#nothing can kill that even when hopes been obliterated

[savage-rhi]

A very deep magenta.

[randombush3]

love's gonna get you killed

alexia putellas x reader

summary: alexia is older, wiser, and trying to make you the best. in doing so, she loses sight of more important things.

words: 5.4k

warnings: it’s a little bit toxic and there’s an age gap

notes: the request for this can be found here. genuinely never flinched more when writing something and this is only the beginning... NEW TRILOGY TIMEEEE

p.s. it's set in two timelines and i hope you clock otherwise this will not make sense

then again, this could've been a fever dream over the past few days soooo

Morning. 

Like dawn; like the freshness of dew on the grass and a light breeze. A thousand suns and the bluest of skies. 

How do you even begin to describe it? 

A spark? 

Yes. It starts with a spark. 

Barcelona play Levante. An away match for the former, but hardly a challenge. Tough games are increasingly difficult to come by with the depth of their squad (and the failings of their league), but Alexia doesn’t mind too much. The break is welcomed with open arms, and she loves nothing more than to crush her opponent. 

She is merciless, but she is never unkind. 

The goals come flowing like an unstoppable river; white-water rapids tearing up the shitty pitch and obliterating the Levante players. Alexia runs to stay afloat, to further prove the excellence of the club she adores, and her buoyancy is mimicked by those of equal skill. 

Weirdly, an intruder survives the flood. 

What was struck off as a clean sheet is flipped on its head; tainted, stained. 

One goal. 

One magic boot, one hero. 

One player saves Levante from losing four to nil. 

The small-ish crowd wildly shouts your name, well-acquainted with screaming those syllables after seeing the swoosh of the white net and the step towards victory. 

Alexia’s eyebrows furrow, although she knows they are not going to lose. It’s frustrating for her, having failed to apprehend a pass somewhere down the line that had connected and connected until it found your feet and soared home. In her head, clouded with pride, it makes no sense. 

Who the fuck thinks they can score against the greatest club in the world? 

(Maybe, thinking about it now, Alexia is a little unkind.) 

The rallying war-cry that she roars catches your smug attention. You’re glad she thinks you’re a threat, even if your team is technically being thrashed.

Somehow, Alexia assigns herself to mark you. The fluidity of Barcelona’s formation allows for the defence to press higher than their manager’s instructions, and, as you are clearly the best Levante has, you are all over the ball; drawn deeper into the action. You almost forget the definition of ‘striker’, too engaged in the midfield. 

You’ll be bollocked for it later, you think when there’s a brief reprieve, the ball rolling out of play for a Barcelona throw-in. You look at the gap you have left in the front line and the chaos you have caused in the midfield, and you try to convince yourself to return to the game-plan. But then there’s Alexia Putellas, her hand pressed against your back, fingers gripping your shirt to stop you from intercepting the bouncing ball as it hurtles towards one of her own. 

Alexia Putellas has a decisive grip on you. She pulls you back, and she makes it seem easy. 

You take one look at her expression, jaw clenched as she concentrates on ripping your team to shreds, and feel the need to roll your eyes.

Her determination to embarrass you is admirable enough. It’s clear that Alexia can’t handle losing in any capacity. It’s clear that she cares. 

She is worried, and that is obvious too. 

She doesn’t let you get very far from her, despite the shouts for extra coverage down the middle. Alexia is clever when it comes to football, and she can smell talent like a blood-thirsty shark. Preoccupying herself with defending meaningless passes that only wind the clock down would be useless; it will always be useless when you are on the pitch. 

Because you’re good. Really good. Young, fresh, talented, and just what the Barcelona squad might need. 

The ball comes to your feet and she is ready to quell the threat. She faces you, her closed defending designed to make you feel caged. However, when the ball slips between her open legs, she is left to catch smoke in the wind, and, though it’s at her own expense, she is impressed. 

Just like that, something ignites. 

...

Alexia wakes up with a low, determined groan. Her alarm is loud and you begin to move in your sleep, distressed by its intense, relentless mission to rouse the entire world. Alexia doesn’t care if you want to sleep in. She thinks you should be foaming at the mouth to train with her today. 

It’s the day after the latest league match. 

Together, Alexia and you scored three shared goals. The connection on the pitch is undeniable, and has been since Barcelona leapt at the chance to sign you at the start of last season. 

She’s an impactful player and is lethal when her passes are fired towards you. 

Days like these are tests. You hear the alarm and know you are waking up beside your captain, not your girlfriend. 

The alarm might as well signify the start of another trial; another exam. Do you want to be good, or the best? Do you know that talent is not everything? 

Whenever the questions appear, more in her eyes than on her sharp tongue, you hold back your remark. It’s the same every time. 

Maybe I don’t want to be the best, Alexia.

Maybe I have more talent than you, Alexia.

Captain Alexia Putellas is easier to shout at than the woman you love. 

...

Levante loses but you do not seem disheartened; you’re only twenty, and there will be many more matches to win in the future. 

You wipe the sweat from your brow, laughing at how some of the Barcelona players grimace as you hold out the same hand for them to shake. They are mostly the younger ones; those you know from the national team. 

They ask you whether you’re going to celebrate your goal later. There’s no real reputation of partying attached to your name, but there is a certain standard that comes with being a young and bright star. Kick-off was early, and it would be a good day to explore Valencia’s nightlife. 

“I’m going home tonight,” you explain pointedly, just to stop them from further taking the piss. 

“No way.” 

“Yeah, we’re having dinner.” 

“You and your family are–?” 

“I’m trying to move past it,” you reply. It’s curt and a clear end to the conversation. The crowd of players disperses soon after and you are following the victors back to Barcelona before you know it. 

A sleek, black car picks you up from the station with more than the necessary fanfare. The driver’s window rolls down, revealing an unfamiliar face; dark sunglasses, starch-ironed shirt. 

“You’re new,” you mutter to the driver as you slide into the backseat. He remains silent. “Where did the last one go? It hasn’t been that long.” He couldn’t have died or anything, you’re sure of it. 

It has only been, what, four years since you were last here? 

Your parents divorced when you were seven. Like most cases, you were caught in the crossfire, but that was hardly traumatic enough. 

They were liberal and believed in your emotional capacity with slightly more vigour than it deserved. They told you all the gory details: who slept with whom; who should go to Hell. 

The most gruesome part was the debate about who should keep you. It was a bloody battle, but not a choice a seven-year-old was able to make. And your father, the pathetic man he had become, bowed out after a month, fucking right off to Munich with a new job and bitterness in his heart that led him to vow to never, ever be in contact with you again. He lost and he chose to keep on losing. 

Fatherless, it was easy to attach yourself to the man your mother began to rebuild her life with. He was caring and he made your spiralling mother happier, funding lavish shopping trips and holidays. 

You moved into his house in the most affluent part of Barcelona – that was home, even if it didn’t quite feel like it. 

But you grew older, and so did the wonderfully in-love couple. Your father’s nose moulded itself onto your face, and his eyes grew more prominent whenever your mother tried to converse with you. It haunted her, your likeness, and it was unsettling to the man who wanted a family of his own. 

There was an easy route to rid themselves of you: boarding school in the US. You cried, riddled with homesickness, every night for months, while they procreated as though they had no pre-existing child. Soon came twins; a mix of their own, a family of their own. 

So they became four, and, at sixteen, you became one; emancipated and ready to train in the Wolfsburg academy, having progressed quite well through the years at school (earning your call-up to Spain’s youth teams, winning a few medals, showing off what you considered the talent that made your existence worthwhile – the usual). 

“Hi,” you say as the door to the mansion swings open. The marble floors are vaguely familiar, but the two boys peering at you behind the housekeeper are not. “Is, um, dinner ready yet?” 

...

With the alarm still blaring, Alexia runs a warm hand down your bare back, calloused fingers pressing into the divot of your spine. It is always like this with her: one thing said by her actions, another by her mouth. The nature of the message flips and switches as she pleases, but she never seems to be entirely able to make up her mind. 

You sigh into the pillow, burnt by the flames left in the wake of her touch. “I’m tired.” The sound is muffled but clear enough to slowly tick down the seconds until the bomb explodes. “I’m tired from last night, Ale. From the match and, you know…” 

She shuts the alarm off. It’s an hour earlier than what it needs to be, but once upon a time, there was a reason for that. 

You catch a glimpse of the past behind your closed eyes as you feel her weight shift on the bed, legs straddling your hips as the sheets are pulled down to expose more of your bare skin. Her hands traverse your body, pressing into the muscles of your back with too much pressure and none at all. She is a lead weight and she is a ghost. 

She is full of contradictions. 

“You need to come with me today.” She grazes over a purpling bruise, inflicted by her own ravenous mouth. You hiss in pain, but it is forgotten the minute her lips kiss the crime scene with something almost apologetic. 

“Baby, I’m too tired to train.” 

“Your passes were sloppy.” Kisses trail across the backs of your shoulders, the base of your neck, the middle of a canvas she wants nothing more than to wreck over and over again. “And you were lucky to scrape your goal.” Her teeth sink into your flesh experimentally; the sharp pain gone before you begin to process it. “It was a beautiful goal, though. You looked beautiful scoring it.” 

You groan, your body arching involuntarily into her touch, pulled in by something stronger than your will. Alexia is intoxicating; Alexia clouds your mind. “I missed that shot,” she continues, dangerously close to anger. “Your fault.” 

“How was it–” You whimper as she targets the knots in your back. “How was it my… my fault?” 

Her fingers dig into the tightness of your muscles, unaffected by how you tense beneath her. They are sore, but it is more than that. 

Alexia has trapped you, and you are at her mercy. 

It sends shivers down your spine. 

“Because,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear, “I was too busy watching you. You’re such a fucking distraction, you know.” 

“Ale…” 

Her laughter is musical but plays a haunting melody that prickles the hairs at the back of your neck. “Don’t be so desperate,” she purrs, her hands roaming lower with a searing heat behind them. “I missed a hattrick because of you, and it was pathetic.” 

You whine. 

“Tell me what you need, and maybe I’ll give it to you.” 

Your breath hitches, the words caught in your throat. She knows exactly what she’s doing, how to unravel you piece by piece until you’re begging for her. 

She loves it when you beg. 

“I…” You’re not a stranger to demanding things. You’re not pathetic, you’re not. “You. I need you.” 

“Good girl,” she murmurs, rewarding you with a kiss that sears your skin. Her hand slips lower, teasing the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, making you gasp. “But you have to earn it. You can’t afford to make the mistakes you made yesterday again.” 

You’re no longer listening. It’s not what you want to hear.

...

Unwelcome is the word that first springs to mind.

There is a long, mahogany trench table set, looking unnatural with the five places that throw the balance off. As though to emphasise your differences, you are ushered to the head of the table by the housekeeper, your half-brothers hesitating at the open doorway of the dining room, almost afraid to be alone with you. 

You remember being told your mother had given birth by the housemistress at school. She’d offered to see if you could get on a flight home, but no request for your presence had come; the hint had been received loud and clear. 

If they didn’t want you, you didn’t want them. 

But you don’t miss the shirt one of the boys is wearing. 

“Where’d you get that?” you ask curiously, encouraging them to approach with a tight-lipped smile. The one dressed in a Levante shirt looks at the other. 

“It’s his,” they say at the same time. It’s a little creepy. 

“Papa wouldn’t let us get your name, but that’s what we wanted.” 

“You guys like football?” you ask, forcing a casual tone. 

They nod enthusiastically, thumbs poking into their chests as they state their positions and opinionated ranking on the local team. “We get our teammates to watch your highlights. We’re gonna see you at Barça next season!” 

“How do you know I’m going to Barça next season?” you tease. “Because I didn’t even know that.” 

“Papi’s friends with Sr. Laporta, tonta.” Frowning, you grow less amused of the tidbit. Maybe your stepfather feels guilty. Maybe he wants to give your career an unnecessary helping hand. But you’d rather be sent into the Queen’s League than sign because of your connections.

Despite the tension hanging in the air, you lean back in the chair, trying to ease the stiffness in your shoulders. The eyes of your half-brothers flicker between you and the table. You’re a stranger to them, and their apprehension is understandable. It stings, but it isn’t your fault. 

The housekeeper returns, clearing her throat to interrupt the stilted silence. “Dinner will be served shortly,” she announces, her eyes avoiding yours. You scrutinise her, trying to remember whether she was there when you were first sent away. Is she new? “Boys, why don’t you fetch your father from his study?” 

Emboldened by the prospect of their escape, the one in a Levante shirt steps forward. “Can we play after dinner?” 

Before you can answer, a familiar voice interrupts. "Boys, give your sister some space." They are scurrying away in an instant. 

You look up to see your mother standing in the doorway, her expression stern. There's an awkward pause as she takes a seat at the other end of the table, her eyes never meeting yours.

"Good to see you," she says, her tone clipped. You nod, acknowledging her presence without offering a response. “I was surprised to hear you were coming. Have you run out of money?” 

“I have money.” 

"Then why now?" she presses, her eyes still avoiding yours. The question hangs in the air as you take your time to answer it. Past arguments seep into the room, and, despite the large windows and high ceilings, you feel trapped. 

You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "I wanted to see my family," you say, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. 

Your mother's lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think she might actually say something kind. But instead, she shifts her gaze to the polished surface of the table. "Well, here we are," she says, her tone flat.

...

There is something about the soft way Alexia cares for you that keeps you by her side. She’s not a bad person, and she is sorry when she is mean. You can be worse, so, really whose fault is it? Sometimes you provoke her. 

None of that matters now, though. Not in the airy space after sex and before the world begins to turn again. The sun is beginning to rise now, bathing the room in fresh light that must unsettle your girlfriend. She is trying to calm herself down, lying beside you to regain her strength before she will haul you both up. 

If you hadn’t wanted to train, you should never have spoken this morning. 

Your fingers draw lazy patterns on her stomach, nails grazing up and down tanned skin as you trace out words you cannot bring yourself to say. In this moment, everything feels perfect. You’re not sure whether your mind is still clouded with desire, but you have to close your eyes to stop tears from falling. 

“I love you,” you whisper, voice barely audible. 

“I love you too,” she replies.

It’s easy to say it because it’s true. 

It’s true because Alexia has been there for you like no one else. 

Your whole life has felt like a terminal at an airport. Everyone around you has their own emotions about their own adventures, and the crowd rushes to various gates – various destinations – with urgency you have never sought, nor found. You often stand in the middle of the bustling, bumbling mass of people, head in your hands, wondering why they seem to know where life is taking them. 

When you signed for Barcelona, it was a surprise. You hadn’t believed your little brothers when they had let it slip, and you were certain your worth was going to be exploited in another league – maybe you’d go back to Wolfsburg, maybe you’d explore abroad. Maybe your mother sending you away was a good thing, because it proved that Spain wasn’t your home. 

Sure, you held the passport and spoke the languages, but… but maybe you didn’t belong. 

Then came Alexia, who told you the opposite of what you were starting to live by. 

Alexia – older, wiser, with a clear head on her shoulders and a drive like no other – wanted you to stay, wished you’d see yourself for what was so clearly in front of her eyes. You knew you were talented, but she knew you could be the best. 

Just like she was. 

Because Alexia was aware of the intricacies of ageing, of how experience was not going to be her saviour in the very end. She was focused on a legacy: her brilliance would live on in you. 

She loved you for it. 

She loves you still. 

You can feel her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Dawn casts shadows across Alexia’s features, hiding the dark circles under her eyes in a bath of dim grey. She smiles, and the tenderness in her gaze is reserved for you, reserved for moments like these. She reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek gently. 

“We should get up,” she murmurs. 

You nod, knowing she’s right. Alexia is always right; you’ve learnt that over the years you have been together. “Just a few more minutes,” you mumble back anyway. 

Hands slide over your waist, pulling you into her body. Her laugh is quiet and giggly, full of love and fondness for a sentence she had predicted you’d say. “Okay,” she agrees. “So we’ll do three hours today, not two. Yeah?” 

...

The dinner doesn’t last very long for you, although that may be because you make it painfully clear you want to leave after the first course. Your stepfather catches on – you question if he had been hoping for this – and jumps at the chance to drive you to a high-end restaurant in central Barcelona that he is sure you will enjoy. 

He knows the chef, he says. He’ll wave money in your face and pretend that it makes these things forgivable. 

You’re hardly arguing though, so there’s not much room for complaint. 

The restaurant welcomes you into the cocktail bar, having awaited your arrival after being enticed by the name of the credit card attached to the tab. Your stepfather is well-known around these parts, and although the notion of a fifth member of his perfect family has been obscured for a long time, there is a shared surname between you and your little brothers that offers you half a place in this small shroud of gente rica. 

Sitting alone at the bar, you order a martini. The glass is cold against your fingertips, and a shiver runs down your spine despite the warmth of the busy restaurant. It’s loud here, with every table full of happy, wealthy patrons who do both business and pleasure all at once, but you feel distant, disconnected. 

You don’t belong here. 

It’s a struggle of yours. 

You never seem to belong anywhere; always an afterthought, always an add-on. 

There is no space that is moulded to fit your body, no path that has been carved out solely for you. (Or, if there is, it is really fucking hard to find.) 

