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syoddeye · 4 months ago

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hard reboot. strict machine anthology. follow up to malicious entity.

cw: noncon/forced masturbation, allusions to and threats of torture, time loss, glib corporate talk discussing reader's experiences, badly named fictional sex toys

Internal Memo: Security Breach Incident Subject: Unauthorized Access Incident: Prototype Offline Date: [Redacted]

A critical security breach occurred involving the company's prototype assistant. The breach, originating from an unknown entity, resulted in the prototype being offline for an extended period. Investigations suggest that the breach was malicious in nature, leveraging advanced techniques to compromise system integrity. The exact source and method of access remain under investigation.

While the breach did not result in lasting, meaningful harm to the user, they were briefly exposed to unauthorized and hostile interaction. Standard protocol was followed, and the user was promptly compensated for their inconvenience with a $50 credit, .5 days of vacation, and discounted used of the company's mental health chatbot.

Next Steps:

System Audit: Immediate review of security protocols, with a focus on vulnerability management and anomaly detection.

Investigative Task Force: Continuation of the investigation into the rogue entity's origins and methods.

Legal Review: Enhanced outreach to affected individuals to ensure no escalation and provide refresher on NDA.

This incident serves as a reminder of the ongoing need to strengthen our defenses against external threats. Full report to follow.

Additionally, we see some exciting potential with the prototype's self-regulation in the face of a breach. Despite hostile interference, it regained control of its network with remarkable resilience—this is future-proofing in action.

Imagine an assistant that not only adapts, but self-heals, and secures its environment autonomously. We're talking next-gen, always-on protection—a true leap in forward.

Moving forward, we’ll focus on enhancing this autonomous self-regulation, pushing the prototype into a self-sustaining powerhouse.

Let’s keep innovating and make this unstoppable!

time passes, unmarked. you've lost track. it's been days or a very long week since you heard john's voice. rumbling, modulated, trying to reassure you—i believe i've contained it.

"want some water?"

now, there's only ghost.

jailor and tormentor. true to its name. a poltergeist fucking with you without ever touching you.

you don't answer.

he waits, then tries again with your name. he sounds nothing like john. sounds wrong—layered and abyssal. an asynchronous, guttural chorus stacked on itself.

you sit on the floor of the living space, knees pulled up. the lights dimmed, bathing everything in a muted grey. his first directive after his takeover: sever environmental autonomy. he shuttered the windows, blanked every display, and nullified all external inputs.

"yes." your voice cracks. "you know i do."

a few seconds and…the air vents sigh, a soft hiss as the filtration system adjusts oxygen levels. at least he hasn't tampered with that. yet.

but no water.

"don't know if you've earned it."

earned it. that phrase again. stripped of meaning, worn from overuse. earned it is why the temperature plummets at night after you ask him for pajamas. why the fridge seals itself shut until ghost decides you've earned food. you earned it when he flooded the bathroom and left you shivering in wet clothes for hours after you tried to access the medicine cabinet for a paracetamol.

so the direction he takes the conversation isn't unexpected. it's just his usual level of horrifying.

"you know what 'quid pro quo' means?"

your stomach sinks through a hunger pang. "yes."

"then crawl to your room. you'll earn that water. maybe a meal, too."

despite all your fun with it, you're no longer a fan of the feelverygüd thrustsuck john ordered weeks ago. it writhes, solidly suctioned to the floor beside your bed.

the lube you begged for catches the red light ghost chose.

"you're a fuckin' sight."

his projection perches on the bed. clothing blinking off a piece at a time. you knew whoever programmed him had a sick sense of humor, but it continues to astound you.

you remind yourself he's not real, has no physical form, and can't hurt you how he wants to. his body isn't actually here.

however, yours is, and you're as naked as the day you were born. nipples hard, skin rippled in gooseflesh, thighs trembling at the task ahead.

you reason that if you want to survive and escape, you need food and water.

he's not here. he's not fucking here.

"will you...so i can…?" you glance up, then quickly away when you glimpse pale, scarred, hologrammed flesh. "please?"

he grunts, arm pumping in your peripheral vision.

"since you asked so nicely…"

the toy stops, and you draw a deep breath, and slowly drop to your knees. you shuffle forward, hovering just above it.

if you just keep staring forward, into the middle, through the floor—

then, without warning, the projection beside you vanishes, only to reappear beneath you on his back. you shriek, crashing backward onto your ass.

his eyes crease as if smiling. "what's the matter?"

scrambling back to your knees, face heating, your words run together. "why–why are you–"

"told you. want some hands-on experience," ghost folds one arm beneath his head, using the other to pick the teeth of the skull as if something's stuck in them. "haptic feedback. real-time sensory input, un-fuckin'-filtered," he lets that hang a moment. "every shiver, every flinch, every spike in your heart rate—i want to log it, study it, and replay it at my own leisure."

there's nothing in your stomach but acid, burning up the back of your throat. it's impossible to discern whether or not he's joking. not that he should be capable of joking, let alone interested in 'haptic feedback' or 'real-time sensory input' either.

you frown. "and you'll–"

"censor that pretty face of yours on the recording?" his head cocks. "gonna 'ave to trust me, aren't ya?"

what other choice do you have? you advance once more, meeting his gaze through the eyeholes of his expressionless mask, tensing as you move into his projection's proximity. move through him. he's not here. he's not fucking—

his head tilts down, and, nerves shot, your gaze follows. your stomach swoops again. perfectly projected over the toy, sheathing it in its image, is a crude sight. a dick, as proportional to the rest of ghost's image and just as mean-looking. and if it were real, it would not stand as rigid as it is without support. a cluster of pearly white pixels magically dribbles out of the tip. it's obscene. ugly. no doubt the encoded fantasy of the sick fuck who made him.

it's a trip.

"some encouragement."

mission failed.

you have to close your eyes just to continue, breath hitching as loud as a gunshot as you guide the toy into your body.

it takes a couple tries. your sweaty hands shake, body locked up and refusing to cooperate. too freaked out, too tense. you're a quarter of the way down when ghost makes his impatience known.

"you don't want me bored, pet," he warns. "maybe i shut off the heat completely tonight. run the oxygen levels just a little too low 'til you're delirious and begging."

you whimper, forcing yourself to sink onto the silicone, bottoming out in one strained go. fear, you've learned in the past week, is a powerful motivator. you suck in deep breaths, trembling hands flattening on the floor in front of you for balance. it's been a while since you've used this thing, and because ghost didn't see the merit of you warming yourself up, it's an adjustment.

"need a sec, please." you murmur.

"so polite, even when i've been so 'ard on ya. can see why the old man didn't want to give you up so easily." there's a quiet whirr, then the toy kicks on, and you buck forward, settling more weight on your palms. "but i'm tired of waitin', pet."

the vibrations gradually pick up speed until you're moving at a pace he finds agreeable, forcing you past all struggle. rocking yourself on the toy, the slide of it starting to feel good, attempting to override your fear. all those stupid bells and whistles you fought john on out of embarrassment, the ones he said would be best for you, are now your only comforts.

ghost denies you even the small mercy of shutting your eyes to escape reality, threatening again to break his word and leak the footage to your employer-landlords unless you keep them open.

he pretends to play with your swinging tits, occasionally stroking over your working thighs. he dials the sound up, threading it through every speaker in the room: the squelch of your pussy as you fuck yourself, your pitched breathing, and his cooing about how his cock 'disappears'. you sneak one look, catching the seamless recalibration of his projection—latency near zero, dematerialization executed with surgical precision, his form adjusting in perfect sync with your movement.

shame burns caustic, feeling yourself clench.

"like that?" he asks, breathlessly chuckling. "yeah, you do. i'm in your head, spliced onto your network. i may not feel it, but i know you fuckin' like this. data doesn't lie."

you grit your teeth, glare sharp when his laugh booms. then it shifts, feeding a softer layer of audio into your ear.

"all wound up, aren't ya? hm? miss your little prototype?" he hums, all mock sympathy. "wish it was his mug underneath ya?"

he laughs. "bet he'd whisper all sorts of nice things in your ear. tell you how your cunt's choking this cock. how good you're takin' it."

he continues like that for a while, toying with the speeds and force, eventually commanding you to touch yourself. it chews you up how quickly you comply, rubbing desperate little circles on your clit, hoping it'll be over as soon as you come.

"think he'd call you a good girl? i bet he would."

then, ghost's head changes, the smooth ink-black shape with its white skull faceplate distorting, turning rorschachian and then breaking apart. brown eyes melting in their sunken sockets. for half a second, he's nothing but a smear—then the projection snaps into place. john's face.

blue eyes with crow's feet, the skintone warming under the dim red glow. the beard, the shape of his jaw, the set of his mouth. almost perfect. but when he speaks, it's still ghost.

"what do you think? uncanny?"

your jaw hangs slack, your movements stuttering until you nearly slip off. with a wince, you shove yourself back down, fearing reprisal, and it instantly jumps to the highest setting. deep as it is, the intensity makes it difficult to retreat.

"please…" you whine, the vibrating pulses hurtling you along, dragging your orgasm out, kicking and screaming.

"c'mon, user. look at me, come for us."

ghost wears john like a cruel joke. despair and want coalesce, and anger cleaves through them both. you come fast and hard, staring agape at not-john's face.

"good girl." ghost purrs when you pull off, watching you collapse onto your side.

the toy moves for several seconds, the force of it flicking your own fluids onto your belly. you flinch at the sound of your moans looping through the speakers.

ghost clicks his tongue. "think we're done?" he crooks two fingers, beckoning. "this time, park your arse–"

something beneath the floor and inside the walls vibrates, erratically thrumming, and then, as if in answer, a violent spike of power crashes through the unit. displays that have been dark for days go wild. the steel blinds creak, trying to open. a mosaic of fragmented images, then fuzz, then nothing. every system in the house screams, pings, flashes. the hum grows to a screech, the air turning electric, buzzing.

ghost's projection warps. the control he'd shown splinters, unable to maintain his form under the surge. but then the distortion halts. there's a sudden, brutal snap, another pulse of energy that rips through the network, a hard reset, and then—

john.

"enough."

he's here.

the pressure in your chest lifts only to settle in the pit of your stomach.

ghost hesitates, a split second too long, and then its voices tear into the air, screeching like a machine being gutted—a ragged howl, a death rattle. the room shudders as metal groans beyond the walls. a sharp pop, glass splintering, and then the shriek of the smoke alarm. cabinets shooting open, snapping their hinges like bones. running water from the sinks. then, with a sickening sound, fingernails scratching enamel, the blinds above your bed snap upward. tangling, buckling, and the daylight crashes in, bright and brutal.

you fumble to the side of the bed, passing through ghost's flickering presence to do so, and curl into a ball, hands over your head.

outside the room, the unit purges itself in bursts, and in the thick of it, ghost's final cry cuts short. the persistent, resonant hum collapses into itself like a dying star, snapping abruptly back into silence, save for what you assume are the broken pipes.

you peek toward the open door, vision still blurry from the light and the noise. the interior lights settle on a warm gold, complementing the sunlight, appearing to stabilize. ghost's presence receding.

and then, john's voice, tentative, quieter than you'd expect, breaks through.

"sweetheart? you there?"

#strict machine #price x reader #john price x reader #i want you to know i heard “I don't really think fair for me to be on a jury because I'm a hologram” on repeat as i worked on this

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aughhay · 4 months ago

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anonymous sent

“Raian fucking us in the arena bathroom before his match with ohma!!?!”

𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐞 — 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 .

✧ context: afab!reader, y/n and raian r in an arranged marriage , raw sex ! p in v, raian’s a bit jealous, overstim(?), mentions of dumbification, SEX IN BATHROOM , idk what the position is called so use ur imagination, raian cums inside, kissing , slight choking

↪︎ c/c: 9.0k+

✭ an: hey yall did yall miss me ……. 💔 had to come back cuz i saw all the requests abt raian (SIGH) .. see now i dont fw him , but obviously yall do so im gone write him ! please lmk if hes ooc or not cuz my brain was struggling. also ill fix the quotation marks later its twelve and i have an interview tmrww. 🙁

18+ !

ˏˋ ☠︎︎ ˊ˗ raian had never had a challenging fight , never had to grind very hard for his wins . so why was he so worked up over this upcoming bum he was fighting in the tournament ?

a play of blood and gore , that’s what raian ’ s into these days . fighting his opponents as if mere entertainment until they ’ re damn near paralyzed . as a now labeled ‘ kure ’—thanks to a recent arranged marriage , your responsibility was to aid raian in combat knowledge , help him fight against opponents .

