that damn amusement in his optics when Sideswipe’s gaze passed between them and the dark crotch. “Coax it out.”

Sideswipe balked. “What?”

“Coax it out,” Megatron repeated patiently like the benevolent leader he wasn’t.

Did he really expect it? He was there and Sideswipe was here, and he wasn’t in range to force him.

Did he think Sideswipe would do it willingly?

He almost felt offended. “No!” he said, drawing his knees up and glaring at their captor. The whole situation was absurd enough that some of the anxiety melted away from sheer disbelief–

But it was quickly replaced by the fearful expectation of what Megatron’s plan here was. He had to have one beyond just expecting Sideswipe to do as he was told like a good little mech.

Everyone else might’ve done it, followed Megatron’s every word and gesture, but he fragging well wouldn’t.

That fear gained more fuel when Megatron still didn’t take the bait and merely said an even, “You will.”

And… Did or said no more than that. Sideswipe waited, a tense ball of nerves, but nothing happened.

Absolutely nothing.

Well, beyond Megatron shifting his attention away from him entirely. He pulled a datapad from his subspace and focused on it instead, leaving Sideswipe to wait.

And wait.

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

Hours passed. At some point Megatron got off the berth and moved to his desk, and by all appearances set to work on… What did tyrants even do for a living, besides ordering others around and creatively tormenting them? Sideswipe had no idea.

And Sideswipe… He was left to wait, there, at one end and one corner of the berth, with his knees drawn so tight to his chest and a pit of ever deepening confusion in his tanks.

You will. That sounded like a threat and a promise rolled into one, but as much as he already knew Megatron to be capable of, he had no idea how he planned to achieve this one thing when he didn’t look like he was planning to use his own frame to get it, this time. What did he expect to happen? For Sideswipe to suddenly change his mind? Out of boredom maybe?

Because he was bored. Anxious, but bored. He was prone to that to begin with and had always had bigger thrills than Sunstreaker just to keep himself satisfied.

And now he was left with nothing more to do than sit and stare at another mech’s back.

It didn’t sit too well with him, but it was far from making him desperate enough for something to do that he would’ve magically begun to want to service Megatron of all mecha. Or really anyone, at this point in time.

Everything was still too fresh for him to want anything to do with interfacing anytime soon.

And although he wasn’t forced to interface right then, Sideswipe only felt a modicum of relief. Sure, the present could’ve been worse, but he feared the future would be even worse than what the present could’ve been if things had at all gone like he’d expected them to. Megatron had a plan and an intent, there was no doubt about that even if Sideswipe had no idea what it was.

But the end goal at least had been made clear already: for Sideswipe to interface with him, presumably without too much force being involved.

If that was it, it was under his control, and it was an easy promise to make to himself and the world that he wouldn’t do it.

No matter what it came down to.

As long as Sunstreaker remained unharmed, but Sunstreaker wasn’t even here.

Why didn’t he feel so certain despite his desire to stand strong? Why did he trust Megatron to have too many trump cards that he wouldn’t be able to counter?

He could’ve taken it as a moment’s respite, but it didn’t feel like respite at all. Just a truckload of uncertainty over what the future would bring.

He stayed right where he was for what felt like an eternity while Megatron tapped away on his datapads. And then…

Then Megatron got up and left.

Sideswipe stilled in utter confusion when the door closed behind the tyrant and he was left alone in the damn mech’s berthroom.

He didn’t want to be alone there, even without Megatron present.

Yet he was, without exactly any say in the matter.

What the pit was going on?

And if he’d thought he’d been bored before, without even the stimulation of watching someone working—and that wasn’t exactly good entertainment either—he thought he was quickly driven towards insanity. He didn’t dare move though, just in case that would’ve summoned his harrower. Somehow. He sort of doubted there were cameras in Megatron’s personal quarters, but what did he know. Maybe the mech just really liked leaving his mates alone here, only to watch them squirm through some hidden cameras.