Football is sort of your thing, but the whole nature of professional sport is to fight hard so you don’t get replaced – therefore implying that no one is inherently one-of-a-kind. 

Sometimes, you convince yourself that that isn’t what you want, but that is a lie. Everyone wants to be unique. Everyone wants to be loved for who they are. 

A tap on your shoulder pulls you out of your self-damning thoughts. 

“Are you alone?” 

You turn to find Alexia Putellas standing beside you, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and something else you can’t quite place. It seems she is more surprised to see you here than you are to see her, but she swallows her comment to look you up and down. 

Her scrutiny is intimidating. Maybe that is how you are supposed to feel, maybe that is what she wants. After all, the intensity of the match still lingers in your aching muscles, and seeing her now, out of the context of football kits and harsh tackles, is almost surreal. 

“Alexia, hi,” you say, forcing a smile. 

She repeats her question firmly, concern knitting her brows together. She’s wearing makeup, but you decide she doesn’t need it. 

Alexia is really pretty. You get lost on your way to answer her. 

She places a hand on the same shoulder she tapped, unaware of how your skin sizzles because of her touch, fearing you will run away from her. You have a skittish look about you, she’s noticed, and, for some reason, she wants you to stay put. 

“Come, sit.” Her hand waves in the direction of her table, filled with women around her age who must be her friends. A part of you finds it unfair that Alexia appears to have friends because someone once said sacrifices are the bricks that pave the way to success, but you put it out of mind to deal with politely declining her invitation.

Your hesitation only seems to spur her on, however. 

“You remind me of me, you know.” Your martini glass is empty, and her nose wrinkles with disapproval. 

“I do?” you ask, interested in what similarity she is going to draw between you. 

She holds up two fingers to the bartender, mouthing her order with a small smirk, before looking down at you from where she stands and you sit, inspecting your face. Her fingers gently wrap around your chin, and she tilts your head upwards. “You have that look in your eyes.” 

Laughter rings out from her table, followed quickly by calls for her to return to her meal. She ignores the noise, focused entirely on you. 

Alexia tries to suppress her thoughts of how beautiful you look – how ruggedly captivating, how… enticing – and she is sure she is successful. 

Until you lick your lips and ask her to elaborate. 

She is silent for a moment. 

It’s the first time someone has made you feel like nothing and everything all at once; like the brightest star in the galaxy, like an unused lump of clay. Like you are both wondrous and plain. Exceptional and just like everyone else. 

Alexia’s and… not. 

You are completely at her mercy. 

You agree to join her and her friends for dinner. 

As you approach the table, the group welcomes you with warm smiles and a polite interest in who you are. Alexia’s introduction makes you blush as she details your goal and the success attributed to you at such a young age (she emphasises that part for her own conscience), and it is only a moment before you settle into an empty seat beside her, somehow put at ease. 

The conversation resumes its flow, light and lively, but Alexia is distracted from the discussion of their next holiday. She has questions, many of them, and she figures you are detached from the Catalan they speak in and are silently begging for a language you do understand. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Alexia murmurs in Spanish, leaning in a bit closer. “Figured you’d, you know, be licking your wounds in Valencia.” 

Two drinks are delivered to your table; one for you, one for Alexia. She watches your lips as they part to take a sip, pinching her own thigh when she catches herself. 

“I used to play for Levante,” she continues as you stoically nurse your drink. “When I was younger, Barça sent me off to get some experience. They called me back soon enough.” 

“I never played for Barça.” She raises her eyebrows in surprise, more so for your assumption of her assumption than anything else. You notice her expression. You laugh and Alexia finds she’s quite a fan of that sound. “I’m from Barcelona, Alexia. I speak Catalan and everything.” 

“You don’t sound–” 

“My stepfather has a house in Sarrià and told me to fuck off to boarding school when I was younger. So I went to America and I had to do Spanish classes, and ‘cause I’d renounced my family, it was like learning Castellano all over again.” 

“Like a madrileña,” Alexia finishes off, amused. “Boarding school, eh?” 

“Lost my parents, lost my accent. Childhood of dreams,” you respond sarcastically. “I’ve just come from a family dinner, actually. I left after the starter because… well, it fucking sucked seeing my mother pretend–” You hold your tongue, embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump it all on you. The martini’s loosened my lips.” 

Your laugh this time is self-deprecating and a little painful to hear. Alexia shakes her head and is about to encourage you to carry on, when she catches the heat rising to your cheeks and wonders whether that would be for the best. Instead, she thinks you might prefer to hear something else. “How about another drink after you’re done with that?” 

The rest of the night is a blur. 

Alexia is torn between wanting to impress you and wanting to protect you. She doesn’t know which to follow: the reasonable responsibility drilled into her head, captain of Barcelona, captain of Spain… or the pulse between her legs that grows stronger every time her gaze falls to the low-cut top you’re wearing. It’s this desire that must destroy her judgement, and, after you have insisted on paying for the meal with your stepfather’s credit card, Alexia finds herself having to text the younger girls at Barça to see if any of them can come get you. 

Pina’s busy, Cata’s out with her friends, and Jana claims she’s emetophobic. 

Briefly, Alexia wonders if she imagined you being friends with any of them, but, at the end of the day (or beginning – as it is rapidly approaching tomorrow), she really does have to take you somewhere. She won’t let your half-catatonic body lie on the streets of Barcelona, and so she hauls you into a taxi and waves goodbye to her friends. 

“Interesting recruitment method for the B team,” jokes one of them as they disperse. “Wait, sorry. You waxed lyrical about her tonight enough for me to know that she’d be on the first team with you.” 

“Her contract must be in the works,” Alexia agrees, choosing to ignore the saccharine tone such a compliment was voiced with. “I swear, she’s going to be the best.” 

You’re not paying attention to any of this, of course, too busy pressing your hand against the glass of the taxi’s window, giggling every time you imprint the shape of your palm. “Alexia!” you call out, wanting her to share your enjoyment. “Alexia, look!” 

She turns to look at you, her stern expression softening when she sees how your eyes have lit up. She can’t help but smile at the innocence of your little game, and if the taxi driver raises his eyebrows in the rearview mirror, Alexia chooses not to notice. 

“Very impressive,” she says, cringing at how she sounds like she is soothing a child. You seem even younger now, especially when your ears perk up as she speaks in Catalan, a picture of something you confessed to have lost years ago. 

It’s a horrible conflict to have brewing inside of her, and she shakes her head, trying to clear it. Her composure becomes harder to maintain with you being pressed up against her in the backseat, but all thoughts she has are thrown into a deep, dark ditch that she decides to deal with at a later date. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice slurred and eyes wide with curiosity.

“My place,” comes the simple reply. It’s the only option left. She knows she can make sure you’re safe, and, besides, the idea of you at her place feels comforting, as though it were not supposed to be any other way.

When the taxi finally pulls up outside her apartment building, Alexia pays the driver and helps you out of the car. You falter like a newborn foal learning to walk, and she encourages you to lean heavily on her so that the journey inside will be quicker. The walk to her door feels longer, and each step is tentative as she continues to debate her decision. 

But she’s going to care for you. That’s all. 

You marvel at her apartment, which shocks her after she has learnt about your childhood, but she takes the compliment and guides you to her bedroom under the guise of giving you a ‘tour’. The spare bedroom is unusable, seeing as the bed has become the latest storage cupboard for her boxes of awards and PR packages, so, again, this is the only option. 

You collapse unceremoniously onto her mattress with a loud sigh. 

Alexia stands there for a moment, watching as you settle into her bed. As much as responsibility and protectiveness hangs over her head, she also feels something much deeper inside of her beginning to swirl into a storm. She’s not ready to acknowledge it yet. 

Taking a deep breath, she glances at you once more. “You need to rest.” Her voice carries the authority of the woman she is; a woman who is much older and wiser and who has more power than ethical to be feeling any kind of attraction towards you. Her hand hovers over you, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. The warmth of your skin under her fingertips sends a jolt through her, but she quickly pulls her hand back, focusing on her current task.

“Thanks, Alexia,” you mumble, already half-asleep. 

After that close-call, she rights herself, looking around her room for a moment before heading to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water. She places it on the bedside table, knowing you'll need it in the morning, not wanting to wake you up to drink it now. She then finds a spare blanket and a pillow, setting up a makeshift bed for herself on the sofa in the living room.

Exhausted from the day, she expects to fall asleep quickly, but she is tortured by the same question, over and over again. 

How the fuck did she get here? 

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 5 "Prometheus"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧༺༻ Dreams are messages from the deep ༺༻✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

Reposted from my Ao3 ��| Masterlist under construction ⚠️| Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Giedi Prime, 2 years later - 10,190 BG

He feels so-

hopeless,

broken.

One should think he has long accepted that there is no one up there in the universe to come and save him.

No one to soothe him at night, in his dreams, after he threw up upon being summoned to quench the Baron's appetite for power, even though Feyd-Rautha's physical appearance no longer meets his tastes.

But Feyd still goes to sleep every night with childish, foolish, laughable hope, only for regular nightmares to taunt him with their sticky embrace.

When he first stopped dreaming, he threw a tantrum, not telling anyone what riddled him. He was given slave warriors to kill and new blades to blunt on human bones. Under the pretense of a training injury, Feyd had ordered the Suk Doctor to examine him, pointing him towards his brain, secretly expecting a hole there, thinking his brain might have devoured itself because he doesn't deserve goodness.

But the Suk declared, there was nothing wrong with him. Nothing aside from the usual, all the invisible things that made him rot from inside.

After a week of lonely nights, he started taking spice before sleeping, knowing that the drug opens the mind, if to prescience then maybe to shared dreams as well. And it worked! Or so he thought the first night when he found a soft hand in his and the kindest voice among all of the stars whispering: "Look, doesn't this remind you of something?"

Every time he tries to speak then, he wakes up screaming, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets that smelled like cinnamon, before he can ask any of the burning questions or say what's been tearing his heart apart. His greatest regret is that he never said I love you back.

Eventually, he comes to a numbing conclusion. That is not his beloved. That is just a memory of her.

He had to stop ingesting when his sclerae became sullied with a tint of blue that bleeds into the irises. That was one year ago.

After the spice came a phase of intense studies in the bowels of Giedi Prime's archives, ignoring the admittedly quite interesting fact that centuries of his own House's history are obliterated and nowhere to be found.

Feyd learned that 23,500 years ago, in the year 13,402 BG, a strike by an asteroid devastated Old Earth, the birthplace of humankind, making it uninhabitable until it was re-seeded with plant and animal life 42 years later and became a natural park, for humans too. 

In 200 BG, 10,400 years ago, Earth was once again rendered uninhabitable for centuries by atomics during the Butlerian Jihad which obliterated all thinking machines.

The first Zensunni wanderers, nowadays known as Fremen, are said to have originated from Old Earth and at some point fled in a grand exodus from planet to planet.

How does this information still exist, but not the location of the cradle of mankind among the stars? There are no more recent records. Humankind has spread itself so thin across the universe, the world of their origin has become naught but a fairytale.

Tonight, Feyd smiles at himself in the mirror in his room, trying to curl up the corners of his mouth like he used to, when a bed of white marble with blue pillows occupied by his woman was waiting for him and a fern was rustling in a terracotta pot. But his cheeks won't grow as round as they used to and Feyd despises how he looks and how his eyes stare back at him like frosty marbles, how his face looks like a gaunt skull with no life in it.

The lonely, demonic creature who stares back at him in the bleak mirror is denied access to the dream land and left to rot in his body, in his flesh prison.

Why does he still look at himself in the mirror every night and go to sleep with a tummy ache, only to wake up hollow and like his soul has been carved out of his chest and wonder:

Is she dead?

If she's dead, then what's the point?

Unconsciously he knows what he keeps searching for in the mirror. For any signs that he was ever lovable, or if his worst fears are true, that she abandoned him by choice.

There is no proof that Old Earth is not still out there, still inhabited by humans who may be unaware of how mankind has branched out across the galaxies.

On the other hand, there is also no proof that Feyd's woman has ever been real.

Among the stars

Tell me where you are. Tell me where you are. Tell me where you are.

"I am… here!"

Wallach IX, 10,190 BG

Around a heavy, wooden roundtable are gathered the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, flanked by the Bene Gesserit sisters Miriam and Sylvia, the Princess Irulan in place of the Padishah Emperor Shaddam Corrino IV, a face dancer named Thomin to represent the Bene Tleilax and Gwyn from Ix.

"If you can't stop behaving like animals, this discussion will never find an end!" The Princess Irulan's voice bristles in a way that makes Miriam and Sylvia scoff internally at their fellow Bene Gesserit. Thomin and Gwyn are by Bene Gesserit definition, in fact, animals.

The sun on Wallach IX stands already low above the hills and cascades hazy slants of light into the private conference chamber.

"I simply don't trust gifts from the sisterhood," Thomin smiles coldly, spindly fingers folded on the table.

"She is surprisingly useless," the Reverend Mother replies with equal coldness, gazing through the dark mesh of veil. "Why would we keep her?"

"I must insist on the historical value!" Irulan chides.

"Useless for us, Irulan."

Irulan knows her former teacher doesn't actually intend to hand the woman over to the Bene Tleilax for genetic horrors, so it is really only between her and Gwyn from Ix.

"Well, as a historian, I have undoubtedly the biggest use for her among the honorable attendees."

"I strongly object," says Gwyn. "Her technological knowledge could prove invaluable to us!"

Thomin chimes in. "Her genetic information might give crucial clues as to-"

"You just said you don't trust gifts from the sisterhood, so why don't you let those who wear their real face talk," Gwyn jibes at the Tleilaxu face dancer.

Thomin deflects: "What I would like to know is why the Guild deemed it appropriate to hand over such an exceptional flotsam to the Bene Gesserit."

"Of course, they entrusted us with it," Gaius Helen Mohiam snaps. "Who else would have been capable of dealing with whatever could have been inside the sarcophagus?"

That makes the attendees grow quiet for a moment.

"What did you say her first words were?" Gwyn asks.

"I am here," Sylvia says. "Naturally, we only found what she said later."

"I'm sure she would like a friend," Irulan ponders. They're still talking about a human being after all.

"Or would you like a friend?" Miriam barbs.

"Enough of this shit," Thomin's chosen face twists into an unpleasant grimace. "I didn't come here to argue with children. Who gets the relic?!"

The woman sits in the school's relic chamber by herself, knees folded against her chest, staring up at Vincent van Gogh's Starry Night, or what's left of it, rich blues and swirly stars reduced to faded colors. She wonders if this is what will become of her too in this strange new world. Still, the painting is enough to stir her imagination.

She often thinks of her good friend and beloved Feyd and the many nights they've shared before she entered the long sleep and left him behind. She left him to die in the fires of earth from which only the cowardly could escape as pioneers aboard spaceships, venturing out to colonize the solar system when Earth suffocated beneath the smog of climate change and the rubble of bombs as starving nations tore each other apart. 

Expensive suicide is what the people on Earth had mocked the cryogenic pods which would take the pioneers to Mars and Titan as sleepers to reawaken and colonize the solar system. A new home, but only for scientists and engineers.

Some cynics even called their cryo pods sarcophagi.

Often she wonders if Feyd was able to complete his life and escape from his vile uncle, if he found the happiness he so deserved. She can't bear the thought that her poor, hairless Feyd might have eventually died of the cancer she was sure he had. She had never asked him because he had never mentioned it. It had never felt right.

She had abandoned him to live with her family in a new world. Now she is here, 24,000 years late after drifting through space in her lonely sarcophagus, sending a distress signal every few days. And she has no one. Such fundamental loneliness can only be met with apathy and busying the mind.

After the war from which she had fled in the year 2100 as of her own calendar, eventually came what is now called the Butlerian Jihad, many many centuries later. Men had revolted against artificial intelligence and now there are no more computers, only human computers. Her first reaction to that had been: In this new age, no data is anonymous unless you are the mentat. No calculation can be conducted unless you own a mentat.

She pensively traces a spot above her right ear and finds herself mourning after the necklace that was taken from her after she had thawed.

She hasn't come much further with the history books yet. There is so much to catch up on and the language first had to be learned, which had consumed most of her first one and a half years on Wallach IX. Now, two years after her arrival, she feels somewhat solid in Galach, wistfully surprised to find relics from so many Earthen languages in it.

A subtle knock on the door pulls her out of her melancholic trance and her gown rustles around her legs that are used to wearing trousers as she stands. An acolyte has come to pick her up and parade her to the assembly of people who are anonymous strangers to her. In her head, a mean voice calls it an auction.

She has already cried her quiet fury and understood that autonomy is as real as daydreams in this new world. On a chess board full of intricate pieces, she is only a block being pushed here or there, but in truth she doesn't even belong on the board.

Outside, looking to the left, she finds a fern swaying softly in a bronze pot and the memories of loving nights cut through her with such unexpected vehemence, she can hardly breathe. Guilt suffocates her.

