#and then that moment where she realizes what happened and is so scared

[gonkaccino]

hey hey another thing. Everyone noticed how subdued movie Elphaba is relative to book/musical Elphaba, right? Book Elphaba's whole thing is being loudly independent and making her own bold choices (then getting [metaphorically] pushed down 5 flights of stairs for having the gall to exist). Musical Elphaba is less of a reddit atheist than her book counterpart, but still plenty abrasive and, ultimately, forges her own path (with its own relatively less tragic consequences).

Movie Elphaba? She doesn't choose to go to Shiz. Her father's planning on keeping her tucked away in their family home until the day she dies, where she can't hurt anyone or further embarrass the Thropp name. Morrible's the one who gets her enrolled, fully aware that Elphaba has no choice if she doesn't want to spend the rest of her life stuck at home, only ever leaving to accompany Nessa. This Elphaba doesn't choose to go to school, she doesn't choose to go to the Emerald City, and, really, she doesn't even choose to defy gravity -- there is no alternative, she can't live if she stays with the Wizard, especially not after Morrible's preemptive announcement of her wickedness. Movie Elphaba's trapped by her destiny, walking the path laid out for her. With one crucial exception, of course: Glinda, baby, that's right, the only thing this Elphie's ever chosen for herself, the only thing she's been allowed to choose, is to have Glinda at her side!

This softer, more noticeably scared Elphaba creates the extremely juicy dynamic of visibly relying on Glinda for support. As soon as they become pals, Elphaba's latched onto her, the only person who isn't scared of her magic, the first person to care for Elphaba's well-being. She chooses to befriend Glinda, she chooses to bring Glinda to the Emerald City, she chooses to ask Glinda to defy gravity with her. This is what makes this version of Defying Gravity so delicious: Elphaba's never truly believed in herself! The only reason she ever started was because Glinda was there to encourage her, and now, at this crucial moment, this Elphaba, who has lived her life so terrified of the harm she could cause others, has the confidence to not only risk her own life with a spell she's never tried, but the life of her one and only friend!

And Glinda refuses! And it's totally understandable now! Of course this Glinda would say no -- she's not scared of what could happen to her, she's scared of what will happen to Elphie, and standing there, she gets it. She understands the role she's played in Elphaba's life. Glinda knows Elphaba wouldn't be there, ready to declare war on the Wizard, if Glinda hadn't been by her side the entire time, and she has to refuse. She has to. Elphaba's request isn't come with me, we're stronger together, it's I can't do this without you, I'm not strong enough, and Glinda KNOWS that's not true. The only way she can express this is by sending Elphie off on her own, to straighten her hat and wish her luck. It's the only way Elphie will take flight and finally realize that she's got the power to do anything she wants, if she just tries.

[cornflowersisblue]

To the Bathroom, Without Me?

Mr. Gap X Fem reader Tags: Lovesickness for a dark-haired boy from another world with p#rnographic c#ntent. Words: 2000

Full version on AO3 You let out a tired sigh as you sank into the hot water, feeling the tension of the long day begin to melt away. Warm steam rose into the air, settling on the tiled walls and creating a soft mist around you. Your day at work had been utterly exhausting, so when you returned home, you couldn’t even follow your usual routine and simply tossed your things on the bathroom floor as you undressed. Your eyes closed as you took a deep breath, enjoying the long-awaited warmth. It had been a very cold day for November, and you were freezing on your way home. That’s why the water in the bath was hotter than usual.

But suddenly, a strange chill ran through you, as if a cold wind slipped into the room. You opened your eyes and flinched when you saw Mr. Gap right in front of you. His sudden appearances were something you could never get used to, no matter how often they happened.

Mr. Gap didn’t seem to care about anything. He enjoyed simple things like watching lazily or teasing someone now and then. He didn’t feel tied to anything. He was lying right in front of you now, shamelessly stretched out between your legs. His dark hair fell forward, covering his left eye, while his right eye studied you closely. He rubbed his cheek against your damp leg, his hair slightly wet and sticking to his pale skin.

He was also pleased that his body was restored, with all its parts in place. Though out of old habit, or maybe because it was more comfortable for him, he only showed his head. In moments like today. You saw him in the reflection of your office window. His ghostly face and a grin from ear to ear scared your boss so much she turned pale. She stopped scolding you, even though she clearly had a lot to say, and quickly left the office. Did Mr. Gap do it on purpose? Or was he just having fun?

His dark lips curved into a smirk. Now he appeared fully, pressing down on you with his weight. In the soft, warm light of your bathroom, he looked almost harmless. His face was strangely handsome, with a slightly upturned nose and a sharp chin. Of course, his large light-gray eyes, framed with thick black lines, stood out sharply against his pale skin. Long, slender fingers with black nails lazily trailed across your stomach, leaving behind a familiar faint chill. Your eyes followed his hand, drawn to its slow movement, as though he was lost in his thoughts too.

"Warm," he said softly. His voice was pleasant, with a slight rasp, like that of a young man—not too deep, but not high either. "It’s cold... out there." He lifted his head and nodded toward the small bathroom window. It was fogged up from the steam, making it hard to see through, but you knew it was still snowing outside. You gave a slight nod, understanding what he meant.

"Give me your finger?" he asked, raising his eyebrows with such a fake and innocent expression that it was almost pitiful. His face always vividly conveyed every emotion, and he knew how to use that to his advantage.

You lifted your hand out of the water and offered it to him. You remembered your first meeting with him. There were two identical gray doors in front of you, and without thinking, you reached for the one on the right. Behind the handle was his face. It was terrifying. You slammed the door shut right in his face with a loud bang and ran away, hoping he wouldn’t follow. But the longer you stayed in that strange place, where everything seemed to want to kill you, the more you realized you needed help. You knew nothing about that world. You just ran aimlessly from room to room, from hallway to hallway, your heart sinking at the thought of what might be hiding behind the walls. Or above you. Or under the floor. Then you remembered a book. It had a strange illustration that stuck in your mind: the eye of a creature peeking out from a crack in the wall. Creatures like that were described as watchers who didn’t cause much harm. They were said to serve as a reminder to take care of your home.

Yeah, right. A real spirit of cleanliness who loves water.

You smiled as he leaned closer, his thin fingers wrapping around your wrist and lifting your hand to his face. His lips curled into a thin smile every time he got what he wanted. He bit the tip of your finger with his sharp teeth, then ran his tongue over it. You brushed your thumb against his lower lip.

"Hello, Mr. Gap," you finally said, running your hand through his hair and letting your fingers slide down his back. He let go of your hand, shifted slightly, and made himself comfortable.

"Am I your pillow now?" you asked with a small smirk.

He reached out, stretching for something behind your head.

"Not understand your language," he reminded you. His fingers closed around a red candle. He turned it over in his hands, studying it for a moment. Then, pressing two fingers together, he lit the wick. The flame flickered softly, its warm light reflecting in his pale gray eyes. Continue reading on AO3

[onlymexsarah]

Burning Flames I || Eris Vanserra

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Ancheron!reader Summary: Since you became High Fae there were only two things that scared you: your deadly power and your attraction toward the male you should hate most after Tamlin, Eris Vanserra. Warnings: less Eris than what you might expect, but with the next episode you'll forgive me; and english is not my first language :)

The first time Eris saw you was at the High Lords meeting. As soon as he had entered the room something flickered in Eris' chest, something warm that made his eyes looking around, a bored look on his calculated face, as he studied where the source of that flicker was. Then, his eyes laid on you, and oh gods if he had to call all his five centuries of practise to keep his breath from catching.

Before his eyes was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. He felt an unknown urge to know your name, your story, what had brought you there. Your eyes were on his father, studying him as the Vanserras had entered the room.

Eris took a second to realize that you were seated between the High Lady of the Night Court and another bautiful female. All three of you looking oddly similar to one another, and it was that moment that he realized who you were. You and the female at your left were two of the three High Lady's sisters, turned High Fae by Hybhern. Twins, he realized as he looked at the two of you. So close you looked like fire and ice. Your features were warm, even the colors of your hair, skin and eyes were a warm contrast to Nesta's cold features, all sharp and icy.

Your eyes scanned all his brothers until they fell on him, and Eris kept a cold face as you studied him, his posture, how his brothers obeyed to him.

Your eyes flickered quickly to Mor, then on him again and Eris could tell the exact moment that you connected who he was, because you grimaced and turned your face in a cold and dismissal expression. Of course the bastards would spread what happened with Mor; he thought with bitter humor. He gave you a lazy, mocking grin before turning his attention on Thesan, who now was talking to welcome everyone.

It was when Tamlin appeared that he felt that warm flicker inside him again, and when he curiously looked at you what he saw pietrified him. It wasn't cold that shimmered in your eyes. There were pure, burning flames in them.

Two punds of raging, wild, unforgiving fire were now locked on the High Lord of the Spring Court, and for a moment Eris was thankful that you have just watched him with dismissal distain, because what you were giving Tamlin was a promise of slow, painful death.

“It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family.” A sneer from Tamlin toward you and your twin. “Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn’t you be his whore in return?”

Eris saw your hands gripping the arms of the chair, your knuckles white from the strenght. You were going to kill him, he was sure of that. You were going to kill Tamlin someday.

***

You could feel your power, rising in your body, begging to be lashed out.

As you watched Tamlin's smug smirk a lovely imagine formed in your mind. Tamlin's body burning from the inside out, his blood boiling with your flames, his flesh coming down slowly and painfully while he begged to stop. Yes, more you looked at him and more that imagine gave you comfort.

He was the one who had sold you and your sisters to Hybern. He was the one who locked Feyre inside his house, who forbade her from doing anything she wanted. He was the one who responsible for your sisters' traumas, and you were going to make him pay.

You wondered if you were imagining his sweat on his forehead, his hand coming to adjust his shirt's collar every now and then, his breath heavier with every minute. It was if for once your power had listened to you and was now doing what you wanted.

Careful, for how much I'd like to see his blood boiling up it wouldn't win you many alliances to defend the humans. Rhysand's velvet voice appeared in your head, making you blink few times before lettiing go the arms of your chair and calming your breath.

Sorry. You answered him, not feeling ashamed at all. Tamlin was targetting Rhysand too, the male who saved you and gave you a place to call home, promising you that he would keep your sisters safe.

“You’re insane,” Feyre breathed to Tamlin as Varian bared his teeth. “Do you hear what you’re saying?” Your sister pointed toward you and Nesta. “Hybern turned my sisters into Fae, after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!”

“Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress, I’m sure the trait runs in the family.” said Tamlin with a scoff.

"It seems like you love to insinuate what an Ancheron girl want in her life and what she doesn't." You said slowly, your voice burning with fire as you locked your eyes with his. "I hope the trait doesn't ruin in your court. If you had any left after you let Hybern in their houses."

Tamlin snarled at you, and you only lift your chin higher not feeling scared or intimidated even for a moment. Many things had changed since he had come and wrecked your cottage, and now he was the one who had to be afraid.

"You'll find out, Tamlin..." said Rhysand with a bored voice. "That nothing good come out from telling an Ancheron what to do. But you should already know that."

You could feel the flames inside you ready to be leashed out, but you kept them at bay, knowing that all it needed was for Tamlin to make a move toward you or your sisters and you would let them out. It wouldn't matter if you burned too, you would make sure to incinerate Tamlin.

“Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.” snorted the male you had recognized as Eris. Your eyes snapped to met his and you found him already looking at you.

As soon as he had walked inside the room your brain had gone silent for a moment. He was, with your deepest annoyance, the most beautiful male you had ever seen, and that thought alone was enough to make you ashamed. You had needed few seconds to recognize who he was, and as soon as you put the name on his face you had grimaced at the thought of have called him beautiful in your mind.

You narrowed your eyes, your hands hitching from the unleashed power you were keeping inside your body. If they did as much as to hurt Elain you would incinerate all of the red haired family in front of you.

Eris seemed to understand your look, because he only smirked amused at you before Mor's voice caught his attention. “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.”

You had barely widened your eyes, disgusted by his words, as a flash of blue light passed in front of your eyes. A moment Eris was seated, the next he was on the ground, Azriel over him.

You hid a smirk behind your hand as you watched Azriel's hands around Eris' throat, and the heir of Autumn running out of air. It didn't matter if you had a secret alliance with him, he had no problem into proving how horrible he was.

When the alliance had been forged the Inner Circle had proceeded to tell you and Nesta what kind of person Eris was. How he had left Mor die because she had refused to marry him. How he had hunted your sister and Lucien when they were escaping the Spring Court.

So, the show that was now in front of your eyes made you amused for the first time since you had been taken from home. Your sister, Feyre, stopped Azriel and invited him to sit beside her, making all of your shift of one chair.

He sat at your right, and after a careful speech from Feyre, Eris apologized with Mor. It was curious that the Lady of the Autumn Court, Eris' mother, watched him with an approval look as he apologized. Maybe not everyone in the Vanserra family was horrible.

Around you everything was going down. Thesand had proposed an antidote for the faebane and while the Night Court was willing to try it, Beron threw free insults to your sister and Rhysand.

Thesan asked, “And you believe the human armies there will bow to Hybern?”

“Its queens sold us out,” Nesta said. She lifted her chin, poised as any emissary. “For the gift of immortality, the human queens will allow Hybern in to sweep away any resistance. They might very well hand over control of their armies to him.” Nesta looked to you, to Feyre, to Rhys. “Where do the humans on our island go? We cannot evacuate them to the continent, and with the wall intact … Many might rather risk waiting than cross over the wall anyway.”

“The fate of the humans below the wall,” Beron cut in, “is none of our concern. Especially in a spit of land with no queen, no army.”

"There are people." You said angryly while the fire run hotter inside your body. All you could see was Beron's disgusting face and his arrogance. "There are families. A moment ago you were all horrified about Amarantha killing the Winter Court's children, but now since they are humans its different?" You asked looking to every High Lords in the eyes, watching them shocked and uncredoulous. "Humans children are less than yours?" Your eyes locked with Kallias, the High Lord of the Winter Court.

"Careful with your accusation." said Kallias with a low voice.

"Careful with your next actions." You said back, letting him see the fire in your eyes, calling back your emissary voice. "How many parents had died trying to protect their kids from Amarantha?"

It was Viviane who answered, her hand closed thighly around her mate's. "All of them."