But Sideswipe wasn’t squirming. Sideswipe wasn’t really doing anything, in fact. Well, besides just… Waiting. Waiting for Megatron’s return, waiting for what would happen next, waiting for what kind of torture the future would bring.

He waited for a very long time. It was closer to a half an orn before he could hear pedesteps on the other side of the door and tensed all over from the light doze he had entered just to pass the time. Conflicted emotions followed right after, boredom warring with fear over whether it was better there was another living being to look at to have something to do, or if he’d rather not have Megatron anywhere near him.

The latter was winning by the time the door opened to admit the big mech. He strode in like he owned the place—which he did—and landed his optics on Sideswipe. The door closed behind him, and Sideswipe felt as trapped as he ever had.

Was this it? Had Megatron’s patience ran out and now he would just pin him down and rape him? At this point that might’ve even been relief, something familiar in the place of whatever this was.

But instead of coming for him directly, Megatron again climbed onto the berth and stayed well out of reach. He spread his legs, and then he gave the order again. “Coax it out.”

Sideswipe shook his helm. No. He still wasn’t about to do that. What had Megatron expected to achieve by leaving him alone for a time? Cooperation?

No fucking way.

Megatron waited for a time, gave him a chance to reconsider… And then moved. Sideswipe expected the worst the moment the tyrant came towards him and he bolted off the berth, but instead of pursuing him, Megatron merely…

Reclined. The fragger reclined on his berth like he was about to go to recharge.

And when his systems began to cycle down, Sideswipe realized that was exactly what he was doing.

What the pit?

It was like he didn’t even care Sideswipe was there, standing on the floor of his berthroom, watching him go to sleep. Did he think it was safe, that Sideswipe wouldn’t do anything to him while he was out of it and vulnerable?

Except… Was he vulnerable? Was a mech like Megatron ever vulnerable? Was he dumb enough to shut down all of his systems for recharge, or did he leave enough on to royally mess Sideswipe up if he got too close or tried anything?

Greater mecha than him had probably tried to off the tyrant, but here Megatron was still. What chances did Sideswipe have against him? And there were two ways that could go. Either Megatron would just be amused, or he would take offense and… Kill him in retaliation? That wouldn’t surprise him.

He didn’t want to die here. Not in Megatron’s berthroom, not in this tower, not in Kaon.

He didn’t want to die at all.

It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take and not a price he was willing to pay for the slim chance he could end Megatron. And… Even if he did manage that, what did he expect to happen? He doubted Megatron’s lackeys would be too pleased.

No, there was no way that could’ve ended well for Sideswipe. It wouldn’t end well for him if he didn’t do anything, but at least by not doing anything he had the chances to get out of Megatron’s wing, return to Sunstreaker, and return to their escape plots.

He wouldn’t be able to escape if he was dead.

He still didn’t understand what Megatron was doing, though, but he feared he would learn the answer sooner or later, and that he wouldn’t like it. While Megatron was recharging though… Sideswipe didn’t think he would be catching any recharge himself, not with Megatron there. He didn’t want to let his guard down, even for a moment.

There was no way that would’ve led to anything good.

Sideswipe glanced around him at the spartan room. Megatron had made sure not to leave any datapads behind when he left, and there was nothing more to explore now either. If he even would’ve dared to snoop around while Megatron was recharging a couple of steps away.

So… Now what? He’d escaped interfacing for the time being, but he still didn’t know what the game they were playing was, and he still had absolutely nothing to do.

With a quiet huff Sideswipe backed up until his back hit one of the bleak walls, then carefully slid down it to sit on the floor, pulling his knees back to his chassis.

More waiting. A lot more waiting, listening to the peaceful whirr and rumble of Megatron’s systems. The sounds would’ve been soothing if they’d belonged to someone else, but coming from Megatron they only put Sideswipe on edge and made it impossible to forget where he was. He didn’t want to familiarize himself with the sounds of the tyrant’s recharging frame.

But here he was.