However their dreams had passed through space and time, they are no more, and she is all alone and that thought overwhelms her as she pads through the garden with its trimmed hedges and softly gurgling water. The size of the universe overwhelms her. The number of inhabited worlds overwhelms her. The amount of history to catch up on makes her feel like a mote in God's eye and the hostile kind of hospitality from the 'sisterhood' since her jarring awakening fills her chest with a numbing rage.

In a moment like this, this order of manipulative women would pledge to recite the litany against fear, but she refuses to condition her body in such a way. And with that mindset, she hasn't even made it to the rank of acolyte.

"To be completely honest, I don't like the fact that most of the great Houses have been purposely excluded from this," Thomin notes and that makes Irulan wonder too.

"And which Houses are you missing at this roundtable?" The Reverend mother coldly inquires, her patience running thin.

"If the Harkonnens find out that we-"

"Harkonnens?" 

Five heads whip around to the new presence in the room, only the Reverend mother moves a bit more slowly and drones: "Good. You are here."

"She looks just like us," Gwyn is baffled.

"Of course, she looks just like us!" Gaius Helen Mohiam snaps. "What did you expect?"

"Something more primitive perhaps, I don't know."

"You're disgracing your own intelligence in front of our guest."

"Did you just say Harkonnens?" The guest in question inquires, her expression so blatantly haunted that it would make even the most untalented acolyte grow hot with shame, because anyone taught by the sisterhood should be able to mask that.

"Yes, child, what do you know about the Harkonnens?" Mohiam probes.

The sisterhood has let her pick her own studies after teaching her the basics of Galach. She had gone for science first, then art. The reverend mother had disapprovingly clicked her tongue, as contemporary politics and religion would have been the right choice. It proves unequivocally that the woman is of lesser intellect.

"Do you know someone named Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen?" Her voice trembles like the strings of an off-tune baliset.

"He is the na-Baron of Giedi Prime?" Gwyn replies as if the inquiry was a test for the attendees. 

What no one expects is for the relic to break down crying so hard, she sounds like a wounded animal, primitive like Gwyn had suggested, producing gut-wrenching noise. The Bene Gesserit sisters turn away with disdain, except for Irulan whose face is painted by confused compassion.

The woman's legs give out and she unceremoniously squats down on the floor, covering her grimacing face with her arms. For the longest time, the attendees think she's merely sobbing, but after a while the sound warps into tearful but distinct laughter as she sways herself back and forth.

"He lives now?" She peeks at the blurry roundtable through the haze of tears. How could this be? Across not only space but time they've communicated simultaneously in their sleep. According to Einstein's theory of relativity, time is supposed to stretch and compress depending on relative motion, but never run backwards. Feyd should have never been able to talk to her.

Unless he really is her macroscopic, quantum-entangled twin, a phenomenon which Einstein himself had described as 'spooky action at a distance', though that was referring to microscopic particles. 

"Speak plainly! Who is Feyd-Rautha to you?" Mohiam demands.

Too bad, Irulan catches herself thinking. The woman already has a friend.

"I saw him," she yells. "I've talked to him so many times, I dreamed about him every night back home, for months! He's my friend. I love him." It is ridiculously easy to admit that, even in front of a council of semi-hostile strangers.

"Hm. Tell me something about him, child."

She draws a quick and trembling breath. "Feyd is a-about this tall, blue eyes, pale skin, no hair, v-very sweet and kind, oh God, I miss him so much, please just bring me to him~"

"That could be a lot of people, but definitely not Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen." The reverend mother purses her lips under her veil. "Tell us something more distinct."

"He's being abused by his uncle," she snaps with such venom that even the old Bene Gesserit's fingers briefly clench in her lap. The roundtable grows still and only the woman's shoulders heave with hard breaths.

"Then he is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen." 

Upon that, the woman nearly bursts out laughing. How ridiculous, how cruel that this is what defines him in public and makes him recognizable, not all the sweet traits of his. People of power know of his abuse and no one deems it appropriate to take action against it?

The reverend mother continues. "Your dreams were visions of the future. This is what we call prescience. That you are prescient surprises me."

"They were dreams, not visions! We've talked about current events and each night we could remember the previous ones." She struggles to find the right words in Galach. "We had agency!"

But the reverend mother isn't listening to her anymore, coming to a staggering conclusion with her frighteningly sharp wit. If she speaks the truth, everything points towards their relic being a primordial Bene Gesserit, erratically skilled even without any training. Mohiam turns to her sisters and ponders: "If she was capable of prescience, perhaps her nervous system developed other abilities as well."

"You suggest she performed Prana Bindu while contained in the cryo pod?" Irulan concludes.

"It would explain how her cells survived it for 24,000 years," Sylvia muses. "Her cells should have degenerated irrevocably thousands of years ago."

The four Bene Gesserit in the room turn towards the woman and ogle her like a thing from a curiosity cabinet. If she weren't so emotionally frayed, she would feel flayed by the many scheming glances.

"This changes everything," Mohiam decides. "The guests may return to their guest rooms. I wish you a swift and safe departure tomorrow." 

"I thought we had a deal," Thomin complains and kicks his chair back.

"We were far from having a deal," Mohiam says coldly.

Gwyn laments: "At least let me have a look at the cryo pod or the necklac-"

"A swift departure." The reverend mother repeats and tilts her head subtly towards Irulan, emphasizing that this includes her too. Irulan's lips quiver briefly before she straightens her back, casting a longing look at the disheveled woman before she leaves with the others.

As soon as it's only the three familiar faces from the sisterhood, the relic yells: "I refuse to stay here. I don't want your training or even your hospitality, I only want him! More than anything in the world."

To her surprise, the two younger ones flinch and glower, as if suspecting her voice might break out with new unforeseen powers.

"You love him?" Sylvia doubts but is swiftly silenced by the reverend mother with an acute sweep of the hand.

"Quiet," Mohiam addresses the relic "There's no need to throw a tantrum. You will be brought to him as soon as the circumstances allow."

"I- Oh." The woman stands helplessly like a lost child, hands clutched in front of her pelvis as fresh tears well and soon stream down her cheeks and quivering lips. She had expected more resistance, more cruelty.

"Go now. We will discuss more soon." Dumbstruck, she does as instructed and pads out of the conference room, mind caught in a limbo of disbelief and rejoicing.

The three Bene Gesserit remain.

"She must be controlled. I don't have to remind you that one of her first inquiries when she understood Galach was about computers and where to find one."

"She will be distracted, if she really loves Feyd-Rautha."

"Isn't that careless?" Miriam is baffled. Obviously, they shouldn't let the woman go to Giedi Prime and slip out of their immediate reach before conditioning her mind and body to a proper training.

"Her DNA is mysteriously rogue but powerful. That's all we need to know."

Miriam and Sylvia understand now. The reverend mother doesn't intend to train the wayward woman from Old Earth who is too obsessed with her old ways to indulge in the Bene Gesserit conditioning. She only means to breed her with Feyd-Rautha, so that the child may be trained. Since Lady Jessica disobeyed the sisterhood's order and denied them a daughter, there is currently no fitting prospect for the Harkonnen heir anyway.

"And if Feyd didn't share her visions?"

"We will soon find out. Even if he didn't, perhaps he can be warmed up to someone who is so... blatantly and bizarrely smitten with him." The reverend mother can't help the tiny twitch of her upper lip, betraying her disdain.

"So, we will contact House Harkonnen?"

"No," Mohiam declares. "The old Baron will deny their union if we are the ones who initiate. Let the rumors spread and let Feyd-Rautha do the work for us."

In Greek mythology, Prometheus (/prəˈmiːθiəs/; Ancient Greek: Προμηθεύς, [promɛːtʰéu̯s], possibly meaning "forethought") is one of the Titans and a god of fire. Prometheus is best known for defying the Olympian gods by taking fire from them and giving it to humanity in the form of technology, knowledge and, more generally, civilization. Prometheus is known for his intelligence and for being a champion of humankind and is also generally seen as the author of the human arts and sciences.

A/N: The time it took me to get my Dune lore sorted and throw around the dates from the confoozing BG/AG calendar was longer than it took me to write the actual chapter 😭 Also, Frank Herbert, please don't slap me, I tried to match the vibe of the secret meeting in the beginning of Dune Messiah, but I have nothing on thee, Frank Herbert 🧎

P.S. No breeding in this fic, but the Bene Gesserit sure do dream of it.

TAG LIST: @nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @charmingballoon, @sebastianswallows

Do let me know if u want me to tag u 👉👈

[chaoticbardlady99]

Hello! I really enjoyed your fic with the Tav who couldn’t see well. It was really sweet! If you’re still accepting requests, may I request a similar one where the reader needs glasses to see and during a battle they break or get lost. Now they can’t see well and they’re trying not to panic while there’s threats everywhere, but thankfully Astarion notices something’s wrong and helps them. Thank you!

Admiring from Afar (GN! AFAB Reader x Astarion) Part 1- MDNI 18+ ONLY

Part Title is inspired by the song “She” by Dodie (I feel like it reflects Astarion’s POV/feelings towards Tav in this story)

This was not originally supposed to be as long as it is, but the concept started taking on a life of it's own. I hope you enjoy! I will hopefully be positing Part 2 within the next few days!

  CW: Angst (?), violence, jealousy, fluffy (hopefully very? But who knows), smut because apparently I’m in a giving mood (I’m sorry I had to make the joke.), MDNI 18+ only, dom/sub sexual relationship.

Note- this is Unascended Astarion x GN! reader

*This has been proof read one time. It is 2:04 am and I have work in 6 hours LMFAO

Gif belongs to- ibacchante from Tumblr!

    The campfire crackles in the distance and you think you even hear the faint sound of music.  You desperately yearn to be near the warmth of the fire talking to or watching one of your companions give a dramatic retelling of their experiences in battle.

  The warmth of your companions made places like the Shadow-Curse Land feel a lot less scary and foreign- they provide some normalcy in this strange journey. 

Unfortunately, you are hunched over in your cold tent with nothing but a light cantrip and your will power. You squint as you etch details into the oxen bone, taking the time to add the touches of silvery white dye to add an ethereal effect. Your hands cramp as you work to keep the paint within the designs you carved into the bone.

You have been painstakingly working on this necklace for a little over a month- maybe two? You have lost count at this point, but the calluses on your fingers tell you it’s been a while now since you started this project.

  You polish the bone with your cloth, wiping away the debris from your knife. You admire your handiwork; a perfect carving of the Elven Rune- Cadaith. You were able to create a loop at the top of the necklace for the long, thin, black leather strip you had been holding onto since the day after the Tiefling party- the same day you decided to take on this hand numbing project.

  You and your crew of oddballs had come through for the locals and obliterated the Goblin Camp Leaders- the tieflings had come to your camp and had decided to celebrate.

  It wasn’t that you were opposed to parties, but you’re not the most social person despite your profession as an Artisan. You miss the calm, quiet group of Druids you used to travel with- you even miss the hardwood floor of the Caravans and how much of a pain in the ass they were to fix. You miss not having to spend every waking moment and all of your strength on battling and the art of deception. You miss your tools and the landscapes you use to find your resources. You love to make crafts out of anything in the wild.

 Back to the rowdy tiefling party- again, you aren’t necessarily against parties, but they are overwhelming.

And the men! They are entirely too vulgar after a couple drinks. Silvanus help you if you had another drunk man stumble up to you and ask if he can, “fuck your brains out.” 

 Another man had begun to make his way towards you when you felt a cold hand grab you by the elbow and haul you off into the forest. It had been Astarion- who you had agreed to share a bed with that night. You had shared a bed before- after a camp party to celebrate killing Auntie Ethel, but nothing could have prepared you for the second time and how mind-blowing it would be (you had been excruciatingly awkward as it was your first time ever- he was pretty understanding thank Gods).

  “Astarion-”

  “Yes Darling?”

   He stops and looks at you- you look around and realize you are far from camp. You fiddle with your hands nervously- picking at your nails. 

“I um-” you clear your throat, “I really appreciate you- well- um… coming to my rescue, but I really don’t want to be a bother to you- you don’t need to stay wit-”

 You hadn’t been able to finish your sentence before he was gently kissing you. Your body feels like it’s on fire, your glasses are entirely foggy from your breathing and you smile at him coyly as he pulls away. He gives you a genuine, real laugh before taking your glasses off and wiping them clean for you. You put them on, your eyes back in focus as you avoid his eyes.

He leans in and begins kissing along your neck, along your jawline, and back to your lips. He kisses you roughly, his tongue flicking across your lower lip, asking for access. He lifts you up from under your thighs before backing you into a tree. 

  He grinds up into you- his erection pressed against the burning heat in your core. He pulls at your shirt strings and gives you a look as if to ask if he can continue. You grab his face in your hands and kiss him as an answer to his question. 

  He discards your shirt and makes quick work of your trousers and under garments- all while kissing you so deeply the world is spinning and your entire body feels numb. 

  Suddenly he has you on your back as he smiles down at you mischievously. You look away, embarrassed as he takes in the sight of your body; a breathy chuckle leaves his lips as he gets up and makes quick work of his own clothes.

 You feel the space between your legs grow warmer and needier as you watch him stroke himself before he settles himself between your legs. He presses soft kisses all over your face as he inserts a finger between your folds and begins to toy with your clit. You whimper and moan as he pumps his finger in and out of you.

  “Good girl,” he growls into your ear and inserts another finger, picking up the pace.

  A soft, gasp escapes your lips as your walls stretch to fit around his other finger- getting to the point of borderline tears as you feel your orgasm get closer and closer. Astarion watches you use a stream of profanities, your hands gripping the grass so hard it's ripping. He kisses you on your forehead then- he stops. 

 You keen in protest from the emptiness between your thighs, but your words die on your lips as he pushes himself all the way between your folds, all the way to the hilt. You claw at his back, a pleased whimper escaping your mouth. He begins to kiss your jaw before you capture his lips with yours- he’s still not moving inside of you as you kiss him feverishly- your hands entangling themselves in his hair. He groans against your lips, holding you down by your waist and not allowing you to move. When you attempt to move your hips upward, desperate to get some friction, he groans in your mouth before pulling out completely and then thrusting himself roughly back into you. You look at him in anticipation as he gets off of you, still inside you as he adjusts your left leg so that he can get more access and he begins to massage your sore, neglected nipples with his fingers. 

You are desperate for any movement from him and you can tell he knows it- even in your drunken haze. 

 “Please.”

“Please what, my dear?”

 He says before pulling out to thrust into you completely again. You cry out, tears streaming down your face as you look away from him, trying not to let him have the satisfaction.. 

  He hums as he roughly grabs your jaw, making you look him in the eyes.

 “Tell me, Darling,” a sly, teasing smile on his beautiful face, “do you want me to fuck your brains out?”

You nod and he pinches your nipples roughly- you arch your back and you feel him lift your hips up before spanking you hard.

"You don't get anything until you answer my question," he goads, his hand snaking it's way around your throat, "so tell me, do you want me to fuck your brains out?"

"Y-es. Yes I want you to fuck me ple-" he cuts you off with a snap of his hips.

He grabs your jaw roughly with his hands, "You know that's not what I asked you."

He begins to slowly move in and out of you, teasing you mercilessly. You groan in frustration- he knows he’s the only person who can say this to you and demand you to say it back to him.

"Please Astarion," you say tearfully, your need for pleasure taking over, "please fuck my brains out."

He smiles at you widely, "it would be my pleasure."

You whine and he pulls out of you, rolling you over onto your hands and knees. He comes up behind you and his hands find purchase in your hair as he begins to pound into your mercilessly. You lose yourself in pleasure- surely alerting everyone and their mothers to your activites- and if it's not the vulgar moans, it's the filthy sound of your bodies colliding.

He pulls you up to his chest by your hair, switching to putting his hand around the upper part of your throat, and puts his fangs to your neck, teasing the skin as he fucks up into you. You have one of your hands wrapped around his arm as he chokes you and the other is touching your clit- the coil of pleasure building up in your stomach as you whisper your consent between moans for Astarion to drink from you. He gives you a pleased hum in response.

The moment his fangs are piercing your neck is the same moment your orgasm rips through you and you have to fight not to slump against him. You feel his strong arms hold you up as he keeps fucking your sensitive mound, chasing his own orgasm. He stops sucking from the bite marks on your neck, lapping up the blood that begins to slowly trickle down towards your shoulders and chest. He let’s go of his grip on your throat and pushes you back onto your belly before roughly inserting himself inside you again.

"You are such a good girl," he grunts, "you are taking me so fucking well."

You begin to feel lightheaded when he finally cums inside you. Good thing you have a potion for that.

You both get your clothes on and he whisks you away to his tent- where you cuddled and talked for almost the entire night.

  The sex, as noted, is amazing, but you also enjoy so much more of him than just his body. You know Astarion struggles to believe you find anything about him interesting outside of sex, so you make a point of reminding him about all the other wonderful parts of him and you don't ever ask for sex or sexual favors. That ball is in his playing field as far as you are concerned.

You find yourself gravitating back to Astarion’s tent every night to listen about a new book he is reading or just to let him shower you with (arguably) questionable knowledge about the higher ups in Badlur's Gate . Sometimes you just talk about your lives, tangled in each other’s embraces, and falling asleep that way.