You rose your chin high, watching her right in the eyes. "Every human will fight againsgt Hybern. With or without your help, they will fight for their children, their families. And they will die too, without your help, hoping for a better future."

“So go waste your own soldiers defending them,” Beron said. “I will not send my own forces to protect chattel.”

Your eyes snapped back on him. “You’re a coward,” Feyre breathed to the High Lord of Autumn. Even Rhys tensed.

At some point Feyre hit Beron with her power, breaking his shield and trapping him in a bubble of water. Your eyebrows rose, surprised to see your sister's full powers.

Let us out, your flames begged. We will end him.

No. You couldn't let them out. Your power felt too descructive to be leasshed in a room full of people. It was better burning from the inside out rather than burning everyone you cared for.

Your sister seemed to calm down after a while, letting Beron breath again with your displeasure. How could someone so horrible be still alive after centuries? Why no one had never killed him?

The display of Feyre's power got the High Lords tensed up. She had showed them she had all their powers and not all of them were too happy.

“The power belongs to us. I think it is,” Beron seethed making you close your hands on your laps in tight fits. if he did as much as take a step toward your sister he would find that your fire was hotter and more dangerous than his.

You could feel them, the flames, starting to come out from your hands. Beron would let the humans die for his own benefits, he will never see reason.

But it was when your sister apologized to the Lady of the Autumn Court and Beron called her human filth that everythink around you exploded.

You felt your power lashing out, and as much killing Beron would only bring you happiness, there was one thing you wanted more. and it was for him to be afraid of you. So when your fire lashed out you stood up and directed it to the chair on which Beron was seated, making him fall on a pile of burning wood.

He yelled in pain. Your fire was circling him like snakes ready to strike, and it felt so good to let it out finally. The room fell quiet, everyone was looking at you but your eyes were fixed on the High Lord of the Autumn Court who now looked at you with a promise of death in his eyes.

"We are here to discuss an imminet war against Hybern." I said deadly serious while every inch of you fought to control the flames that now were out and extremely close to the Vanserra's other memeber. "But talk to my sister like that again, and next time I won't be aiming at the chair."

Beron shot to his feet, his hand still tring to make the little flames on his clothes stop, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

"This meeting is not over." said Nesta raising on her feet.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of them. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce. “You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?”

Your eyes studied all the Vanserra sons, marking how Eris gestured for his brothers to sit and how his eyes met yours again. You expected to find challenge, rage for what you did to his father, but instead something fickered in his eyes. Something like...pride?

Your confusion must have shown on your face because his expression become amused, and you quickly looked away from him. You didn't want for the heir of Autumn to study you, to think you cared what he thought of you.

“You may hate us. I don’t care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us.” said Nesta at your side.

“And you know this how?” Beron sneered.

"We went into the Cauldron." You said, pushing away the horrible memories that came back. “It showed us his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.”

Nesta looked to Kallias and Viviane. “I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent.” She shook her head. “But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.” She jerked her chin at you and Feyra. “Were it not for my sisters… I would be among them.”

She was right. You and Nesta might have been twins, but you were born few days before her and that made you the oldest, and as the oldest you had taken upon yourself to provide for your family when the money had ended.

"We are not asking you to protect them." You said firmly, taking Nesta's hand in yours while you watched every High Lord in the eyes. "We are asking you to give them a chance to survive. To fight together for your lands. They have spent centuries starving and dying while you were here with every comfort. They hate you? Yes. They will ask for your help? No. That's why we are here, because without you there will be no human left after this war."

Thesan cleared his throat. “While a noble sentiment, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbors. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed.”

"Because they are scared of you." You said. "Because most of your kind have enslaved them for centuries. And they are afraid that if they let you close it will happen again. Show them they are wrong. Show them your strenght doesn't have only evil ends, but it can help to build a future where no children, human or Fae, will have to worry ever again."

"You have been entrusted with protecting this land.” Nesta scanned the faces around her. “How can you not fight for it?”

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering, impressed, even, by your and Nesta's speech. You met Eris' eyes again, and you looked at him determinated. He needed to convince his father to fight together, because otherwise the human lands would be reduce to ash.

You thought you had imagined it as he gave you a subt nod, masking it with his hand under his chin. What was it? A promise? Did he understand the gravity of the situantion and actually cared? Or was it only to ensure his alliance with the Night Court?

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.” A look at his family, and they vanished.

Eris stood behind just for few seconds, his eyes scanning all of us, his expression unreadable. His eyes fell on the pool in front of us, then on you and then on the pile of ashes beside him where his father had been seated. Something sparkled in his eyes as if he was understanding something, then with one last curious look toward you he vanished too.

You let out a breath you hadn't realize you were holding, and you seated on your chair again, feeling the tiredness that the leash of power left inside you. Your eyes fell on the pool, and, even if impossible, your blood froze.

There was no water left inside the pool.

That's what Eris had been looking. That's how powerful your flames had been. They had made the magic water evaporate into nothing. You looked over Thesan apogetically, but he just waved a hand as if to dismiss it while water appeared again.

At least now they know who is fighting with the humans. Maybe it was what they needed to convince themself, Rhys' voice appeared in your head with a calming tone, as if he had sensed your terror at what you have done.

What if I hurt someone of our army? You asked panicked in your head, trying to keep a neutral face while your sister was speaking to the High Lords.

I'll make sure it won't happen. Rhysand said firmly and yet kindly. I promise you.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

No worries at all!! ☺️

I swear it's like one step forward, two steps back with this guy...

You really hit the nail on the head. He has these moments where he drops his guard and acts decent but they it's like he realizes what he's doing and has to toughen back up to gain back his man points or something 😂

To be fair to Ben, a lot of that back and forth this part was driven by his slow infection and making him progressively more or an ass as the day went on. He really doesn't want her to leave him alone, especially in a place where he was Ben for most of his life, not Soldier Boy, and has a lot of history with that place. He's not willing to say it but he's so lost in this world and after so many betrayals, he desperately needs someone solid to hang onto and get his feet.

"Act like the kind of man you wished your father had been to your mother."--is a LINE.

Thank you for shouting this line out! I thought for a long time on how I wanted her to really shake him and I just knew that was the sort of thing that would touch that scared little boy buried deep inside him. 🥺

She does share some similarities to him and those will be very important for him to lay some foundation of trust. He sees her as this naive, sweet innocent thing but he'll have to reconcile that with how willing she is to jump into action to protect him or stand up to him, despite her past, and things yet to be revealed about that past. She's not a stereotypical "sunshine" character but in his eyes, she's definitely that person.

And oh yes, Ben's relationship with his mother will come to light 10000% as he deals with the reader's demand of acting like a better man.

Thank you for reading friend and things will be happening fast in the next part! 😉

The Villain’s Protector (Part 3) - Closer

Summary: The reader's in a bad spot when she's cornered by three infected intruders. But when the danger passes, she and Ben need to decide if they really can live together or if they'd be better off on their own...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

Word Count: 3,700ish

Warnings: language, violence, life-threatening situations, death (minor characters), mentions of past torture

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving this week! Please enjoy Ben being an asshole/also his hilarious attempts at making up for it...

________

“Oh my god!” Both men spun their heads towards the back door, giving you a chance to make a break for it. You had to deal with the woman but at least you had a chance against her. In three large steps you were in front of her, ducking down to miss her punch. You kicked her knee, the woman shrieking and falling, giving you a chance to kick her back and shove her into your bedroom. You dove into the one across the hall, slamming the door shut behind you. Ben’s suit was draped over the back of a chair, his gun still in it’s holster.

Fuck it. 

You abandoned barricading the door, barely getting across the room before it flew open, all three of them standing there. The gun was in your hand within a second, finger squeezing the trigger blindly. You hit one of them, the other two shouting behind him. You jumped to the right to avoid the woman, getting a few more rounds off. She went down when a blur slammed into you. You crashed back against a window, falling through it and straight onto the back deck. Something sharp was in your back and your hand was empty, eyes blearily opening as the red streaked man stood over you with the shears.

“You could have been one of us, bitch.” He opened the blades and drove them downwards, straight for your torso. 

With a swift breeze, he was gone. You blinked rapidly, Soldier Boy standing over you, staring off to the side of the yard. Every muscle ached but you managed to look, spotting the man impaled on the shears about two hundred feet away in the grass. Strong hands turned your head, Ben’s face almost…worried? 

You blinked, reaching up to grab his wrist, his eyes wide.

“You have glass all over. You need-”

“Are you wearing fucking oven mitts?” You smiled, Ben staring at where your hand rested on the pink things. “Pink oven mitts?”

“Shut your mouth,” he said, pouting when you sat upright with a groan. He ripped them off, kneeling beside you with a grimace. “Uh. How true is that whole can’t die thing?”

“That’s actually really smart,” you said, nodding to the mitts. “If they can’t touch your skin, maybe we can keep you safer. Keep us both-”

“Y/N!” He grabbed your shoulders, eye twitching. “Do not lose it on me. Will you die if I rip that giant shard of glass sticking out of your back out?”

You shook your head, already pulling pieces out of your legs and arms. He sighed, gripping the glass and pulling it out fast, your heart skipping a beat.

“Warn a girl,” you grit out, hands reaching for anything to grip onto through the pain which meant his shirt before you. 

“You’re bleeding a lot,” he said. Shaking, you buried your face in his neck, breathing hard. “Y/N-”

“Take the rest out.” He tore your ruined shirt and jacket off, cool air hitting your back. He didn’t speak as he pulled out the other large shards you felt there but he flinched when you jerked into him and yelped. 

Finally, you felt they were all gone, your head throbbing angrily but you knew it’d dissipate soon.

“I totally had that guy by the way,” you mumbled. Ben’s chest rumbled beneath you, his warm body lulling you into a calmness. “Was that a laugh, Benjamin?”

“You are something else.” With some effort, you leaned back, Ben grasping your chin and turning your face. “Shit, your cuts are healed already.”

“I’m just that special,” you said, trying to stand but falling straight against him when a sharp bolt of hot fire ran across your back.

“You heal fast but the pain-”

“Takes longer. I’ll be better in an hour.” You didn’t move from where he cradled your body against his, Ben’s body strangely relaxed. “Bet you’re happy. You got my shirt off.”

“You do have great tits,” he mumbled, tucking your head under his chin. You raised your eyebrows, gaze focused out on the lake. 

“Ben, there could be more people nearby. We should probably move somewhere-”

“In the eighties I hired a young couple to take care of this place. They had a baby at the time I think. Landscape. Cleaning. That’s why that woman and those men were here. I let them live here in exchange for upkeep and I forgot they were here. This was my fuck up.”

“It was an accident, Ben. I don’t blame you. I’m fine.”

“You don’t realize you screamed when I took those glass pieces out, do you? The only reason you were in there alone was because I pissed you off again. I fucking forgot. I bring out your fucking shell shock, I screw up and you’re shaking in pain because of it. That’s not what a man does.” You sighed, taking a deep breath.

“Soldier Boy, you are ridiculous.” You moved your head so you could face him, Ben’s jaw clenched. You let your head fall onto his shoulder, offering a smile. “I’ve known evil men. Shitty, evil men. But you? You put on pink oven mitts which I’m confident you’ve never worn anything that shade in your life for fear it would shrivel your dick up. Yet, you did it for me. Here you are, apologizing in your own, albeit half-assed, way and look at that. Your dick is still just as big as it was an hour ago.”

He pouted, turning to look at the waters of the lake, ignoring your attempts at getting him to acknowledge his idea of what a man was wasn’t the only one . “Why did you break me out of that CIA black site? The truth this time.”

You closed your eyes, turning your head back under his chin when sharp, stabbing pains started up in your abdomen again. You tried to bite back the whimpers that caught in your throat but a few slipped through, Ben squeezing you tighter, anchoring you.

“Because there’s nothing worse than being trapped, unable to die, only to spend every waking moment in pain. All you want it someone to rescue you. So that’s what I did,” you said quietly.

He hummed, shifting his arms around you, holding your body against his.

“Do you still think I only want to use you, Ben?” He was quiet, slow steady beats of his heart thrumming underneath you for a moment.

“I could be evil. People thought that about me once upon a time. It’s how I ended up in Russia.” You shrugged, Soldier Boy shifting beneath you, soon carrying you back inside bridal style. You poked open an eye, Ben watching you closely. “I was trapped for a reason. Give it five minutes and you’ll hate my guts again.”

“Why would I hate the boy that wears pink oven mitts for me?” you teased. He rolled his eyes so hard you swore they were going to pop out the back of his head. You let your eyelid fall shut, head lolling back until he adjusted you. “If you end up screwing me over, then fine, you’re a monster. But until otherwise, will Mr. Evil please get me into a bath tub?”

“Your generation is fucking insufferable,” he grumbled, walking across the deck, in through the back door.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say, Satan.”

“What did I say about shutting that fucking mouth?” 

“Ben.” You opened your eyes when a door creaked, Ben setting you down in a large claw foot tub a moment later. You tilted your head, his face a mixture of annoyance and wanting to get out of the room as fast as possible. 

“What?” he growled, turning the water on warm and slow for you, setting some towels down next to the tub. 

“Just wanted to say we had a whole conversation where we didn’t fight. I think you’re in serious danger of losing your asshole status if you keep this up.” He gave you his bitch face and dropped a bar of soap in your hands. “Admit it. You like this, being yourself again.”

“You are weak and pathetic and like all women, you need a man to save you and then complain about us in the same breath. I ain’t a fucking pussy so don’t get fucking comfortable with me thinking I’m like your fucking girlfriend. I give the orders, not you.” He stood up and slammed the door on his way out.

So much for that progress.

You and Ben kept your distance after that. You spent most of the day cleaning the blood off the walls and floor while Ben disposed of the three bodies in the nearby woods. It was dark by the time he returned, the house smelling of disinfectant.

He threw his boots on the ground and gave you a glare as you ate a bowl of beans at the dining room table. He stormed around the kitchen, narrowing his eyes at the pot on the stove and the empty bowl on the counter beside it.

“Beans? I’ve had fucking paste shoved down my gob for weeks and you make me fucking beans?” You finished off your dinner, leaning back in your seat with crossed arms. He puffed out his chest, pointing a finger. “Don’t you fucking start, bitch.”