He didn’t full on recharge himself, not for the whole of Megatron’s recharge cycle, but he did enter a light doze like before. Not because he was particularly tired, but just to have something to pass the time with.

They were long, long hours that he anxiously waited for Megatron to awaken, and see what that brought with it. It gave his mind far too much time to work over all the unpleasant things that might await him in his unfortunate future, concoct all sorts of possibilities, each one more terrible than the one before.

And he feared Megatron would live up to all of it, somehow.

How had one mech become the biggest boogeyman he’d ever known?

Megatron woke up no sooner and no later than what suited him. Sideswipe snapped out of his thoughts the moment the sounds of the tyrant’s systems changed and started to ramp up again, signaling his return to full awareness. It was a short process with no time wasted, just the steady climb from recharge to everyday functioning. Soon Megatron was already sitting up and stretching like Sideswipe would’ve expected from any mech.

But it looked so wrong coming from the sadistic dictator that had no right to remind him of the common folk that didn’t go around kidnapping and raping others.

It didn’t take longer than that for Megatron to take notice of him, though, and Sideswipe pressed tighter against the wall at his back when the tyrant’s red gaze zeroed in on him. “Sleep well?” Megatron asked.

Sideswipe’s lips drew back in a snarl.

Megatron didn’t laugh, but it looked like it was a close thing. “Come here and coax it out,” he gave the order once again, patting the berth in invitation.

“Slag you!” Sideswipe growled back at him and decidedly didn’t go over to fragging coax it out.

“Suit yourself,” the tyrant said genteelly before getting up from the berth and leaving the whole room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Sideswipe was alone all over again.

This didn’t make any damn sense. “Why doesn’t he just…” he murmured to himself, trying to make sense of the mix of emotions his spark was pulsing with. On one hand, relief that he wasn’t getting raped like he’d gotten a lot recently.

But on the other he just… Wanted it over with. It would hurt, and he’d hate it, but afterwards he could return to the harem wing, to Sunstreaker, and hug his brother, and listen to him hear say they’d get out yet.

He didn’t want this waiting. Waiting for Megatron to unleash his cruelty, waiting for the suffering, the pain, the humiliation.

Get it over with.

It’d only hurt for a while. And on the other side… There might just be a moment to gather himself back together before the next time he’d need to survive Megatron’s attentions.

But this?

“Fuck this,” Sideswipe whispered, his servos finding their way to his helmet and cradling it.

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

Again he sat, and he waited, and again it was such a long, long time before Megatron deemed to return. Sideswipe didn’t even want to count the hours.

“Coax it out.”

He refused.

Megatron didn’t force him.

Megatron sat at his desk, drank his energon, and worked, and Sideswipe sat on the chilly floor, against the wall, and watched him because he had nothing better to do.

Another recharge cycle Megatron slept peacefully on his berth. Sideswipe remained on the floor, tense and anxious, but not as tense and anxious as before.

He hated that. He didn’t want to get used to Megatron’s presence, but his emotions were tiring him to the point of dulling when nothing bad happened.

Another morning, another order, another time he didn’t do as he was told.

Another time Megatron left him alone while he went off to who knew where.

This time Sideswipe got up and went to the door, experimentally testing if it was locked or if he could maybe even get to the lounge on the other side.

But it was locked. He was not only held prisoner in Kaon and the palace, but now in Megatron’s berthroom too.

What did he want? For him to just… Was it all he wanted that Sideswipe would go to him and do as he was told? Was that all?

“Frag off with that,” he muttered as he turned from the door and crawled under the berth, all the way to the center where he could be sure Megatron wouldn’t be able to reach him. He curled up there and tried to get some real recharge in the spell of peace and quiet when Megatron wasn’t present.

And tried to ignore his slowly depleting fuel levels.

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

When Megatron returned that night, he halted right at the door, probably because he couldn’t see Sideswipe right away. Sideswipe tensed, but it wasn’t like his spark or energy signatures had gone anywhere. In short order Megatron had fully stepped into the room, walked over to the berth, and crouched down to see under it.