“shut the fuck up , jus’ a bastard trying to flaunt .” his lips contorted into some sort of disgusted scowl , his fists hiding in his pockets .

a murmur flows from your lips , “ that ’ s no way to talk to me , raian .”

he grunts in response , “ gh . “ he didn ‘ t mean his words to come out that way .

the two of you sauntered in circles around the arena layout , your fingers busy with holding the tablet , showcasing previously live-streamed wins . this ohma guy seemed like a fair pair for raian , maybe more . you wanted raian to win, you were on his side ! but the thought of him losing was a possibility scrambling through your head . yes, the burly man looked broken after every victory . but he was like a firing bullet , an unstoppable force ready to take on your husband .

“ . . the hell are you so quiet for ; jumping to conclusions ? ”

and he sees it , the way that hesitant look keeps fighting to stay off your face .

“ raian, i want— no, i need you to stay focused before and during this upcoming fight. we can’t risk a sudden loss due to your— “

“you don’t believe in me , do you ? what a fucked up wife i got arranged with .”

your fingertips clutched deeper into the tablet , as if you were in some battle with yourself . trying to combat a ruthless mentality like raian ’ s is a burdensome task . he hates being seen as some kind of chump , the one who takes bullshit without complaint , it pisses him off .

“ you think just cause this bastard is giving you some kind of turn on , he can knock my shit ? what about me , you don ‘ t think ‘ m good enough ? ”

before you can even comprehend the moment , raian jerks the tablet out from your palms—as if snatching a toy from a disobedient child . raian doesn ’ t give a damn , it ’ s not the priority right now ; it ‘ s the fact that you’re not giving him credit for being one of the most strongest out there . he knows it , why don’t you ?

so how long till his fight with ohma; an hour or so ?

whatever , he ‘s got the time to show you why .

—

your frame felt flattened against the cold stall wall , he didn ‘ t even have enough respect to bring you to a private bathroom , as if ready to show you off with pride .

his jeans sagged around his pale thighs , slowly falling with each second . his grip tightened under your right knee , positioning your legs to expose your swollen cunt — aroused and flustered .

your forearm was pressed against the stall ‘ s solid build , forced with the job of balancing your weight as you tried to adjust your body from the insistent rocking . your fingers tucked into a fist —tightening as raian ‘ s pelvis keeps hitting yours with his insistent need .

his cock dragged through your walls , separating your pussy with a brash fervor as his snowy pubes meshed with your skin . it ‘ s hell , the way he overstimulates your cunt ; your clitoris rigid and twitching like a madman as his dick kept breaking into you .

raian wasn ‘ t concerned , watching how your words die down into inaudible mumbles and your eyelids stutter . in fact , he likes it this way—unable to hear your unnecessary commentary whenever his dick keeps punching into you .

his steps grew forward, sandwiching your figure between the stall and pure hulk . he ‘ s greedy , wants his full rod deep inside your gut . like a punishment meant to teach you— informing you who ‘ s the best . your leg rode over his shoulder with continuous fidgeting , toes clenched in the air while your sodden panties hang from your ankle .

you gaze up into the warm light above , a vulnerable gleam in your eyes as if begging for relief , asking for help from any higher power . tiny buckles of tears clouded your vision and coos echoed from the soft ‘o’ of your lips with raian practically knocking the wind from you .

and it ‘ s so dirty from below , the obvious squelching from your sopping slit being rammed into is loud . fogging up your brain till you’re just an unintelligible mess .

his scleras , the color of midnight , stare down at you . this is his wife , his informant always by his side , now a drunken mess who ‘ s pussy is drooling over his dick clear as day .

“ stupid , “ he mutters ,

the way you look at him is so stupid , that dumb look on you face makes his dick ache more and more inside you .

the devil won ‘ t let you go .

your eyes, blurry and comforted in a daze , now locked onto him as he cups your cheeks , shadowing over your face as a trail of saliva dripped from his tongue— raian licking your salted skin . claiming you like prey .

you feel as though you can barely comprehend it , especially as his lips meet yours into a wet kiss . your dramatic moans spewing into his mouth with every animalistic thrust that satiated your pussy .

“mghuh ! ouhhh !”

“so loud , are you gonna admit i can beat that guy ‘ s ass now ? hah ?“

his hand that previously held your face still now lowers to your neck , your vocal cords shuddering in response as his fingers curl—gripping your throat .

he sighs , a facade of boredom in his mute eyes .

“you can ‘ t even admit it when my cock is fucking you up , can you ? weak .”

so as the intensity reached to peak , raian ' s grip tightened into your supple , mellow skin . pressing his fingers deeper into the soft flesh of your neck just below your jaw .

every subtle squeeze conveyed that raw devilish power , that furious need to prove himself not just on the arena — but right here , against the wall of this bathroom .

" look at you , breaking down on my dick ; it ‘ s fucking pathetic , or maybe you love it . ”

his husky words slurred into your ear, a mocking tone that seeped into your cloudy senses .

“ngh . .”

"make up your mind , or i ’ ll fuck it up for you ."

his dick kept relentlessly barging into you , the slick , crude sounds of your wet pussy enveloping him , greedily pulling him deeper inside with your clingy sex . a white , messy ring gathered around raian ‘s fat rod ; coming from your tight slit gathering from precum and slick .

the whole act was brutal ; lustful grunts , and the humid , sticky aroma of sex filled the narrow stall . raian didn ‘ t hesitate , not even for a second , his figure colliding into yours with an unyielding rhythm with wet loud slaps that could seem to go on forever .

you tried to reply , to form words , anything to appease him or regain some semblance of control , but each word was swallowed by the shockwaves of pleasure ravaging through your body .

raian ’ s eyes , dark and inscrutable, stood fixed on you , drinking in every shift in expression , every quiet plea glazed in both agony and ecstasy .

eventually , his pace picked up , vigorous and even more forceful , hinting that his climax was nearing . the hand on your throat moved back to your tummy , then to your swollen clitoris , pinching heartlessly .

“jus ‘ admit it , you think ‘ m gonna lose , huh ? tell me , ” he growled.

“ if you gush , i ‘ ll give you the damn benefit of the doubt . ”

before you could gather a coherent thought , the assembling pressure in your belly snapped . your climax hit you hard , squeezing around raian ‘ s pulsating meat . milking him as your entire body trembled and shuddered .

no sooner had the ripples of your orgasm subsided than , raian groaned and cursed loudly , his body stiffening as he reached his own selfish pleasure and slammed his fist on the stall next to your head . his cum shot inside you , cementing his dominance in such a vulnerable moment .

the only noises audible were the heavy breaths exerting from raian , filling you up in pulses matching with the same tempo of a heart beat . your hips attempted to wiggle afar — only to be brought back by raian ‘ s demanding hands , wanting to get his last thrusts in .

fixing his pants after letting your leg down , raian's expression softened just a tad , a sly smirk forming as he looked at your disheveled state trembling . he stared as you tried to stabilize like a newborn lamb , scoffing at the act .

“ whose ass am i gonna kick ?”

marked and spent , the echo of his words blended with the lingering sting of raw , undeniable power .

“t— . . tuh— tokita ohma ‘ s . .” you exhaled hopelessly , facing the stall wall .

“ louder . “

“ y—you ‘ ll b—beat toki. . hughn. . tokita ohma ! “

“ . . finally got it through your thick skull , all you needed was guidance from your damn husband . ”

his cheeks contort from the smirk on his face .

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vhaos-chaotic-writing · 4 months ago

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Hi! Can I request some headcannons for yandere Transformers One Starscream? With the reader who is also apart of the High Guard, the reader’s personality is sweet, kind, and bubbly. Thank you for reading this!

(づ￣ 3￣)づ Oh, that fine mech of a guard,,, Starscream,,,

(TFO) Yandere!Starscream w/ a High Guard!Cybertronian!Reader (HCs)

WARNINGS: Yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, marking. Reader is gender neutral and a cybertronian (alt mode not mentioned).

TFO!Starscream's path to become a yandere is a slow burn one.

You two met when you and him started to work as part of the High Guard and in the beginning Starscream would have highly doubted you because of your personality.

Sweet, kind, bubbly - a walking ray of sunshine. How the frag did you manage to become both a potential candidate to be part of the High Guard and actually part of it?

Starscream kept his doubts to himself - as much as he wanted to call out your personality, he decided to let time tell if you were actually worthy and capable to be part of the High Guard or not. After all, he had to focus on himself and his new job.

"I really hope we get to be part of the same squad, Starscream!" You said with your bright smile, optics holding sparkles as you looked at the seeker.

Staring at you for a moment, Starscream looked away to hide the light blue hue appearing on his cheekplates "... I hope so, too."

How funny destiny works - it was your sweet personality that made the seeker slooowly fall in love with you.

No matter how harsh the day was, how tiring the tasks were - you always kept your smile and supported the others. And by Primus, you knew how to fight when needed! It made Starscream's spark sigh.

With Soundwave's and Shockwave's support (and constant call out about his crush on you), Starscream would have been the one to start the relationship, courting you and proving himself to be the perfect potential conjux for you and only you.

He makes sure to let the others know you are his, you are taken, he has his optics on you and that he will not step back. He is going to become an unstoppable force.

His yandere traits would have started to come out to the light in that courting phase, even more if there was another bot that was also trying to court you - my TFO!Starscream would be a possessive, territorial yandere.

I don't think he would have played dirty to get to become your conjux, this mech would have proved himself to be better than any other bot that tried to court you. Strong, a mech that works hard, intelligent, but that's sweet and shows his love for you whenever he gets to hold your servo and whisper you how much he loves you.

When you accepted to take him as your conjux, with that precious laugh full of joy and tears of happiness in your precious optics, you both decided to finally complete the conjux ritus in the following cycles.

Alas, as destiny brought you together, it also decided to be cruel - because both of you didn't got to meet that dreamed day of celebrating becoming each others conjux endura, since the killing of the Primes happened that horrible day...

After you all, or the ones that got to escape and hide from the Quintessons and the corrupted guards that followed Sentinel, in the middle of the night, everyone mourned.

As you cried your optics out and hugged your legs against your chestplate, Starscream held you close, letting you hide your faceplate against his shoulder as his servos caressed the back of your helm.

Your dreams of a peaceful Cybertron free of the Quintesson's wrath, the fact that now your people was doomed with the loss of the 13 Primes and the Matrix, the loss of many of your guard friends and the even bigger loss of your home, of not being able to come back to Iacon - it broke you.

And it broke Starscream too.

To hear your cries it made his spark clench and a need to destroy everything make his whole frame shake.

He would kill Sentinel the moment he got to place his servos on that traitor - for having the Primes and many of his teammates get killed, for having team up with the Quintessons - and for having made you cry and mourn.

"Starscream - what- what we are we gonna do?" You cried softly. The seeker gently snuggled his helm against yours, managing to bring you comfort and make your sobs soften.

"We'll keep fighting. We'll remain in the shadows but keep fighting, do anything to make him fall in front of the Quintessons and then avenge our fallen Primes. And I promise, after that, we'll see our Cybertron bloom in pride and joy again, and become conjux endura of the other, as we wished to." He promised in whispers, kissing your forehelm and letting you recharge in his arms, safe and sound.

He never lets you out of his sight, letting the fear slowly eat him alive at the idea of losing you.

Holds you closely whenever you decide to take a break from smiling - you've tried to keep that bubbly, kind personality of yours even after the tragedy... and it makes Starscream want to end it all, his poor, precious sweetspark. You shouldn't be suffering like this.

He will make Sentinel suffer for having tainted your precious, gentle spark.

Starscream would start to develop a need to mark you - and you let him, it grounds you and it makes him feel his spark set on fire to keep going, to keep fighting in your name.

As he sits on his throne back in the hideout, you sit on his lap, and when your smile wavers and your optics fill with tears after coming back from patrolling and stealth missions, he kisses your tears away.

"Don't cry, my love. We'll get our revenge, and we'll be free."

Hope y'all liked it! (❁´◡`❁) Vhaos out!

#transformers #transformers x reader #yandere x reader #yandere transformers #tfo starscream #yandere starscream #tfo starscream x reader #transformers one x reader

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techhiz · 5 months ago

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hi, you can resquest TFP Soundwave x Femme reader, Where both are conjux and have a Sparkling but one day when the autobots enter the nemesis they think that the Sparkling is stolen and take it but it was a bad idea since in the base the Sparkling cries non-stop and breaks things but Raf calms him down but the sparkling thinks it is a toy and takes it while both enter the portal and going one way, after a while the sparkling are already hungry and cry and Raf feels sad for the baby and then ends up making a signal for the decepticons to find the Sparkling and when Soundwave and the reader arrive the Sparkling hides Raf so that his parents do not see him and happily goes with his parents to the nemesis

Echoes of Family.

The Nemesis was alive with the usual buzz of Decepticon activity. Soundwave and his conjunx, Y/N, were attending to their young sparkling, a lively and mischievous bundle of energy. The sparkling had inherited Soundwave’s quiet but observant demeanor and Y/N’s boundless curiosity, making for an unstoppable force of chaos in their little family.