“Does it make you feel like more of a man to yell at me? Maybe you even want to hit me. Fucking go for it. We both know I can take it.” You got up, getting in his face and throwing him off guard so much so he stumbled backwards. “You want me to think you’re a monster? Go ahead. Hurt me. Insult me. Prove me wrong. Show me just how awful you really are deep down and that there’s no shred of a soul left in there.”

“Shut the fuck up!” he shouted, towering over you, his face turning red. 

“Do it!” He growled, grabbing your arms, picking you straight off the ground.

“Look at me!” You were ready to kick him in the nuts when you noticed the red on his face was…bright. Too bright. Infected bright.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll help you alright.” You put your hand to his face, Ben instantly dropping you, both of you falling to the ground. This felt different than before. There was no sharp pain from the redness your hand absorbed from his face. No, it was warmer, a slow burning sensation that built up and up and had you gritting your teeth.

He gasped and choked before rolling away, your body falling back on the hardwoods. You panted, staring at the wood beams crossing the ceiling when Ben crawled over, staring down.

“I got some of their blood on me earlier when I killed that guy. I think it got on my face,” he breathed out. You nodded, giving him a thumbs up. “It must act slower that way?”

“Depends. Am I a weak, pathetic bitch?” you said, Ben lowering his head. “Good. See, we’re all good.”

“You didn’t scream this time at least,” he said, helping you sit up against the cabinets. He sat back against the fridge behind him, both of you catching your breath. “Why?”

“The more a particular…injury happens to me, the recovery period from the pain shortens. You didn’t have the streaks in you fully or else you’d be dead so it wasn’t as bad this time.” He shook his head, running a hand through his brown strands. “What?”

“Your powers suck.”

“Not powers,” you sighed, Ben pursing his lips. “I swear. I’ve never taken compound V in my life.”

“Well then you must be a natural born supe. Is Reaper your dad or some shit?” 

“No,” you snapped. Ben held up his hands, giving you just enough of a pout to make you feel bad. He got up and scooped some beans into a bowl, glancing at you once. The floor creaked, your eyes drifting up to watch him settle down across from you, slurping up his dinner. “Why are you eating on the floor?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, woman,” he said with his mouth full and a roll of his eyes. “Can I eat my dinner where the fuck I want to?”

“Of course you can.” He made a face, pointing his spoon at you when you parted your lips. 

“I swear to God if the next words out of your mouth are to argue with me, you will not like the outcome,” he barked. You swallowed down your comment about how the chair and table would be more comfortable. If he wanted to sit his ass on the hard floor, fine, that was on him.

You closed your eyes and tucked your knees up to your chest, lowering your head to rest it against them. 

“You’re a pretty good liar. Most women are but you put them all to shame.” You frowned, lifting your head wearily. He stood, setting his empty bowl on the counter before squatting down right in front of you. Long fingers grasped your chin, turning your head left, then right. “Your jaw is clenched so hard you could snap a tree in half.”

“Fine. It hurts whenever I absorb that red matter stuff from you. There’s nothing either one of us can do about it so why does it matter if you know?” His grip on your chin tightened, just hard enough to make you wonder if he was considering killing you.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that.” Ben’s grip loosened, his thumb wiping away the wetness that’d gathered under your eye.

“Like what?” you whispered, intense green eyes boring straight through to your core. He leaned in closer, his breath hot.

“Like I’m going to hurt you.”

“This was a mistake. Just cover yourself up when you go out and you should be okay,” you said. You got to your feet and barely made it out of the kitchen when his hand landed on your shoulder, freezing you in place. “Forget about Reaper. You’re free Ben. Just live your life how you want to.”

“Why the hell are you trying to get out of here so badly all of a sudden?” 

You closed your eyes, clenching your fist when a wave of burning heat flooded your veins. “Why do you care if I stay?”

“I can drown.” You turned around, furrowing your brow. Ben raised his chin, nodding once. “I nearly did as a kid, out in that lake.”

You both looked out to the dark water, gazes slowly drifting back to one another. He sat down on the edge of the couch arm, running a hand through his hair. He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, head shaking as he glanced at a knot of wood in the floor near your feet.

“My father took me out in a rowboat to the middle of the lake when I was a boy. Maybe seven, eight? He threw me over the edge, told me to start swimming.” His eyes met yours, his smile faltering. “It wasn’t until I started to sink did he pluck me out. He was so…disappointed in me the whole way back to the dock. I was convinced he’d throw me out any second. I never told my mother what happened but somehow she knew. It was the only time I ever saw her argue back against him. She ended up showing me how to swim over the next week right where it’s shallow at the shore edge.”

“Why are you telling me this Ben?” you asked quietly. He shrugged.

“You can either be terrified that something more powerful than you will kill you and that fear makes you run from it. Or…you can be a man and face it, tell that thing it’s not more powerful. You learn to respect each other’s power and work together.”

“A lake doesn’t snap your neck in your sleep when it gets mad at you,” you whispered. He sighed, his jaw clenching slightly. “You just…you’re so mean to me that I couldn’t even tell you were infected until you were literally ready to pummel me and I saw the red streaks. Ben, I didn’t know you wouldn’t hurt me. I read the CIA’s file on you and god, you’ve hurt so many people Ben. People you supposedly cared about, loved even. How the hell am I not supposed to be terrified of you? Maybe I was wrong and we should just go our separate ways.”

You headed down the hall, pausing when you heard him walk up behind you.

“If you stay…I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“It’s the end of the world, Ben. Forget about Reaper. What could you possibly give me that’d make me okay with staying with you?” You glanced over your shoulder, Ben’s face strangely soft.

“My word.” He held out his hand, fighting back a frown when you narrowed your eyes at it. “I’m fucking trying here.”

“Not good enough.” You stormed into the bedroom, grabbing a duffel from the ground as he huffed. You started to shove some things inside when he cleared his throat.

“Please stay.” You poked your head out in the hallway, Ben gritting his teeth. 

“Did you say please?” you asked. He rolled his eyes. You stepped back out, crossing your arms. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

“Good-”

“If you drop the Solider Boy shit and act like Ben. Act like the kind of man you wished your father had been to your mother.” His face went white in shock, Ben’s jaw dropping open slightly. “See? That normal guy is still inside of you. You know it’s wrong to be a dickhead. You fucking know it’s wrong and you do it anyway. But you have to stop. You have to be better. Not perfect, just better. Or else I’m gone Ben and this world gets a lot harder for both of us.”

“I…will try if tell me one real thing about yourself, why you don’t die.” He stood his ground, lips pressed into a thin line. You looked away, leaning against the door jam.

“You know how…you know when you did the Compound V trials and all the other participants died except for you?” He nodded once, tilting his head. “That was because your genes are advantageous. Your genes could handle that…evolutionary leap.”

“Like a Punnet square.” You raised your eyebrows. “I’m not a moron.”

“Well, yes, sort of like that. Your gene mixture basically was special. My genes are also…special.” You frowned, Ben’s fingers reaching out to graze your cheek. Your eyes wandered up to meet his, his green eyes curious, guarded. You crossed your arms, looking past him. “My genes, eventually, would have allowed future generations from my bloodline to be natural supes. Millions of years down the line. It’s incredibly rare. Think of it like if your genes and mine were in a race, I’m starting a hundred million miles ahead of yours and we’re racing to the same point.”

“You would get there faster,” he said quietly. You nodded. 

“Reaper found out about my genes. He ended up, activating those special parts of my genes and transfused me with his blood when he did so. He didn’t know what would happen but it gave me the ability to not die, like him. It was all an experiment to him.”

“How’d he do that? Activate them?”

“Through eight years of torture.” Ben stared at you, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “Everything was forced on me, all because of my stupid fucking genes. Do you finally understand why I saved you?”

Ben nodded, letting you slip into your bedroom. You lay back on the old mattress, body in desperate need of sleep and rest. By the time you managed to get out of your jeans and under the covers, the door was cracking open. Ben was carrying something, a mug. Steam billowed from it as he set it down on the nightstand. Then he was leaving, nearly pulling the door shut behind him when he stopped.

“There are things I would say to you if I wouldn’t be a pussy for saying them.”

“Ben?” He looked over his shoulder, catching your smile as you sat up and took a sip of the hot tea. “That’s good enough for tonight. Thank you for the tea.”

He nodded, hesitating once more. “Drink that and then go the fuck to sleep. You look awful.”

“Goodnight to you too.” He grumbled and pulled the door shut, leaving it open a sliver to let in some light from the hall. You heard movement outside and heard a chair scrape along the wood floor. With you mug in hand, you tiptoed over, opening the door.

Ben was sat in a chair right outside your room, frowning when he saw you. “I thought I told you to sleep.”

“What are you doing?” He rolled his eyes.

“Just go to the fuck to sleep. We need to get a game plan together in the morning and you won’t be able to do that if you’re a zombie. Go before I make you.”

You took a sip of tea, offering him a tiny smile. “Try to get some sleep yourself at some point. It was a long day.”

“Y/N…” he warned. You took a big swig of tea and handed him the mug, Ben cautiously taking it.

“I think I’m starting to get you, Ben. You’re an acts of service kind of guy.” He stared at you like you had three heads and shook his own. “I’ll explain someday.”

“Alright, that’s it,” he stood, watching you scurry back to your bedroom. You plopped into bed, Ben pointing a finger at you before sitting back down. You tugged up the covers, putting your back to him as a wave of exhaustion hit you. 

You were just barely holding onto consciousness when something heavy draped over your body in the cool room. 

“She would have liked you,” he mumbled. You burrowed into your sheets, letting sleep overtake you.

That was until four am.

That’s when you woke up to screaming.

___________

A/N: Part 4 coming soon!

[midnightbears]

✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian femme reader & other characters.

#TAGS: fighting. lots of fighting. wounds. mentions of pain. flashbacks. 'alluding' to prostitution.

#NOTES: i actually feel so weird for this chapter because not much happens (in a sense), but i can't stress enough how much i want you to feel the mc as an actual character instead of this just being a romance story, and i'm establishing this not only for you but also for myself! you will need to read the mc's character arcs and individual chapters, even if they're long or you might think are unnecessary. if you don't read them, you're going to miss out on crucial points of the story! character arcs for your mcs are essential! even when they're just y/n! y/n is still a character, and they need a good backstory and moments to flesh them out thoroughly. fanfiction should be made with as much love and care as a 'real' book would need to be. with my usual rant issued, enjoy <3

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

You remembered setting down the tiny bundle of belongings you carried, the meager possessions you owned neatly placed on the edge of your new berth, and your new pickaxe and hammer drill. You were still deciding where to put your things when the voice of who would be your new berthroom companion caught you off guard, breaking the silence like a sudden gust of wind.

“You can come out, my love. All is well.”

You had quizzingly looked at her after the words left her mouth, but you grew even more confused when you realized she was not looking your way. Instead, she was looking at the small locker at the end of her berth.

There was a hesitant creak, the metallic sound echoing in the quiet room. A small servo gripped the edge of the locker’s door, trembling slightly, and then a tiny figure peeked out—a sparkling, her frame barely more than a fragile outline against the dim light. She was almost painfully small, her light turquoise plating catching the faint glow in the room. 

“Come here, my light,” Starlight called out gently, extending a servo in a welcoming gesture as she sat at the edge of her berth.

The sparkling hesitated, her optics flicking nervously between you and her carrier. Her whole frame trembled with uncertainty.

You tried to make yourself look smaller, less imposing, feeling your spark crumple and crush with sympathy and curiosity at the existence of such innocence in this hellhole. So many questions and doubts ran through your processor at a speed that even the most talented racers would be jealous of.

Then, with a deep vent that sounded almost like a sigh, the sparkling took a cautious step toward her carrier. And another. And another. Until she was close enough to be scooped up into her arms.

“There you are,” She said with a tender smile, gathering the sparkling to her chest as if she were the most precious thing in the universe. The little one buried her face against her mother's chassis, and you could hear the faint whirr of her tiny cooling fans as she snuggled close, seeking comfort in the familiar embrace. Her servo moved slowly up and down the sparkling’s back. “I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetie. You’re very brave, are you not?”

Suddenly, she looked at you.

“I’m glad they sent another femme, I wasn’t about to take chances with someone who wouldn’t understand what it’s like.” She said. Although her voice was steady and unembellished, an undercurrent of intensity ran through it—tender and fiercely protective, issuing a warning. You could sense that this caution wasn’t aimed at you, but rather at some shadowy threat that lingered just beyond reach. “If they’d sent a mech, I would have thrown him out myself.”

You blinked, taken aback by her straightforwardness. You nodded slowly, trying to keep your expression open and unthreatening. Your voice was a little hesitant, unsure of how to respond to her. “I... I’m glad I’m here too.”

“Good,” she said, a half smile on her lip components, her gaze not wavering. “Then we’ll get along just fine. I’m Starlight, this is Vaportrail... she’s my everything. And I won’t let anything—or anyone—hurt her.”

Her tone now had no softness, only a hard-edged determination that made your spark tighten. This wasn’t a carrier who would let her guard down easily, not for anyone, and certainly not for someone she didn’t trust. But there was a flicker of relief in her optics, a softening around the edges as if admitting that your presence didn’t feel like a threat was a victory all on its own.

Which, in a way, made you very sad.

You opened your dermas, unsure of what to say, but Starlight cut you off with a small smile, her laughing, purple optics seizing you. “Don’t take it personally. I’m just... careful. They don’t make it easy for femmes like us. Especially not for carriers. I’m not about to apologize for doing what I must to keep her safe.”

You nodded quickly. “I—I understand. I don’t want to intrude. I just... I didn’t realize you had a little one here.”

“No, it’s fine,” Starlight said, waving a servo dismissively but not loosening her hold on Vaportrail. “You’re here now, and that’s that. They didn’t exactly ask my opinion before sending you, but... you seem alright.” Her optics scanned you up and down like she was weighing you, judging if you were genuinely trustworthy. Whatever she saw, it made her relax a fraction. “We’ll see how it goes.”

There was a silence that felt heavier than it should, and Vaportrail shifted a little, peeking out from the safety of her carrier’s hold. Her optics were still wide and oscillating, but there was a flicker now, like the spark of a tinderbox, and you managed a tentative smile. It felt awkward and unsure, but it seemed the right move because Vaportrail didn’t look away.