Sideswipe met his optics.

Megatron smiled at him.

Sideswipe growled.

But Megatorn said nothing, and did nothing else, only stood back up and went to his desk. He had energon with him again. Sideswipe could hear the cube hit the desk every so often after Megatron took a drink from it before setting it back down.

And although Sideswipe wasn’t exactly exerting himself, his frame was still using his energon reserves for simple functioning. The decline was slow, but steady.

He wondered if Megatron had any plans to give him fuel.

Probably not.

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

Orns. Straight up orns.

He stayed under the berth stubbornly, ignoring the cold wafting from the floor, barely warmed by the heat of his frame. In fact, putting those two against each other, it was his frame that was cooling rather than the floor warming.

He didn’t move much either, and his cables were getting stiff, but he didn’t dare do anything that would’ve earned Megatron’s attentions. As it was the tyrant only crouched to take a look at him and smile at him right after he returned from spending the day who knew where doing who knew what dictator things. He didn’t say anything and wouldn’t try to get him to come out from under the berth, but Sideswipe knew what was hanging in the air between them despite their silence.

Coax it out.

That was what he was supposed to do. What would happen if he did? Yeah, no doubt there’d be interfacing he wanted absolutely nothing to do with, but… What about after?

Would he get to go back to Sunstreaker?

Primus, but he missed his brother. He was bored out of his mind, but more importantly than that... He just wanted his twin’s embrace and the comfort of a frame near identical to his own, of a spark that was a half of his own.

He could really use a hug right about now, honestly.

Because he didn’t know what to do. Time passed, but Megatron showed no signs of planning to let him leave, or of offering some fuel to him. And his fuel meter, it was lowering to uncomfortable readings. He’d already used up a large portion of his reserves during the orgy, and hadn’t had the time to replenish them.

How far would Megatron let things go? Until he went to stasis?

Would he leave him to rust under his berth? His reward for his determination?

Was it worth it? He wanted to see Sunstreaker again. He wanted to have the chance to leave this hellhole for good. A chance to reclaim his life.

He wouldn’t get that if he became forgotten under a tyrant’s berth.

But what he would need to do to get out of here… Pits. There was no winning. He got to choose between two kinds of damned, that was all.��

He wanted Sunstreaker here, so, so badly. He didn’t want to do this alone, be here alone.

Sideswipe curled up tighter as Megatron settled down for another recharge cycle above him. His HUD was blinking a fitful warning at him, beseeching him to fuel soon before he became too weak to do so. Hunger was gnawing at his tanks, near empty by now. He had little more than the energon in his lines, and that was losing charge steadily. It wouldn’t be too long before there wasn’t enough of it there to power his engines.

And if he couldn’t power his engines, he wouldn’t be able to move. Then what?

Best case scenario was that Megatron would have him pulled out from under the berth and refueled, but that would only land him back to square one. This wasn’t even a game of wills anymore, if it ever had been. It didn’t matter how much willpower he had. Even if he had enough, he’d just lose another way.

Inevitable.

His fate was coming for him whether he liked it or not. There was no way out that didn’t involve doing Megatron’s bidding.

When would he give in?

Was it just a matter of time?

He tried to quiet his sob and drew his field in even tighter than it had already been. Megatron didn’t need to know how he was feeling.

He didn’t need to know he was winning.

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

Two more orns. He held on for two more orns, cold, lonely, bored out of his fucking mind, but still preferring that to the future he feared.

Despair. The warning on his HUD had gotten upgraded in priority and was nearing critical. Stasis or pleasing Megatron, those were his two options. He couldn’t see any others.

When Megatron came back that night, he crouched at the end of the berth as was usual by now, and Sideswipe met his optics, knowing his own were dimming.

“Are you hungry?” Megatron asked and brought a cube to his view. Sideswipe’s throat constricted at the promise of much needed fuel. His frame demanded him to take it, to avoid being forced into stasis.