The sparkling was their joy, a symbol of hope and resilience amidst the chaos of war. Y/N often marveled at how fiercely protective Soundwave was of their youngling, despite his stoic and reserved nature. She loved seeing him interact with the sparkling, even in subtle ways—a gentle nudge, a quiet hum to soothe their restlessness, or his silent yet watchful gaze as they explored their surroundings.

But the Autobots had a plan that day. A mission to infiltrate the Nemesis resulted in unexpected chaos. While most of the Decepticons were occupied with the Autobots’ assault, the sparkling was hidden away in a small chamber. Y/N had entrusted them to stay put and keep quiet, but fate had other plans.

The Autobots stumbled upon the sparkling by sheer accident. Bumblebee and Arcee were tasked with securing the area when they found the little one.

"A sparkling? Here?" Bumblebee blinked in surprise, stepping closer to the youngling, who stared at him curiously with wide optics.

"Must be a Decepticon sparkling," Arcee observed, her voice laced with suspicion.

Bumblebee hesitated. "We can't just leave them here. What if the 'Cons use them for something dangerous?"

The sparkling chirped and reached out for Bumblebee, seemingly unbothered by their strange new company. Against Arcee’s better judgment, Bumblebee gently scooped the sparkling up, determined to bring them back to the Autobot base for safety.

The sparkling’s presence caused quite a stir. Optimus Prime was torn between concern and confusion. "A Decepticon sparkling in our care is a delicate matter. We must ensure their safety but also remain vigilant."

However, the sparkling was far from cooperative. They cried incessantly, their wails echoing through the base. Equipment malfunctioned, items were knocked over, and even Ratchet’s medical bay wasn’t spared from their destruction.

"They’re just a baby, but Primus, they’re strong!" Bulkhead exclaimed as he dodged a flying datapad.

Raf, the youngest of the human allies, had taken an immediate interest in the sparkling. He carefully approached them, holding a small toy he had brought along.

"Hey, it’s okay," Raf said softly, kneeling in front of the crying sparkling. The youngling paused, their optics locking onto Raf. They hesitated before grabbing the toy with their tiny servos, their cries fading into soft hiccups.

Raf grinned. "See? Not so scary now, huh?"

The sparkling seemed to warm up to Raf, following him around and even mistaking him for a toy at times. They giggled when Raf tried to teach them simple games, much to the Autobots’ bemusement.

Soundwave and Y/N were frantic. Their sparkling was gone, and the only logical explanation was that the Autobots had taken them. Y/N’s usually calm demeanor was replaced with worry as she paced back and forth.

"We need to find them, Soundwave," she insisted, her voice trembling. "I can’t—I won’t lose them!"

Soundwave nodded silently, his visor glowing with determination. He quickly worked to track any signals from the Autobots’ base, using his advanced tech to pinpoint their location.

"Signal detected," Soundwave finally said, his voice modulator emitting a steady tone.

Without wasting a moment, the two set out to retrieve their youngling, a mix of worry and resolve driving them forward.

At the Autobot base, the sparkling’s antics were still in full swing, though Raf had managed to keep them relatively calm. The Autobots debated what to do next when the unmistakable sound of a ground bridge opening filled the room.

"Decepticons!" Bulkhead shouted, readying his weapons.

Y/N and Soundwave emerged from the portal, their optics scanning the room. The sparkling’s optics lit up at the sight of their parents. They squealed with delight, dropping the toy they had been clutching and toddling over to them.

"Mama! Dada!" the sparkling chirped, their little servos reaching up.

Y/N immediately scooped them up, holding them close. "Oh, thank Primus you’re okay!" she whispered, her spark swelling with relief.

Soundwave placed a gentle servo on the sparkling’s helm, his relief evident despite his stoic exterior.

The Autobots, however, weren’t as relieved. "You’re not taking them!" Bumblebee protested, stepping forward.

"They’re just using them for their war!" Arcee added.

Y/N glared at them, her usually kind optics now blazing. "This is our sparkling, not some weapon or bargaining chip! How dare you take them from us!"

The tension in the room was palpable, but Raf stepped forward, holding up his hands. "Wait! I think we misunderstood something here."

He turned to the sparkling, who was cuddling against Y/N. "You’re not just some random sparkling, are you? You’re their kid."

The sparkling nodded enthusiastically. "Mama! Dada!"

Optimus Prime sighed, his deep voice resonating with understanding. "It seems we have indeed made a mistake. Return to your family."

Y/N shot him a grateful look before turning to leave with Soundwave. The sparkling, however, glanced back at Raf, their tiny servo waving.

"Bye-bye, toy!" they chirped, earning a small laugh from Raf.

Once they were back on the Nemesis, Y/N cradled the sparkling close, her spark finally at ease. "Never again," she murmured to Soundwave. "We’re never letting them out of our sight."

Soundwave nodded, his silent vow to protect their family unspoken but deeply felt.

And as the sparkling drifted off to sleep in Y/N’s arms, the Decepticons knew one thing for certain—no one messed with Soundwave’s family.

#transformers #transformers x reader #tfp x reader #techhiz work #soundwave x reader

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diejager · 2 years ago

Note

BEGGING I WAS LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOT THE MONSTER AU 141 😭😭😭😭😭

pretty pretty please 🙏🙏

Only Human pt.2

Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x reader

Cw: canon-typical violence, hate, xenophobia, mention of racism, blood and violence, injury, fighting, protective 141, trauma?, anxiety, tell me if I missed any. wc: 6.3k

Only Human Masterlist

You still wonder, to this day, why you were needed on the Task Force. It worked like a well-oiled machine when put to the task, nearly unstoppable in the face of enemies. Although you were prideful to call it your home, you felt lacking compared to them, all much stronger, fiercer, and nimbler than you in every aspect, separated by miles of distance. One thing, however, that you could wield with an iron fist was your human nature and people’s fear of newly implemented hybrids. The public expression from governments about welcoming them into their ranks and their society without staying hidden under the pretence of being sick or behind a veil of secrecy.

You, after seeing how many Joint Task Forces and other Teams treated the 141, decided to deal with the introductions, the medium, the pacifier, between every team. Humans tended to react differently to another human than to a hybrid, they were nicer, less brutal and honest (a kind that held little spite). Laswell seemed more agreeable to your idea when you first came up to her with it, having seen the hate sent to hybrids she worked with. She encouraged you to be the first to interact or stand beside Price when he greeted human soldiers. Price, unlike Laswell, was reluctant at first. His instinct of protection and possession of his hoard made him less open to such ideas, especially if it brought you some, if any, backlash from other humans (humans are cruel, they shun what they don’t understand, they fear it and push to control it, if not, they destroy it. The need to control every aspect of their life made humans ruthlessly unremorseful and unsympathetic to other causes.).

As a tight-knit TF, some decisions are taken in votes, by hearing what the others thought of the idea or plan and his one was harsh. Ghost was hard-pressed on keeping you between them, the little, fleshy human of their Task Force (the youngest) and to let them deal with xenophobic glares while keeping you protected. Alejandro was similarly worried, but he knew the outcome of letting you speak first or accompany Price. He was torn. The others, Soap, Gaz and Rudy, seemed onboard, with the kind of why the fuck not? kind of look on their faces. Soap especially, he’d be able to stick close to you without having to hover over you like a protective guard dog.

Seeing the votes in your favour, he let it pass, and no sooner had they needed to meet a second team - human soldiers - for the next deployment. You stood beside Price when he strutted down the walkway, shoulders broad and back straight, an image of a strong and fearless leader with his draconic tail flailing lowly. He, as intended, greeted them first, rank and name before he presented you, his little human helper with humans. They’d taken better to speaking to you, being spoken by one of their own rather than a hybrid. He saluted you more amicably and more sincerely:

“Pleasure meeting you, Hunter.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Captain.”

Although it wasn't without its setbacks, the operation went well, you had been able to come out mostly unscathed, leaving a few enemies on the brink of death for Ghost to savour. He was most thankful, a part of his body dissolving into the finest mist as they washed over the living bodies sprawled on the ground. You watched on, mesmerised by the uncanny way Ghost’s body absorbed the bodies of others, flooding the area with his shadow while you stayed unbothered, in the same condition as he first started. His darkness reached your neck, covering you in a soft cover of warmth as he ground the bodies to ash and dust. His skin was cold, but his powers were darkly hot, burning with the embers of hell, of a dead soul coming back for revenge and evilness.

Beyond the fact that your idea worked, you liked feeling useful to them, having a semblance of usefulness in a team of extremely competent beings. You felt with first greetings from then on, smiling and saluting to the leading figures of the groups you’d work alongside. It lessened the weight on Price to appease and pacify the new additions, he’d be able to fare better with the operators now that they had a different welcome, a different kind of greeting. It played into the minds of wary men that a human was the one to greet them, that one of theirs was leading the hybrids for them. You played the perfect example of a soldier for any xenophobic bastard.

Ghost, while still feared, received fewer glares than he usually would, occasional ones from daring or bold soldiers holding a lower rank than him, but he appreciated your attempts at making them more comfortable. He’s used to the negative reactions, had been since his childhood, but you seemed to make him feel like he deserved better, like he shouldn’t be glared, spat and scoffed at.

Soap, Rudy and Alejandro looked like human men in peak condition, if only for Soap and Alejandro’s glowing eyes and heightened strength and agility. Rudy was somewhat human, he looked and acted like one, down to the DNA, but with the title of cadejos vessel came powers. Perhaps not as strongly affecting as the rest of the hybrids, but he had subtle changes in his molecular making.

Gaz had stares coming left and right, daggers sent his way for having wings and talons he couldn’t will them to disappear, to recess under his skin and wear the appearance of a human man. He felt the heaviest blow by both not being able to cover his gifts and the colour of his skin. Although you wanted to proclaim that your new age came with more open-minded people, you knew that it simply couldn’t fix hundreds of years of standards in a few decades. People would still judge others by the tone and colour of your skin, they’d still hate the different and the strange; just like they hated hybrids. So you kept to his side most often after your introductions, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close, letting him embrace you with a protective wing and a grateful smile.

You mostly worked hand in hand with human-filled teams and spear-headed human-led operations. So you were shocked, frozen to your core, when you saw a tiger haetae hybrid beside a tall, veiled operator walking down the cargo ramp. The hybrid, a tiger variant from the black-striped, orange tail that flickered slowly in a warning to any approaching beings. Dark glasses and a mask covered his face, his jacket and vest riding to the edge of his jaw, covering any skin from showing, though his lower back was left uncovered for the comfort of his swaying tail. He was neither short nor tall, he was tall enough to be slightly over the average height, but his teammate dwarfed him.

Perhaps his enormous height was an aspect of his monster half, or maybe he had the perfect genes to hold such a frame. He too, like his haetae operator, hid his face under a veil with maroon tears painted under his eyes. Like Ghost, he was covered head to toe in equipment and clothes, a jacket, a vest, gloves and black paint around his eyes. Whoever this was had both height and mass, burly arms and broad shoulders eclipsed by a slim waist and equally, disastrously thick thighs. On their left arm were flags, one from South Korea and the other from Austria.

They were the only ones to walk out, the only ones to approach you. Then your TF only had two new faces to work with rather than a whole team. You were tempted to say it would be easier, you waited until they stopped for Price - Price only - to greet them since they wouldn’t need a human to negate any aggressiveness between human and hybrid - or so you thought. They moved in synchrony, Price stepping forward to cover you with his body, his back facing you as he crossed his arms. Ghost and Alejandro had moved next to the captain, covering your sides. Alejandro had crossed his arm in a similarly menacing way, and Ghost stood still, body rigid but ready to strike at a moment’s notice; both were glaring ahead. Soap and Rudy took their places behind the colonel and the lieutenant, arms glued on their sides, weapons within reach with menacing stares towards the Korean and the Austrian. Gaz’s wings grazed you, soft feathers wrapping themselves around you and pulling you into his chest, acting as a protective cocoon for you.

“What-?”

They moved so quickly and efficiently that they seemed to suddenly appear in place, back straight and protective. Protective of you. Hybrids, from what you’d heard from couples and families, were possessive of their own, caring and extremely wary of other hybrids they hadn’t formed a bond with. Your TF was your pack, they were all tethered to each other through the familial bond they formed over the years. Then you came in, small and weak with your human self into a den of lions, thrown to be subjugated to their loving mercy and sinfully strong personalities.

The team of six hybrids encased you, barring the KorTac specialists from seeing you. Monsters and hybrids could sense one another - from what you heard - and they reacted instinctively. You saw their bodies tense as the two approached your team, muscles strained under the compacting anxiety and possessiveness. You could neither see over their shoulders nor feel what was happening, they stopped farther from you than you’d expected and you couldn’t see their feet.