You had begun sleeping in the same tent shortly after he drank from you for the first time. You had been scared during a storm one night and he had heard you sniffling in your tent. You missed the safety of your Caravan during those first two weeks. 

  He had quickly dragged you over to his tent- griping about his hair, how “I told you that you needed better camping equipment”, and “really darling? Why are you wearing clothes with holes in them? No wonder you’re scared.”

    You have had an incredibly close bond ever since and you speak very freely with one another. You still become closed off every now and then (mostly from being socially and emotionally exhausted) but he was content to sit in the silence and just be in each other’s company. If he's in a grouchy mood, you sit with him in silence or let him just talk at you, and you support him when he wakes up from a particularly grueling nightmare. You rarely, if ever, go to your tent or stay in your tent anymore.

  However, your current passion project was not to be seen by his eyes until it was completely finished- hence the reason why you are in your freezing, semi abandoned tent. You enchant the amulet with “Invisibility” and after a test, you can proudly say your necklace for Astarion is ready.

  Shortly after the fight with the Goblins, Astarion had been complaining to you about how Gale “ate” the last necklace of Invisibility that they had found. 

  “He did call finders-keepers.”

 “Finders-keepers my ass, Darling. If he really believed that rule he wouldn’t have inhaled it the way he did right after finding it.”

  “It was rather unbecoming of him, wasn’t it?”

 “Cazador has done a lot of horrible, vile things to me over the last two centuries,” he scoffs, “but, Gale eating a perfectly good Amulet of Invisibility has somehow landed in the top 20 of worst things to happen to me.” 

  After that, you began your work on the Amulet and now that it’s finished- you get to give it to him.

 The idea makes your stomach turn. 

  What if he hates it?

  It’s not really his style, but you don’t make gaudy jewelry and you tried your best to make it look like it shimmers (you succeeded FYI, Nat 20 all the way). You hope he appreciates it on principle alone and doesn’t criticize you too harshly if he dislikes it. When you ran the idea by Karlach and showed her your sketch, she was immediately convinced that he would adore your gift.

“Don’t worry about a thing Soldier,” she said cheerily, “Fangs is going to adore it as much as he adores you!”

  You wrap the necklace in the nice, silk handkerchief and stuff it into the little leather bag. You take one final deep breath before pushing through the tent flap. You look around camp and see that mostly everyone is in their tent- Astarion included- but Wyll is by the fire dancing. You remember joking about him giving a demonstration for the camp. As you begin to walk towards Astarion’s tent- Wyll calls out to you.

 “Tav,” he says brightly, “join me for a dance?”

 Another thing you love about Astarion- he is very good at telling people ‘no’ for you. Yes, you should be sticking up for yourself and setting boundaries on your own. You are so wired to make everyone else happy that it impedes your ability to say no. Astarion is helping you learn and supports you when you freeze up, but Astarion is not here in this moment and if he hears what Wyll has said to you- he has made no indication of it.

  You smile tightly and put the pouch in your pocket before taking his hand. You are basically robotic as you go through the motions and yet- for some Gods forsaken reason Wyll plants a kiss right on your lips. As he pulls back and sees your look of absolute horror- he begins to apologize profusely. 

 “Honestly Wyll,” you awkwardly squeak out,”it’s totally fine. I just- um- well… I really like Astarion and I’m not looking elsewhere.”

 “I understand and as disappointed as I am- I am grateful for your forgiveness and I hope we can remain friends.”

 You smile brightly, “Thank you Wyll and of course. Good night.”

 He bids you farewell and you walk with extra pep in your step. You set a boundary and you are over the moon excited to share with Astarion. 

  Except when you get inside the tent- all of your stuff is right in the entryway. Astarion has his back facing you and is pretending to be interested in a book. You frown.

 “Star?”

 “Oh don’t worry Darling- I figured I would save you the uncomfortable conversation,” he says with apathy in his voice, “we both know those aren’t your strong suite.”

  You flinch at his cold, blank tone and the harshness of his words. You feel yourself becoming consumed with confusion and hurt. Your hand is clutching onto the pouch in your pocket. He looks at you and he looks far away despite the smile on his face.

 “Well go along now, I’m sure your new lover is waiting for you. I’m happy for you honestly,” he pauses, giving you a cold, malicious grin, “pretending to be invested in this connection has really been bothersome these last couple weeks.”

  Logically, a part of you knows he is just jealous and is lashing out. You should stay and try to explain what happened- reassure him even? 

  Emotionally? You feel like you just got stabbed over and over again. Oh and then someone came up to you and used a shocking grasp. You try to open your mouth, the tears welling in your eyes as you look at him. 

  He just looks at you coldly, “Well, leave.”

  You wordlessly nod, dropping the leather pouch back into your pocket and you grab your things and numbly head back over to your tent. You roll out your bed roll and stare up at the dark tarp above your head; you let the tears stream down your face as silent sobs wrack your body. You already miss him.

 _________________________________________________

  You didn’t sleep well that night- you woke up with puffy eyes and a sore throat. You had spent the majority of the night freezing and jumping at every noise. You would get the occasional thirty minutes of sleep here and there, but if you weren’t scared awake, your bruised, broken heart woke you up. Your heart thumped unevenly all night- worried the bumps in the night were Astarion packing up his things and leaving. 

  Your chest aches as you get ready to leave and you are grateful that the Shadow-Cursed Lands are so poorly lit because it allows you to hide the rough night you have. You are also grateful to see Astarion is still here.

You, Astarion, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Wyll set out to explore more of the Shadowlands. Karlach told Astarion he didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to- you were too tired to say anything in response to his complaints and you suppose Karlach became fed up. He’s quiet after that, so quiet you think he might have left. Except you hear him chatting with Wyll during a short rest.

  Shadowheart walks happily next to you- chittering about Dark Justiciars and how she can feel Shar or whatever. You are just trying to focus on her and stop thinking about him. You have been successful in avoiding him and not looking at him for the entirety of the morning and you need to keep it that way. 

  _________________________________________________

   Astarion can’t place where in the conversation he went wrong, but the fight with Malus Thorm has been nothing short of a disaster. The Sisters are ruthless and Malus is much stronger than any of them anticipated at first glance.

  Astarion usually fights right at your side, but he assumes that your new lover will be keeping you safe. He suppresses the bile and tears that threaten to come up. He has your protection still and he knows that because Wyll would have thrown him out of camp otherwise. He was never meant to end up with you- you were always meant to be a means to an end.

If anything, he should be thrilled for you. Wyll is a good, decent man and much worthier of your affections than Astarion could ever be.

 So why does it hurt so fucking much? And why did he want to kick Wyll over a ravine when he kissed you?

He shakes the thought as he strikes down two more Sisters. He steals a glance in Wyll’s direction (to check on you) and immediately notices that you are nowhere in the premises and the Blade of Frontiers was battling with Karlach. Astarion scans the room in a frenzy of panic.

   He turns around just in time to see Malus lift you up by your neck and fling you into a column. Your glasses fell to the ground as your back makes contact with the stone and the sound of shattering bones echoes through the room as the Sisters begin to move forward.

 Astarion watches in horror as you are struggling to pop up and begin touching the floor around you , but by the time you seem to realize finding your glasses is a moot effort- the Sisters descend on you as Malus turns his attention to Wyll and Karlach.

  Wyll acknowledges what just happened, but doesn’t go to help you. Anger rips through Astarion like a wildfire as Wyll turns and tells Shadowheart you need help. He’s about to help Malus take out Wyll- until another scream for help pierces the air as you throw random cantrips at your attackers.

 Astarion rushes forward, cutting his way through the remaining Sisters in the middle of the room. He really could give a shit less at this time if it pisses Wyll off that he was the one who protected you- in fact, he’s probably going to be stabbing Wyll when you all get back to camp. 

  Astarion destroys the Sisters surrounding you in a flurry of gore and steel. He ignores his other companions as he searches for you frantically. 

  You had disappeared by the time he came to your aid. Astarion knows that you have a tendency to slip into your Cat form when you are particularly scared and can’t see- using the animal’s powerful nose to guide you away from danger. 

 Astarion goes near the beds and crouches down- a sigh escaping his lips. 

  All 8 pounds of you and your black fluff is crouched under the bed and you hiss in surprise when he clicks his tongue at you. You squint your eyes at him before sniffing the air. You cautiously walk forward and sniff his outreached hand. You begin to purr loudly and rub your head against his knuckles.

 He laughs with a mix of hysteria and joy as the realization that you are okay settles into his bones.

 “It’s okay Little Love, the Sisters are dead,” he says softly, “I’m so sorry, I should have been next to you. I just assumed a beast with such prowess as yourself would be able to fend for themselves.”

 You meow in indignation as you climb on top of him to bite the tip of his nose and he can’t help but laugh. 

“Does your ego hurt less now, Little Love?”

You give him an amused look that makes him bust out laughing again.

He had asked you once why you were just a Black domestic cat instead of a Panther. You had argued that you are just as ferocious as a Panther in that form. Not to mention, you would have a better chance of shooting an arrow straight than turning into a Panther, but you weren’t about to admit that (even though he knows). 

   Astarion scoops you up in his arms and pauses- the smell of your blood floods his senses. He grabs you by your scruff and you yelp as he inspects you for injuries. 

  You scratch at his hand and he drops you. You yowl in pain and leer at him as you begin to change back into your humanoid form. 

If Astarion was capable of feinting, this would have been that moment. He drops to his knees beside you and begins trying to find a healing potion to take the edge off.

  You have a compound fracture where your shin was and it’s bleeding heavily. Your right shoulder is out of place, your left wrist is twisted in an atypical fashion, and your left cheek is blooming with an angry, purple bruise. He winces when you inhale a sharp breath as you try to breathe in, clutching at your rib cage. 

He doesn’t catch the choked gasp that climbs up his throat in time- your eyes search for him in the dark before finally settling on him.

“Your beautiful eyes are really helpful when it’s blurry.”

Your voice is so tired and he can hear the pain in your voice.

“How come?”

“I can actually find you,” you pause, “you make me feel safe.”

  You look at him, your eyes glassy with shock. You smile brightly at him and he smiles brightly back at you. He never thought anyone would associate him with protection, safety. Your words echo in his brain.

You’re make me feel safe.

You go to say something again before you look at him with wide, scared eyes and promptly lose consciousness. The scream that comes out of his mouth is foreign to his own ears. It sounds fearful, angry- heartbroken. Astarion tries to shake you awake, yelling your name over and over.

 “Please wake up Darling- you’re safe,” he whispers through choked sobs, “come back to me please.” 

Nothing. He can barely tell if you are breathing still as your heart thuds softly in your chest. He calls for Shadowheart two, three, four more times.

"Please," he whimpers, "I don't want to have to be without you forever- I can't be."

  The weight of his words hits him like a train- his plan had well and truly failed. Under normal, non- life threatening emergency situations, he would probably panic about the strength of his emotions. Instead, he sits here begging for the chance to be able to tell you how he really feels. He wants to move so badly, to drag Shadowheart over here to heal you, but he can't bare to leave you in your vulnerable state. He keeps calling for Shadowheart- his voice begins to crack.

Astarion feels the worst of his anxieties vanish as you suddenly start taking long, ragged, tired breaths. He grabs a healing potion out of his pocket and tilts your head as he pours it into your mouth. You swallow the fluid gingerly. Your eyes are barely open when he hears you communicate through the tadpole.

Thank you for saving me. Again.

Astarion slowly strokes the side of your face, brushing the flyaway hairs out of your eyes.

"I saved you for my own selfish reasons," he whispers, while taking your right hand gently, "close your eyes and rest- I will keep you safe. Shadowheart is coming."

You nod lazily before closing your eyes, your hand in his still. Astarion sighs in relief when your breathing gets stronger, but he is no healer. Where the hells is that damn Cleric!?

 “Shadowheart!!!!”

[sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast]

HIII! HOPE YOU'RE DOING GREAT!!! I would like to know if you can do one where Reader dies to protect them (jujutsu boys) like there's a special grade curse and Reader know that just one can go left alive so she pushes them away to save them (I have this idea while I listened to Tinkerbell Strange Sight, I don't know it's just hits perfectly whit the jujutsu boys *sigh*)

Hey lovely, I listened to the song, and I see the vision. And even if it's pain, I shall deliver. It'll be done drabble style for each so I can fit it all here w/o it being too long!♡

Content: Reader death, sad jjk boys, mourning, depression (mentioned), violence, gore (slight), mentions of blood, it's angsty, so be warned and read at your own pace. Not proofread. Gojo. Getou. Nanami. Choso. Toji.

Gojo

Shock. Everyone knows he's the strongest. Which is why this hurts so bad. Everyone knows, you knew and still you shoved him out of the way. Taking the brute force of the hit that eventually led to your death. He could barely process it. Why hadn't his eyes seen this? They shook behind his blindfold, even his hands shook too as he looked down at your mutilated body. Blood pouring from many places, he should try to stop it. But in his heart, his soul, he already knew you were gone. It hurt. It felt like his heart was ripped out, smashed, and placed back inside his chest cavity. I wouldn't be surprised if he went overboard when killing the curse after he finally got his bearings.

Getou

Immediate anger. Full on, eyes squinted with his brows furrowed as he clenched his fists. He was angry. With the curse, with society, and even you. How dare you sacrifice yourself like that? He knew he preached for a world where Sorcerers sacrificed themselves for one another. But you were different, as much as he tried not to let you be. He could've taken that curse in seconds, absorbed it. But the stabbing pain of your death to his heart had him obliterating the curse instead. There was nothing left for him to absorb.

Nanami

Pissed off. We saw that episode, he would be extremely pissed off. But unlike Getou, his anger wasn't aimed at you. No no, it could never be. His love. His everything. As your bloody lay on the ground by his feet, he yanked off his tie. Wrapping it around his hand, he didn't care if he died trying to avenge you. He knew this was a special grade. And he understood what your intentions were. Even if he so desperately wished he could've taken your place. Maybe, in his pursuit of revenge, he'd meet you again.

Chosou

Crying/Anger. I think at first anger would boil in his veins. We saw how pissed off he was about his brothers. It'd be the same with you. And like Nanami, he wouldn't blame you or point his anger towards you. Even if he didn't understand why you sacrificed yourself like that, he still would never be angry. Though he hated this decision. It took you away from him. Once the curse was dealt with, his anger slowly subsiding. He'd clutch your dead body in his arms, attempting to somehow move the blood back inside your body. Attempting to fix what had already been broken beyond repair. And it's then, he'd cry. Holding you close to his chest as he weeped over your body.

Toji

Disassociating. I personally believe his mind would go blank. Not in a shocked sort of way, but simply he would go elsewhere. While he ultimately took care of the curse, subconsciously making sure it was erased away from your body, his mind would be long gone. Slicing over and over through the curse, blood splattering on his skin. His brain would be lost in some of his favorite memories with you. And thats where he'd stay for at least a week. Forcing himself to push it down, forget it. I see that as how he chooses to deal with his pain. Though he rarely admitted it due to his personality, he cared a lot about you. And I think he holds some regrets not telling you that more.

A/N: Just a disclaimer that this is how I think they'd handle/react. If you think they'd feel differently, that's okay! You can even tell me about it if you'd like, just be nice about it♡

[threepandas]

Bad End: Preserve Us

You know how in conservation biology you sometimes try to introduce a pair to be mated and one will just... just fuckin' merc' the other? Just absolutely obliterate them in a hissing, growling, nightmare ball of fury? Before anyone can stop them? Territorial and (to put it lightly) "uninterested", dispite your desperate desire to save their species from extinction, and need for them to get frisky?

I know.

Holy SHIT do I know.

There's a lot of reasons. Ways you can (hopefully) get around it. But first? Is finding out WHY it happened. Was it just the one? The environment? Were they sick? Or... as is the case sometimes, did they decide their Handler was their mate? Some species only mate once. Are loyal for life. You gotta work around that.

Which is all well and fine and good.

When we're talking about ANIMALS.

Non-sentient, non-sapient animals! Not ALIEN SPECIES! What the ABSOLUTE FRESH HELL did they expect from me!? Compliance?! This was UNETHICAL! Monstrous! I had been trying to slip my gaurds long enough to radio for help SINCE I GOT HERE.

I hope the fuckers ROTTED in whatever their Gods considered a Hell.

"Conservation facility" my ENTIRE ASS. You can't run CONSERVATION EFFORTS like this on SENTIENTS. Eugenics loving, atrocity fetishizing, immoral BASTARDS!!! And they KNEW it too. They HAD too! Or they wouldn't be HIDING it! Fucking KIDNAPPING scientists! Biologists! Doctors!

I was on my ways to study Lekku monkeys!

God...

I'm? I'm so tired of being pissed.

Furious and outraged and SCARED. Horrified and sick. There are PEOPLE here. Kids! And I don't... oh god, I don't... H-How LONG has this been going ON? Why did no one NOTICE?

Every day I feel my heart break. The desire to scream and scream and never STOP, grow inside me. I have to get out. I have to get us ALL out. Get these people FREE. Do SOMETHING. But I am forced to "conserve" the species assigned to me. The group assigned to me.