Starlight’s expression softened again, just a little, as she glanced down at her daughter. She leaned in and murmured, “This is…” She looked back up at you precipitously, “Sorry, what’s your name?”

You told her your new designation, the new number of the H branch in Mining Outpost R–02. You’d need to get used to it, but it would be easy enough. The overseer of your branch had already taken to refer to you as simply ‘8’.

Starlight almost grimaced at your words but soon looked down at the sparkling. “This is H-08. She’s going to stay with us for a while.”

The sparkling didn’t respond, but she didn’t hide either, and you took that as a small victory.

Starlight turned her optics towards you, revealing the complexities within her gaze—gentleness intertwined with determination, a fierce sense of protection that nearly felt rebellious. Above all, you noticed a tentative hope. It was delicate, nearly fragile, resembling something seldom relied upon and sustained by pure resolve. It felt like she was challenging you, silently urging you to either validate her doubts or, maybe, to offer her a reason to believe.

“Just make yourself comfortable,” she said with a half-smirk. “But don’t go thinking you’re a guest. You’re part of this now. And if you’ll be here, you’ll do your part to keep her safe, too.”

You nodded, meeting her gaze with all the sincerity you could muster.

“Of course,” you said. “I’ll do my best.”

You didn’t expect to follow Bluey’s advice that well.

Although you still felt anxious, there was one important lesson he ensured you understood, which was the primary reason you were managing to perform mediocrely well in the current match. Five simple words, but ones he made sure to drill into you, even at the cost of hearing him utter the sentence in your dreams.

“Always keep your head cool.”

The arena bore the scars of your prolonged clash—scorched craters, gouges in the walls, and the acrid tang of overheated metal. Across the battered expanse, your opponent circled behind a wall of waste metal. He was tall and bulky, his frame a juggernaut that had already tested your limits more than once. 

A younger you might have faltered by now, let exhaustion or his relentless power shake your resolve. But this wasn’t then. You adjusted your stance, steadying your frame and keeping Bluey’s advice sharp in your processor. This wasn’t over yet.

“Let them think they’ve got the upper hand, then take it from them in one clean swoop.”

Your opponent grinned, baring sharp teeth, his optics gleaming with something dark and eager. He lunged toward you, hurling a heavy swing of his greatsword, too fast and keen for a clean kill.

Good. You could work with that.

You ducked low, slipping just out of reach. He lunged forward, his momentum betraying him as he faltered, thrown off balance for a fleeting moment. The crowd's uproar filled the air, their cheers rising in a mighty wave, drowning out all other sounds. Bright flashes of light erupted around you, glinting off your polished armor and that of your opponent, creating a dazzling display that danced in the periphery of your vision.

“Most mechs here don’t think before they swing. Let them come to you. Half the fight is watching them trip over themselves. They’ll do half the work if you let them.”

You let him close in again, his optics narrowing as he swung, aiming for your helm this time. A broad swing of his arm—you had seen it a dozen times in practice with Bluey by now. You sidestepped and his fist cut through space, too slow to catch you. The warhammer in your grasp seemed to flow into your movements, and you did not even feel its heaviness.

He cursed, stumbling again, his frustration evident as he recovered, his vents heaving. Bluey was right; your opponent wasn’t thinking, only reacting. And now, with him unbalanced, it was time to make your move.

"Think quick, strike quicker. You don’t need to go for a kill shot in friendly matches. Just hit them where it hurts.”

So you did. Darting forward, you aimed low with your weapon, catching him squarely in the side with a swift, well-placed jab to his knee joint. The impact reverberated through your frame, his armor giving way just enough for you to feel the shock of metal against metal. He staggered, his vents hissing in pain, and you took advantage of his faltering balance, pressing forward with another strike to his leg.

His frame buckled, his weight crashing to one knee as he tried and failed to push himself back up. His optics flared with rage as he swiped at you again, desperation taking over, but you were already out of reach, watching his movements with a clear, unclouded gaze.

"A calm mind’s your greatest weapon. Most fights end the second your opponent loses his cool. Hold onto yours, and you’ll outlast them every time.”

You watched as your opponent struggled, rage overtaking his features as he realized his momentum had failed him. He staggered back, clutching his damaged leg, his optics wild, searching for some way to turn the tide. But you were already moving, closing in before he could react. A quick swipe to his shoulder joint sent him stumbling back again, a desperate growl tearing from his vocalizer as his arm dropped, sparking where the wiring had split.

The crowd’s roars escalated, but for once, the noise didn’t faze you. You kept your focus on him, your field of vision narrowing down to this one mech and his dwindling options.

“A hit’s only as strong as the bot that lands it. Don’t go for flashy moves if a simple strike will do the job.”

So you didn’t. You kept it simple and calculated, landing a swift, final blow to his remaining arm joint. His frame shuddered, forced down by the impact as he slumped forward, defeated but still functional, vents whirring unevenly as he struggled to catch his breath.

You took a step back, exhaling as you held your stance, ready to react to any last-ditch effort he might make. But there was nothing—no fight left in him, just the slow, begrudging slump of a mech who knew he’d been bested.

Another one. You’d done it! Shifting your helm toward the other side of the arena, you glimpsed the opening that connected the arena to the Gladiators’ lobby, and you swore that behind the bars, you could see a pair of familiar ochre-pigmented optics looking at you.

Bluey was there too, flashing a cheerful, childish thumbs-up as a wide grin spread across his face. He mimicked a series of playful punches aimed at the air, then broke into applause, cheering you on with boundless enthusiasm. You did not mind it. It actually made you smile.

Just as you turned toward the exit, you were so close to doing so as you began taking the first step; a pair of guards came to haul the mech onto a stretcher, and one of them harshly gripped your shoulder, evoking a grunt from your voicebox.

“You’re not done.”

You wrenched yourself free from his hold but stared at him confusedly, “We were the last ones on the list for today.”

“Not anymore.” The other answered for his partner, staring intensely at you despite his visor. “There’s been a last-minute change for your matches.”

‘Bullway.’ You looked away with irritation in your features (never directed at them), which was answer enough for the pair of guards. They began carrying the wounded gladiator away, fighting the urge to stifle their laughs while the mech deliriously quaked about his pain.

With a languid motion, you allowed your shoulders to roll back, reclaiming your position at the heart of the arena. To entertain the multitude of cybertronians around you, you threw your arms wide above your helm, sending a ripple of exhilaration through the crowd, igniting a cacophony of cheers and shouts.

You gazed at them in mild, calculated satisfaction. In some manner, the audience determined the level of excitement in the fight, and you felt a sense of relief knowing it would be exceptionally some time before you started boring them, even if you felt disgusted by their entertainment.

Suddenly, the other gate opened.

He emerged from the shadows. You’d seen him before, though only in passing. You hadn’t paid much attention to him then; now, it was impossible to look away.

His frame was massive, and his armor was scarred from dozens of battles. The faint glow of his optics burned like embers, and the sharpness of his gaze cut through the haze of dust and noise that filled the arena. His steps were heavy and measured, the kind of stride that wasn’t rushed because it didn’t need to be.

He stopped in the center of the pit, his helm tilting slightly as his optics locked onto you.

“So,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, carrying easily over the noise. “This is what they’ve got for me today?”

You tightened your grip on your warhammer, your digits aching. He was assessing you. You could feel it—a predatory gaze that lingered just long enough for you to start overthinking. Still, you said nothing. Words were a distraction. Both Bluey and Megatronus made points about that.

He seemed to take your silence as an insult. His mouth pulled into a sharp grin that didn’t reach his optics.

“They’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel now, aren’t they?” he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain, each word sharp as a dagger. “Sending me, Celsius, some nobody.”

Your helmet shifted slightly, and the question slipped from your dermas before you could rein in your need to make him angry. “Who?”

In an instant, the atmosphere around him transformed dramatically, thickening with an almost electric tension. It surged through him, coiling like a tightly wound spring just moments before it snapped, tight and expectant. The playful mockery that had once danced mischievously in his optics was snuffed out, leaving behind an unsettling void. In its place, a chilling darkness crept in, settling heavily over his features, distorting the lines of his face.

“‘Who?’” he repeated, his voice dropping to a growl. “You don’t know who I am?”

You stared at him, unflinching. “No.”

The crowd caught wind of the exchange, and a wave of laughter rippled through the stands. His frame stiffened, his optics narrowing as the noise grew louder.

“You’re funny,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t find it amusing. “That’s good. Keep that up—it’ll make this more entertaining.”

Without warning, he lunged.

For a mech his size, he moved with startling speed, closing the distance between you in a handful of strides. His fist came down like a hammer, a strike meant to pulverize. You twisted away just in time, his blow slamming into the ground with a force that sent tremors up through your stabilizers.

You darted back, your hammer raised defensively as you sized him up.

He was fast, yes, but his movements were heavy, over-committed. He fought like someone who had never needed to think about his strength—who had always relied on brute force to overpower his opponents.

“Stay still!” he barked, his voice sharp with irritation as he swung again, the arc of his arm slicing through the air.

You ducked, letting his momentum carry him past you.

“You’re wasting energy,” you said, the words slipping out before you could think better of it.

His growl was low and guttural, and when he turned back to you, his optics blazed with rage.

“You’ve got a smart mouth, I heard,” he said, his vents heaving. “Let’s see how smart it is when I’m done with you.”

He lunged at you once more, his movements becoming increasingly wild and unrestrained, each swing of his fists wide and erratic. You sidestepped, remembering the footwork Bluey had practically made you memorize. Your opponent wasn’t relying on his tactical knowledge; instead, he was fueled by a burning sense of pride. That pride, however, was proving to be his greatest weakness, as it blinded him to the precision and finesse with which you fought.

“Who trained you?” he sneered, his words cutting through the air like shrapnel. “Or did they just toss you in here to die?”

You didn’t answer. There was no point. Instead, you waited, watching for the next opening.

It came sooner than you expected.

He swung wide again, his arm sweeping out in a broad arc that left his side exposed. You stepped in, driving your hammer into the joint of his leg. The impact sent a jolt up your arms, and his armor buckled under the force. He staggered, a snarl tearing from his vocalizer as he struggled to stay upright.

“You’ll regret that,” he spat, his optics wild with fury.

Once again, you didn’t respond. You didn’t need to.

He lunged again, his movements growing sloppier with each passing moment. His rage was blinding him, clouding his judgment. He was making mistakes, and you were ready to exploit them.

You darted around him, landing a blow on his shoulder joint. He cursed, the sound raw and guttural, as his arm dropped, sparking at the connection. His frame trembled with the effort of staying upright, his vents rattling like loose machinery.

“Fight me!” he roared, his voice cracking in frustration. “Stop running and fight me!”

You held your ground, your optics steady as you watched him. “I don’t need to fight you,” you said, your tone calm, almost detached. “You’re beating yourself.”

The words struck him like a physical blow. He froze, his optics wide with disbelief, before the rage returned in full force. He charged blindly, his movements a chaotic blur of desperation and fury.

You stepped aside, his momentum carrying him past you. Then, with one final swing, you brought your hammer down on his remaining shoulder joint.

The impact sent him crashing to the ground, his frame buckling under the weight of his arrogance. He lay there, his vents sputtering, his optics dimming as he struggled to lift himself.

You stood over him, your stance steady, your frame casting a shadow over his.

He looked up at you, his optics burning with hatred and humiliation.

“Who,” you said, your voice low, broken by your tired breaths between syllables, “are you supposed to be again?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, like a thunderclap, the crowd erupted. Their cheers and jeers mingled in a cacophony that reverberated through the arena walls, their voices rising in a frenzy. Some shouted your name; others hurled insults at the fallen gladiator. The noise was deafening, but you let it wash over you, standing tall as their energy rippled through the air.

Their way of letting you know: That was an excellent match.

You allowed yourself a glance upward toward the tiered stands. The Overseers’ box loomed above, a dark shape crowded with figures seated in detached luxury. A few of them nodded, the faintest inclinations of approval that barely registered against the clinking of energon cubes and muted laughter from their table.

Most weren’t even watching.

Your optics narrowed as you saw what held their attention. A courier had delivered a tower of tiny energon cubes to their table. One of the bosses reached out, plucking a cube from the precariously stacked pile with the same carelessness as a mech selecting a datapad. Another laughed as the tower wobbled but held its balance.

Your spark twisted violently in your chest.

They weren’t watching. After all the effort, after the pain and adrenaline, the gamble of your life against another’s... you weren’t even worth their attention.

A tower of energon cubes was upstaging you.

A surge of fury swelled in your core, hot and all-consuming. You acted before you could think, your frame moving on instinct alone. With a sharp pull, you wrenched a shoulder plate free from your defeated opponent’s armor, the battered piece of metal groaning as it came loose in your servo.

Then, you hurled the plating across the arena. It sliced through the air, the momentum carrying it in a deadly arc straight toward the Overseers’ box.

The piece struck the energon tower dead-center.

The cubes tumbled spectacularly, scattering across their table and clattering to the floor. Shouts of alarm erupted as some of the bosses scrambled back, some leaping from their seats as the impact sent their delicate drinks and datapads spilling across their laps.

The crowd gasped, the collective intake of air almost louder than their earlier cheers. A shocked silence fell over the pit, stretching taut and electric as every optic turned to you.

For a moment, you simply stood there, your plating heaving as the heat of your anger coursed through you. Then, you inclined the upper part of your frame—just a fraction, the gesture somewhere between mockery and defiance. Your optics locked onto the Overseers as if daring them to look away again.

When you finally turned, you saw that the arena gates had opened at some point, the path to the exit yawning before you. You walked toward it without hesitation, without awaiting dismissal, your pedsteps echoing in the stunned silence that followed you.

Behind you, the crowd erupted louder than before, their voices carrying an amalgamation of shock, awe, and delight. They weren’t just watching now—they were riveted.

An excellent match, indeed.

But as you crossed the threshold into the dim corridors beyond the pit, the noise faded into the distance, and you could feel the weight of the Overseers’ glares pressing against your back. For the first time, you were sure they were paying attention.

Good. Let them.