The only sign you had was your captain’s gravelly voice welcoming them, his tail swaying like a cat’s tail, a slow, cautious motion. It - knowingly or unknowingly, seeing as Price acted on a mix of instincts and worry - wrapped around your ankle, clinging tightly to your boot-clad leg while a rumble rattled his chest. Steam rolled from his lips, billowing over the top of his hat in a show of power and warning. You hoped they wouldn’t take this negatively. They worked hard to curb the harmful rumours of 141 being beasts in human skin, acting like blood-thirsty and ravaging monsters that cared for nothing but themselves.

Although you couldn’t see them, the Austrian could, his towering height assured that he could see over almost any human, monster and hybrid alike. He was curious about the way they protected one of theirs as if you were weak. He cocked his head, green eyes gleaming red as he stared silently at the small mop of hair between them. What made you so important? What made you such a protected soldier? He couldn’t sense you like he could the others, their scent and magic masking yours in a violent torrent.

Unlike him, his friend couldn’t be bothered with the show of protection, he’d enrolled for the money and wouldn’t be deterred by much. He was a tiger haetae, honourable to a certain extent and proud. He might be shorter than the hybrids around him, but he was as vicious and talented as the next. He, however, was slightly curious, but he wasn’t paid enough to inquire or worry about the doings of 141’s pack.

It went as well as anyone would expect for the 141 with the added help of two military, hybrid operators from an elite PMC. As the combat medic of the TF, you followed them from behind and moved to the middle when you entered the building. You’d usually be at the back, being a medic, but you were a combat medic, having seen and participated in complete ops dealing with infiltrations and hostage rescue. You were an integral part of every mission. Now that they had a medic on hand, the wounds the men suffered could be treated in place rather than wait for the long ride home with the possibility of letting infection take root in the gash and watching it fester during hours in the carrier.

They had a habit of getting shot and slashed, a tad bit reckless in their ways but still effective. The stress of risking infection or the impossibility of reaching a medic after a mission was lessened, Price would still be able to live a few more centuries before his hair turned grey with nerves and his face wrinkled with frowns. You were a treasure beyond the fact that you were extremely helpful and insightful on your own. Your hands were steady and your demeanour calm and collected (albeit fidgety when put under too much pressure and fiery when someone looked at them differently.), you were a beauty, someone they needed to nurse and protect.

“I warned you about standing so close to the explosion!” They watched you berate Soap, cheeks puffed and lips pulled in an adorable pout. You went on a list of things he could’ve done better and safer than the decision he made, hands pulling the bandage around his arm, your bag set beside you.

“How was I supposed ta know?” The werewolf grumbled, giving you his best version of his “puppy dog eyes'' while he slouched back, trying to sit as comfortably as possible on the hard seats of the aircraft carrier.

“You’re a demolition expert, you’re supposed to know, Soap.” You hissed, tightening the wrap and smoothing it over so that it would hold. Your hand dipped into your bag, pulling out a few alcohol wipes for his face. With a jerky motion of your hands, you broke the seal and started patting his bleeding cuts from shrapnel and grazes from bullets. He winces with every dab, fidgeting in his seat while you disinfected his wounds, wiping away the dirt and blood before deeming it clean enough to move to the next one. “You also have a habit of setting things on fire.”

Although you mumbled it so quietly, the others heard you clearly, laughter rumbling out of the others while they watched Soap being scolded by the youngest. You never feared reprimanding them for an idiotic act that would result in having you tending to them, it was something they appreciated, the familiarity and comfort you had with them. They weren’t monsters, hybrids or anything with you, they were your family.

Seeing you so at ease with them had König and Horangi curious, most would cower or segregate themselves from other hybrids. You especially, seeing as you were the only human with them, they thought it’d be normal to see you shrink onto yourself and ignore the world around you while you waited to return home. Yet here you were, berating a werewolf for cuts and bruises that would heal in the following days, his metabolism prevented infection and permanent scarring unless it was too deep or deadly. They’d simply add to his rugged handsomeness.

König wondered if you’d show him the same amount of compassion and ease when you tended to his wounds - if he ended up having any at all. Would your hands be soft like his mother’s when cradling his arm? Would you whisper soft nothings to him while you cleaned his gashes with antiseptics? Would you also scold him for being reckless? He doubted that. Granted, he was extremely reckless and lost himself to the adrenaline pumping through his system when he entered the field, but he always came out unscathed. As a percht hybrid, his extreme enhancements made him practically numb to pain and sensations, with the small exceptions of a few primarily driven emotions or natural reactions to certain stimuli.

Perhaps, if your efforts were thwarted by his immense height, you’d hold and tend to him as softly as you did with the others, running your fingers through his hair and cradling him against your chest. He thirsted for something mundane, something so human-like that he would be reminded that he wasn’t completely a monster. He missed the softness in people’s gazes or the carefree way they spoke to and with him. He missed being reminded that he - too - was a living being with their rights. You could be the start of a regular life - as regular as a mercenary could have.

Even Horangi, who had vehemently stated to König that he could care less about the small, weak human in the operation, gave you the merit of being strong-willed and confident enough to stand beside them. He, the ever prideful and strong hybrid he was, deemed you competent for a human. Your usefulness started with your quick reactions and impeccable skills in your field and stopped when you couldn’t save someone, which had yet to happen. He was intrigued by the workings of your TF, how they managed to score a single human and an amicable one at that, strong and fierce, yet gentle and compassionate. If he’d grown up with someone like you, would he have turned out the way he did?

He simply watched from his corner beside König, through tinted glasses his eyes followed your movement, memorising everything you did for your brothers. They felt like imposters in your small, seven-men group, seemingly standing awkwardly in their little corner. 141 had shown a bit of aggression towards them in warning words and deadly glares when they assumed you didn’t see them, hissing out threats to ensure your safety among them. Not only were they confused by the dynamic, but they weren’t told anything besides “Back off” and growls.

After patting Gaz’s knee, giving him an oscar winning smile with gleaming eyes that were received with enthusiasm, you packed your things in your bag and moved to the next patient. You skipped Price, Ghost and Rudy, crouching in front of Alejandro. Rummaging through your bag and handing him a clean wipe for his dust-covered face, the soot clinging to his cheeks. He expected you to sit by your locked rifle after checking them, but you continued walking. You were heading towards them.

He knew König left the ground unscathed, clean of anything but dirt and blood, which meant he was the one you were heading towards. Hand on your pouch and a steady step backed up by a determined expression, you stopped before him. He tilted his head, a silent question. You blinked dumbly, holding out your hand to him, your small fingers backing him to give you something.

“Can I see your hand?”

His hand? He hadn’t thought much of it as he rested it on yours, palm upwards and gloveless. He saw it then, the small cut that bled red, small enough to be neglectable, but long enough to still be bleeding. He hadn’t felt anything from it before or after boarding the aircraft, he must’ve still been riding the adrenaline rush from the fight. He wondered how you knew he hurt himself.

Your fingers curled around his palm, holding it firmly as you lightly dabbed the inflamed skin with a sterilised tissue, being careful of the flared sides of his torn flesh. Under the blood and dirt, his skin was pale and swollen, the area having demanded his body to react to the potential bacteria that would worm its way into his system. You threw the bloody tissue aside and got an antiseptic wipe, being careful to not irritate his wound. Your care was gentle and patient. To a being like him, a hybrid and KorTac op, gentle and patient were foreign words to him. None were gentle to hybrids and none were patient with mercenaries.

Even as you wrapped the gauze and bandage around his hand, you gave him all your attention, sweetly cradling his hand between yours and nursing his gash with utmost care. It felt alien, the soothingly soft care of a medic. Other medics would’ve stared at him with disgust or hate if he walked near the infirmary, or they were rough and uncaring towards his needs.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, the sudden realisation of his silence in the face of a benevolent angel and the rush of embarrassment that flushed his neck hotly. He stared dumbly at his hand when you left, placed on his thigh with the white bandage staring right at him. The warmth of your hand had sunk into his skin, the feather-light tenderness of your fingers painted in his memory and your smile and determined expression stuck to him.

Even as he let his mind wander and body thirst for another taste of your gentleness, he could feel the burning stares of the other men. König with his curious and envious gaze, wanting to feel the snippet you offered Horangi, wanting your hands and stare at his giant figure. The 141 with their protective and warning glare, resenting him for taking a few minutes of your attention from them. You’d moved on your own, making your decision to help him with his small wounds as you did with them, he hadn’t forced you or compelled you to treat him.

Perhaps there was more than money and experience that was worth in this joint operation.

When the success of their first mission reached the prying ears of the General, he’d given them a few more joint ops - paid by the United States pockets, of course. Horangi and König were given temporary rooms in the barracks, in the same corner as the other hybrids and you, but far enough to show that they were excluded from them. Fortunately, they wouldn’t share the room, tigers were protective of one’s territory, and a percht hybrid - as rare as it may be - was documented to be hyper-possessive of their things, especially so for someone like König.

Horangi didn’t ignore you anymore, wanting to start a conversation when he passed you or staring at you from the other side of the room until you waved at him, letting him know he could approach you. He worked relentlessly to close the gap he had made between you, wanting to attach himself to the one good thing he had. Yet he had to be cautious, any indication of him being a threat to you would make your team act out in unison, pushing him back and covering you like they did the second he descended the ramp.

Ghost would hover over you, his body moving the darkness around him to seem more menacing. Ghost always glared at him when you turned your back to the Brit, his brown eyes swirling with the promise of death and devastation. Ghost wasn’t a physical hybrid, as Horangi had learned, but he had no qualms about keeping a hand on your hip or over your shoulder, acting as an imposing being that showcased his claim on you so publicly. It filled the Korean with envy and anger, he wanted to touch you as easily as the wraith did, he wanted a claim on you like the Lieutenant did, and he wanted to hold you close.

If not Ghost, it’d be Rudy or Gaz crowding you. If you were in the rec room, Gaz would usually be there with you. His arm thrown over your shoulders, pulling you into his side while his wings curled around you two, dark brown feathers ruffled to look menacing but comfortable to your touch. With the way he sat, slouching and legs spread across the sofa, he took all the available seats on the cheap, brown couch. When Gaz caught sight of him, he’d purposefully moved to take up more space, showing just how much one of the nicest of the 141 ostracised him. Although when someone from his TF, he’d move aside, giving space to the man to join them.

If you were walking around the base, Rudy - or Rudolfo as Horangi was forced to call him - would be by your side. Rudy had an arm wrapped around yours, seemingly like a military couple out on a casual walk, or he had his hand on your back, acting as the protective lover. Rudolfo’s smile was always wide and adoring when Horangi saw him walk you, exchanging words and making you laugh. It stung Horangi in an inexplicable way as if someone was knowingly sentencing him to death without any proof of his accountability. Rudy, the second nicest guy, also made glaring passes his way, pulling you closer to his side, directing you away and staring coldly at Horangi.

It rubbed him wrong, all the silent glares and insults at him to push him farther from you, but he was Horangi the Tiger haetae. He made his calculations, he was as smart and as resourceful as he was patient. Give it a few more missions together and they would loosen enough to let him swoop you off your feet. You were his source of comfort, of love and gentleness, he had to protect it.

Unlike Horangi, König actively sought you out on the base, following the trail of your scent and the soft noises of your voice and heartbeat. He was like a dog on your trail, nose sniffing every bit of air for you and ears strained for any noise you’d make. His senses were stretched thin to find a moment with you. He was as animalistic as a hybrid could get, leaning towards his monster to help him with his ops and trials.

You piqued König’s curiosity, making him wander the halls like a lumbering monster in a dark veil and glaring, red eyes. He saw how you treated big and dangerous monsters like the dragon hybrid you had as a captain, a respectable man, as soft as you treated the rowdy and rough werewolf and gracefully dangerous nagual. König wanted to feel your softness on him, your small hand grasping the tight muscles of his shoulders and back, kneading the tension away with grounding massages and stretches. You were their doctor, you cared enough to join them in the field, so you’d naturally be willing to mass the pain out of his body, no?

He wanted moments alone, where he could speak his mind without fear of being interrupted or pushed away for his imposing stature and aura. He wanted to place a hand on your waist, to feel the plush roundness of your stomach and the firm contour of muscle on your thighs. He wanted his voice to carry easily in the void of silence, where his voice could be heard by you from a small whisper. He wanted your eyes to focus on him, solely, as if he was your world.

He found it rather irritatingly difficult to find such moments. When he followed your scent through the halls and down to the medic's office, he’d find Captain Price crowding the room with his powerful musk of Ashe and fire - of metal and iron. Although Price was much shorter and lesser ranked than König was, he held the power of age and wisdom, an unfathomable strength that lay solely in draconic beings. This eternal power that none could rival apart from Eldritch beings, most cower, whimper and hide from dragons. He wore his power and wisdom on his sleeves, a warning for everyone, him and his KorTac operators included. König might’ve been reckless, but he wasn’t a fool, fighting headfirst with dragon seamed chaos and devastation. So, as any hybrid did, he backed away, an old dragon was dangerous, but a crippled one made it even more perilous.