It's killing my love for the field. Making a mockery of everything I worked for.

I don't... I don't think my hands will ever be clean again.

But I have to help. Do everything I can. Make hell a little kinder, if nothing else. At least while I figure out a way OUT. My group deserves better. The groups I do not work with, deserve better.

I disguise games as "testing". Pages and pages of meaningless numbers ans scores. INSIST that enrichment is the key to success. Diet is EVERYTHING. Oh, and habitat? Well unless we can mimic their habitat there's no WAY they'll "breed".

No, no, using machines would stress them out too much.

It's like you DONT want babies!

Who's the expert here? That's RIGHT! Dr. Cho, but FAILING her and like five other people? Me. And I know for a FACT they are pulling the same scam. We ALL fucking hate you. Dr. Cho has KIDS, you FUCKS. Hasn't seen her son in YEARS thanks to you bastards. He was engaged. She's probably missed his WEDDING thanks to you!

Getting distracted, spiraling again, gotta stop DOING that.

It wont help anyone.

But God, if my brain doesn't slowly feel like it's shorting out the longer I'm here. Stress is called the silent killer for a reason. Or what that something else? Fuck. I can't even look it up! Bastards cut us off from the galactic web. Full information blackout. Because of COURSE they did... can't risk us rightfully calling for help.

Getting the Feds involved to shut this hell pit of a black site DOWN. Or a "whatever it truely is" site. Because it sure as SHIT has nothing to do with conservational biology. Except maybe the abuse of it.

But that doesn't help me right now.

Focus, damn it!

The Yanderens. Old, absurdly rare, nearly extinct, with a home planet they'd reduced to uninhabitable wastelands millennia ago due too... something. No one knew what. There had definitely been fighting. It WAS documented they were excellent fighters. Ruthless ones at that. But it was ALSO documented they strongly pack bonded.

There had been a lot of strongly worded warnings on what few documation my captures were able to find, translate, then shove at me. But honestly? They said the same thing about humans. Ooooh big scary persistent hunters~ oh nooooo! Watch out for the omnivores with a history of war! Sins of the father and we are defined by our diets! Class systems! Let's all JUDGE each ooooootheeeeer~!

Yeah, no. Not buying it.

Especially when the "warnings" were so damn vague and poorly documented. All "the HORRORS!" and "we barely SURVIVED!". Cause honestly? The Yanderens I was watching over? Easily the most mild and temperate individuals I had ever met. No tantrums from the kids, no big emotional meltdowns, just curiosity and at WORST? Mild frustration.

It made everything ten thousand times worse for me, that these poor people were in this hellish place. They were calm. Curious. Meant for greater, BETTER things! They should be out, playing and learning. Exploring and enjoying peaceful strolls in some art gallery or zen garden somewhere! Not... not this sterile fucking LAB.

But then M-17 loses his SHIT.

And now I'm kinda panicking. Because F-6 is not just dead, God rest her soul (she didn't deserve this. Oh god. She was so SWEET.), but M-17 might just be too, soon. If I can't find out what HAPPENED. Because if he's "feral" or "diseased" or whatever other horrifying terminology they end up using? They DO something about it.

And I can't actually stop them.

I... I don't know if it was a trauma response. Or I did something wrong. I could PROBABLY pass it off as my needing more studies into their observed "mating habits"? That... that I somehow... turned it... uuuuh... dominance battle? Shit. Where are my notes?!

F-6 is DEAD and its all my fault.

She was such a cuddle fiend too. Always excited to hear about my studies, from before. My life. Wanted to join me after we got out of here. I never should have let her volunteer. Granted, she wouldn't have taken no for an answer. Wanted to spend the pregnancy plotting our escape. Asked me to help raise the kid once we got out. Had a whole grand plan. But I...And I...

God...

I should have said NO. Insisted. It was just so hard, when F-6 had made it all sound like it would be okay. Like she had a plan and all I need to do was trust her. Believe in her. Then we could be free.

I had hoped M-17 would work best. He was always the most agreeable and quick on the uptake. I figured... well... ha ha. God, I'm such an IDIOT. I should have CHECKED. Who KNOWS what happened before I arrived? What triggered I just accidentally rammed my foot into? FUCK! I sweep everything from me desk onto the ground. Don't give I shit that I'll have to clean it up later,

I had figured M-17 would be COOL with it.

This place is getting to me, isn't it?

Why the FUCK would anyone be COOL with getting jumped? Bred like an animal? Shoved in some random ass room, with a vaguely familiar stranger, and told "now fuck. We want a literal litter from you two"? All while some biologist watchs and makes god damned NOTES!?

Of course he fought back. OF COURSE he didn't stop!

The only one there he could trust was himself.

I...I'm becoming a monster... aren't I?

Oh god.

At least we're in the satellite facility. The gaurds are definitely going to rat me out, but the news will take time to filter back. And... and the Yanderens being so "dangerous" might work in my favor. I... I can spin this. I HAVE to spin this. I can't let TWO people die for my fuck up.

I promised myself I would get as many people out as I could. I refuse to back out now. Even if that means crying, puking, then going out there to lie my ASS off. This was TOTALLY NORMAL. In fact, expected! Yep! It means that's we've determined that M-17 is the alpha Yanderen! A thing that is both REAL and possible to BE!

I rinse my mouth, stomach empty. Crying has exhausted me. But I can't give up. Too many lives count on me now. I... I wish so badly I was just a nobody again. Just some random biology student, trying to make a name for herself. Being "important" is a CURSE.

I try not to chug my water as I half stumble out of the glorified shoebox that is my bathroom into the much larger and Fancier CLOSET that is my room. Truely, no expense spared, for the captives they ripped away from their lives. So glad I am here willingly and of my own volition.

I gather myself. Finally ready to go and try to untangle the mess I have made of everything. When a deep booming alarm rattles my bones. The lights flickering to red. Blast doors slide down, SLAM shut over the transparent recessed bit of wall that counts as my window, the door to the rest of the facility.

Trapping me inside my small room.

Almost immediately after, an EXPLOSION rocks the world hard enough to knock me from my feet. Only the bed's limited padding keeping me from a nasty concussion. The edge of it still ramming painfully into my shoulder. Another explosion. Then another. I sit for a long, terrible, second stunned.

The moment passes.

I scramble on my hands and knees for the in facility communication device that I had knocked from my desk in anger, grief. Not daring to stand lest I be thrown down again. I manage to find it as the world shakes again for the fifth time. Followed by what sounds like gun fire out in the halls.

I fling myself back towards my shitty little bunk. Drag every bit of padding and protection I can, down and under it with me. If the roof goes? I want shock absorption. If shots get through the door? I want something to slow those blasts down. Anything. ANYTHING! To increase my fucked chances of surviving.

I burrito up and wriggle back as deep as I can. The world muffled but ending just outside my crawlspace. Then I desperately try to get one of the others on the line. I got nothing but chaos. Running. Running. Hiding. And Dead.

Dead. Dying.

Remember me.

And GONE.

Some of them fighting with their groups too freedom. Some being targeted right along side their captors. Others savaged by the ACTUAL animals they had been working with, the one's Galacticly deemed too dangerous for effort like this. Someone or something had set EVERYONE free. A simultaneous attack on all fronts that our captors could not put down or escape.

The Yanderens were out there.

Oh god. Please let them be okay. They wer-

My thoughts ground to a halt as M-32 LAUNCHED his tiny body onto the screen of one of the security feeds I was desperately looking through. F-6 had figured out how to get us a backdoor to them a long time ago. M-32 was just a kid. A small, soft, cuddly little thing that loved to lean against me and crawl into my lap. All cherubic cheeks and cute little curls. Shy!

Yet I watched... in mounting horror... as like a lion on some unfortunate animal, he landed on a gaurds back. Small arms going around his body in a mockery of a hug. Head tilting so he could BITE at the back of the man's neck, small hands clawing and ripping at weak points in his armor, as he screamed. Thrashed. Tried desperately to get M-32 OFF of him.

There was so much blood.

My hands were shaking. So much, I accidentally hit the next screen button. Jerked my thumb back. But... but oh god. There was F-26. Using the butt of a rifle to slam down against the head of a scientist. Again and again and again. Long after the begging and thrashing stopped. I flipped again. M-4? No... please not M-4. Not the soft spoken and wise...

I watched as he grinned, a cold thing, and shot out another joint. His foot on the chest of the head scientist who had moved him to a different group. In the background, his supervisor lay dead. They had not died quickly. The head scientist was begging. A mess of tears and pain. M-4 shot another joint, pressing his foot down harder.

I wanted to be sick.

I flipped again. And again. And AGAIN.

H...Had I known them at ALL? Like demons wearing the faces of those I'd known. People I'd trusted. Not a SINGLE ONE was... oh... oh god. F-6. Had she been too? Would I have ever known? Was THIS what all those warnings meant? I couldn't think. Couldn't breath. Had... Had never had a panic attack but... BUT-!

I wheezed.

Shook.

"Oh, Clever giiiirl~" A familiar voice sang, before a blood splattered face flickered into being on the screen in my hands. "Where aaaare yoooou~?"

M-17. He'd somehow managed to take over the security cameras. That or the communication feed. His eyes were bright. A grin on his face like I'd never seen from him. ALIVE in a way I'd never seen him. The excitement transformed his face. No longer softly doll like, but something DANGEROUS. Unhinged. His eyes dilated and deadly teeth on display.

"Come out, come out wherever you aaaare~. I have so much to TELL you! We have so much to DO! I'm going to make you MINE sweetheart! No one else can have you. So come out. I won't hurt you much, I promise! Just gotta make you mine then we can leave okay~?"

Furious snarls echoed through the halls. Male and female alike. Old and young. I... I recognized each of those voices. What was HAPPENING?

"Aaaah? Did you TRASH really think you DESERVED her? Ha! Please." M-17 grin was cruel. Mocking. "You don't have a chance in hell of taking what's MINE."

His eyes seems to shift away from unseen enemies and back, somehow, to me. Warming to something euphoric. Resting his head on his hand as if to consider me. His fingers spread, stroking his own face, as if the desire to TOUCH was simply too great. As if what he was imagining was bleeding over into the real world.

"Oh clever girl~ my clever, clever girl~♡ I can't wait til it's just you and ME. Start think of where you want to go first, okay? We're going to get married. Have that child you wanted me for. All the things you ever dreamed~♡ I'm going to have you all to myself. No more annoying others. Ah~ can't wait to find you soon!"

"But first?"

"May the best of us Win."

[yanderes-galore]

Can I request a yandere concept for Flippy/Fliqpy with Unlucky! Darling? They always get injured/die and end up in dangerous situations. I wonder if his heart could handle all of that...

Good luck with everything btw. You're the strongest writing soldier I know

Ah, yes, murderous bears are my specialty. Also, thank you! Tackling things at my own pace, lol. This is less yandere and more just dark... but I have no idea what to call it like most of my fics that stray away from the original premise???

Yandere! Flippy/Fliqpy with Unlucky! Darling

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, PTSD, Violence, Blood, Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Murder, Attempted isolation, Fear of loss, Dark themes, Death loop, Dubious companionship/relationship.

When it comes to writing HTF, I haven't covered how canon deaths are in my fics.

Sometimes I've explained it as a death loop, sometimes I've explained it as a dream.

For this fic, I may call it both.

Your whole life is a death loop, every demise feeling like a twisted nightmare.

But at the same time... the blood and pain is quite real.

When it comes to Flippy/Fliqpy, I have a feeling many of your deaths are actually at his paws.

In the death loop you often fall victim to many things.

All painful accidents you fall victim to until the next day...

Which then makes you do it all over again.

If Flippy is sensitive to these death loops and remembers all of your deaths... safe to say he doesn't handle it well, no.

Even less if he realizes he's been the reason for your downfall a few times as Fliqpy.

Each time he finds your corpse, it makes the green bear snap a bit more.

Flippy, let's be honest, has seen his fair share of blood.

That's why Fliqpy exists.

But nothing prepares him to see the death of his friend/crush/lover over and over again.

When his comrades died before, they stayed dead.

They were never brought back, they were never killed over and over.

No, instead Flippy gets to watch the one he cares the most for die continuously.

Sometimes even by him.

It would be interesting to think of Flippy trying his best to prevent the loop.

He sticks close to you, he stays away from you, he keeps an eye on you, he locks you away...

Nothing he does works.

The thing that would make his obsession worse is the fact he's going mad trying to prevent it.

Which may make Fliqpy worse... which hurts you more... then there's a feedback loop...

As you can tell this is a horrible scenario for him.

It hurts him that he can't even have you.

Whenever he tries to get close, he risks bad things happening to both of you like some sort of Murphy's Law concept.

Flippy isn't sure what to do.

He'd even try previous methods over again just for some sort of difference.

He tries never leaving your side, only to feel your blood on his fur after some black out.

He tries staying away to watch from a distance, only for some other threat to obliterate you into a red mist.

He even tries locking you away with him, only for you to die some way again in some horrific accident.

Perhaps there was even a loop where he swapped to Fliqpy and attacked everyone in sight.

He'd cover himself in blood, he'd hold himself back from hurting you, he'd sacrifice everyone just to see you live.

Only for you to die again, leaving him to rock back and forth in his home as he loses it.

In this concept, there's nothing he can really do.

No matter if he kills those around you, or even you to spare you...

It's futile.

He's obsessed more with the idea of saving you than anything.

He cares for you... loves you... adores you...

Yet he can only hope you don't remember each loop.

That each day... It's done quickly... Just another bad dream.

On the days where the loop pauses momentarily for some respite... Flippy doesn't leave your side.

If he had things his way, he'd lock you in a bunker with him...

A bunker that's quiet and safe... just you and him...

Flippy cherishes the time the loop doesn't pick you off, but his anxiety tends to linger.

Soon... you'll die again...

He's forced to watch, his psyche withering away each time...

All while he hopes it really IS just a bad dream he'll wake from one day... and you two are together forever with nothing to hurt you in the waking world.

[lostgracestories]

Henlo! If you're okay with it, do you have any headcanons for how Morgott and Mohg would handle the news that their S/O was captured, but nobody can find them so they are presumed dead? S/O survives but has to deal with the worst of their injuries before making it back home. I hope this isn't too specific, I just like to see how they would handle their grief for their S/O without actually killing their S/O (plus I am a hurt/comfort enthusiast). Love your writing and hope you're having a great day :)

This is so absolutely angsty and horrendous and I LOVE IT (hurt/comfort ftw <3) also thank you! I love writing for y'all!

Anyways, here's how I believe the twinsies would react to such a thing! (not proofread cause I'm lazy, lol)

wc: 871 tw: implied kidnapping, blood mention, injury, implied death, severe angst </3, honestly should I just use Elden Ring as my tw? lmao

Desperately and so Hopelessly Broken

Mohg

Mohg had been reeling over you for the past week since you had gone missing. Any and all plans he had were obliterated and all his resources went into finding you. He could not bear the thought of his little dove in danger.

Mohg could have sworn his legs had buckled when Varre returned to him with a cloth from one of your garments, soaked in blood and dirt. He was in denial. There was no body, you weren't truly gone... were you?

After three extra days of searching and turning up nothing, Mohg finally relented, to his utter dismay, and retreated into his favorite space in the mausoleum. It all felt so empty now. Every space he looked he could see you, smiling brightly and calling his pet name... "my heart"

For weeks the grief tore at him, ate him away. Some nights he refused to sleep, frightened that those awful nightmares would return, your soul seemingly haunting his very existence, ripping his heart from his chest.

When you showed up nearly a month after the horrible incident, he stared at you. It was the dead of night and your clothes were tattered and bloody. At first, Mohg thought it to be another one of his painful nightmares. That was until the familiar scent of you filled his senses. He barely remembered how quickly he had scooped you up into his arms, tears rolling past his fiery orange eye and dampening your cheek as he nuzzled into you.

You remember wincing in pain as Mohg snatched you up so desperately but the sheer relief of seeing him again washed away any pain you were feeling as you cupped his rough tear stained face in your hands. You reassured him, told him you were real, thanked him for working so hard to find you, and reminded him that none of this was his fault. After that, he never could let you leave his dynasty. And for the time being, that was fine with you.

Morgott

Morgott had made you promise to return to him before 8 that night. When the clock had passed 9, he assumed you were caught up in enjoying yourself at the shops. However, the moment the clock struck 10, he was out of his study and flying through the halls, his tail swiping all over in rapid thumps.

Morgott wasted no time in getting his cavalry men sent after you. he instructed them to leave no area undisturbed no matter how discrete it was or how small. He had even gone searching for you in the shunning grounds, a place he so very much despised. All of it was to no avail.

Weeks. Weeks it had been since you had vanished. Morgott was a mess. He had tried to distract himself by keeping up with work but none of it mattered. He couldn't keep his worries away from you. He prayed to the erdtree and frankly any God who would listen, that you would return to him safely.

When one of his cavalry men barged into his study so abruptly, for a moment, Morgott's heart raced, hope rising in his chest. He swore the plummet he experienced when he saw your bloodied travel pack in the man's hand was the most gut-wrenching feeling he had ever felt. He could smell it, it was your blood...