[mintaikk]

Trope that ALWAYS gets me: character doesn't have the best relationship with their parent and acts distantly towards them. Maybe they had a falling out. Maybe something happened where they distrusted their parent, maybe they just grew to dislike them. But then they have a moment where something bad happens to them or their parent, and they have to witness them, and then they have a moment where their voice becomes filled with fear and sadness and they say a pitiful "Mommy/Daddy?"

[swordmaid]

but anyway that oathbreaker dialogue is so interesting with the 7k spawns because if she was against balthazar binding aylin so ketheric could use her, she's def against astarion (and cazador) sacrificing the spawns for power. and i like freeing the spawns after bc shri'iia believes in the presence of choice (!!) and they should be the ones to decide if they want to live or die. it doesn't matter to her what they choose to do later, but what's important is that they're the ones making that choice you know - like i think that's what her newfound oath is about, just having that presence of choice be available to you bc before she just followed lolth and her tenets without question. but now she's free... and she gets to make her own choices for better or for worse.. and all the consequences are now hers to face... and in turn she doesn't want anyone's autonomy to be taken away from them. they deserve to make their own choices - their freedom is theirs to take..!!!

[keeps-ache]

.,. ._. <- small guys :0

[kalashtars]

venting in the tags yippeee

[professorlegaspi]

Something something something the dreams where Celia dances with Josh at a masquerade ball and he is wearing a mask and she can’t recognize him is a metaphor for the way he’s hiding himself and his feelings from her

[syluslnd]

Imagine request please. Sylus is frustrated that someone he's fond of always looks away from him. But one day, she turns away and is facing a window/mirror; he catches her reflection and discovers she only does that because she's trying to hide her blush from them. What happens next?

sylus imagine with blushing reader

Sylus paced the room, his frustration barely concealed behind a mask of indifference. You sat across from him, nervously fidgeting with your hands. It wasn’t the first time he noticed this—the way you always avoided looking directly at him. It grated on him more than it should, a sting of rejection he couldn't shake.

Why did you always look away?

“Sweetie” Sylus’s voice cut through the tension, low and commanding. “Why do you always turn away from me?”

You stiffened at the question, the heat rising to your face. You kept your eyes on the window, the glass reflecting both the stormy cityscape outside and the quiet intensity of Sylus’s gaze. His question hung in the air, demanding an answer but your heart raced too fast for you to respond.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.” Sylus’s tone had that teasing edge he always used to rattle you. He approached slowly, a predator in control of the space, the moment. “You do this every time. I talk and you look away. Tell me…” He paused, leaning against the table behind you, his voice dipping lower “Why do you act like you’re afraid of me?”

Your breath hitched but before you could muster a reply, Sylus’s eyes flicked to the glass of the window where your reflection was faintly visible and there it was—your blush, unmistakable, painting your cheeks a soft pink. His eyes narrowed slightly, a slow realization dawning.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

“Well, well…” he muttered, pushing off the table and moving closer until he stood directly behind you. “You’re not afraid at all, are you, kitten?” His hand gently slid to your waist, fingers brushing your side. You stiffened at his touch, feeling the heat rise to your face even more. “You’re just trying to hide that blush from me.”

You froze, caught in the moment, the warmth of his body so close that you could feel his breath on your neck. Sylus’s lips hovered near your ear, his voice a soft tease. “Isn’t that right?”

You tried to stammer out a denial, but words failed you. Sylus, however, wasn’t going to let you off that easily. He turned you around, forcing you to face him.

“Let me see that cute little blush you’ve been hiding” he whispered, his tone both mocking and playful. He tilted your chin up so you couldn’t escape his gaze. “You thought I wouldn’t notice? You’re adorable.”

Your eyes met his for just a moment before you instinctively tried to turn away again, but this time he wasn’t having it. He caught your chin between his fingers, holding your face firmly in place, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

“There it is” he said, his tone softening ever so slightly as he took in your flustered expression. “You look so sweet when you’re embarrassed. Did you think you could hide that from me forever?”

Your heart pounded in your chest and the intensity of his gaze made it hard to breathe. You wanted to look away again but Sylus wasn’t letting go. His thumb brushed over your lower lip and the touch sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve been trying to avoid me, huh?” he murmured, his voice lowering to that dangerously soft tone he used when he was completely in control. “But now I know. You’re not scared—you’re just flustered. How cute.”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as your face grew even warmer. Sylus leaned in closer, his lips just a breath away from yours, his hand still resting on your waist. The teasing glint in his eyes only deepened.

“You’re adorable when you blush like this, sweetie” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “But don’t hide from me. I like seeing you flustered.”

His fingers traced a line down your neck, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The touch was almost gentle, but there was an underlying intensity to it that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Maybe I’ll have to tease you more often if this is the reaction I get” he continued, his smirk widening as he watched you squirm under his gaze. “You look so pretty when you’re like this.”

You couldn’t form a coherent response, not with the way he was looking at you, the heat in his eyes and the teasing lilt in his voice making your mind go blank. Sylus seemed to sense this, and his amusement only grew. He leaned in even closer, his lips barely brushing against yours.

“Tell me, kitten” he whispered, his voice like velvet, “why hide from me when you look so cute being all flustered?”

Before you could respond, his lips met yours in a brief but heated kiss. It was soft at first, teasing, like he was savoring the moment of catching you off guard. But then, the kiss deepened, his hand tightening on your waist as he pulled you closer, his lips demanding and firm against yours.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart racing, your cheeks burning even brighter than before. Sylus chuckled, his forehead resting lightly against yours as he whispered “There it is again. That blush. You can’t hide from me, sweetie.”

His thumb gently brushed your cheek, the touch almost tender, though the playful smirk never left his face. “You’re mine” he murmured, his voice soft but possessive. “And I’m not going to let you forget that.”

Still flustered and speechless, you could only look at him, your heart pounding in your chest. Sylus gave you a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with how thoroughly he’d unraveled you.

“I think I’ll keep you blushing like this” he teased, his voice low and promising as he pulled you closer again. “I like the way you look when you’re all flustered for me.”

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

Lavender

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Nature had always been your life. How fitting that it could now cause your death.

Warnings: angst (with a happy ending!), mentions of vomiting and blood.

a/n: Hello hello! This is perhaps definitely ass, but I really wanted to write for these two because I'm hopelessly in love with them both. Please enjoy!

Hanahaki Disease 花吐き病 (Japanese) is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

The natural world had always brought you peace. The softness of the grass under your feet, the gentle breeze blowing against your skin, the tender feeling of a flower blooming by your hand. You were a green witch, after all.

That was what had driven your family away. You had been 12 when you first sprouted a lily from your hand. You were more curious than scared; you had always sensed there was something that separated you from the rest of your family. Something about the earth’s treasures had always called to you. 

But even at your young age, you knew who you were living with. Sharing your abilities was a recipe for disaster; a sure fire way to have you outcast from your family.

So you did your best to keep your powers a secret, honing them in private, away from the watchful eye of your parents.

When you were 20, the inevitable happened. You were meant to be collecting berries for dinner when you had spotted a Willow Tree. It was worse for wear; you could feel it pleading for help as you approached it with a soft smile.

“It’s alright,” you soothed the tree as you gently placed your palms against the soil where its roots rested, “You’ll be alright.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on strengthening the roots as green magic pulsed out from your hands, through the soil, and into the tree itself, which began to heal instantly.

The snapping of a twig broke you out from your trance, turning your head to see your mother fleeing the scene. Your heart dropped as you quickly stood, moving to follow her.

She was too fast. By the time you had returned to your cabin, everyone and everything was gone. Your entire family had left you.

You fell to your knees in the middle of what was once your home, tears rolling down your face as you stared at the ground. Numb, broken, grieving.

You don’t know how long you stayed in that spot. You didn’t eat, you didn’t sleep, you just sat, staring, longing.

It wasn’t until a cold hand lifted your chin that you realized you weren’t alone anymore.

“Hello, darling,” a voice said softly, and you locked eyes with one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. Her brown eyes were intoxicating, drawing you in. You tilted your head at her in confusion and intrigue. Who was she? What was she doing here?

“You’ve been sat here for a week, darling. No food, no water, no sleep. You’ll kill yourself if you keep up like this,” she said as she looked at you curiously.

Your eyes widened in realization. Death. 

She shook her head at you gently, sensing your fear. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not taking you. It’s not your time,” she said, stroking your hair gently. 

“Thank you, Lady Death,” you stuttered out, in awe of her soft nature, directly contrasting the connotation of her very existence.

She smiled at you in response. “You can call me Rio, sweet girl.” 

There was a moment where you two merely looked at one another before she looked away, taking on a rather stern expression. “But I feel the need to tell you, sitting here and mourning your abandonment will only hurt you. It’s not your time. So don’t let it be. Get up, you’re coming with me.”

You stumble away from her in confusion. “I thought you weren’t taking me?”

She shook her head. “I’m not taking you to the afterlife. I am, however, taking you in. You’ll be staying with Agatha and I.”

You knew that name. You had read about it during your private studies.

“Agatha? Like…’The Witch Killer’ Agatha? That Agatha?” you asked cautiously.

Rio cackled, extending her hand to you.

You took it.

And so began the years you spent with Death and her lover, Agatha Harkness. The two women were vastly different to their reputations that had preceded them. Sure, they both had a fierceness to them. They had to, in order to survive their daily lives filled with corpses and taking souls.

But, with each other, they held such a softness. Rio often came back from a long day exhausted and drained. Death didn’t tend to be a fan favorite, and people made it evident, shouting at her and berating her as she escorted the souls of their loved ones to the afterlife. But Agatha greeted her at the door each evening with a hug, simply holding her for minutes on end, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as Rio visibly relaxed into her hold.

And Rio returned the favor, treating Agatha with a love full of tenderness and warmth. Comforting her after each nightmare, preventing her from overworking herself, giving her soft apology kisses after any arguments.

Before long, you knew almost everything about the pair. You learned about Agatha and her son, and his loss which nearly tore Agatha and Rio apart. How Agatha was only a ‘Witch Killer’ to keep Nicky alive as long as she could. How Rio held such anguish and guilt at having to take Nicky’s soul. How Agatha once held it against her but now loved her as fiercely as ever.

The two were made for each other, and though they welcomed you with a similar softness to that which they showed each other, you chalked it up to them taking pity on a girl who was abandoned by her family. You knew they could never love you like they loved each other.

But that didn’t stop you from falling for them. It happened subconsciously; you never meant for it to happen. But when your heart panged in longing at seeing Agatha and Rio curled up in each other’s arms in the living room, you knew it had happened. It panged even further as you looked down, noticing a red carnation that had bloomed in your palm against your will.

You were determined to ignore it. Surely you could enjoy their presence without focusing on the way your stomach flipped when Rio smiled at you, or how your heart seemed to triple in size whenever Agatha would stroke your hair in affectionate greeting. But what you had to do became evident one morning.

“We’re headed out for a bit, doll,” Agatha said as you sat at the table eating the breakfast she had made for you.

You nodded. “Okay! Don’t stay out too late, I’m making your favorite for dinner, Ags.”

She beamed at you, making butterflies flare up in your stomach so violently they made you uneasy. “You’re a gem. Isn’t she just?” She turned to Rio, squeezing her hand gently.

“Oh, yeah, she’s the sweetest,” Rio replied, winking at you as you feel your heart beat faster.

The two bid you a final farewell before leaving for the day. As soon as they left, you began to feel an uncomfortable itch in your throat. You furrowed your brows, attempting to clear your throat to ease the discomfort, but to no avail. Eventually you began coughing. It was a cough that made you feel sick, made you feel like something was really wrong.

And when you coughed into your palm and saw the petals of daffodils, your suspicions were confirmed.

You had heard of Hanahaki disease but had always believed it to be a myth. Your heart dropped at the realization that your love for these women was going to kill you.

You had to leave.

So you did. You packed up that day and left, traveling solo for centuries as you studied the disease you suffered from. 

Luckily, it impacted witches differently than humans. As your lifespan tended to be a lot longer, the disease was longer lasting; escalating at a slower pace before killing you altogether.

For the first hundred years, it had mostly been a consistent burning in your throat and coughing up various flower petals. Miserable, but bearable nonetheless.

After those hundred years, it began to escalate at a quicker pace as the flowers bloomed quicker and sharper. After 200 years of this disease, you were weaker than ever before. Coughing constantly, a never ending sensation of your insides burning, vomiting flower petals and blood.

Yes, there was the option of surgery, but you couldn’t bring yourself to allow that option to become a reality. You didn’t want to forget the love you held for Rio and Agatha. They had shown you kindness and softness like none other. You would die before you let yourself remove the memory of them from your very soul.

And you were getting close. You knew your time was running out.

And so, after another long day of slowly dying, you stared up at the sky, longing for your loves, even though you knew it could never be.

It was then that you felt yourself being sucked into the ground beneath you, and you let out a yelp at the shock.

Before you knew it, you were clawing your way out of the ground, now in a completely unfamiliar place. You were on a path in a strange, dystopian-looking forest. You could feel the magic buzzing around you as you pulled yourself up from the ground.

“Who is that?”

“I thought we already got a green witch?”

You heard a gasp and looked up to meet a pair of blue eyes you had longed for night after night for the past 200 years.

“Agatha,” you said quietly, tears welling in your eyes before you could stop them.

A familiar voice said your name and you shuddered at the sound.

“Rio.”

The two women stared at you and you stared back, unsure of what to say.

“So, are you gonna introduce us to the new girl, or…” a witch in a pink dress asked and you broke your intense stare-down to introduce yourself by name to the coven of witches. 

“I’m a green witch,” you explained.

“We’ve already got one,” a teenage boy said, pointing at Rio awkwardly.

You knew well and good that Rio wasn’t here as a green witch, she was here on work business, but you didn’t want to blow what seemed to be a cover, and you also didn’t have a damn clue where you were, so you played along.

“Well, you know summoning spells, you never know how many you’re gonna get…” you tried cautiously, still feeling the gaze of your former housemates burning into the side of your head.

“Y/N, a word?” Agatha finally asked, and you gulp before nodding and following her and Rio to a secluded part of the forest.

“Hey guys…what’s up?” you asked with an awkward smile, trying to ease the tension.

Rio narrowed her eyes at you, crossing her arms. “What’s up is that you up and left 200 years ago without so much as a word to either of us. Care to explain?”

You tried to look to Agatha for support, but she wouldn’t meet your eyes. Your stomach turned at the thought that you had upset these women you loved so deeply.