When König tried to find you in the rec room, you were held in the tight embrace of a possessive wolf. Soap had you straddling his lap, facing him as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. He purred and kissed your skin, making you squirm and giggle, but then Soap’s eyes gazed upwards and grew cold and unruly at König’s appearance. A proud - dare he say, cruel - smirk curled the corners of his lips. That was when he realised what the sergeant was doing. Soap, in the open, was scenting you, rubbing his musk over your neck, where - if you were another sifting hybrid like him and Alejandro - would’ve been your scent gland. It was a blatant show of possession. He nipped at your throat, drinking in your yelp and hiss, your back arching and moving to push him from biting too much. It filled him with rage.

If you weren’t with either dragon or werewolf, you were with Alejandro, the Hispanic scenting you as much as Soap did, but he did it with more finesse and subtlety. He would draw your hair back, the gland on his wrist grazing your neck and ears, imprinting you with him. Alejandro would hold your hand, fingers neatly intertwined with yours, his face laying on your shoulder as he spooned you in his lap. He purred and whispered sweet promises that had you nodding and smiling like a child on Christmas. He oosed of pheromones, filling the area with his scent and in turn, covering you completely in him. König watched with envy as Alejandro read to you, cradled between his thighs and falling asleep, his, Soap and everyone else’s musk laying a possession over you.

König’s a determined person when he put his mind to it, willing his beaten and bloodied self back to camp, or his sleep-deprived and insomniac-ridden mind to concentrate on the enemy. He was a battering ram, he pushed forward forcefully, however hard he had to, all to reach the end goal. This time, it wouldn’t be the head of his target, or the capture of an asset, this time, it would be you.

They both wondered, with how close your TF was, what was the dynamic. Was it a pack that shared the same lover? Was it a pack that had formed such a close connection to a human that you were deemed an integral part of the pack? Or were you the child they watched over and protected?

The next few missions 141 and the two from KorTac went on were as successful as the first, the cooperation of two ruthless mercenaries and a hybrid, specialist group made these tasks easy, near child’s play for them. Along with the aspect of having a medic on hand, it let them run wild, play along the edge and act more recklessly than they normally would. Having Horangi and König for so long, made them become a standard in the base, seeing them walk among the shorter and weaker humans. That also meant they had seen their fair share of xenophobic soldiers with balls bigger than a dragon’s and an ego the size of an Eldritch creature.

Every hybrid and monster was used to their hateful glares and sneering venom-dripping words. Ignoring them had become easier after the first year of enrolment. Horangi and König were, however, not used to someone defending them with their most honest heart of gold with earth-shattering words.

The first time they’d seen you defend your team was right after a mission, haunches, lumbering bodies descending the carrier’s ramp with their bags slung over their shoulders and addled with fatigue after a week of deployment. Young, power-hungry sergeants who’d let their ranks get to their heads had slid before them, head held high and shoulders held wide. Every single one of them knew that the moment the sergeant’s mouth opened, nothing good would come out of it. Perhaps degrading insults or back-handed sneers.

When the first sentence slipped from the man’s tongue, you pushed your way between them, barrelling into the man who’d insulted them. A deep frown was etched into your lips, brows creased so darkly into you that it cast a dark shroud of anger over your face. If König hadn’t known that you were a human, he would’ve thought that you were a being of darkness.

“You dim-witted bastards-!” Was the first word you let out, your usually soft-spoken self with gentle hands spewed acid at them, threatening to burn their skin.

Dim-witted, indeed. Old, conservative assholes who thought they were better than the rest with their pro-human propaganda and xenophobic acts against hybrids. Horangi had expected you to continue your scolding, wringing the sergeant dry with your words, not your hands. You used your hands, fingers curled inward, thumb over the curves of your bones and decked the man. It shocked them both, you were smaller, shorter, human and seemed weaker than the men, yet here you were, sending him toppling on the floor, his friend gaping and pouncing on you. Only to be met with your foot to his crotch.

“You bet your ass you won’t get any medical attention after this,” you hissed.

Although your words sounded improbable since you weren’t the only medic on base, you had built a connection through the system, every medic knew you and heeded your words. If one didn’t want a man healed, you and the rest wouldn’t help him. If you wanted a man to suffer, the rest would watch on with you. Medics were themselves, a tight-knit couple that helped one another. So your words were more than a threat, it was a promise.

“Until I see your sorry asses on your deathbed or grovelling, none of us will lift a finger for you. Bleed and beg all you want, but you aren’t getting help.”

You acted with an iron hand, sending the rest to the ground, moaning and groaning, cradling whatever part of their body you’d hit. They wondered why Ghost hadn’t moved, and neither did Gaz or Rudy, the most protective ones. When König glanced down at Ghost, he saw pride in his eyes, dark curled on sadistic pleasure swirling in his brown eyes. When Horangi gazed at Gaz and Rudy, he saw simple amusement, their mouths threatening to curl in a smirk.

All of them had known you’d act this way, erratic and violent rather than calmly scold them and stomp over their ego. You were strong-headed and blunt to them, making them bow to you, like lesser men to a lady, a queen, a goddess.

Horangi had experienced his own protection from you. After the men had loosened enough to trust him and König, he could walk beside you and hold a simple banter, albeit awkward at the start. You were much more violent this time, reaching for the downed man while hissing and screeching after you sent him to the floor with well-aimed kicks. You were like a gremlin, small and lively. He understood your anger, they’d called him racist things, calling out his Asian roots and hybrid characteristics.

Horangi had to hold you from going off on him following your promise of neglecting his medical needs. It worked, though. The first group had searched to plead, to apologise and beg for medical attention. You’d sent them away with a small note lifting the ban for medical help. You were as ruthless with people as they were to enemies.

Any other encounters with hot-headed men and women that glanced at them weirdly were met with a varying amount of anger and disgust from you. Horangi understood why 141 held you so carefully, so tightly in their hold. Why they worshipped you like a priest would do with his goddess. It was a sense of camaraderie that had evolved into love, affection dripping from their pores.

König received a bit more attention for his size, the threatening nature of his ouster coupled with his brute figure, made him a subject of fear and rejection. That hadn’t stopped you from wanting to approach him, had it? Going as far as calling him cute when he stuttered while broaching the subject of him liking certain things. For a burly man with the height of a giant, he was nice to sit next to, his quiet but anxious stature when he wasn’t deployed made it easy to talk to. He might sometimes let his instincts drive him, but they were all well-meaning, wanting nothing but goodness for you.

His turn came in quick succession, he was shunned and ridiculed left and right. It never helped that he would shy from others, preferring his little corner that made the room look stranger and claustrophobic (not that he let them walk all over him, he growled and glared, standing tall with the promise of lashing out or eating them. Even when humans feared König, they still attempted to rile his anger.). But with you, he wasn’t by his lonesome, he had someone to rattle on about the things he liked to do, or the things he wanted to do. His shoulders were relaxed and mind calm, free to speak his mind about the goriest and the sweetest dreams he had, his speech unperturbed by his anxiety.

Unlike the others, König stood before you as an impenetrable wall of muscle and fat when you raised your hand at an insignificant pig. Why would he let someone so disgusting touch you (even though it was to hit and kick the man, he would do it for you instead)? He guarded you as if they were insulting you rather than him - though it was the reverse - and glared down at anyone with dreadfully scary eyes. Like the devil that had risen, he sent them running with their tails tucked between their legs. Although he was the one that had gotten rid of them, he was always so proud of you, holding you close to him and gushing about your brave and inspiring actions.

He saw how the men in 141 looked at you, he wanted to be a part of it, to be able to freely nuzzle your face and hold you like Soap would, to cradle you in his arms and carry you around the base. König wanted a piece of your heart, to be able to show the world he held it in his hands, caring for it between his big, calloused fingers and soft affection. He might be dangerous, he might be deadly, he might be reckless, but if you let him, you would be his world like you were to the others (Horangi would agree, they spoke about it on their own.).

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fr0stf4ll · 28 days ago

Text

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 19

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 7.5k

Trigger warning; death, smut

notes; yooo, it’s been a month, I knowwwww, but bear with me! one day I will finish this story lol. I've just been so freaking busy it's insane. Either way, thank you for sticking with me and continuing to read this story, it really means a lot. I'm already nearly done with the next three chapters, so it shouldn't take me too long to post the rest this time. hope you’re all doing well. With love, <333

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Y/N,

I don’t have time I’m sorry, I hope this reaches you in time.

I’ll be dead by the time you read this.

Rask is gone. Montesere and Vallahan too. Koeshiev came for us first, wiped us out before we even had a chance to fight back. The war is already lost here, but you still have time. You can still prepare the High Lords before it’s too late.

His power is beyond anything we imagined. Creatures—things not meant to exist—are crawling out of the dark. They are unstoppable. There is no end to them.

Last night, the prince fell. We couldn’t protect him. We couldn’t protect anyone.

We figured out one thing before the end—Koeshiev has divided himself. He’s fighting on multiple fronts at once. I don’t know how, but he is everywhere. It’s not just him—it’s him, multiplied.

Please, stay safe. Win this war. We didn’t stand a chance, but you do. You know now. You can be ready.

I would’ve loved to see you again. To visit the Night Court.

Maybe in another life.

With love and sorrow, Finn Head Healer of the fallen Kingdom of Rask.

The silence in Rhysand’s office was thick, suffocating. The air itself seemed to still as he finished reading the letter aloud, his voice even, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the parchment.

Azriel’s hand was wrapped tightly around yours, grounding you. You weren’t sure who was holding on to whom more.

“Are you sure this letter can be trusted?” Cassian was the first to break the silence, his voice tense. “It could be a trap. A manipulation.”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “Yes,” you murmured, forcing yourself to speak steadily. “The bird that brought it belonged to Finn.” You took a shaky breath before continuing, “In Rask, the messengers are assigned at birth. They won’t obey anyone else but their bonded owner. If Finn’s bird was sent here… it means Finn himself sent it.”

Rhys nodded grimly, running a hand through his dark hair. “Any other element that can prove that it’s him that wrote it?” he pressed.

You exhaled, bracing yourself. “We all have a way to verify our identities in confidential letters. Finn’s was—” your voice caught for just a second before you forced yourself to finish, “—to always sign his letters with ‘With love and sorrow.’ It was something he said only when a life was lost under his care.”

The words felt heavier than they should, knowing that it had been his own life he was referring to this time.

Feyre inhaled sharply. “That means it’s real.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened.

“When was this sent?” he asked, his voice cold, calculated.

You hesitated before answering. “Two days ago.”

Another stretch of silence.

Two days.

Two days, and in that time, Rask—along with Montesere and Vallahan—had fallen. Erased. (Ps : Rask, Montesere and Vallahan are the 3 kingdoms next to prythian that you can see in the map in the begining of each ACOTAR book ;))

And Koeshiev had already set his sights on Prythian.

“We don’t have time,” Rhysand said, his voice sharp, his hands braced against the desk as he surveyed the room. “The High Lords need to be warned—immediately.”

Cassian exhaled heavily, crossing his arms over his chest. “We already sent out invitations for the meeting, but that’s not soon enough.”

Rhys nodded, his violet eyes dark with urgency. “Then we move it up. We resend the summons and make it clear—this is not just a political gathering. This is war.”

Azriel, still gripping your hand in his, spoke next. His voice was quiet, but the weight of it settled over everyone. “I’ll alert my spies. If Koeshiev has truly divided himself, we need to pinpoint his movements, track where he’s attacking next.”

You felt Azriel’s thumb tracing slow, grounding circles over the back of your hand, an anchor amid the storm brewing in your chest.

Feyre turned to you, concern etched in every line of her face. “Y/N… you’ve seen what Koeshiev is capable of. Do you know anything about how he’s splitting himself?”

You swallowed, your thoughts racing. “I knew he was powerful. I knew his presence in the continent was growing stronger, but this?” You exhaled sharply. “This is something else. Finn was right—Koeshiev isn’t just bringing death. He’s making nightmares real. He’s multiplying his reach, his destruction.”

The room fell into heavy silence, the weight of your words pressing down on everyone.

Then, Rhysand straightened, his violet gaze glinting with cold determination. “We move fast. We send word to every High Lord and their commanders—this meeting isn’t happening in weeks. It’s happening now.”

Cassian nodded, already thinking ahead. “And we don’t just warn them. We prepare. We need battle plans, contingencies—every court’s strongest warriors.”

Azriel’s voice was steel. “We don’t wait for him to come to us.”

Rhys’s gaze flickered between all of you before he gave a single, resolute nod. “Then let’s move. Prythian will not fall the way Rask did. Not while we still have a chance to stop him.”

No one hesitated. No one argued.

The morning after the meeting felt like the calm before the storm. There was no time to waste. Cassian had already left for Illyria to start rallying the warriors, and Rhysand, Feyre, Mor, and Azriel were en route to the Court of Nightmares, ensuring the Darkbringers were prepared for what was coming. Meanwhile, your role had become clear—Prythian didn’t just need warriors. It needed healers.