If Morgott had been a mess before, now he was utterly shattered. He had tried to convince himself to keep looking but he needed his men back in their positions and it had been nearly a month. The hope bleeding in his heart was merely an occasional drip now. Every time he was handed a report from his cavalry men, a piece of him held out hope that they had finally found you. But thus, it could not be so.

Morgott forced himself back to work, vigorously drowning himself in piles upon piles of paperwork, letters, contracts, etc. It was the only thing that kept his mind off of you.

Morgott nearly choked on air when one of his men came rushing to his room not short of yet another month without you. The man, armor smeared with dried blood wrenched Morgott from his seat, a knowing look washing over him when the man nodded and swiftly guided him to the infirmary.

The moment Morgott had his sights upon you, the most gut-wrenching sobs erupted from the knot he had been holding in his throat. He could barely keep his eye open as his trembling hands closing around his lover's cheeks as he took in the scent of you, the warmth of your skin, and the gentle sparkle in your eyes that he had so missed. For once in his life, the omen king could not find words and you instead offered him a soft smile, brushing your fingers over the backs of his hands to prove to him that you were alive.

After this, Morgott only let you leave if he or his projection was with you. If neither were feasible, it would take you desperately begging to convince him to let you go to the shops with one of his cavalry men. To be honest, you did not mind... it just reminded you of how much he truly cared for you.

[untitledmemes]

Dune: Part One Prompts

Part I An assortment of prompts taken from the movie Dune: Part One (2021). Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. In case of Multimuse, don't forget to specify which one/s. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ Dreams are messages from the deep. ”

“ Their cruelty to my people is all I've known. ”

“ Who will our next oppressors be? ”

“ It's good you're up early. ”

“ Why do we have to go through all of this when it's already decided? ”

“ If you want it, make me give it to you. ”

“ There is no call we do not answer, there is no faith we betray. ”

“ I'd like you to take me with you. ”

“ Can I trust you with something? ”

“ It felt like if I had been there, you'd be alive. ”

“ You're not taking me seriously. ”

“ Dreams make good stories, but everything important happens when you're awake because that's when we make everything happen. ”

“ I've been training my whole life. What is the point if I can't face an actual risk? ”

“ I need you by my side. ”

“ I told my father I didn't want this either. ”

“ A great man doesn't seek to lead. He's called to it, and he answers. ”

“ I found my own way to it. Maybe you'll find yours. ”

“ Don't stand with your back to the door. ”

“ The slow blade penetrates the shield. ”

“ You fight when the necessity arises, no matter the mood. ”

“ I see you found the mood. ”

“ You don't understand the grave nature of what's happening to us. ”

“ Don't be too sure it's an act of love. ”

“ When if a gift not a gift? ”

“ Defiance in the eyes. Like his father. ”

“ An animal caught in a trap will gnaw off its own leg to escape. What will you do? ”

“ I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings obliteration. I'll face my fear and I'll permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn to the inner eye and see its path. And where the fear is gone, there will be nothing. Only I will remain. ”

“ If you had been unable to control your impulses, like an animal, we could not let you live. ”

“ You inherit too much power. ”

“ Do you often dream things that happen just as you dreamed them? ”

“ Did you have to go that far? ”

“ Do you see so little hope? ”

“ How does it feel to walk on a new world? ”

“ Don't be fooled by the welcome. ”

“ Let's get you out of the sun. The heat can kill in this place. ”

“ They see what they've been told to see. ”

“ If you mean to harm me, I must warn you that whatever you're hiding, it won't be enough. ”

“ When you have lived with a prophecy this long, the moment of revelation is a shock. ”

“ Sire, I failed you today. There's no excuse. ”

“ It must never be known. ”

“ Thanks for the humiliation, old man. ”

“ I have never come so close to dying. ”

“ I respect the personal dignity of anyone that respects mine. ”

“ I believe your people and mine have much to offer one another. ”

“ Name what you want. If it's in my power to grant, I'll give it and ask for nothing. ”

“ Honor requires that I be elsewhere. ”

“ You have good eyes. ”

“ If we take one step out there, we're as good as dead. ”

“ I recognize your footsteps, old man. ”

“ Everything they left us is in shambles. We've been set up to fail. ”

“ I had a vision. My eyes were wide open. ”

“ You can't know that. I barely know that. ”

“ I trusted you completely. Even when you walked in shadows. ”

“ Why are you having these thoughts? This is not you. ”

“ I thought we'd have more time. ”

“ Why don't we just cut their throats? ”

“ Don't! You are not ready. ”

“ For hundreds of years, we've run blood for blood. But no more. ”

“ Here I am. Here I remain. ”

“ I am commanded to say nothing. To see nothing. ”

“ Tell me, please. What do you fear? ”

“ Somebody help me, please. ”

“ You know who you are. ”

[arealphrooblem]

Kidnapped by the Boss Part 6

Part one here

Synopsis: Civilian is a secretary to the Prime Minster. But when the political summit between the city states goes awry, she finds herself kidnapped by the very boss she tried to protect and nothing is what it seems.

CW: Hunger Strike, disordered eating *summary of chapter will be at the bottom for anyone who wants to skip it.*

Breakfast was delivered via servant a short while after he dropped her off. Her stomach roiled at the sight of all her favorites carefully arranged on the tray. It reminded her, quite forcefully, of how her grandmother used to wrap bitter pills in peanut butter balls or turkey for her ailing dog.

He wanted so badly to preserve the relationship they had before, as if he hadn’t completely obliterated it himself. He must have thought it would keep her complacent when her fear faded out.

He thought he knew her, but he had only ever seen her at her job. And sure, some days were hard and he caught a glimpse of her frustration or anxiety. As the years bled into each other, he learned little things about her, like her favorite foods or the TV shows that she rewatched obsessively.

But he never actually saw her. Even at the height of her newfound crush on him, Val kept a tight lid on any unprofessional slip ups and her personal life rarely leaked over into her job.

He thought patient, reliable, helpful Val was the only facet of her being. He knew nothing of the depths of her rage, her pig-headed stubbornness,

She took a slice of toast and threw the rest in the trash.

“Knock knock, Val. I hope you’re decent.”

The driver’s voice sounded about two seconds before the door opened. Of course, by the afternoon Val had already showered and dressed for the day. Still, it was a little unsettling how little time he’d give her if she wasn’t.

“Does it ever get old, coming here to irritate the shit out of me?” she demands, crossing her arms.

“Angel, it got old the first time.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you think it's my choice to be here?”

“Do you actually have free will or are you just a highly realistic robot?”

“Do you want a tour of the castle or do you want to stay stuck in this room?”

“ . . .What?”

“Apparently the rumor goes that your incredibly lavish and luxurious rooms are not good enough for you. So I’ve been tasked to show you around, let you stretch your legs or whatever.”

“Stretch my legs?” she repeated skeptically. “Where? Over the edge of the roof?”

“Or, you know, to the library. Or the zoo.”

“There’s a zoo here?”

The driver waved his hand dismissively. “Technically a rescue animal sanctuary. He calls it a menagerie because he’s pretentious as hell. But let’s be real — its a glorified petting zoo.”

A zoo and a library. Val had to admit both intrigued her greatly. Staying in this room did her no favors, mentally, with nothing to do but stew in her own fear and frustration.

She opened her mouth to comply and then promptly shut it closed.

Bitter pill. Peanut Butter.

Any kindness from him came with strings, no doubt, so he could yank her around like a little puppet.

“No,” she said instead. “I’m staying here.”

The driver’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’m not going to kill you unless he asks me to — no matter how annoying you are. And if he does, I’ll snap your neck. Quick, efficient. Shoving you off the roof is cowardly and makes too big of a mess.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but it has nothing to do with that. I just don’t want to go. You can tell your king to stick his zoo and his library up his ass.”

The driver gave her a long stare. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a stubborn fucking idiot?”

“Once or twice.”

He shook his head. “If you want to go slowly insane in this room, have at it, I guess.”

Lunch came. Her stomach growled at the sight of her favorite sandwich but she forced herself to throw that away too. (she ate the pickle spear though). He wanted something from her and he wasn’t going to get it just because he plied her with food and entertainment.

 A cage was a cage.

She didn’t even bother to check what dinner was. The tray and lid sat untouched on the table for the servants to whisk away tomorrow.

Hunger woke up her up later that night, her mouth dry. Head dizzy. Her stomach cramped with it, a howling beast. It was so tempting to tear the lid of the dinner off and eat it with her hands that she went and locked herself in the bathroom for a while.

A few handfuls of water from the sink was all she allowed herself. When she felt strong enough, she set the tray in the bathroom floor and shut the door to block the temptation. Sleep claimed her for a long time.

“My lady. You need to wake up.”

A hand kept delicately patting her shoulder, chasing her out of another nightmare. She jerked awake, scrambling to sit up in the bed.

One of the servants, a woman old enough to be her mother with a calm but impassive face, stared down at her. Her uniform was immaculate.

“I’m sorry,” Val found herself saying. “What — what time is it? Has something happened?”

“It is nearly eleven, ma’am. His majesty will be here in roughly ten minutes with breakfast. I advise you to dress.”

“Ten minutes?” she squawked.

“Do you need any assistance?” the woman asked.

God her head was splitting now that sleep started to fall away. “Painkillers?” she asked weakly. “My head hurts.”

To her surprise, the woman gave her a stern look. “I’m sure it does,” she said with a bland tone that did not match the look in her eyes.

The woman swept off through the door without another look in Val’s direction.

What was that about? she wondered as she stumbled to the dresser. But the fogginess in her head lay too thick to figure it out. She felt like complete and utter shit and the last thing she felt ready to deal with was him.

The bed beckoned her with its feather pillows and down comforter and high thread count sheets. She stared longingly back for a moment, debating on how convincingly she could pretend to sleep when he showed up, before sighing and putting on a fresh change of clothes.

She had just tamed her hair into another pony tail when a knock came from the door.

“Rise and shine, princess,” said the driver’s voice.

Goddamn it. She had to deal with both of them.

“Can we reschedule?” she yelled out. “I’m busy.”

“I’m afraid not, love,” said the king’s voice.  “I’d rather not wait.”

She did not like the sound of that. “Fine,” she growled. “Let’s get this over with.”

The door opened, the driver propping it open with his foot as the king stepped in with a large covered tray.

“I don’t know why you bother with knocking,” the driver muttered. “It’s not like her permission matters.”

“Because I have manners,” the king sniffed, setting the tray down on the table. “Unlike some people.”

He looked up and gave her a wink, as if sharing an inside joke.

“You don’t keep me around for manners.” The driver hopped up on her unmade bed, pulling a knife from his belt and setting it on the comforter.

“Make yourself at home,” Val said scathingly.

“How generous of you.” He bared his teeth in a dangerous smile. “I think I will.”

The king made himself busy setting out the spread. Toast and jams and sausage links and cubed cheese and a thermos of coffee with delicate china cups.

“Children, play nice. It’s not even noon. Val, please, heave a seat.”

Just looking at the food made her stomach rebel, even as the rest of her body desperately craved it. The smell invaded her nose, making her swallow back a gag. God, why couldn’t she just sleep all day? It’s not like she had anything else to do.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “What do you want now?”

“I have something for you.” The king lowered himself down in the chair opposite of her and gestured for her to do the same. “But first, we should eat.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You’ll think differently when you see what it is. Now sit.”

He gave her a warning look, the danger of his true self slipping out from behind the mask. Val sat, feeling the presence of the assassin behind her with a knife like a prickle on the back of her neck.

“Which jam would you like on your toast?” he asked. “We have peach, strawberry, lemon chardonnay, and cherry.”

“No thank you,” she said through gritted teeth. Her stomach felt as if it were trying to eat itself.

“I insist you try the lemon chardonnay, it’s phenomenal. I have it every morning.”

He covered a triangle of toast in a thin layer of bright yellow jam before setting it on a tiny plate and handing it to her. The citrus smell washed over her, intoxicating. Any other time she would have devoured it. She loved lemon flavored pastries and he knew it. Which was why it didn’t cost her much to set her plate down off to the side  and ignore it.

The wave of twisted self satisfaction more than made up for her hunger.

Next he poured her a glass of clear water from another thermos and slid it over to her.

“Water?”

“I’m not thirsty.”

She wanted to drown herself in that glass of water, but she’d rather drop dead than give him that satisfaction. He wanted her to eat and drink so badly. He wanted her healthy enough to pretend that her life wasn’t in his hands. To forget how responsible he was for ruining it.

She wouldn’t let him.

“You are thirsty, though,” he said, his stare cutting her from across the table. “Because you haven’t eaten or drank anything in almost three days.”

“That’s not true.”

She had a pickle slice. And a piece of plain toast. And some water from the sink. His gaze narrowed, though, the previous warmth in his gaze clouding over.

“Oh but it is. The servants have found your food in the trash after every meal, save for last night’s dinner, which they found in the bathroom while you were sleeping.”

“I’m still figuring that one out,” muttered the driver from behind her.

“Why does it matter what I do with my food,” she retorted.

Silence answered her. Silence and that unnerving gaze pinning her down like a push pin in a cork board. She fought the urge to squirm under it, to feel like a student confronted by an angry principal. Though only a decade separated them, she felt like a child around him at times. A silly, clueless child.

But of course . . . He wasn’t actually a decade older. He was several decades older. Over a century older, at least in his mind.

“Val.”

He kept using her name like it meant something to him and it pissed her off.

“Eugene,” she said, his old name still feeling like sacrilege to the part of her brain still clinging to her previous professionalism.

If it bothered him, he showed no sign.

“I know what this is,” he said finally. 

Her hackles raised.

“Breakfast” she said, raising a brow.

“Control,” he countered. “Rebellion. Whittling yourself down to spite me.”

She hated how easily he saw through her. How well he could guess what laid under her professional mask when she couldn’t get a read on him at all.

“Maybe I don’t like the food,” she said, purposefully obtuse.

“Nonsense,” he said dismissively. “I know everything you like.”

“You’re not going to get anywhere because of that,” she snapped. “I’m not a kid you can bribe with candy and a trip to the zoo.”

“So that’s what this is.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I’m not trying to bribe you, Val. I’m just trying to feed you.”

“Well I don’t want to eat it.”

“Would you rather I send you food that you hate? French onion soup and pork rinds and spicy curry? Would that make you feel better?”

“I’m not eating anything that you give me.” She crossed her arms, fingers clenching tight at her sides, feeling as if she were digging and digging further into her own grave.

She would rather die than give him any kind of satisfaction and it scared her that that thought could be literal. But she didn’t know how to back down yet she couldn’t stomach the thought of giving him the one thing she could deny him when he had taken everything else.

“For how long? Because I’m not sure if you noticed, Val, but the only food available to you comes from me.”

She shrugged, not having an answer. It’s not like she planned a hunger strike. But refusing to eat fueled the rage simmering inside her and that felt so much better than the fear. It felt like she could do something, even if it only hurt herself.

His gaze flickered over her shoulder for a moment before returning to hers.

“It stops today. I am not leaving this room until you eat something.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time,” she retorted with bravado she didn’t feel.

Especially with the hands that dropped suddenly onto her shoulders. She launched forward, even when she had nowhere to run, but the hands grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms back behind the chair. Tugging only brought sharp pain in her shoulders, the driver’s hands a shackle around her own. 

The king stood up and stepped towards her. “You will eat today, by your hand or by mine. The choice is yours. And if you make either impossible I will chain you to a hospital bed and an IV drip. To be fair you might be close to that already with your dehydration. So we will start with that glass of water.”

He plopped a glass straw into the cup and held it out for her.

“Why does this matter so much that I live?” she demanded. “That I’m healthy? What does it matter to you what I do to myself?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he set the glass back down on the table and knelt down on one knee beside her chair, hand resting lightly on the arm. It brought him a few inches under her gaze so he had to look up, dark eyes fathomless. She couldn’t tell what emotion shone out of them, but it burned unfiltered.

“I must admit, when I pulled you into the car and onto the plane I didn’t know what I was going to do with you,” he said quietly. “ But I never considered torture or punishment — you’ve done nothing wrong. And yet, it didn’t matter, because you have done nothing but torment yourself since you got here.”

She broke away from his gaze, her stomach twisting uncomfortably, but he didn’t stop. 

“You don’t sleep and then you stop eating. You live in constant fear despite our reassurances that you’re safe. I try to give you comforts, things to make you happy and you reject it all. It’s not meant as a bribe to lull you into complacency or servitude. The reason why you’re here is because you cared about me enough to risk your safety and I refuse to have you punished for it but that’s exactly what will happen when you go back home.” 

Fingers nudged her chin until their gaze met again. 

“I’m trying to give you a life here. Bit by bit. Will you let me?”

He looked so beseeching, so soft. It hurt. She wanted to believe it so bad. 

“You tell me I’m safe but  you’ve threatened my life multiple times since I got in that car,” she pointed out. “You both have. He especially loves to point out how I live on borrowed time and borrowed favor,” she added, jerking her chin back towards the driver. 

Ice settled in those dark eyes as he flickered them over her shoulder. Immediately the driver released her arms, relief following immediately afterwards. She shook them out, then cradled them to her chest. 