Into being completely helpless.

As if he wasn’t that even when his tanks were full.

“You must be,” the tyrant continued with a tone of fake kindness, like he actually gave a damn about Sideswipe’s wellbeing.

He just cared about how he could get Sideswipe to do what he wanted. How to make him like everyone else in that regard.

And it was working. Sideswipe closed his optics and entertained defeat. He wouldn’t last another orn. It was now or never if he didn’t want to choose stasis over Megatron’s clutches.

He just wanted back to Sunstreaker. What was he doing except drawing things out at this point? He couldn’t win. There was no reality where he would get his way and get out of here without going through Megatron first.

Without doing what Megatron wanted of him, first.

He would… He would just have to keep that in mind. He was doing this for Sunstreaker, for their reunion. Not for himself, and definitely not for Megatron.

For Sunstreaker.

He closed his optics tighter. The words hurt when they came out– “What do you want from me?”

–But the approving pulse in Megatron’s field hurt even more.

“Come out and see.”

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#transformers #maccadams #megatron #sideswipe #sunstreaker #starscream #skywarp #harem au #twins #fic #2020

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years

Text

Swallow p2

this is plotless filth. plz don’t drag me lol. I’ve been writing so many canon universe fics and ancient greek smut i almost forgot condoms were a thing, but always rubber up unless you and your partner(s) have been tested and are not getting frisky with anyone outside the agreement.

Warnings: its smut, anal sex, anal fingering, blowjobs, multiple orgasm, semi public sex, should they be fucking in the tattoo studio at like 2am? prolly not. is it happening anyway? yes. I’m telling myself Jask sanitizes before each new client, okay?

-if you want the plot the first part is here and we pick up right where we left off-

__________________

...And kiss him, Geralt did. Desperately and sweetly, savoring the taste of Jaskier’s tongue in his mouth and the way his fingers curled into Geralt’s shirt. It was like the steam valve had finally been eased back and Geralt couldn’t help but press their bodies together, sighing in the bit of relief the contact brought.

Jaskier pulled back and trailed his finger tips down Geralt’s torso to catch on his beltloops, “Let’s deal with that, shall we?”

“Fuck, please.” Geralt groaned as Jaskier flicked open the button on his jeans. He hadn’t been this uncomfortably hard since he was 18 and every little brush of Jaskier’s skin against his was like lightning.

Jaskier kissed him once more before backing him into the chair and dropping to his knees.

He flicked his fringe out of his eyes and winked up at Geralt as he tugged his jeans and briefs down just enough to free him, “Normally I’d tease you a little more,” he hummed, pausing to place a kiss to the tip of Geralt’s cock that made him shiver, “but I think you’ve waited long enough.”

Geralt whined, his fingers digging into the soft leather of the chair as his eyes rolled back in his head.

Jaskier took him in hand and squeezed gently, brushing his thumb over the underside of his glans, “Oh that’s a lovely sound. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“So much talking,” Geralt panted, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to take a deep breath only for his eyes to snap open in surprise when Jaskier’s lips closed around him. His legs started to shake when Jaskier swirled his tongue over the underside of his shaft as his head bobbed up and down his length.

“Holy shit-,” Geralt gasped as Jaskier took more of him with each movement, making eye contact as he took Geralt down his throat and paused with his nose brushing Geralt’s pubic bone.

Geralt growled through clenched teeth, fighting the sensation creeping up his spine that threatened to push him over the edge, “Sonofa- Jask I’m not gonna last if you keep this up.”

Jaskier pulled back and made a loud popping sound as he released Geralt’s cock, “Thought that was the point, love.”

“But you-”

“I’m having a great time.” Jaskier emphasized his statement by licking up Geralt’s shaft.

Geralt just nodded, too far gone to do much else as Jaskier started up again, picking up his pace. He worked what he couldn’t fit of Geralt with one hand and squeezed at his thigh with the other, drawing moan after moan out of him. Jaskier only had to hollow his cheeks once and Geralt was gone, shaking and growling as his orgasm ripped through him. Jaskier lapped up every last drop of his spend and stood to look in Geralt’s eyes before he swallowed.