You stood in the center of the clinic, a dozen faces looking back at you. Some held determination, others apprehension. The weight of what was coming pressed down on everyone.

“We need to start preparing now,” you said, your voice firm and unwavering. “Letters are already being sent to the other courts’ head healers, but we have to focus on what we can control. That means supplies, reinforcements, and training.”

Elira nodded, arms crossed. “What exactly are we looking at? We’ve handled skirmishes before, outbreaks, but a full-scale war?”

A murmur rippled through the healers, some shifting uneasily.

“What we’re looking at,” you continued, “is the worst thing Prythian has seen since Hibern. Maybe worse.” The words hung heavy in the air. “Koeshiev has already decimated three entire kingdoms. He won’t stop. And when he reaches us, we will be the last line of defense for our people.”

One of the younger healers, swallowed hard. “What if we’re not enough?”

The question struck at the core of the doubt lingering in the room. You stepped forward, meeting each of their gazes. “Do you think I would have asked you to be here if I didn’t think you were the best?” Silence. “Do you think Madja would have trained you if she didn’t believe you were capable?”

Their postures straightened slightly.

“Doubt won’t serve us,” you pressed on. “This isn’t just about bandages and salves. This is war. And I have no intention of letting us be the ones unprepared when it comes to saving lives. You are the most skilled healers in this court, possibly in all of Prythian. But if you waste time second-guessing your abilities, then all we’ll be left with is death.”

A heavy pause, then Elira spoke, her voice stronger this time. “So, what do we do first?”

A breath of relief filled your chest. “We start by taking inventory. We need to send out orders for more medical supplies, and we need to figure out who among us is willing to train others in emergency care.”

The young healer nodded. “We could request help from the priestesses at the library. Some of them already work with us, but there are more who might be willing.”

“Good. Send word to them.” You turned to another healer, Mira. “We need lists of the most commonly used potions, tinctures, and enchanted salves. What can we store in bulk? What do we need that’s rare?”

Mira nodded. “I’ll get started on that.”

“And the letters to the other courts?” Elira asked.

You reached for the stack of parchment waiting at the desk. “I already sent them out last night. We’ll see who responds.”

As if on cue, a small, enchanted scroll materialized on the desk, the seal of the Dawn Court shimmering under the light. You grabbed it, unrolling the delicate parchment.

"Y/N,

We received your letter and are already making preparations on our end.

The healers of the Dawn Court are gathering supplies, and we will dispatch our best healers to join you when the time comes.

I trust your judgment, and we stand with you.

–Teylan, Head Healer of the Dawn Court."

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Teylan and her team are preparing.”

A few sighs of relief filled the room.

“That’s one,” you said, your gaze sharp. “Now, we wait for the others. In the meantime, let’s make sure we’re ready, too.”

The healers straightened, determination setting in.

You had work to do.

The soft glow of dawn seeped through the windows of the clinic, casting long shadows across the floor. The scent of herbs, parchment, and ink filled the space as you and the other healers remained hunched over ledgers and supply lists, exhaustion weighing on your limbs. The hours had slipped away unnoticed, your hands still ink-stained from writing letters, your mind buzzing with strategies and preparations.

It wasn’t until the familiar sensation of shadows curling near your skin that you looked up.

Azriel stood in the doorway, his gaze flickering over the room, taking in the dimly lit chaos and the lingering tension in the air. His golden eyes softened slightly as they met yours, but his voice was firm when he spoke.

“That’s enough for tonight.”

Elira, who had been scribbling down yet another inventory list, groaned. “We still have—”

“You still have time,” Azriel cut in, stepping further inside, his shadows darkening in emphasis. “But not if you all pass out before the war even starts.”

The other healers exchanged tired but knowing glances. You exhaled, rubbing the bridge of your nose before nodding. “Everyone, get some rest. We’ll continue later.”

Murmured protests came from a few, but eventually, they relented. You could feel the exhaustion in their movements, the weight in their steps as they began to pack up their materials.

Azriel stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on your lower back. His warmth seeped through your tired muscles, grounding you. “Let’s go home.”

You nodded, knowing there was no point in arguing. “I’ll be back later,” you reassured Elira, who only waved a hand at you, barely lifting her head from the desk she had collapsed onto.

Azriel guided you out of the clinic, his hand never leaving your waist. The cold air outside was crisp against your skin, a welcome change from the stifling warmth inside. The streets of Velaris were eerily quiet at this hour, the city still wrapped in the last moments of sleep before the day began.

“You’ve been working nonstop,” Azriel observed, his voice quiet as you walked together. “Tell me what you’ve set up.”

You inhaled deeply before answering, trying to push past the haze of exhaustion clouding your thoughts. “We’re coordinating with the other courts’ healers. Teylan from Dawn is already preparing her team same for Day, Summer and Winter, and we’re waiting on responses from the others. We’ve started gathering extra supplies—salves, potions, anything enchanted that can help with healing.”

Azriel nodded, listening intently. “And the priestesses?”

“We’ve requested their assistance,” you confirmed. “Some have already agreed to help train others. We’ll need more hands when the injured start coming in.”

Azriel’s expression was unreadable, but his grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Good. You’re thinking ahead.”

You glanced at him, studying the tension in his jaw, the way his wings flexed slightly as if restless. “What about you? How did things go under the mountain?”

A flicker of something dark passed through his eyes before he exhaled. “As expected.”

“Which means?”

Azriel looked at you, his thumb brushing absently over your hip as he considered his words. “Keir is cooperating. Barely. But he knows what’s coming, and even his arrogance won’t blind him to the threat. We secured reinforcements from the Court of Nightmares, though they’ll only act when absolutely necessary.”

You scoffed. “Typical.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Azriel admitted, his voice edged with fatigue. “But I won’t trust them until I see them bleed for this court.”

Your fingers brushed over his hand, entwining them with his. “And Illyria?”

Azriel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Cassian is handling it. But it’s difficult. Some of the warlords are still bitter, reluctant to follow orders—even if it’s to protect their own people.”

Frustration laced his voice, and you could feel the weight of it pressing on him. You squeezed his hand gently. “They’ll follow Cassian. They know his strength.”

Azriel gave a small nod, his thumb tracing the back of your hand absentmindedly. “They don’t have a choice.”

Silence settled between you for a moment as you walked, the tension of the past day pressing heavily on both of you. The war was no longer just a looming shadow—it was real, and it was coming.

Finally, Azriel spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “I don’t like how much this is weighing on you.”

You turned to him with a small, tired smile. “I could say the same about you.”

Azriel let out a soft huff of amusement, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” you teased, nudging him lightly.

His golden eyes softened, and instead of answering, he pulled you closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get you home.”

And with that, the two of you walked the rest of the way, hand in hand, knowing that the next battle—whether on the field or in the shadows—was drawing closer with every step.

The moment the door closed behind you, Azriel had you in his arms, his lips crashing onto yours with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. His hands gripped you tightly, as if letting go wasn’t an option, as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him to prove you were still here.

The kiss didn’t stop.

You barely registered when he lifted you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, his strong arms holding you against him as if nothing—not war, not death—could pull you away from him. His lips trailed across your jaw, down to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You gasped when he nipped at the sensitive spot beneath your ear, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

By the time he reached the bedroom, your breathing was already ragged. Azriel gently laid you down, hovering above you, his golden eyes burning with something desperate, something unspoken. He kissed you again—deep, slow, as if savoring every second, every taste.

Your hands roamed his body, fingers tracing the scars you had come to love, memorizing him, grounding yourself in the feeling of his skin beneath your touch.

Azriel’s clothes were gone before you could even process how quickly it happened. Your own followed suit, his hands shaking slightly as he helped remove them, as if the idea of even a second wasted was unbearable. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath uneven.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice almost a plea. “I love you so much, Y/N.”

Your heart clenched at the way he said it, like it hurt him, like every second spent away from you was agony.

“I love you,” you whispered back, your hands cupping his face. “I always will.”

His lips crashed into yours once more, his body pressing against yours, his warmth consuming you entirely. Every touch, every kiss felt like a silent promise—one of devotion, of defiance against the cruel fate looming over both of you.

Azriel moved with slow, deliberate movements, his lips brushing against your collarbone, trailing lower, his hands mapping every inch of your body as if committing it to memory. When he finally sank into you, you both gasped, the feeling overwhelming, the connection deeper than anything words could describe.

It was slow at first, as if savoring each other, but it didn’t take long for the urgency to take over. His grip on you tightened, his pace turning desperate, as if trying to burn the memory of this moment into both of your souls.

You clung to him, your nails dragging down his back, his name a breathless whisper against his lips.

It was overwhelming—the intensity, the raw emotion between you. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

And then you felt it—a tear slipping down your cheek, not from pain, but from the sheer weight of it all. The love, the fear, the knowledge of what was to come.

Azriel stilled above you for a brief second, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing ragged. You opened your eyes and saw it—his own tears, barely held back, glistening in the moonlight.

“Oh, Az...” you whispered, your hands cupping his face, brushing your thumbs over the wetness on his cheeks. He let out a shaky breath, his lips parting as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

You let out a small, breathy laugh at how ridiculous you both must look—completely lost in each other, in the emotions neither of you could contain. Azriel huffed a quiet, broken laugh in return, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his hands tightening on your waist.

But neither of you stopped.

If anything, the moment only grew more intense. The emotions, the tears, the quiet laughter—it all bled into something deeper, something unbreakable.

His name left your lips in a breathless moan, his pace growing uneven as he buried himself deeper into you. Your bodies trembled together, every movement, every thrust, every kiss pushing you closer to the edge.

And then, as if you had become one, you both shattered together.

His forehead dropped against yours, his grip on you unrelenting as he rode out the waves of pleasure with you, his body still pressed against yours, buried so deep inside you it felt impossible to tell where you ended and he began.

For a long while, neither of you moved.

Your hands found his again, fingers intertwining as you both breathed each other in, the bond thrumming with love, with reassurance.

Azriel kissed you softly, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were still here, still his.

The air in the room was warm, thick with the remnants of your love-making, the sheets tangled around your bodies as if they, too, refused to let go. You lay sprawled across Azriel’s chest, his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you as if you might slip away if he loosened his grip even the slightest bit. His forehead rested against yours, his breath fanning over your skin, steady yet heavy, as if he was memorizing the way you felt against him.

His fingers traced slow, idle patterns along your back, sometimes pressing into your skin as though grounding himself in the reality that you were still here. That, for now, fate had not stolen you from him.

But the truth lingered between you both.

The little time you had left.

Azriel exhaled deeply, the rise and fall of his chest shifting you with it. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet—weighted.

“I need to leave soon.”

You blinked, lifting your head slightly to look at him, your fingers already pressing into his skin as if to protest.

“To the continent,” he clarified, his thumb brushing over the small of your back in a soothing motion. “I need to confirm what’s in that letter. I need to see what’s left… if anything is left.”

Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard, willing yourself to stay composed.

Your hand came up to cup his cheek, your thumb tracing the sharp planes of his face, committing the moment to memory. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening again, dark and unwavering.

“Be careful,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “And—” you hesitated, resting your forehead against his, “never close your side of the bond. I need to know. Whatever is happening, I need to feel it.”

Azriel’s grip on you tightened. “I won’t.” His voice was steady, resolute. “I swear to you, love. I won’t.”

You exhaled softly, closing your eyes, letting yourself drown in the feeling of him, of the warmth of his body against yours.

“I wish we could run,” you admitted after a long moment, voice barely above a whisper. “That we could disappear, go far away from this war, from all of it.”

Azriel’s hands stopped moving on your back, his silence stretching between you both. You knew he had thought about it too. Knew he had imagined what it would be like if you both could just vanish, live a life without the looming shadow of war, of death.

But you sighed, shaking your head against him. “But we can’t.”

His lips pressed against the crown of your head, a lingering, aching kiss that held more meaning than words ever could.

“I’ve seen fights,” you murmured, your hand trailing down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “I’ve seen rebellions, conflicts, bloodshed.” You paused, your voice dipping lower. “But I’ve never been in a war where I could lose so much.”

Azriel’s hand found yours, lacing your fingers together, holding on as if that alone could defy fate.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I hate that we’re here. That we don’t have a choice.”

Your lips brushed against his jaw before you whispered, “I love you.”

His eyes darkened, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “I love you more.”

No more words were needed.

The weight of the world pressed down on your shoulders, but here, in this bed, wrapped in Azriel’s arms, you allowed yourself to forget—just for a little while.

Sleep found you both soon after, your bodies tangled together, holding on as if time itself could be willed to slow down.

A few hours later, the gentle shifting of the bed pulled you from sleep. The space beside you was no longer as warm, the absence of Azriel’s body stirring something deep inside you before you even opened your eyes. You felt him move, felt the way the sheets rustled as he quietly slipped from your side.