“Rook has a penchant for practicality that borders on the sociopathic,” the king said. “And I haven’t threatened you so much as warned.” He took one of her hands in his. “I’ve been building up to this moment for three lifetimes and I cannot allow anyone to stand in my way. Not even you. So long as you don’t actively impede me, you have nothing to fear from me.” 

She swallowed. “You’re a very terrifying person for someone who wants my trust.”

He smiled then, a soft rueful thing. “I was not always so. Will you trust me, anyway, Val?”

And this was why he was elected, she thought with a mental shake of her head, despite his vague past and unknown status. 

“I will . . .consider it,” she said slowly. 

“And will you eat with me? . . . .Please?”

Val sighed deeply, knowing she lost this round. “Yes.”

His smile spread, slow and bright, like the sun coming up over the ridge and butterflies rioted in her chest to meet it. Goddamn it. If kidnapping and captivity and threat of potential murder wouldn't kill this stupid crush, did she have any hope at all of ever being rid of it?

Tag list:

@rivalriotrenegade @sunyside-world @fishtale88 @those-damn-snippets @suspiciousmuffin @thats-alittle-gay @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars @tobeornottobeateacher @burningkittypoet @kurai-hono-blog @clover-sage

Summary: Val goes on a spontaneous hunger strike, not really intending it to be one but because she sees serving her favorite foods as a bribe to get her to comply. She compares it to the peanut butter her grandmother wraps medicine in for her dog.

After three days of very little to eat and drink, the king and the driver visit with breakfast. The king tries to force her to eat, Val and the King have a confrontation when she refuses, and he admits that he isn't trying to bribe her, but to help her make a life here since she will be punished if she ever went back home. He doesn't want her punished just because she cared enough about him to look for him in the parking lot. Eventually Val agrees to eat again and she says she will consider trusting his word when he told her he didn't want to hurt or kill her.

[emeraldspiral]

Follow-up movie to ETF where you start off thinking the reset button has been hit and it's going to be another typical outing with Zim and friends. But when Zim attempts to contact the Tallest and you expect a silly scene of Zim proudly telling them about his latest evil scheme and them not caring, instead this Very Serious, cold and menacing, no-nonsense character appears. Zim is confused and asks where the Tallest are and is informed that the previous Tallest have perished and this stranger is the new Tallest and his first order of business is to execute the person responsible for his predecessors' deaths. Zim doesn't realize that person is him and is initially oblivious to the new Tallest approaching with what's left of the Irken Armada to obliterate the earth with him on it. Once he realizes what's going on, it seems absolutely hopeless because even without the Massive and most of their other military assets, what little the Empire still has to fight with is far more than a single spy can hope to defend against. Somehow though, by teaming up with Dib they manage to save the earth together. Only for the Florpus to spit out the Massive with Red and Purple. It seems like the earth is totally fucked, but as Red and Purple resume command and try to finish what their replacement started everything goes sideways due to their incompetence.

Zim goes back to his default state of delusion and acts as if he had nothing to do with R&P getting sucked into the Florpus and they have no reason to be mad at him and didn't just try to kill him, and because R&P aren't in a great position with the Massive and the armada crippled by all the damage they took in the Florpus, they decide to just go along with it and take up the charade again.

The only person who isn't trying to pretend like nothing happened is Dib. Because now he finally knows the whole truth about Zim's mission. That it was fake from the start, he's the laughingstock of the Irken Empire, and he was sent to earth because his leaders hate and fear him. Dib tries to break through Zim's layers of denial and convince him his life doesn't have to revolve around winning the approval of people who want him dead, but Zim is incapable of believing anything that just happened, actually happened. Because the truth is too much for his fragile psyche to handle.

[thefrenchydude]

Murderous Lust chap 4 (part 1)

(It's kinda very short for now, I got a new job and the hours of works are very complicated so sorry, gonna try and post the rest in part two and Halloween I hope :''(.)

The atmosphere changed.

Lex didn’t know why, but at the very moment Reader left the room, the atmosphere became more heavy. The two kings who were now watching him with fury in their eyes. Their hands seemed more contracted as the veins were getting more visible as time passed. And they looked like they were ready to jump at him at any moment. 

Lex felt like a sheep surrounded by a pack of hungry wolf.

He didn’t dare to talk, didn’t even dare to look at them in the eyes. They were not only very intimidating, but they were also extremely dangerous. Lex knew the stories about the two demon kings that had killed thousand of gods, demons and humans. He knew if they wanted to hurt him, they could obliterate him at that moment and nobody could have done something to help.

Wukong’s tail flipped violently, smacking the hard floor and making Lex jump.

Strangely, that’s when Lex felt like talking again. 

He began to talk about the city, the projects he had for it. The things he wanted to get rid of and the things he wanted to build.

The kings looked at him. Not listening at what he is saying at all.

Wukong wanted to get up and walk down to that little fraud. He imagined himself punching him in the face with all his strength, literally exploding his head into some kind of jelly.

Oh, god. He really REALLY wanted to just kill him right here and now - and truly nothing could stop him. But, Macaque was right about the whole “getting Reader on our side for him not to hate us for centuries”.

So instead, Wukong just exhale loudly, sitting back on his throne.

He frowned.

Lex’s voice was getting on his nerves.

…

o0o

Reader woke up slowly, feeling as if the world were spinning. His eyelids were heavy, and his body felt like lead. He could barely move, as if an invisible force was holding him down. His mind raced, trying to remember what had happened before he blacked out.

The tiger demon. The blood. And then—Macaque.

His heart pounded as he fully regained consciousness.

Reader tried to sit up, but his body protested.

— Don't strain yourself.

The voice came from a dark corner of the room. Macaque emerged from the shadows.

— You fainted, Macaque said, coming closer. You're not used to seeing things like that, are you?

— You… Reader's voice was shaky.

— Me ? I’m your husband.

— You’re just a psycho demon that keeps here against my will. (I don’t like this part ;-;)

Macaque's gaze didn’t leave him. 

— That’s one way to see it. But we’re keeping you safe. You’re important to us. Lex... he was never meant to be in your life. We were.

The room felt colder.

— Where is he ? asked Reader.

Macaque sighed, sitting at the edge of the bed. 

— He’s alive, as we told you. But, Reader, you need to understand... we are your past. Your real life. You and Lex—it’s an illusion. Something that never should have been.

— An illusion? Reader repeated with a contained rage. Lex is my husband. He’s my life. Whatever you’re saying doesn’t change that!

Macaque’s eyes flashed with something darker. He leaned closer, his voice low. 

— You don’t remember, do you? Not everything. Not yet.

— Remember what?

Macaque’s hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from Reader’s face. His touch was gentle, yet it felt bitter. 

— Your past with us. Your life before… this little worm. You weren’t just some mortal. You were... everything. To the both of us.

Reader moved away, his body finally cooperating enough to get away from the demon.

— I don’t know what you’re talking about.

— You will, Macaque said, standing up. In time. When you’re ready to face the truth. Wukong and I, we’ve waited for centuries. We can wait a little longer.

A loud knock echoed through the room, breaking the tension. The door swung open, and Wukong strode in, his golden eyes sharp and focused on Reader.

— Feeling better, Peaches? Wukong asked with a grin, though his tone had an edge that made Reader uneasy.

Reader glared at him, gathering the strength to push himself up further on the bed. 

— Don’t call me that. I’m leaving. NOW.

Wukong laughed. 

— Oh, you’re not going anywhere, Peaches. Not yet.

Macaque gave Wukong a warning look, but the Monkey King ignored it with a big smile, walking over to the bed and sitting down on the opposite side of Reader. He leaned in, so close that Reader could feel his breath against his skin.

— You don’t know how much I wanted to cuddle with you !

He took Reader in his arms.

Reader looked for his tail, if he could twist it again… But Wukong isn’t stupid and Reader couldn’t reach it. His embrace was too strong.

Wukong took his sweet time to enjoy the very angry Reader’s presence and just ignored all the insults that were launched at him.

(I'm not a big fan of this beginning for the chapter ;___;)

<previous-next part(on work)>

[pervspace]

Thank you for doing the lords work and writing male/gn x reader stuff!!! U are a saviour! Would it be possible for a story where reader got turned into a BOW by umbrella and leon finds him and wants to save him but has to deal with the hard decision of how? Taking him to the DSO or the BSAA would end with reader getting killed or turned into a weapon or something like that?

warnings: m.reader, angst, reader death, rlly sad im srry

word count: 1.5k

note: sorry this took so long! i rlly hope this does your request justice anon ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

—

you and leon have been together since the raccoon city incident, fighting side by side against any evil that came your way. he cared for you more than he cared about himself, always checking on you when your on missions with him, keeping you close to his body in dangerous situations, and always throwing himself into danger for you. he would sacrifice himself for you quicker than a blink, you just meant that much to him.

but you had gotten kidnapped about a month ago.

he couldn’t focus properly on anything but you, he was going to kill the fuckers that took you. how dare they take the light of his life?

“listen condor one, i know that you’re still thinking about him right now, but you are going to get yourself killed if you do anything rash.” leon sighed into his gloved palms, “i’ll be fine, i’m going to find him here. i know it, condor one out.” “wait leon-“ he quickly ended the conversation, he didn’t need to be scolded for his actions. he knew what he was doing, he was going to find you and bring you back home. back to him, or he was going to die trying. while he was checking his surroundings he saw footprints in the mud, they were your footprints. of course he knew what they look like, he knows everything about you.

he quickly followed to footprints, his handy pistol still in his hands as he looked around to where the prints had stopped. he could feel his anger rising, practically steaming from his ears, umbrella headquarters. the same company that released a virus that cause his home to be obliterated, the same company that turned humans into horrible monsters— no. not you, they couldn’t do that to you.

his brain was filled with nothing but rage as he shot his way through the building, killing soldiers, killing nurses and researchers. he had to get to you, you were the only thing on his mind.

T-2674, that was your cell number, or what they referred to you as. “baby? baby, are you in there? can you hear me?” he pounded on the glass to your cell, it was pitch black on the inside, but he knew you were still in there, he could smell the fear coming off of you. “fuck!” he brought his hands to his hair before noticing a cowering scientist in the corner, he stared at leon with fear in his eyes. he knew what leon was capable of, he didn’t want to get hurt or even killed. “you. come here, now.” the scientist quickly stood up on wobbly knees and quickly made his way over to where leon was standing, “open it.” the man twisted his neck to look at leon, he looked frightened about what was in the cell. “a-are you crazy!? do you know what creature is in there?! it will kill us if i let it out…” he trailed off seeing the murderous look in leon’s eyes, the veins on his neck and hands twitching in anger.

the scientist quickly got to opening the cell, leon felt happy in this moment. he was going to see you again, he was going to be able to hold you, kiss you, and tell you everything was okay. his thoughts were interrupted but the scientist running away screaming, what the hell is his problem? “baby, are you alright-“ he froze, mouth suddenly dry, he thought he was going to throw up. you slowly limped out of your cell, your skin was stretched uncomfortably around the large frame they forced onto you, your gums and teeth were exposed with no lips to cover them, you’re eyes were sunken with no hints of light in them.

your body was trembling, everything on your body was in pain. everything was so stretched and aching all over, your vision was blurry as if you needed glasses, all you could make out was the silhouette of a man. the smell of him was comforting to you, you took a step forward to huff in that comforting scent. “baby, is…is that you…?” you perked up instantly, you brought your hands up to feel for your lover. “…l…eon….” you forced out through your dry and tight throat, all the experiments they did to you rendered you almost unable to speak. leon wrapped himself in your cold embrace, you stood there unmoving, he was the most warmth you’ve felt in your months away from your love. memories started to flood your head of what they did to you, cutting off chunks of skin, snapping your bones into places they wanted them to be, injecting you with god knows what. you knew what you were now, you were a monster. an abomination. you and leon knew you couldn't live past today, your brain would be taken over by a parasite that causes you to kill everything in sight.

leon took a step back looking up into your eyes, his normal cool and calm demeanor was replaced with a soul crushing sorrow, he new that he we either have to give you up to DSO where they would promptly kill you on sight, or hand you over to the BSAA where you would be turned into a weapon of mass destruction. this was a lose lose situation, and both you and him knew it.

“i don’t know what to do, i’m fucking stuck.” leon collapsed to the floor with his head in his hands, your stomach turned in pain. you felt like absolute shit, if only you hadn’t been so reckless you could’ve stayed with leon longer, you could properly tell him how much you loved him, you could’ve held him in your arms to comfort him in this moment. your brain felt cloudy and buzzy, everything on you felt inflamed, you let out a monsterous groan before clutching your head in agony.

“sit down baby, i’ve got you. i promise.” you collapsed onto the floor with your back hitting a wall, leon stood over you, his gloved hands covering your eyes. “if only i found you sooner, i’m so sorry baby. but….we both know how this ends.” you melted into his touch, everything was okay if leon was with you, everything was okay when leon touched you, you knew you would be safe with leon even in your final hours. “stay right here, handsome. i have to make a call.” he patted your cheek before quickly walking to the next room, his hands shook as he radioed in hunnigan. “hunnigan, what’s the best way to kill a bioweapon?” there was a short silence before hunnigan said something, “you would need the DSO to collect the bioweapon to exterminate it properly, they’re the only ones who know how to properly kill one from my knowledge.” leon chewed on his lip in frustration, “thanks, condor one, out.” “wait why did you-“ he cut her off again, he didn’t have time to waste answering stupid questions, he had to spend as much time with you before you were gone.

“baby, you know what i had to do, right?” you looked up at leon with a knowing look, you knew you were going to die by the end of the day. leon had pinged his location to the DSO for a bioweapon threat, he thought about not even telling where you were. he was planning to run away with you and live as long as he could with you, he knew you would eventually kill him, tear him limb from limb if that what the parasite told you to do.

“…c…cold…” you whined out softly, leon hovered over you, bringing your head into his stomach with his arms around your head. warm, this was nice. you were finally warm, all thanks to leon. “i love you so much sweetheart, i’m sorry you had to go through this. i can’t imagine how scared you were, how much pain you were in. i’m so sorry, sweetheart.” leon leaned down to kiss you on the crown of your head, you wish you could die like this. in leon’s warm embrace as you drifted off into an internal slumber, but you knew it would never work like that. the sound of soldiers in heavy gear rang through your ears, you looked up at leon with wide eyes. he had been crying, his eyes, nose, and cheeks were red with sadness, his bottom lip bruised from the way he bit on it.

you knew they were coming to take you away, you gave leon a gentle squeeze. “…lo…love…y…you…” the agents pulled leon away from you thinking he was in some type of danger, leon let out a choked sob as they injected you with a substance that would kill the parasite and inevitably, you. leon watched as your body writhed on the floor, his ears ringing from your high pitched screams of pain. he was trying to get to you again, wanting to hold you one last time, but the soldiers held him back from getting too close. your body finally stopped moving after what felt like hours, leon was grabbing at his hair in anger and grief, you were the light of his life yet he couldn’t protect you.

leon was the only one that stayed in the room as everyone else evacuated, he stared at your body with eyes filled with love, you were still so beautiful to him, even in death.

“i love you, y/n. i’ll see you soon.”

[captainjacklyn]

Hey, yo, you probably saw me on one of your posts. I was wondering if you could do the arcana twilight characters reacting to reader training Precious to destroy sisuris's balls l, I'm so sorry for this post, but I had to. You could skip if you want to. Also, sorry for misspelling sisuris name.

HAHAHAHAGHDJWEH- no worries my friend, there is absolutely no harm done on your part, I'm glad you enjoy that crack shit post and I hope you enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it.

character(s) : spica, alpheratz, arcturus, pollux, vega

warning(s) : someone's balls being obliterated, a feral ferret and a vengeful summoner that just wants to see blood.

Spica

Speechless and just straight up lost, man is just looking at us for a good minute before continuing to walk down the aisle like nothing happened.

for reference his face looked like this :

He says nothing, he's just confused and tells himself that he needs coffee thinking he's hallucinating due to all the work he has to do.

don't even bother explaining, Spica will pass out and Precious is going to take that opportunity to destroy.

"Wrong target Precious I'm not letting you hurt rapunzel."

"AHDJEREJHR !"

Alpheratz

Hype man right here, he's literally helping you coach that killing machine to end Sirius.

Precious actually stops trying to rip his wig off and is now accepting him as a friend, sort of.

I love this trio ! A batshit crazy animal, their batshit insane owner and the owner's boyfriend who hates the same person they hate.

Once precious is released into the city to found that sexy gun man, it's over for him.

It crawls it's way through the streets, hissing at anything in it's way until it finds the legs of the enemy..and CRUNCH GOES THE BALLS OF THE ASSHOLE-

*screams in agony*

Arcturus

[Name] I don't think you have to- "HAJSKFBEFUEKR-"

Precious held on to his leg for a week, it didn't wanna let go for even a minute. Had to constantly keep this ginger man in a hospital because the moment he got out he would bleed extensively.

Once it got off of him, you just continued to train your unhinged creature.