“You okay?” he asked, tucking a stray tendril of hair behind Geralt’s ear.

He nodded, still trying to catch his breath but leaning in for a soft kiss regardless, “Way better than okay.”

Jaskier grinned as he kissed down Geralt’s jaw and over his pulse point, his hands roaming over Geralt’s sides, “How would you feel about a round two? Not a deal breaker by the way. You’re probably exhausted.”

On the contrary, Geralt felt like he was conducting electricity, he was in no way completely spent for the night, “Hmm, what do you have in mind?”

Jaskier kissed back up his neck to nibble at his ear before he whispered, “I want to take you bent over the chair and make you cum again.”

“Fuck, yes.” Geralt laughed, half in excitement half in awe of how lucky he’d gotten, “Don’t tell me you’ve got lube and condoms here somewhere.”

Jaskier rested his still roaming hands on Geralt’s chest, “I’m not a perv, I promise. But yes.”

Geralt gripped Jaskier’s hips and pressed an urgent kiss to his lips, “Go get them.”

Jaskier gave him one more quick peck before he dashed to a cupboard and pulled out a backpack that he unceremoniously dumped on the counter, snatching the bottle of lube and a small foil packet, holding them up triumphantly. Geralt snatched the lube out of his hands as soon as he came close enough, hopping off the chair and setting the little bottle in his place. He kissed Jaskier as he worked the buttons of his shirt open lazily, pausing to let Jaskier pull his own t-shirt over his head before he shoved the button up off Jaskier's shoulders. His hands traced the vines and petals that stood out against the black on Jaskier's arms squinting at the lines and bits of shading running through the blank spaces here and there.

His finger found an especially dark line cutting at an odd angle through a petal, "What's this?"

Jaskier unbuckled his belt and placed a rushed kiss to Geralt's lips, "Later."

Geralt kissed him back before he dropped to his knees and tugged at the pockets of Jaskier's jeans, leaving him in just his briefs, straining against the fabric. Geralt mouthed at him through the cotton, savoring the soft gasps he earned. He watched Jaskier's face go slack with pleasure as he sucked at his head through the fabric and felt his own erection start to return.

Jaskier gently tugged at his hair as he hooked a finger under the waistband of his underwear, "As much as I love this view, I want to last long enough to make you growl again."

Geralt hummed and left one more open mouthed kiss to his tip before he stood and walked backwards to the chair, pulling Jaskier after him with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Just tell me where you want me."

Jaskier moaned just at his words, "Pants off, elbows down."

His commanding tone sent thrills through Geralt's whole body and he did as he was asked as Jaskier rid himself of his briefs. Geralt almost gasped at just how big Jaskier was. He'd guessed he was larger than average but fuck almighty, his mouth started watering as he watched Jaskier roll a condom over his length.

Jaskier rested a hand over his hip as he settled on his elbows, "Do you want me to prep you or do you like to do that yourself?"

Geralt groaned, holding the lube back over his shoulder, "You."

Jaskier hummed in satisfaction as he took the bottle and slicked up his fingers. His clean hand rubbed gentle circles on Geralt's ass before one slicked finger slid over his hole with just enough pressure to make Geralt shiver.

"So pretty, you're absolutely beautiful." He hummed, his hand roaming the expanse of Geralt's back as he circled the tight ring of muscle with increasing pressure. Geralt whined and canted back against his hand, making him chuckle, "You ready?"

Geralt nodded, moaning as Jaskier slowly pushed a finger in. It had been so long Geralt had expected a burn, but all he got was heavenly pressure. Jaskier caressed every muscle and dip of his back as he showered him with praises and worked him open. At three fingers Geralt was quivering and fully hard again.

"Fuck me Jask. Please. I'm ready."

Jaskier curled his fingers and stroked Geralt's prostate, making him groan, "You sure?"