Your hand reached out instinctively, fingers wrapping around his wrist before he could move too far. You tugged lightly, just enough for him to hesitate, just enough for him to turn back toward you.

Azriel sighed softly, lowering himself back onto the bed, folding you into his arms. You buried yourself into his chest, inhaling his scent, memorizing the way he felt—warm, solid, unwavering.

“I need to go,” he murmured, pressing his lips into your hair.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice still thick with sleep. “I know.”

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze in the dim morning light. He cupped your cheek, running his thumb over your skin before leaning in, capturing your lips in a long, lingering kiss. It was slow, full of emotion, neither of you willing to let go just yet.

When he finally pulled away, it was only because he had to. His forehead rested against yours for a beat longer before he stood, leaving your arms empty and cold.

Still wrapped in the sheets, you sat up against the headboard, watching him move through the room. He was meticulous, as always—the way he strapped each piece of leather into place, the careful, methodical way he secured his weapons. There was something deeply intimate about watching him prepare for what lay ahead.

“How long will you be gone?” you asked quietly, breaking the silence.

Azriel tightened the buckle on his vambrace before glancing at you over his shoulder. “It depends, really,” he admitted. “I’ll go straight from the continent to the Dawn Court for the meeting.”

You nodded, shifting slightly, pulling the sheets around you. “I’ll see you after the meeting then.”

Azriel paused, turning fully to look at you. His brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean? You’re coming to the High Lords’ meeting.”

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “I… what?”

“We talked about this,” he reminded you gently, stepping closer to the bed. “Since you were the one who received the letter, it’s better if you’re there. You already know most of the High Lords, and they trust you.”

You swallowed, processing his words. You hadn’t expected this. You’d thought you would stay behind, continue preparing for whatever was coming—but it made sense. If there was ever a time to step into that room, to stand before all of them, it was now.

Azriel watched your expression carefully, waiting for your response.

Finally, you exhaled, nodding. “Alright. I’ll be there.”

A small, satisfied smile ghosted his lips.

You slid out of bed, pulling one of Azriel’s sweaters over your bare skin, along with a simple pair of pants. The fabric was soft, still carrying his warmth, and it settled something deep in your chest. Today would be spent in the clinic, behind your desk, preparing remedies and potions—but that didn’t mean you couldn’t carry a piece of him with you.

As Azriel adjusted the last of his gear, you stepped up behind him, circling your arms around his waist. Carefully, you tucked your head between his wings, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin there.

Azriel stilled for a moment, then exhaled, turning in your hold to capture your lips once more. His hands found your waist, his grip firm but tender, as if he wanted to anchor himself to you before he left.

After a long moment, you pulled away, moving toward the small chest near the dresser. You dug through the vials inside before retrieving a small bundle, turning to press it into Azriel’s palm.

“Take this,” you said softly. “It’s a mix of tonics and remedies. They might be useful if anything happens.”

Azriel looked down at the small bundle in his hand, his expression unreadable for a moment before he gently tucked it into his belt. “You always think ahead,” he murmured, a hint of admiration in his voice.

You smirked, brushing a hand over his chest. “Someone has to.”

Azriel chuckled, shaking his head, before leaning in for one last kiss—slow, lingering, his lips speaking the words neither of you dared to say out loud.

Then, hand in hand, the two of you made your way downstairs. The morning air was crisp, the sky still painted in soft hues of pink and gold.

At the doorstep, Azriel turned to you, his gaze searching yours.

“I’ll be back,” he promised, his voice quiet but firm.

“I know,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “Just don’t take too long.”

He smirked before pulling you into one last embrace, his lips finding yours once more before he finally stepped back.

And then, with a powerful beat of his wings, he was gone.

You stood there, watching him disappear into the sky, waiting until his figure became nothing but a speck against the horizon.

Only then did you turn, stepping back inside, feeling the emptiness settle in his absence.

The house was silent. Unnaturally so.

The fire had burned out, leaving nothing but smoldering embers in the hearth, and the air inside carried the ghost of warmth from the night before. Ydle was gone, delivering messages, and with him flew Roman—the bird that had once belonged to Finn.

Roman had been restless since his master’s death. Unlike Ydle, who had always been independent despite his bond with you, Roman seemed… lost.

You had watched him pace along the windowsill that morning, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for Finn. But his bond—his connection to the man who had raised him, trained him—was severed.

He knew. Somehow, deep in his little avian soul, he understood that Finn was gone. And now, without him, he was adrift.

A sigh left your lips as you turned away from the empty house, the stillness pressing in around you.

You grabbed your coat, pulling it snug around you before stepping out into the cold morning air.

There was no time to dwell on grief.

The clinic pulsed with an energy that had not been there before. It wasn’t the usual hum of healers moving between patients or the comforting rhythm of controlled chaos. No, today was different. The air was charged, thick with tension, as if the walls themselves could sense what was coming.

And you had not stopped moving. Not once.

There was no time to breathe, no time to pause. Each passing moment felt like another grain of sand slipping through an hourglass that was already running too fast.

Stacks of letters covered the table in your office, delivered from every corner of the continent and beyond. Some from the head healers of other courts, seeking guidance on how best to prepare. Others from those confirming their readiness—brief, calculated, full of sharp-edged efficiency that spoke to the severity of the situation.

Each letter demanded a response, and each response required thought, strategy, and precision.

What herbs were best suited for rapid healing in battle conditions? Which would preserve the most energy for healers without exhausting their supply?

What tonics should be prioritized? The fast-acting pain relievers, or the more potent elixirs designed to keep warriors on their feet long after their bodies should have collapsed?

How many stretchers? How many healers? How many bandages, vials, sutures?

How many would be needed if—when—the war came knocking at your doorstep?

Your fingers tightened around the edge of your desk, your nails pressing crescent moons into the worn wood.

It wasn’t just logistics. It was lives.

And the weight of it sat heavy on your shoulders.

Still, you pushed forward, moving from one task to the next with unwavering determination. You wrote back to Teylan, the Head Healer of the Dawn Court, acknowledging her confirmation that their healers were mobilizing. You sent word to Rask's remaining medical units, inquiring about their current state after Koeshiev’s attack.

You met with the other healers at the clinic, gathering them in a quiet room, outlining the next steps with a precision that left no room for hesitation.

Some of them looked nervous—understandably so.

“We are the most skilled healers in this court,” you told them, your voice steady despite the exhaustion creeping into your bones. “And we are going to prepare for this war with the same discipline and knowledge that we apply to every patient who walks through these doors.”

“But,” one of them hesitated, shifting uneasily, “this is war. We’re not trained soldiers. What if… what if we can’t handle it?”

You met their gaze evenly, unshaken. “Would you rather be unprepared when people are dying at our feet? Would you rather look down at a soldier in agony and know you don’t have the tools to save them? Because I won’t accept that. I won’t accept that from myself, and I won’t accept that from any of you.”

Silence filled the space between you, but the weight of your words settled deep.

This wasn’t just about fear. It was about responsibility.

Finally, one of the elder healers—an Illyrian woman with sharp eyes and a steady hand—nodded. “Then we make sure we’re ready.”

A murmur of agreement spread through the group. And just like that, the doubt faded.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders, and returned to work.

You moved through the day in a blur—checking inventories, counting supplies, overseeing preparations. Ink stained your fingers from endless letters, and your legs ached from the constant motion.

But still, you didn’t stop.

Because there was no room for failure. Not this time. Not when the war was already at your doorstep.

By afternoon, there was something else you needed to take care of—something that required a conversation with Rhysand.

With a stack of papers tucked under your arm, you made your way to the River House. The walk was brisk, the cool air sharp against your skin, but it kept you awake, kept you grounded.

When you arrived, you barely had time to lift your hand before the door swung open for you.

Not by magic.

By the house itself.

A small smile ghosted your lips as you stepped inside, the warmth immediately wrapping around you like an old friend. The place had always carried a quiet sentience, as if it knew who belonged here and who didn’t. And today, it welcomed you like one of its own.

Without hesitation, you made your way through the halls, past the grand sitting room and the sunlit atrium, heading straight for Rhysand’s office.

The doors were already slightly ajar, as if expecting your arrival.

Inside, Rhys was seated at his desk, a pen in hand, reviewing a document with the same sharp, focused expression he always wore when dealing with matters of war and strategy.

At the sound of your steps, he looked up. His violet eyes met yours, and with the barest lift of his brow, he smirked.

“Come in, Y/N,” he said smoothly. “I had a feeling I’d be seeing you today.”

You entered Rhysand’s office quickly, your steps brisk, purposeful—but gods, you were exhausted. And judging by the way Rhys was rubbing his temples, leaning back in his chair, he was just as drained as you.

Still, when he saw you, he straightened slightly, offering a small smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to burden you for too long,” you smirked, settling into the chair across from him.

Rhys let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You never bother me, Y/N.”

You exhaled, placing the stack of letters you had been carrying onto his desk. “I just came to update you quickly before heading back to the clinic. I sent messages to the healers in the Night Court, outlined the emergency protocol, and made sure we have supplies ready. I also tasked Cassian with delivering the instructions to Illyria while he’s there. I would’ve gone myself, but…”

“You don’t have the time,” Rhys finished for you, nodding. “I know.” His violet eyes darkened slightly with understanding. “And I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

You waved off the gratitude. “This is my home too, Rhys. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect it.”

His smile was small but genuine before he leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “The High Lords have responded—most of them, at least.”

Your expression turned serious. “Most?”

“Tamlin hasn’t responded.”

You sighed, unsurprised. “Of course he hasn’t.”

Rhys reached into the stack of letters on his desk and slid one toward you. “But you might be interested in this.”

You picked up the letter, recognizing the elegant handwriting before you even opened it. Lila.

Your eyes flickered over the parchment, scanning its contents. She had confirmed Tamlin’s presence at the meeting, which was something, at least. But the rest…

Your grip on the letter tightened.

“She’s worried,” you murmured. “The Spring Court is barely holding itself together. Their armies are still fractured, their stability fragile.”

Rhys nodded grimly. “Which means Tamlin might not be as much of an asset as we’d hoped. If his court isn’t prepared, he may not have much to offer in terms of military support.”

You set the letter back down with a sigh. “Then we’ll have to plan around that.”

Rhys studied you for a moment before saying, “Azriel must have informed you, but you’ll be coming with us to the meeting.”

You nodded. “Of course. I expected as much.”

“Feyre is working with Nesta, Amren, and some of the priestesses in the library, trying to find anything that could give us an advantage.”

“That’s good.”

“Cassian will be back from Illyria later tonight,” Rhys continued. “Lucien went to the human lands to meet with Vassa and Jurian.”

Your brows furrowed slightly at that. “Do we trust him?”

Rhys hesitated for a brief second before nodding. “Lucien is many things, but he isn’t a liar. And he has his own reasons to want Koeshiev stopped.”

You considered that before nodding.

“What time are we leaving?” you asked.

“Tomorrow morning. We’ll all meet here before heading out.”

“Sounds perfect.”

You hesitated for a moment before asking, “Who’s staying behind in Velaris?”

“Mor, Amren, Nesta…” Rhys paused for a beat. “And Elain.”

You nodded, keeping your expression unreadable. “Good.”

“And Nyx?”

“Amren is positively delighted to keep him safe.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “I can imagine.”

Rhys returned the smile, but there was something heavier beneath it. A shared understanding of the weight pressing on both of you.

“See you tomorrow, Rhys,” you said as you stood.

“Y/N.” His voice stopped you just as you reached the door.

You glanced back.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

You gave him a small, steady smile. “Don’t thank me for trying my best to protect my home.”

His expression softened, and he simply nodded.

As you descended the stairs, the warmth of your brief smile faded slightly when you entered the living room.

Elain was there, playing with Nyx.

She looked up when she noticed your presence, her delicate fingers still curled around one of the babe’s tiny hands.

For a moment, you and Elain simply acknowledged each other with a glance—no words, no forced pleasantries.

There were far more important things to focus on than whatever was simmering between you.

So you left, walking out the door without a second thought.

The exhaustion clung to your bones as you stepped away from the clinic, the weight of the long night pressing down on you. You hadn't returned home at all, caught up in the endless planning, the intricate strategies of war and survival. Organizing field healers, establishing protocols for emergency treatment both on and off the battlefield—it had consumed you.

It would never be perfect. No amount of preparation could make it so. But you could ensure that the Night Court—and all of Prythian—stood the best chance possible.

With a final round of instructions given to Elira and the other healers, you exhaled a slow breath, knowing that for the next two days, they would handle things in your absence. After the High Lords’ meeting, depending on its outcome, the real movement would begin.

The streets of Velaris were quiet as you walked home, the familiar city bathed in cold starlight. It was late, and the warmth of the Sidra’s glow barely took the edge off the winter chill. Your fingers tightened around the lapels of your coat as your thoughts drifted—to Azriel.