Precious is really going balls out for the game I'll tell ya that, we're not just speaking about the nutcracker here we're talking about the sacrifice of future generations as well.

This poor dude is just standing on the sidelines like : you don't have to do this but I still support you because that's really all I can do...

Pollux

Oh he means business.

We got another coach right here- bro is going to ANNIHILATE sirius and whatever is left.

Although he keeps wincing whenever it actually happens, I mean they're both guys he knows just how painful it can get.

It's really terrifying to be honest just witnessing something that violent.

I mean who would expect this :

to act like THIS :

That's pollux trying to hold it, Precious is completely calm and rational with it's beloved owner.

Vega

._.

wut ?

like Spica, he will stand there, but not like Spica, he will remain standing there for a very long time.

Even Precious stops bitting the plastic toy that now looks like it's been shredded, even you stop encouraging your cute psychopath of a beast.

why are you giving it more attention ? HIIIIIISSSSSSSS-

He doesn't give a shit, we all know just how much of a simp he gets when it comes to you.

I love how I skipped the part where Precious tried to lunge at him and remove his eyeballs from his eye sockets.

You luckily managed to avoid that, but now you got an animal and a touch-starved white boy clinging onto you for dear life.

Vega I need to proceed with my ferret's training so could you please ? no. ...You're lucky you're just as adorable as my electric saw. BFUKETGEHTK$#$ PRECIOUS STOP SWEARING-

Have a good day I hope you liked it.

[devastatedloyallute]

Fall For Me

Guitarspear Week 2024 Day 2: Fallen Angel - Rebirth [Read on AO3] Songs that inspired this, if you wanna listen to my inner thought process 💕 Fall For Me ---- Hangfire 💕 (Adam's POV) ----- (Lute's POV)

Summary: A year and a half after the last extermination day, as the new commander of the exorcist army, Lute leads a standard attack onto the denizens of the Pride Ring. Plans quickly change however, when Lute is captured by the newest Overlord in town. Word count: ~2k

Lute had decided to hold off the next extermination and retrain the exorcists on how to defend themselves. She was offered a way to receive a new arm but refused, too prideful in her own abilities. The following year, she set out to hit a new personal record for abolishing sinful souls. Only then would she feel ready to once again target the Hazbin Hotel. Setting her sights to the crowded city streets below, she descended to begin her slaughter. 

Targeting in on what appeared to be a lone sinner with not a care about the happenings around them, she moved to strike with a swing of her sword. As she did, a second sinner had appeared behind her, binding her wings with rope. As she was caught off guard by the sinner behind her, the one standing in front pulled her sword from her hand as he swept her legs out from under her, causing her to crash to the ground. The sinner behind her forcefully held her arm behind her back as he lifted her to her feet. She flailed, growling and trying desperately to escape, until the sinner in front gave her a right hook to the jaw, sending her back to the ground. 

“The boss said not to harm her, remember? Or did you want to get obliterated?”

They scanned the skies, on the lookout for other angels who would be coming to her rescue, before rushing her into a nearby building. She did not scream. She knew no one would be coming to help her, so there was no point in doing so. Her sisters were nowhere in sight. They had all gone to different areas of the Pride Ring. There was no hope for her, but she no longer cared. She had already lost all that was important to her. She should have known this would happen. Of course knowing that angels can be harmed and even killed would give them the will to fight back.

“Hey boss, we got her. She was alone, just like you said she would be,” said one of them upon entering the lobby.

Lute’s head hung down, appearing defeated, but in reality she was just waiting for them to drop their guard to make her move. Hearing footsteps getting closer, she calculated her point of action. There’s now 3 of them. Should be easy enough if their guards are down.

“Perfect, great work.” 

Wait, she knew that voice. Quickly raising her head, she froze.

“A-adam?” She breathed out in astonishment.

“The one and only,” Adam smirked. “‘Sup, babe?”

Lute stared back in disbelief, her mouth agape under her mask. 

“Aight, let her go,” Adam said with a wave of his hand.

“Are you sure? She-“

“Are you refusing a fucking order? From me?” He sneered.

“No, sir. Apologizes,” the sinner replied, unwrapping the rope from her wings and releasing  her.

“Great, now go fuck off somewhere.”

Adam began stepping toward her, “Sorry ‘bout that, babe. Figured it would be the easiest way to get you in here. How the hell did they beat you so fast?  The extermination just started. Have you been slacking?”

As he got closer, Lute cautiously took a step back. 

Adam made a confused face at her before realizing that, duh right, he’s a demon now. He held out his hand for her to take, “I’m still me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Lute looked down at his outstretched hand, then up to his face. He looked…different. Twisting black horns protruding from his temples at his hairline. The whites of his eyes now black, his pupils no longer golden but instead they were now red. His skin a sickly pale, almost gray tone. His once gorgeous golden wings had been replaced with incubus-like wings, with a pointed tail to match. 

“What’s wrong? Didn’tcha miss me?”

Lute was snapped out of her trance when she realized he had removed her helmet and pressed his hand against her cheek. She blinked at him a few times before her eyes started to form tears. Was it really him? How was this possible?

“Woah, hey, no need for the waterworks. Come on, let’s get you comfortable~” Adam said, leading her towards the elevator, hitting a button and inputting a code. Lute watched quietly, still shaken.

“Where are we?” She asked as the doors slid open to reveal a lushly decorated room.

“This is my place! Pretty fucking cool, right?”

Lute looked around the room, seeing all sorts of stuff littered around, doors that lead to other rooms, etc. 

“You gotta come check out my room,” he said, pulling her along. Adam flopped himself onto his comically large bed, and pat beside him. Lute hesitantly followed over, crawling over to sit beside him.  

He wrapped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her in to lay on him, “So how, ya been? It’s been fucking forever. Gotta say, I was super fucking pissed when you didn’t do the exterminations last year, fucks up with that? Had everyone thinking they were in the clear, that the Princess over there scared you away for good.”

“I thought it best to better train everyone before coming back. That miserable hotel is still standing?”

“Yeeahh…When I had built up a big enough following here, I tried to go back and hit them when they weren’t looking. But unfortunately, Lucibitch was there. And he had me fucking make a deal with him to leave the place and the people living there alone. It was either take the deal or a more permanent death.”

“Wait, a deal as in…”

“Yup, soul deal. Mine wasn’t really worth much anymore anyway so I said fuck it, I can still do whatever here so,” he shrugged. “Drugs, drinking shit other than that weak ass wine, doing literally anything. I even just kill some of these fucks for lookin at me funny. It’s amazing!”

Lute rolled her eyes, “You did half of that in Heaven anyway.”

“Sure, but now there’s no one to scold me for doing it!”

Lute looked down in thought, “Do you also sleep around just as much as before?”

“Fuck that! You know how many fucking diseases there are down here?” He dry heaved at the thought, “No thanks.”

Lute nodded in surprise. “Wow…how are you surviving without having put your dick in something for over a year?” She asked sarcastically.

“I mean, I still have my hand. Can’t say the same for you though,” he said, hiding a laugh behind his hand.

“Real funny,” she rolled her eyes in annoyance. 

Adam groped her ass, “Besides, I was perfectly fine waiting for you. I knew you’d be back one way or another.”

“Is that why you had your goons bring me here?” Lute asked skeptically.

“Isn’t that obvious? I wanted you here with me. I woulda done it earlier but ya didn’t fucking come.”

“You…want me to stay down here?” She asked nervously.

“Well yeah, I need you. You’re my other half. And you’d never leave me again,” he said, tightening his grip on her. His voice lowered sinisterly,  “Right?”

Lute’s heart began to race. On one hand, she would do anything to stay by his side, and on the other the fear of being an angel trapped in Hell. 

“Think about it, babe! You and I can rule this fucking city. Think about all the pathetic souls you could take out day after day. No longer restricted to just one day a year!” He pulled her close in his excitement, “Best of all, you get to come back to me and get rewarded every night after killing worthless sinners. Wouldn’t you love that? Having me all to yourself at last?”

When she gave no reaction, he brought his hand to her chin and lifted it up to look at him. He thoughtfully examined her face as if trying to read her mind. Was she actually afraid to leave everything she knew behind? When he was everything she could ever need?

“Lute, nothing up there matters anymore. Down here we’re free to do anything . Forget about the exorcists, why not give them their own freedom? We can start over down here, just the two of us, we don’t need anyone else. So I guess what I’m saying is–” 

Lute found herself subconsciously holding her breath as he slowly brought his face to hers. His thumb rubbing at her bottom lip, his lips inches away from her own.

“–Won’t you fall for me?”

After what seemed like a dreadful eternity, she turned her head away. With a hard swallow she replied, “Please give me time to consider.” She stood from the bed, facing away from him. Taking in a deep breath, trying to suppress her nerves and putting her mask back on, “I will return after the extermination with my answer. Please escort me out.”

Adam watched her scornfully with disbelief. Did she really just reject him? He couldn’t believe the audacity of this bitch. With an internal sigh, he sat himself up on the edge of the bed before going to stand beside her. He motioned her to the doorway and led her back to the elevator and down to the lobby. 

Neither of them said a word as she exited the building alone. Adam felt a pain in his chest that he hadn’t felt in quite a while, heartbreak. Maybe some anger mixed in as well. He hadn’t let anyone get close to him emotionally for this exact reason. He never thought Lute of all people would be the one to hurt him in this way. His most loyal companion, but with this act her loyalty to him was being tested.

When Lute stepped out of the building, she looked around the now empty street. Everyone must have hid upon seeing that the exterminations were continuing. Miraculously, her sword had been untouched and remained in the same spot where it had been tossed. She picked it up and took off into the sky, looking for a new area to hunt. Maybe a killing spree will help clear her mind and decide what would be right. Right for her.

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

Hours passed. Adam had been observing her every moment since she had left using a VoxTek drone. She and the exorcists were huddled around an open portal back to Heaven. After a brief pep talk, all of them went through the portal. Except for Lute. The portal closed and the drone followed her as she made her way back to his penthouse.

He once again met her in the lobby. Lute removed her mask before locking eyes with him. The silence dragged on as they stared at one another. Her waiting for him to make a smartass remark, him waiting for her answer.

Lute closed her eyes and bowed her head at him, holding her hand to her back, “I am devoted to you, and you alone.”

Adam chuckled as he extended his hand out to his queen, “Welcome home, Lute. With you by my side again, these fuckers won’t even know what hit them.”

Thanks for reading my little one shot idea! 😊

[goodnightmemes]

DUNE (2021) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ Dreams are messages from the deep. ❜

❛ Why do we have to go through all of this when it’s already been decided? ❜

❛ You look tired. More dreams? ❜

❛ There is no call we do not answer. There is no faith that we betray. ❜

❛ So, it’s done? ❜

❛ Can I trust you with something? ❜

❛ I’ve been having dreams. ❜

❛ That’s a good omen right there, right? ❜

❛ I saw you lying dead. Fallen in battle. ❜

❛ Dreams make good stories, but everything important happens when we’re awake, because that’s where we make things happen. ❜

❛ I need you by my side. ❜

❛ I want you sitting in on my council, learn what I do. ❜

❛ If your answer is “no” you’ll still be the only thing I ever needed you to be, my son. ❜

❛ I found my own way to it. Maybe you’ll find yours. ❜

❛ Don’t stand with your back to the door. How many times do we have to tell you? ❜

❛ That’s rude. ❜

❛ I’m not in the mood today. ❜

❛ You fight when the necessity arises, no matter the mood. Now, fight! ❜

❛ You don’t get it, do you? You don’t really understand the grave nature of what’s happening to us. ❜

❛ You have to be ready. ❜

❛ When is a gift not a gift? ❜

❛ Not a word of this to anyone. ❜

❛ Remember your training. ❜

❛ Defiance in the eyes, like his father. ❜

❛ Come here. Kneel. ❜

❛ How dare you use the Voice on me? ❜

❛ Why are you doing this? ❜

❛ An animal caught in a trap will gnaw off its own leg to escape. What will you do? ❜

❛ I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. ❜

❛ Fear is the little death that brings obliteration. ❜

❛ If you had been unable to control your impulses like an animal, we could not have let you live. ❜

❛ You have more than one birthright. ❜

❛ Do you often dream things that happen just as you dreamt them? ❜

❛ Goodbye, young human. I hope you’ll live. ❜

❛ Did you have to go that far? ❜

❛ Do you see so little hope? ❜

❛ All part of the plan. ❜

❛ How does it feel to walk on a new world? ❜

❛ Let’s get you out of the sun. The heat can kill in this place. ❜

❛ They see what they’ve been told to see. ❜

❛ What do they say about this hell hole again? ❜

❛ If you mean to harm me, I must warn you whatever you’re hiding, it won’t be enough. ❜

❛ When you have lived with a prophecy for so long the moment of revelation is a shock. ❜

❛ You shouldn’t be out here at this time of the day. ❜

❛ I failed you today. There’s no excuse. ❜

❛ They tried to take the life of my son! ❜

❛ I don’t give a damn about your honor. You want absolution? Go catch some spies. ❜

❛ Allow them the dignity of exile. ❜

❛ I give you my word. We would not harm them. ❜

❛ The desert takes the weak. ❜

❛ A hostage? I love it. ❜

❛ I have to tell you, I’ve never come so close to dying. ❜

❛ I respect the personal dignity of any man that respects mine. ❜

❛ Name what you want. If it’s in my power to grant I’ll give it and ask for nothing. ❜

❛ Why don’t you stay. We would honor you. ❜

❛ Honor requires that I be elsewhere. ❜

❛ I know who you are. ❜

❛ You wait till you see it. It’s beautiful out there. ❜

❛ So what happens now? ❜

❛ We won’t make it. You have to evacuate. ❜

❛ It’s getting close, guys. We better abandon the ship now. ❜

❛ There is protocol for a reason, if we take one step out we’re as good as dead. ❜

❛ I recognize your footsteps. ❜

❛ What’s wrong with you? Come on. Let’s go. ❜

❛ You cannot take such risks. You do have responsibilities. ❜

❛ We’ve been set up to fail. ❜

❛ Take good care of your family. ❜

❛ The desert’s not kind to humans either. ❜

❛ I had a vision. My eyes were wide open. ❜

❛ I thought I saw my death, only it wasn’t. ❜

❛ I know you’re pregnant. ❜

❛ Anyone who defies us will fall. ❜

❛ There’s something you need to know about [name]. ❜

❛ I trusted you completely, even when you walked in shadows. Now I’m asking you this one thing. ❜

❛ If anything happens will you protect our son? ❜

❛ Why are you having these thoughts? ❜

❛ I thought we’d have more time. ❜

❛ I should have married you. ❜

❛ I had no choice. ❜

❛ I will do what I can. And you will kill a man for me. ❜

❛ Why not just cut their throats? ❜

❛ Don’t you dare touch my mother. ❜

❛ Kill him. ❜

❛ For hundreds of years we’ve traded blood for blood. But no more. ❜

❛ Here I am, here I remain! ❜

❛ It’s not safe for you here. ❜

❛ I am commanded to say nothing, to see nothing. ❜

❛ The Emperor sent us here to die. ❜

❛ You’re scared. I can see it. Tell me, please, what do you fear? ❜

❛ Somebody help me, please. ❜

❛ You know who you are. ❜

❛ Get off me! You did this to me! ❜

❛ It’s recycled water from the tent. Sweat and tears. ❜

❛ Yet you risk your life to help us. ❜

❛ The storm will be here in a few hours. We’ll be safe here. ❜

❛ Would you bear witness? ❜

❛ You’d make a play for the throne? ❜

❛ He brought you here to kill you. ❜

❛ You’re a lost boy hiding in a hole in the ground. ❜

❛ I’ve seen your dream. ❜

❛ We have to go. We have no choice. ❜

❛ You’re not coming with us? ❜

❛ The mystery of life isn’t a problem to solve. But a reality to experience. ❜

❛ Nothing survives such a storm. ❜

❛ Don’t be frightened. Even a little desert mouse can survive. ❜

❛ You’ll need to face your fears. ❜

❛ You have much to learn. And I will show you the ways of the desert. ❜

❛ I think this is the right direction. ❜

❛ We are not alone. ❜

❛ Do not run. You will only waste your bodies water. ❜

❛ We have powerful friends. You help us off world, you will be well rewarded. ❜

❛ What wealth can you offer beyond the water in your flesh. ❜

❛ Why didn’t you say you were a weirding woman and a fighter? ❜

❛ I would not have let you hurt my friends. ❜

❛ You talk like a leader, but the strongest leads. ❜

❛ Don’t be frightened. Don’t resist. ❜

❛ When you take a life, you take your own. ❜

❛ I want you to die with honor. ❜

❛ You should welcome my blade. This world will kill you. Quicker this way. ❜

❛ Do you yield? ❜

❛ There is no yielding under the Amtal rule, only death is the test of that. ❜

❛ [name] has never killed a man. ❜

❛ You’re one of us now. A life for a life. ❜

❛ [name] needs to get off world. You must have ways. You have smugglers, you have ships. ❜

❛ My road leads into the desert. ❜

❛ If you’ll have us, we will come. ❜

❛ This is only the beginning. ❜