"Yes"

Jaskier pooped open the bottle of lube and coated his dick before resting the tip against Geralt's hole, "Tell me if anything's uncomfortable."

Geralt just whined but that didn't seem to be answer enough for Jask, "I mean it, Geralt. Will you tell me?"

Geralt reached back to squeeze Jaskier's hand, "I will."

Jaskier gave his ass cheek a light squeeze and pushed himself in, tantalizingly slow, pausing when he was just tip deep, "Okay?"

Geralt shifted back ever so slightly, "Amazing." It was an understatement really, he'd never felt so full or taken care of, he was on cloud nine.

Jaskier pushed in further, rocking back a bit before plunging deeper as filthy praise littered with curses fell from his lips. When he was completely sheathed he let out a deep sigh and leaned forward to press kisses to Geralt's shoulders, making his hair stand on end in the best way.

Geralt made a small circle with his hips, "Jask, please." He panted.

Jaskier straightened up and slowly rocked back and forth, drawing a low groan from Geralt, "Fuck you're so good. So tight, so eager."

On 'eager' Jaskier snapped his hips forward a little faster and Geralt gasped, "Yes! So eager, fuck me harder, Jaskier!"

Whatever restraint he was using before disappeared as Geralt sighed his name. He thrust in hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping skin only being drowned out by their moans. Jaskier ran a palm up Geralt's spine and he nearly collapsed onto his chest at the shiver it sent through his body.

Jaskier’s hands moved to Geralt's ribs, gently squeezing, "C- fuck. Can I hold you up?"

Geralt pressed up to his hands and whined his consent, sinking into Jaskier's arms like they'd been lovers for years. He continued thrusting as his hands roamed Geralt's chest, pressing him back against his own as Geralt whimpered and laid his head back against his shoulder.

One of Jaskier's hands brushed over the tuft of curls between Geralt s hips, "Are you close?" He asked, placing sloppy kisses up and down Geralt's neck.

All he could do was nod and hum in pleasure when Jaskier's hand found his cock and started pumping in time with his thrusts. He came suddenly, the orgasm longer and gentler than before, his body rocking through it rather than shaking. Turning his head as he writhed he placed wet kisses to Jaskier's neck and jaw. The gentle brush of his lips sent Jaskier over the edge and he came with a desperate moan as he buried himself deep in Geralt's ass.

One of Geralt's hands rested over Jaskier's hand splayed over his abdomen and the other found its way to his hair, carding through it and gently scratching his scalp as they both trembled. Geralt pressed another few kisses beneath Jaskier's ear as their breathing slowed.

"Holy shit," Jaskier breathed, slowly pulling out but not releasing his hold on Geralt.

"Mhm."

They slowly parted and cleaned each other up with blue, medical grade paper towels before getting partially dressed and collapsing in the tattoo chair. Jaskier adjusted the back so they were reclining at a comfortable angle, Geralt sitting between Jaskier's legs with his back to his chest.

Jaskier gently pulled the tie out of Geralt's hair and combed through it with his fingers, humming an old 70's soft rock song as they floated back down to earth.

"I have to ask," Geralt's voice was completely shot and he had to clear his throat before continuing.

He paused just long enough for Jaskier to leap ahead of him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze as he spoke, "You're the first. Definitely the first person I've fucked in the studio."

Geralt hummed in pride, "I'm only a couple blocks away if you want to come over? Have some cold pizza and a hot shower?"

"Oohhhh, you had me at ‘couple of blocks’."

They walked to Geralt's place hand in hand and fell asleep snuggled under Geralt's duvet where they would stay until well into the afternoon.

#geraskier #geraskier smut #nsft #smutty geraskier #geraskier modern au #the witcher smut #the witcher modern au #the witcher #tattoo artist jaskier #tattooer jaskier #weanie geralt #inked up idiots #tattoo geraskier au #geraskeir tattoo au #geraskier first time #geraskier first kiss #this is so self indulgent holy shit

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