You took a deep breath, staring at the ground. “I had some business to attend to. I didn’t want either of you to get wrapped up in it.”

“Was your business ‘killing yourself?’ You look rough,” Rio said, a teasing smirk hiding her worry.

“Thanks,” you rolled your eyes, some tension releasing from your shoulders at the knowledge that Rio wasn’t angry enough to ignore you.

“You left without so much as saying goodbye,” Agatha said quietly. She sounded so hurt, and you couldn’t believe you had brought this on the pair, but you knew they deserved to love each other in peace, not be burdened at being the cause of your death.

“Ags, I’m really sorry, I should’ve said goodbye, I just-“ you were cut off as a violent coughing fit shook you, causing both women to raise their eyebrows at you.

You turned away from them as you coughed a plumeria flower out of your throat. You quickly slipped the flower into your pocket and wiped a bit of blood from the corner of your mouth before turning to face the two witches again.

The eyes on you were soft and concerned, but you shook your head at them, shutting down their questions before they even asked. “I’m fine, just a cough.”

Rio opened her mouth to protest when a witch sporting orange streaks in her hair interrupted.

“I’m sorry to get in the middle of whatever this reunion is, but I think it’s time for our next trial.”

You furrowed your brows. “Trial?” You began to realize that you had no idea where you actually were.

“Duh, we are on the Witches Road, after all!” The teenage boy exclaimed, leaving you even more confused.

The road isn’t real. You knew all about the song that Agatha had used to lure her victims in. 

“Wait, but-“ you stopped yourself from questioning any further when you saw Rio subtly shake her head at you, a silent plea to not reveal the truth of the road to the group.

You nodded in understanding, deciding to save your questions for later. “Alright, where’s the next trial?”

You looked up to see the group staring at something behind you. Agatha and Rio were particularly fascinated by it.

You turned around and your stomach dropped. You saw a cottage. It’s covered in vines and moss, making it appear worn down. But you thought it was beautiful. Perhaps that’s because it was yours. And Agatha’s. and Rio’s.

You looked at the path leading to the cottage. It was covered in flowers. You took a deep breath.

You just got here and already you were being given a trial.

As you and the rest of the coven approached the cottage, you couldn’t help but turn to the women you desire the most for comfort. 

Rio had an arm wrapped around Agatha’s waist, her thumb gently stroking the witch’s hip bone. Agatha looked up at her, smiling in gratitude, and Rio pressed a soft kiss to Agatha’s forehead.

Your stomach churned at the sight, and you felt bile rising in your throat. You painfully swallowed it back down, cringing at the effect it had on your throat, already raw from the thorns slowly tearing it to shreds.

“You good?” The witch in the pink dress asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s just get this over with.”

The inside of the cottage looked just like you thought it would.

Home.

The same furniture, same pillows and blankets, same decor on the walls.

Your eyes filled with tears as you remembered all the time you had spent here with the women you loved more than anything.

“Doll,” a gentle voice said, and you turned to see Agatha looking at you softly. She approached you slowly, holding a hand out for you, but you took a step back.

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing your face and continuing to move through the house.

“This is new,” you heard Rio’s voice from the room resembling your bedroom. 

You entered and were greeted with a tapestry on your wall. It showed 5 flowers. Below the woven flowers was a message:

The words she never spoke will slowly begin to choke. For if they never cared, a life cannot be spared.

“It’s my life,” you breathed out, staring in horror at the plants on the tapestry.

Rio nodded, running her fingers along the tapestry as she identified the plants.

“Lily. Rebirth,” she began.

“The birth of your powers, the birth of you as a witch,” Agatha identified.

“Willow Tree. Loss.”

“The loss of your kin. Being abandoned by those you called family,” Agatha continued.

“Red Carnations. Deep, affectionate love.”

Agatha went silent at this, her brows furrowing.

“Daffodil. Unrequited love.”

Rio and Agatha were visibly shaken by this point. What hadn’t you told them? You were in love? With who?

Rio snapped her head to look at you upon seeing the last flower.

“Plumeria,” she said grimly.

Agatha’s eyes were wide. “What does that mean?” 

Rio only continued to look at you.

“Rio, what does that mean???”

Her question was answered as you began to cough violently again, the sheer force of it bringing you to your knees.

Agatha rushed over to you in a panic. She looked at the rest of the coven in terror. “What’s happening to her?” she cried as you began to choke.

“The words she never spoke will slowly begin to choke,” the teenager said.

“Hanahaki disease,” the witch in pink breathed out.

“What the hell is that?” Agatha was crying now, watching as petals and thorns made their way out of your mouth covered in blood.

“A disease that affects someone facing unrequited love,” Rio said in realization.

As she put the pieces together she knelt in front of you in an instant, anger coursing through her.

“You left because of this,” she said, her voice low, “You thought we didn’t love you, so you left?” she asked incredulously.

“Didn’t want—you to—-see me die,” you gasped out, fighting for air as you began to cough up more and more blood.

“You’re not dying, Y/N. I won’t take you,” Rio choked out, her sorrow getting the best of her. 

“Better this way,” you managed, and Agatha choked out a sob.

“It’s not, doll, we love you, we love you,” she cried helplessly.

The whole coven stood in shock. The two women they feared the most were in the most pain they had seen since they began to walk the road.

Both women hold you tight, desperately trying to convince you of their love.

Rio grabbed your face to look at her. “There’s a reason I took you in that day, mi vida,” she whispered as tears fell down her face, “I felt pulled to you. I knew you would be special to me. Aggie and I love you so much, please believe me.”

She leaned in and pressed her lips to yours, ignoring the blood and petals and thorns and focusing on you. Just you.

When she pulled away you gasped, finally able to gather air into your lungs.

Relief was visible throughout the entire coven. They had only just met you, but seeing how your existence being threatened had brought absolute devastation to two of the most intimidating women on earth had shaken them.

As you began to breathe again, you sagged against Agatha.

“You’re okay, doll, you’re okay now,” she assured you as she gently ran a hand through your hair.

The door to the cottage slammed open, and the rest of the coven took it as their cue to leave, giving you three a moment to recover.

As you laid against Agatha, you looked at Rio with tired eyes. “Sorry for getting blood on you,” you rasped, causing the woman to roll her eyes at you.

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” She scolded before taking both of your hands in hers. “I. Love. You.”

Tears filled your eyes at her earnest confession. “I’m so sorry I ran,” you began, your body shaking, “I saw the love you had for each other, and how much you had healed each other, and I couldn’t hurt that. I didn’t want you to see me die. It wouldn’t have been your fault,” you said brokenly.

Agatha shushed you, kissing the top of your head. “You shouldn’t have run. It would’ve saved us all 200 years of agony,” she said, and you hang your head in guilt.

But then you felt a cold hand lifting your chin. And suddenly you were 20 years old again, looking into the eyes of Lady Death herself. 

But this time, instead of looking at you with curiosity, she looked at you with something much stronger. She looked at you with love.

“But we’ve got you back now,” she said, smiling tearfully at you, “so we’re taking you in. Is that okay?”

Your body wracked with sobs as you nodded, and both women were holding you in an instant. Your back was against Agatha’s front as her arms wrapped around your waist. Rio straddled you, her arms wrapping around your neck as she pulled you close.

And out of the cracked wooden floor of that cottage, something bloomed.

Lavender. Healing. Love.

[erinaeris]

Laios Touden and the Responsibility of Power

First off, let me gush just a bit about how fucking STRONK this man is. Olympic weightlifters are dying of sheer envy and lust over this man. He is a FUCKING POWERHOUSE.

My favorite panels ever, and judging by the cropping of the second photo, Tumblr agrees.

AHEM, where was I?

Ah yes. He's not just strong and incredibly hot, my man is literally an invasive species in this dungeon. He knows every single weak spot of every monster Thistle tried to throw at him and when he finds it he just fucking RAMS HIMSELF AT THEM AND TAKES THEM DOWN.

And when he's a dwarf HE LITERALLY BENDS STEEL.

"Beat Namari at arm wrestling"? My boy, she wouldn't let you anywhere near because you'd FUCKING BREAK HER HER HAND ALONG WITH THE TABLE. (It's such a fucking shame we didn't see Senshi at least raising an (perfectly plucked except it just grows that way naturally) eyebrow in the background when he sees this. Alas, he was too distracted by his hair.)

But I mentioned responsibility, didn't I? Strength is power in the dungeon, and we all knows what comes with great power. And Laios is, in fact, very responsible with that power!

(Futther examples under the cut, wee bit spoilers for anime watchers)

This scene lives rent-free in my head forever, because of two things: Thistle suddenly realizing just what the hell he's up against,

And Laios breaking Thistle's arm.

Now, I think Laios didn't mean to actually break his arm here, he's just half-blind and dizzy and knows he has to restrain Thistle or it will all go to shit. So that's what he does. The move you see above is a restraining hold. The point is that the person pinned down can't struggle much because the position of the arm presses the suprascapular nerve, so it hurts a lot, but unless they're held that way for too long they'll be fine.

But Thistle is TINY and elves are generally fine-boned. I think Laios really did just underestimate his strength.

And the moment the dragons aren't an IMMEDIATE THREAT anymore?

Laios heals him. Thistle's a better mage than him by miles, he could have done it himself. But no. Laios does it. He was too rough, too careless with his strength, and he immediately backtracked, fixed what he broke, and continued with more mindfullness.

And these are just the examples that stuck in my mind the most. And it happens often enough that the team isn't even fucking surprised! Laios' strength would 100% scare people who only saw him in a barfight and didn't know anything else about him. Hell, the other adventurers they meet fucking quiver before this guy who just took down a monster they had nightmares about in one blow, up until he opens his mouth and they relax. You put more malevolent software in that sort of hardware and he'd be the next Shadow Governor.

But Laios is Laios. He's a gentle soul at heart (a Great Pyrenese, specifically, the gentlest souls ever unless you're out for their flock) and he is VERY CAREFUL with his strength, ESPECIALLY around his team. Chilchuck, who is literally half his size and underfed to boot, can smack Laios as much as he wants with ZERO fear because Laios is aware he can hurt Chilchuck by literally tripping over him, so he just stays still and lets Chilchuck smack at him. I'd be surprised if he ever managed to leave a bruise. Chilchuck has to aim at Laios' weak spot (back of the knee here) just to get Laios to notice him!

But because I have some experience with marital arts and close combat, I think the fight with Shuro exemplifies my point so fucking well! Laios is HURT here, he's living every autistic person's worst nightmare.

And he HOLDS BACK. His restraint is fucking IMMACULATE.

Shuro is fucking lucky Laios still liked him when he started talking shit, because he would have broken his spine otherwise. Laios doesn't even take the fight seriously! He starts with a fucking SLAP.

Shuro retaliates with an actual punch (that does nothing but piss him off)

Laios wobbles. Shuro HITS THE DIRT.

And this is the part where he realizes just how outside his weight category he is. Shuro definitely has technique on his side, but that means jackshit when you need ten blows to to even bruise your opponent, but one hit from them will leave you drinking through a straw for a week. For a second there, Shuro thought he was in ACTUAL DANGER.

But instead of finishing the job, Laios tries to talk him down, which just sets him off again. Man was at his fucking LIMIT, and it snapped. Self-preservation who?

And the best part is? Shuro is throwing all his strength behind his punches and Laios just takes them, but Laios? He mostly pushed Shuro around!

They're mostly grappling here, precisely because Laios is very conscious his friend is pretty fragile right now.

And when he does have enough?

Shuro is flat on the ground again, and Laios has a black eye and a bloody nose. He sits down and five minutes later he's ready to go! Like yes, Shuro was at a low point here, but he's been mowing through monsters at only a bit slower pace than Laios' party. He's no weakling regardless. And Laios had to HOLD BACK SO HE WOULDN'T HURT HIM. And it's so obvious that Maizuru takes one look at the two of them and leaves them to their toussling.

When I saw her reaction I had to scroll back and take another look, because I was sure she would intervene! But she doesn't! She is aware of Laios' strength, she has to be, and she doesn't lift a finger to help her precious charge. She knows the big dog he's wrestling with knows to watch his strength.

And that's my whole point: my boi is STRONK AF! And he is very aware of his strength, and how he could hurt the people around him is he wasn't careful, so he is ALWAYS CAREFUL. He has deeply internalized the fact that to have strength is to be careful with it, to use it in service of people rather than to hurt them (possibly from his dad). He is going to SUCH a good king! He's not going to like the job but by GOD he will do it really well.

And I will give my right arm to see a fic about the first corrupt lord/governor/courtier who attempts to misuse their authority for their own gain. Kabru's gonna have to talk Laios out of an execution.

[seresinhangmanjake]

His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: You used to be a Lady, a daughter of a Great House until Feyd took you. Since then, your sole purpose has been to warm his bed, but when Rabban asks about having you for himself, Feyd makes a choice that changes your future.

Words: 2600

Notes: Possessiveness. Grumpy Feyd. I know it's similar to another one of my fics, but I realized that after the fact, so...

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You didn’t sleep. Not a wink. You laid in his bed all night, waiting for the man who never came, and your heart didn’t cease its ferocious beats for a second. Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Is he ok? What happened? The sun rises without answers to those questions. 

You shoot up in bed when the door eases open. Expecting to find him, you’re disappointed to see instead his harpies enter one after the other. They don’t look at you. One goes about riffling through your dresses in the closet, one heads into the bathroom and you suddenly hear a rush of water filling the tub, and the last of them goes to the vanity Feyd brought in for you, lining up makeup and hair pins that she intends to use on you. 

The air about them is poised—an echo of who they used to be before they were turned into pets—as, for the moment, their vile, more carnivorous side lies dormant. 

Feyd only allows them to near you a couple hours after they’ve been fed; the peak time between their hunger sated and their bellies rumbling. At any other time, your uniquely foreign scent wafts to their nostrils and they are incapable of holding themselves back. More than a handful of instances—when they’ve managed to manipulate the guards to open their cages with their seductive smiles—they’ve gone on the hunt for you; one time in particular, sneaking into the bedroom in the middle of the night and yanking you from Feyd’s arms with the intention of sinking their teeth into your flesh. Feyd had been so furious he’d cut a finger from each of their hands. 

Still, they don’t scare you. You see in them women not entirely unlike yourself: owned, and therefore, changed. Soft are the women who have had the luxury of marriage and child-rearing in the comforts of wealth and beautiful homes—and good for them; how lovely to be soft—but it is the women who have not a choice in their existence that develop a steel shell. And you and the harpies have steel shells. In that way, they are your kin, and you try to subtly express that when you can, even though their allegiance to Feyd can make that quite difficult.

“Where is he?” you ask. 

They ignore you, continuing with their tasks, and you huff. Yes, sometimes they refuse to speak with you, and always it seems when you need their words most. In the past, you’ve been tempted to dangle your arm in front of their sharpened fangs in the hope that the offering will encourage their cooperation, but you’ve yet to find the bravery for that. Plus, Feyd would lose his mind. Well, he would lose the rest of it. 

“You’ve spoken to me before,” you continue. “Why not now?”

One of them stops and faces you. She glances at her sister who shakes her head. 

“Tell me,” you plead. 

“We are not permitted to speak with you on the matter,” the other says to your frustration. That is not good enough. Regardless of how he sees you and how you feel, he is the one thing keeping you alive on this lifeless planet and you refuse to go about your days worrying over his safety and what his disappearance means for your fate.

You throw the sheets off your legs and stand. 

“I don’t care,” you spit as your silky nightgown falls at your ankles, but then you reconsider your tone. The harpies do not do well with aggression. Being so animalistic, their instincts are easily drawn out, and they tend to attack when attacked, which is not a fight you would win. 

You take a calming breath, placing a hand over your heart. “We are the same. He owns us, he clothes us, he feeds us,” you remind them. “On this planet, I am as much your sister as you are each other’s. We all care about him in a way and if I knew what happened to him, I would have the decency to tell you.”

The harpy who drew your bath returns to the bedroom. Having overheard your words, she crosses her arms and says, “With respect, my Lady, we are not your sisters,” she says. “We have never had him the way you have, and he does not feel for us the way he does you.” 

Your clenched jaw loosens, lips parting. If you had assumed anything about the relationship between Feyd-Rautha and his harpies, it was that they had once been where you are; that when you came along, they lost their rank and became something alike the handmaids from your home world. You’d assumed that when they warmed his bed, their handmaids were the women who entertained him before them, and so on like a disgusting, perverted pattern. But if that is not the case, then your sense of identity is even more confused. Not to mention, nary a soul has referred to you as ‘Lady’ since you were taken from your family. So why show that respect now when Feyd practically stripped you of the title months ago? 

You look to the only one of the three who seems unsure of the situation. She’s biting her lip, worrying the fabric of your unworn gown between her fingers. 

“What about you?” you ask her and her head lifts to meet your eyes. She’s the smallest of them—pixie-esque, like you read in fairytale stories as a child—and despite the core of their primal nature, the gentlest. “You want to tell me.”

The harpy by your vanity hisses, but the gentle one does not shy away at the warning. “She has been kind to us,” she tells her sister in the most self-assured tone you’ve ever heard leave her mouth. 

The sister snaps back. “He instructed us to do one thing: get her ready for the day and act like nothing is wrong. It was not to tell her what happened.”

You lightly gasp. “So something has happened,” you state, feeling your heartbeat quicken. Your chest begins to rise and fall to match the rapid rate. “Is he ok?”

There are a few seconds of silent pause before Pixie stands a little straighter, setting her shoulders in a strong line. “Our Lord na-Baron was answering for the death of his brother.”

Your head jerks back. “Rabban?” you question, your brow pinching. “Rabban is dead?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“And Feyd is the one who killed him?” That doesn’t make any sense. While Feyd has complained enough for you to know Rabban is a bumbling idiot, he eventually found a way for his brother to serve a purpose. Why would he kill a man when he is no longer the nuisance he once was, you wonder, so you ask, “Why?”

“The Lord Rabban…made suggestions,” Pixie tells you. One of the harpies groans as the other shakes her head.

“What suggestions?”

She bites down and swallows hard, then she says, “He suggested that the na-Baron share you for his own pleasure.”

Instantly, you’re hit with a wave of nausea. Share? Share you? The concept of a foreign woman hopping between men of status is not unusual, but at this point, you assumed if Feyd were going to participate in something like that, he would have sent you off already. Not doing so didn’t even surprise you. He’s too possessive. 

“You said he was answering for Rabban’s death,” you say, but answering for that surely wouldn’t have taken so many hours, not when the Baron saw Rabban as a waste of space. “So where is he now?”

—

He doesn’t notice when you step into the training room and you’re thankful for that. You came on a mission to extract more answers out of him, but you don’t mind having a second to admire him sparing against his trainer. 

He’s sweaty. You like him sweaty—sweaty and bare-chested and perfectly, effortlessly mesmerizing as aggressive grunts leave his lips. You silently watch their violent dance, your form mouse-like by the door until his trainer looks up and halts to stare at you. Feyd whips around to follow his line of sight, then he sighs and turns back to the smaller man. He mutters something as he grabs the rag at his belt and runs it down his face. 

The trainer leaves and Feyd places his knife back on the table among many others. “I told them to keep you away today,” he says dully, monotone, not meeting your eyes as he runs his finger over the blade and fiddles with the hilt. “Incompetent brats.” 

“You didn’t come to bed.”

“I was busy,” he responds without letting a beat pass. He continues to avoid your stare and mess with the knives as if he’s never wielded them before.

You slowly step down the stairs into the pit of the room. “Busy killing your brother?” you ask. The muscles in his back twitch and flex under pale skin as he grips the hilt harder. 

“That is none of your concern.” The distance between you lessens until you’re a foot from his back, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Even though you killed him because of me?” you ask. His neck ticks and his head tilts and shifts to adjust to the tension. When he still doesn’t respond, you try another angle. “Why are your harpies referring to me as their ‘Lady’?”

That seems to do it. Feyd faces you, crosses his arms, and leans his lower back against the table. “You think spending one night without me gives you permission to be nosy?”

You don’t give in to his method of shutting you up by aiming to make you feel silly and guilty. Instead, your eyes narrow and you mirror the crossing of arms. “Why am I a Lady again?”   

“You just are.”  

“Are you sending me home?”

His eyes flash. Blue irises darken a shade. “Don’t be stupid.”

“So I’m a Lady on Giedi Prime?” you ask, dropping your chin to emphasize how ridiculous that sounds. 

The edge of Feyd’s jaw sharpens as he clenches his back teeth. “Stop asking questions.”

“Then answer one,” you say. 

It’s a shot taken by an untrained hand, as he doesn’t enjoy demands, especially not from you, but you figure you have nothing to lose in the attempt, so you don’t cower under his menacing glare. You wait. And much to your surprise, he surrenders. 

He blinks, and when his eyes open, they have softened ever so slightly. Then he says, “You’re marrying me,” and everything from your lungs to your limbs freezes in shock. 

“W–What?” you stutter. That makes less sense than Rabban’s sudden death. 

Feyd groans and stands straight, his arms falling at his sides. “See what being nosy gets you?” he snaps. “I wasn’t going to tell you immediately, and you had to go and ruin it.”

He grabs a fresh knife and stomps his way over to a dummy, ready to attack something other than you for the insecurity that he can’t completely contain. You’ve never witnessed him insecure, but you know the feeling when you see it—the defense mechanism, the distancing himself, the grumbly attitude. 

“I’m not sure I understand,” you press as he slashes and stabs at the soulless victim. “I’m marrying you because you killed your brother for wanting to fuck me?”

With a grunt, the dummy’s head severs from its torso and flies off in your direction. It rolls and rolls and stops just before hitting your feet. The dead eyes stare up at you in silent amusement. Now you’ve done it, they mock.

“I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, do you understand me?” Feyd growls.

Your eyes shoot to his. “The marrying you part or The your brother fucking me part?”

He tosses the knife aside. It clatters against the ground as he closes in on you. His hand wraps around your neck. “Don't test me,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I will sew your damn lips shut if I have to.”

An empty threat if you’ve ever heard one. He would never harm you, but even if he were going to try, his fingers would need to be squeezing much tighter.

You roll your eyes. “Well then how am I going to suck your cock?”

Something about the tease stuns him. His tense features immediately settle and his whole body eases with his exhale. Glancing at your lips, he licks his own, and you think he might decide to kiss you—after all, it’s been a good twenty-four hours since the last one—but he doesn’t.

You snort. “Didn’t think that one through, did you.”

Long fingers unwrap from around your neck. “You’re not funny,” he mumbles with an odd sense of shame.

“If you don’t find me entertaining, can you maybe take the time to explain all of this better?”   

Feyd considers keeping his mouth shut. You know him well enough to know that. However, it’s ridiculous to contemplate since he’s already spilled the bigger news. Nothing could be more shocking than you, after the bed-warming position you’ve held for months, becoming his wife. 

“My uncle was going to take you away from me for killing Rabban,” he finally says. “So I told him I've had plans to marry you for the alliance and that's why I refused to share you. Rabban wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he had to die.”

Raising a brow, you say, “The Baron accepted that explanation? My House may be one of the Greats, but we do not offer much for Giedi Prime.”

Feyd shrugs. “My uncle enjoys anything that causes upset. Marrying me means we will always own something very valuable to your family.”

It would likely offend another, but you don’t mind being owned. While the Baron may believe the Harkonnens as a whole will own you, you belong to Feyd and Feyd alone. He’ll never allow anyone to hurt you and now he’ll never have to fight or argue with anyone to stake his claim, which works for you just fine, to say the very least. 

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

Your head tilts as you smile. “Caring enough to protect me.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” he says. “I didn't do it for you, I did it for my own benefit.”

Your sweet smile morphs into a smirk. “The benefit being that you get to keep me all to yourself…for the rest of your life.”

With a scoff, Feyd rolls his eyes and crosses his arms again. “Whatever.”

“Feyd…” you sigh, leaning into him.

“What?” he returns in his snarky tone as if he doesn’t want you near, but he doesn’t step out of the bubble of your space.

“I'm happy.”

A pink tinge sneaks onto his pale skin, and he quickly looks away. And before he has a chance to come up with some witty remark to smack you with, you grab his face and press your lips to his. 

You hold on to him until he starts to kiss you back, and then he's reaching for you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you, and you know you won't be going anywhere for a good long while.

[xmalfoyweasleyx]

Jealousy, jealousy - Azriel x reader

Summary: The whole inner circle is tired of you and Azriel flirting with each other, without acting on it. So Rhys decided to help his sister and Azriel with that, by planning a special birthday party for her. Based on this request.

Warnings: Smut! 18+! Az is jealous (but it's fluff)

Azriel couldn’t stop watching you. Again.

You were sitting on the couch in front of him at the townhouse, silently watching your brother, Rhys, talk. Azriel loved watching you, your shy, yet clever eyes were always so observant. On top of that, you looked beautiful tonight. You wore a dress that looked like it was made of starlight and your pretty lips were painted in a color that made-

“You’re daydreaming again, Az,” Rhys interrupted his thoughts, making Az’s eyes quickly avert his gaze from y/n, to her brother sitting next to her.

“Probably dreaming about his undying love for Truth-Teller,” y/n smiled. The shy, yet flirty smile that always made Az go week in the knees.

Before he could even try to suppress it, a wave of warmth filled Az’s cheeks, exposing his adoration. You were the only person who could make him blush like that. It has been this way since the first day he’d met you, when you were teenagers, which is already centuries ago. Rhys only introduced his sister years after he’d met Azriel and Cassian. She was still young, but so was he. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with her. The way she was hiding behind her brother, shy, yet curious, peeking behind his shoulder at the two Illyrians standing in front of her. Suddenly a smile was on her curious face, and the first thing you’d said was: “Are those shadows yours? They’re very beautiful.”

Since that moment, Az was a goner. He never acted on it though. Too scared, too insecure and too worried he would ruin your friendship. It had been the same for years. The flirting, the teasing. But never more than that. 

Until a few months ago. When the bond snapped.

In that moment, Azriel couldn’t be any happier. It all made sense now. But then he realized, it didn’t snap for you. You didn’t seem to know. And it happened all over again, he was scared. What if you didn’t want him as your mate? What if it would freak you out? And what if Rhys would hate him for it?

“You’re still staring at me, Azzie” he heard y/n’s soft voice, yet again interrupting his thoughts. He looked confused for a moment, as if finally realizing where he was. “Oh yes, I'm sorry, you do look beautiful tonight y/n, you can’t blame me,” he smiled nonchalantly. It was always like this, the flirting and the compliments. It was normal.

“You look great too Az,” you returned the smile. Another wave of warmth heated his face. He quickly tried to hide the flushed cheeks, when fortunately, Cassian guided the attention to him. “So, what are we going to do for your birthday tomorrow y/n?” Cas asked. 

“Oh, I don’t know, I guess we could go out or something? Nothing special, just like we always do,” you answered.

Rhys clicked his tongue at that. “Nothing special? My dear sister, I think you don’t know me that well then. We have the perfect surprise for you.” That was something new. “Do we?” Az asked confused. “Well, now I’m curious,” Feyre smiled.

What Az didn’t know is that the whole inner circle knew about his “secret” feelings for you, only Az and y/n were oblivious. Honestly, his friends didn’t know how the observant shadowsinger didn’t notice how obvious it was. He always gets shy and smiled with y/n. It was a mystery how he didn’t realize the fact he had a lovesick look all over his face when he’s watching her. So Rhys, the good brother he is, decided to come up with a plan. The easy strategies didn’t work, so he decided to use the one thing Az couldn’t hide, jealousy.

*******

When it was finally the evening of your birthday, it turned out Rhys’ surprise, indeed, was special. Your brother had decided to take you all to some dance show’ but it wasn’t some normal dance show, you realized when you saw the poster hanging on the door of the club. It were only male dancers. Male dancers with not so many clothes, it seemed. “Now I’m really curious brother” you sighed. “You’ll love it.”

Your brother was right, it was so much fun. You ate and drank with the inner circle, watching the show from your shared table. They even got you a cake with fireworks. But that wasn’t the only surprise.

You were all cheering when one of the dancers came to you. He was muscled and had beautiful, curly blonde hair. Before you could process what was happening, he grabbed your hand and pulled you on the stage with him. The male put you on a chair in the middle of the stage and started moving around you, your face flushed immediately.

He smirked at you, showing off his impressive moves. You couldn’t help but smile at him. It was fun to let go for a moment and enjoy the silliness of it all. The whole inner circle was cheering for you.

Az on the other hand, didn’t like it that much. He balled his hands into fists, when he saw the way the male grabbed your hand and guided you to the stage. He gritted his teeth, the way you blushed, the way he was moving around you and even touched you… And then you smiled at that male.

Az had to muster every ounce of self-control. He did all he could to not just get up on that stage, and bring you back to their table. He wanted to be the one to touch you like that. He wanted to be the one to make you smile. 

Even after the show was over and you were brought back to your original spot, Az couldn’t shake off the jealous feeling. His whole body was still tense and he had a dark look on his face.

“Something the matter, Azriel?” Rhys smirked teasingly, grabbing his friend's shoulder, knowing damn well why he was acting like this. “No.” Azriel answered shortly, taking another big sip from his drink.

******

Y/n was so tired when she arrived at her bedroom. She sat on her bed, taking her shoes off with a relieved sigh, ready to go to sleep. But suddenly she heard someone knock on the door. It was Azriel.

“Hey Az, what are you doing here?” 

“Just wanted to say goodnight after such a… special… birthday evening,” he grinned.

“Yeah it was… something,” you giggle. You sat next to each other on the bed in silence for a moment.

“Did you think he was hot?” Az blurted out. “Who?” you asked confused. “That guy, the one who danced for you,” he grumbled. “Oh, I-I don’t know, he was fine,” you faltered. 

Az didn’t answer. “Are you okay Azzie? You seem tense.” You rubbed his shoulder gently, trying to comfort him.

“I didn’t like it” he stated. Y/n was confused. “W-were you… were you jealous?” Az only sighed, looking down.

“It was just, he was… he shouldn’t touch you like that” he tried to explain without making his jealousy too obvious. You were disappointed for a moment, he probably just didn’t like it because he saw you as his little sister, you thought. Because he wanted to protect you. “I’m sorry Az,” you silently said. “No, no, don’t apologize y/n, it’s my fault, I’m acting stupid.”

“I get that you feel like this, you see me as a... sister, you feel protective over me or something, I get it Az,” you sighed. Azriel looked up, his hazel eyes carefully watching you. He frowned, “Do you really think that’s how I feel about you?” It’s silent for a moment. “I was jealous y/n, very jealous” he finally confessed.

“Y-you were?” you stroked his cheek softly, fingertips tracing the freckles down his neck. Azriel nodded, you looked in each others eyes for a long moment. His pupils dilated, a hungry look on his face. Then the room suddenly filled with the smell of your arousal. “You want to… you want to show me what you look like without that shirt then?” you hesitated. “Yeah? You want that?” he smirked. “Yes” you answered breathlessly. 

Az slowly took his shirt off, your eyes tracing the lines of his muscles hungrily. “Much better than that male,” you sighed. “C’mere” he groaned, surprising you by grabbing your hips and lifting your body on top of him in one move. You were straddling him now, arms tightly wrapped around his neck.

And then his lips were on yours, hungrily moving against each other. He grabbed your ass, squeezing it gently. A gasp left your mouth, “Azzie, Az please.” You started moving against him, pressed so close to each other, yet it wasn’t enough. 

“What do you want, baby?” he whispered against your lips. “I want you.”

“And what exactly do you want from me? Tell me y/n,” he groaned.

“Your cock, I want to feel you in me, Azriel, please” you begged.

“So pretty when you beg like that, darling. But not so fast.” He wrapped his arms tightly around your back and turned you around. You’re back now against the bed, with Azriel’s body hovering above you. His wings were spread wide and his shadows were moving around you. Silently asking their master for permission to touch you too.

They helped him with getting you out of your birthday dress, the soft tendrils caressed your skin so deliciously. The shadows danced around your whole body, touching you almost everywhere. You felt a familiar heat growing in lower stomach.

The male above you spread your legs wider, placing soft kisses closer and closer to where you wanted him most.

You grabbed his dark locks in your hand, eagerly trying to guide him to your pussy. “Patience, baby, patience,” he calmly said.

His hands traveled up your body, gently grabbing your breasts, his palm stroking your nipple. “So pretty for me,” he cooed. 

And then he finally pressed his soft lips against your pussy, a load moan left your mouth. He started to lick like a starved male. His lips softly wrapping around your clit, sucking messily. He then wrapped your legs around his head, locking in his face in between them. He groaned into your cunt, “Azzie, yes, feels so good”.

Then you noticed that he was grinding against the mattress, trying to find some relief too. He was already so turned on, just from the taste of your pussy. “I want you to feel good too,” you whined. Azriel replaced his tongue with his fingers, the scarred skin softly rubbing your clit, “Oh I already feel amazing, baby, don't worry.”

You gasped when you felt his finger enter your pussy, stroking the soft walls. Your breathing grew louder. “Yeah, you like that?” He chuckled. 

It felt amazing, but you wanted him in you, you wanted him pussy drunk, feral for you. So you could only do one thing, touch his wings. 

You gently stroked the less sensitive part on the outside of his wing, testing the waters. He groaned, “Oh baby, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

You decided to stroke a more sensitive part, making him grab your thighs harshly. Az sat up. “Come here, you dirty little girl,” he said huskily. “Do you want me to fuck you y/n? Is that what you want, huh?”

“Yes, please, yes” you whined.

“How could I deny that pretty face? My beautiful little girl,” he cooed, leaning in closer to press his lips against yours again. You helped him pull his pants down, his impressive length sprang free. You gulped. He was long.

"Don’t worry, if you want to stop we’ll stop” he murmured into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin gently. “No, no! I can handle it,” you claimed, your hand wrapping around him, eager to feel the soft skin in your hands. He groaned into your ear, “Shit, you have no idea how turned on I am right now.” You giggled, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, already soaking wet.

“Are you sure?” he whispered. “Yes, I’m sure Az, want to feel you” 

He slowly entered you, sucking your nipples as a distraction for the pain. But it was a good kind of pain, you wanted more. So you grabbed his ass, trying to push him deeper into you. "Don't... don't be scared, it feels good," you said in between heavy breaths.

“Needy little girl” he grinned. His rhythm picked up and his thrusts started to get harder. His hips slamming against yours

“You feel so good, this pussy is mine isn’t it? Only mine” he whimpered into your ear. “Yes, Az, my pussy is yours. I'm yours,” you moaned. Az started to fuck you harder, “Say it again” he demanded.

 “I’m yours, only yours Azriel” 

“That’s right, good girl,” he moaned, putting one of your legs over his shoulder. The new angle made you gasp. Your places your hands against his chest, your nails softly stroking down his abs.

Azriel was mesmerized, his eyes fixated on your swollen lips, the lips he couldn't believe he just kissed, and the way your tits bounced because of the force of his thrusts.

He looked so handsome like this. His messy hair falling over his face, his eyes half-lidded, the blush on his cheeks and the heavy breaths that left his mouth.

“I’m already so close Azzie,” you whined. "Already?” He teased. You nodded. “I want you to come with me,” you pleaded, one of your hands lifting up again to stroke the inside of his wing. Az moaned at the feeling, the arm that held him up collapsed beneath him, his body softly falling against yours.

His chest was now pressed against you, the position was so intimate. His thrusts started to get sloppy. “Baby, baby…” he whined softly in your ear. Both drunk on the feeling of each other.

His fingers circled your clit, making you moan his name like a prayer, over and over. The familiar feeling coiled in your lower belly, finally snapping when he nibbled on your earlobe. High-pitched moans filled the room, your orgasm washing over you like a big wave. Azriel moaned with you, his brows knitted together.

“Where do you want me? On your tits? On your pussy? In your pretty mouth?”

“In me, I want you in me Az, please,” you whined, craving to feel more of him, to be claimed by him. You wanted to be his the way no one ever was before. Az groaned in answer, heavy breaths tumbling out of his mouth. You felt him release inside your pussy, moaning your name against your cheek, riding out his high slowly. 

Azriel fell next to you with a loud sigh. His arms tightly wrapped around you. He placed a soft kiss against your neck and stroked your inner arm. “You don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming about this.” he confessed. “Me too” you answered. You should probably talk about this, but for now, you just wanted to sleep. Comfortably in Azriel’s warm arms.

********

The next morning, y/n was watching Azriel sleep next to her. Her hand stroked his naked chest while her other hand played with his soft dark hair. He looked like an angel, laying there, so peaceful. 

And suddenly, she felt a tug in her chest. A thread, a feeling like no other. Y/n gasped, making Az’s eyes open slowly. “Good morning” he whispered with a smile. Y/n only stared at him.

She couldn’t believe it. He was her mate. Her mate.

“Y-you’re my mate” she whispered. Az sat up immediately, grabbing her cheek gently. “It snapped? It finally snapped for you too?” He whispered, his eyes getting teary. “You knew?” 

“I’ve known for a few months now, but before last night, I didn’t think you’d want me” he murmured. “Oh Az, of course I want you, I’ve loved you since we were teenagers and met in Windhaven, I’ve loved you since I noticed the beautiful, smart and compassionate male hidden behind those shadows,” you smiled. “I love you” he smiled, kissing you softly.

An hour later you went downstairs together. The rest of the Inner Circle was already in the living room, doing each their own thing.

Rhys’ eyes immediately went to your intertwined hands, an unreadable look on his face. “Rhys, before you say something, I want you to know I would never hurt your sister and I am-“ Az quickly tried to explain. But Rhys interrupted him with a voluminous laugh.

“Finally!” He smiled, getting up to face you both. “I’ve been trying to get you together for the last year, but you both were so oblivious” he teasingly rolled his eyes and opened his arms, hugging you both. “Yeah honestly Az, it was about damn time” Cassian smirked.

[theresascove]

scare night ₊ ⊹

ellie williams x f!reader

ellie goes to a scare event with some friends—and it’s where she finds you in a costume drenched with fake blood. who knows how, but she leaves with red handprints left all over her body and a little date.

tw: not proofread, fluff + smut, scare actor!reader, modern!ellie, playful/snarky flirting(?), strangers to lovers, tw: fake blood/horror elements, exhibition sorta, power bottom!reader, grinding, fingering (r receiving)

wc ✎ 1k • idea from @lisafrankensteindefender

The sounds were loud, blaring for effect and entertainment. It played in the both of your ears. Ellie, having only spent an hour or so with her friends—and you, having spent over three hours into your shift. It was a tad repetitive, but there were entertaining moments and the pay was good.

Ellie first met you when you came out to scare her and the two friends she came with. You had no idea who the other was, and neither of you were aware of the way life liked to intertwine people. You’re a life prop, standing and moving behind these bars—eyeing the guests. The lighting in the room was a neon green while the instructor brought the new guests into the exhibit.

Sure you run across a multitude of people, but not her. You were covered in fake blood, smeared over you like someone had drug their hands to try and push you away. Call it classic but your outfit was a mix of scary and sensual, it fit the plot of whatever haunted house you worked at was.

She had walked in, standing towards the back—eyes circling the room while yours had strictly landed on hers. Her arms were crossed, black tank hugging her right. Yeah she was hot. Quickly she became another person to ogle on your shift—it definitely helped keeping things interesting.

Whether she realized it or not, your glances to her were intentional—especially the smile you flashed when she was guided towards the next room.

Funnily enough she had come back. You sat on one of the boxes, continuing your journey of flirting through your eyes and small gestures.

Two times in a row was not a coincidence.

Ellie walked out of the scare house with a smile, Dina slapping her on the arm, “you weren’t joking.”

Midnight rolled around. Only two more hours left until the event shut down. You had left for your break and while heading back you received all kinds of attention for your outfit. All kinds.

“Hey.”

There was a quieter alleyway, one you had to walk through to get back into the house through the employee entrance. It was a bit dark, but the colorful lights that shone around the small area lit the figure of someone similar. You spun, raising an eyebrow, “hi?”

She seemed to grow a bit quiet, nervous maybe.

“Walking alone?”

You furrowed your eyebrows tighter, walking closer to her, “yes? I’m walking back to my shift.”

It was a bit awkward, but the tension was swallowing you whole making your heart race. She was trying, and it was adorable almost. You enjoyed the way she was fiddling, it brought a grin to your face.

“Fuck whatever,” she sighs, “you’re hot as shit, can I get your number.”

“You don’t know me”

“I’d like to,” she whispers, heard despite the music and amusement part rides.

Shit, someone call you insane because you did give her your number. You were unaware of the way she smiled as she walked out from the alley way, her friends clapping her on the back. Not the first time this has happened, but definitely the first time that they genuinely reached out to you.

The first text was her asking for your name—and from there it fell into place. Three fucking days later there you stood in your similar position, costume on when she came back in that same entrance. She didn’t need to look around the room this time, she knew what she wanted to look at—you.

Something in that moment, that night was different. Something flirty and fun—it shifted. The green lights across her face, her lidded eyes, the eye contact. Your breathing deepened. Fingers slid down the bars of the fake cell you sat behind, tongue moving to lick at your lips. There was the slightest movement of her finger, but she flicked it towards the direction of the exit. Last glimpse she got of you was your head resting back against the wall with a cheshire smirk. You both won.

“Els,” you cried into her neck, thighs shaking around her hips, “fucking—shit! faster.”

The brick wall was the least comfortable place, but it was the least of your worries when you had this woman pressed against you. Both of you were too impatient, shoving each onto into the facilities closet.

She had you split open on her fingers, sultry gasps and hot breaths falling on the side of her face. Your back arched against her quicker speed.

“Like that,” she mutters with a snappy twinge in her tone.

You lost the ability to think for a second, gripping her tee tighter, “yeah, like that.”

Her thumb pressed down on your clit, shooting you over the edge. She feels the way you go lax, chest rising and meeting hers. You met her eyes and she had you pushed up further against the wall, body sliding completely atop of yours.

“Your eyes drive me crazy,” she says, “what’re you trying to do to me?”

Your snarky laugh is cut off, her lips brushing yours. She barely lets you breathe, lips and it turns you dizzy—specifically with the way she was grinding you on her. Her hands were on your hips, grinding you around in swirls onto her thigh.

“Maybe I’m trying to get you all for myself, that okay with you?”

“Oh fuck yeah.”