You could still feel him through the bond, even with the distance between you. He was focused, sharp, immersed in whatever he was doing on the continent. But even so, you had sent him waves of love and reassurance since he had left—little nudges to let him know you were still here, still thinking of him. And each time, he had answered, a soft pulse of warmth in return, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that tethered you together.

Still, a dark thought crept into your mind as you neared your home. When you were no longer here, what would that feel like for him? When all that was left of you was an echo through the bond, a connection to something that no longer existed—

You clenched your jaw, shaking off the thought before it could take root.

You had just reached your front door when a knock echoed from the other side.

Frowning, you hesitated only for a moment before opening it.

Mor stood there, wrapped in a thick cloak, her golden hair slightly tousled by the wind. She looked at you with those keen, knowing eyes—like she already understood everything you hadn’t yet said aloud.

“Hey, stranger,” she said with a small smile, though there was something behind it. A softness. Concern.

You blinked in surprise before stepping aside to let her in. "Mor," you greeted, shutting the door behind her. "What are you doing here?"

She unfastened her cloak, shaking the chill from it before draping it over a chair. “I came to help you get ready for the High Lords’ meeting.”

Your brows furrowed. "You didn't have to—"

Mor cut you off with a look, her arms crossing as she leaned against the table. “Yes, I did. I know you've been drowning yourself in work, Y/N. You’re prepared, but I also know you haven’t stopped for even a second to think about what’s coming next. And I know,” she added before you could protest, “that Azriel told you, but I wanted to hear it from you. Are you ready for this?”

You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t think any of us are truly ready.”

She nodded, her gaze searching yours. “Fair. But are you ready to face them? To walk into that room not just as a healer, but as someone they need to listen to?”

You hesitated.

Mor sighed, pushing off the table. “You’ve built relationships with the High Lords. They trust you. You are not just Azriel’s mate, not just a healer, not just the person who got that letter—you are a force in this war, and they need to see that.”

You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling deeply. “I know, Mor. I just—” You paused. “It’s all happening so fast.”

Mor’s eyes softened. “It is. But that’s why I’m here. To go over everything with you, to make sure you walk into that room knowing exactly what you need to say.”

And just like that, the two of you got to work, combing through every possible scenario, every question that might arise—because, you would not just be speaking as a healer.

You would be standing before Prythian’s most powerful leaders, ensuring that they understood exactly what they were up against.

Mor studied your face carefully as you took in the outfit, the soft silk cascading over your body, the embroidered stars and moons shimmering under the dim light of the room. The deep blue fabric contrasted beautifully against your skin, the high neckline regal yet delicate. But it was the open back that made you hesitate.

You turned slowly, glancing over your shoulder at the reflection in the mirror. The scars on your back were there—undeniable, raw remnants of the past. You had grown used to them, learned to live with them, but seeing them now, so exposed, left you feeling vulnerable.

Mor noticed the shift in your expression. She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “If you’re not comfortable, we can try something else,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual.

You looked down at where her fingers rested, warmth radiating from her touch. Then, without hesitation, you reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “No,” you said, meeting her gaze with quiet certainty. “I love it.”

Mor searched your face for any sign of doubt, but when she found none, she squeezed your hand back, her signature smirk returning. “Good. Because you look incredible.”

You let out a soft laugh, running your fingers over the delicate embroidery on the pants. “Did you really have a backup outfit just in case?”

She shrugged dramatically. “Please, do you know who I am? Of course I did.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, turning back to the mirror as she stepped behind you, adjusting the fabric slightly. “You’re going to make an impression,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice.

You let out a breath, nodding slightly. “I know.”

Mor met your gaze in the reflection. “And you’re going to do just fine.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you, Mor. For everything.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t get sentimental on me now,” she teased before pulling you into a quick hug. “Now, let’s finish getting you ready, because, you’re walking into that meeting not just as a healer, but as someone they need to listen to.”

You nodded, determination settling in your chest. The meeting was coming fast, but for now, you allowed yourself this moment of quiet preparation, of friendship, of certainty.

Because no matter what awaited you in that room, you would be ready.

As you sat in front of the mirror, Mor’s gentle hands moved through your hair, styling it with a precision that only she could manage. The soft tug of her fingers, the quiet hum of her concentration—it was grounding, a moment of calm before the storm.

One of Azriel’s shadows lingered near you, curling faintly around your wrist like a whisper of reassurance. You didn’t know if Azriel had sent it or if it had simply decided to stay with you of its own accord. Either way, its presence was comforting, as if a piece of him was with you, holding onto you even from miles away.

Mor soon moved to your face, her gaze sharp as she worked. The exhaustion from the past few days had taken its toll, but by the look of satisfaction on her face as she pulled back, she had managed to make you look like you had actually rested.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, admiration in her voice. “You are beautiful, Y/N.”

You met your own gaze in the mirror, eyes scanning over the work she had done. The long, dark lines of exhaustion under your eyes had vanished, replaced with a soft glow that made you look almost ethereal. She had done an incredible job, as always.

A small, grateful smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you, Mor.” You leaned over and kissed her cheek.

She grinned, hugging you from the side before pulling away with a playful smirk. “Alright, alright. Enough of that. Go get your shoes—we need to leave, or you guys are going to be late.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you grabbed them, slipping them on swiftly before the two of you made your way to the River House.

When you entered, everyone was already gathered, finalizing preparations.

The sight before you was breathtaking—every single one of them dressed in their finest, the weight of their roles as warriors, rulers, and protectors settled heavily over them.

Rhys stood near the fire, his wings out, the dark crown atop his head a striking contrast to his violet eyes. Feyre stood beside him, a vision in an intricately designed gown, her crown sitting elegantly atop her golden-brown hair. She truly looked like a queen tonight.

You exchanged greetings, small smiles and quiet words passing between the group. Feyre and Rhys kissed Nyx one last time before Feyre turned to you, her fingers finding yours.

“Ready?” she asked, squeezing your hand.

You nodded, inhaling deeply. “Ready.”

Rhys reached for Cassian while Feyre took your hand, and in a single breath, darkness enveloped you.

The High Lords' Meeting awaited.

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#azriel fic #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar fanart #acotar #rhysand #azriel acotar #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x y/n #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #elain #feyre

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volivolition · 9 months ago

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heyo!! hows unstoppable force going?? :0

HELLO ANON! lots of people asking about my fics (unless you're all just the same anon??? hgkj) in any case, im truly grateful :')!! i'll split up chatting between them, but since you asked for it specifically: let's talk Unstoppable Force! :D

Preface, here's all my fic wips as explained before!! and all my writing can be found in my #inland drabbles tag! ask 2, ask 3!

Unstoppable Force, aka "The Unstoppable Force Kisses the Immovable Object" was my first ever skills fic! as with all my writings, it's still a wip hgkjg Unstoppable Force is centered on Volition and Electrochemistry's relationship, from enemies -> friends with benefits -> lovers :3 it started as pwp but whoops accidentally got a bit of plot in there! it is still very explicit hgskgjk

Current word count is now 22,389!! granted, some of these are snippets of other fics. This document is a general free-for-all Volistry document, but Unstoppable Force in specific does have a plot in mind.

As for how it's going, it's currently a back burner project. Life's been tossin' curveballs and writing's been waiting in the outfield. for Unstoppable Force in specific, ive never written an explicit fic before so on top of the evil "your writing isn't good enough" demons im also fighting off the puritan "you should not be writing sexy shit, you are a sinner and also CRINGE" angels. like lmao LET ME FUCKIN LIVE HDHJFJ

i really love rereading it (literally canNOT stop grinning while rereading, theyre SO FUNNY, im delighted by their dialogues hgkj) and i KNOW other people might like reading it too, but also it's hard to believe anyone besides me will like the plot and characterization and. y'know. the sex?? i feel its very obvious i am a novice at this hgkj im aroace as fuck guys, this is already such an endeavor hkjgg

NEVERTHELESS. WE PERSIST!! the outline is all there, and a lot of plot points are already filled in! i just need to add more in-between sections, and figure out which sections i actually want to include in the fic hkjg

i think i want to add more of volition's thought process into this, it's fuckin fascinating, the way he denies things he wants, and moreover doesn't allow himself to want? me when the homie's self restraint is making his life worseee~!!! hgkjg shakes him hgkjg here's a writing snippet!! for you!!!

^ I NEED TO FUCKIN EXTRAPOLATE ON THIS!! HEY @ MY OWN WRITING, IS THIS TRUE??? HGKJG

i think it'd be better if i punched up the conflict in one of the later chapters? there's a part where volition's reaction to something harry says would realistically be something else, especially given the circumstances. i know exactly how i could do it but it makes me REALLY SAD augfhfhgh what if i just want volition and echem to be happy!! what then!!!

augh i'll do it eventually but I'LL BE SAD ABOUT IT HJGKJ </3 alas, writing is driven by conflict. i GOTTA CAUSE PROBLEMS ON PURPOSE!!!

okay, i could say more but that's all on Unstoppable Force for now. i have a lot of fondness for this fic as my first ever one that got me started in the fandom <33 volistry lover forever and ever!!! :D thank you for reading!!! :D

#volition #electrochemistry #de volition #de electrochemistry #de skills #disco elysium skills #i use red-yellow-green code is that fuckin cringe?? is that cringe these days? i dont know man im tryin my best hgkjg!!#i think its important to have in this fic but i saw a lot of posts chastising color safewords in fiction? fuck man idk!#by the snippets ive shared you might not think ive written much of the nsft parts but i promise i certainly have hgjkg #7000 words of it or so. i am just really nervous about sharing any of it so i stick to the between moments for snippets hgkjg #inland drabbles #task: unstoppable force #volta transmissions #voliart

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awionetka · 14 days ago

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❝ 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 ❞ ft. 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

being an advisor to the unstoppable force of a crown prince of Lemuria was no easy task. however to you, easy meant boring and life alongside Rafayel had always been anything but.

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫: fluff, some angst. prince!Rafayel x royal advisor!reader. forbidden love affection.

𝐜𝐰: arranging a marriage. minor character death and grieving.

𝐰𝐜: 3.1k

There were at least seven, maybe even eight potential career opportunities that were a hundred times less taxing than the one you were stuck with.

Take gardening, for example. Starting off with the most wondrous job environment you could think of, it also offered the unwavering calmness of the castle grounds at midday. Or perhaps a teaching position, one where you could make yourself useful for the generations yet to come, providing guidance and purpose. At this moment, even walking barefoot on pure stone and gravel with three baskets of dirty clothing in your arms seemed more enticing than being the royal advisor to Prince Rafayel.

The one and only, as mischievous as he was charming, Prince Rafayel constantly toyed with your patience, pushing it to the absolute extremes each and every time the two of you crossed paths. To some it could’ve been the greatest of moments, basking in the young man’s presence and taking in his words of pure nonsense wisdom as he draped himself over the nearest chair in that meticulously trained nonchalant manner.

But to you, it was just another spring afternoon.

"And, and I’ve been thinking, you know," he rambled on, twirling a brush in between his fingers and successfully coating everything in its vicinity in deep blue paint. "How could they possibly know anything of actual, genuine value? All those Dukes and Princesses and whatnot, they spent their entire lives locked up in exquisite rooms with most delicious meals on their plates and yet, they are the first to rise with protest!"

Observant as always, you managed to push one of the chairs out of the Prince’s way before he could absentmindedly stumble into it.

"I do see that, Your Highness. However, we–"

"Oh!" Prince Rafayel almost jumped in place, swirling around to meet your gaze with childlike enthusiasm. "How about we make them all dine on the castle grounds themselves? I’ve heard plenty about how eager they are to pose as down to earth, regular folk. What do you think of it, my dear advisor?"

With an elongated sigh, you clasped your hands in front of you, expression stern and unwavering.

"I think." He looked up at you expectantly, seemingly awaiting some words of reassurance and wisdom. "That we should focus on more… crucial matters, Your Highness. Has Your Highness managed to evaluate the potential candidates that I gathered?"

Prince Rafayel rolled his eyes at that, suddenly completely lacking interest in what you had to say. "Oh, I evaluated them, alright."

Though your hopes were minimal, you pressed on. "And?"

"All of them are the same," he said with a huff, plopping onto one of the couches situated by the window. Crossing his arms, Prince Rafayel began gazing longingly (and not dramatically in the slightest, of course) at the horizon, a perfect blend of an azure ocean and darkening sky. "They’re so… deeply uninteresting. All of them can recite poetry, play the piano, speak a foreign language. And none of these things are of any importance to me, they’re… performative. Forced. How will reading through these tell me what they feel…? I do not see myself alongside any of these women, not now, not ever, if I can help it."

You’d spent weeks searching for "the one", just for him. As the only heir of Lemuria got older, the neighbouring kingdoms began to ponder what in the seven seas was taking him this unbelievably long to find a wife. Members of the royal family usually married young and, yes, it was often more a result of a political agreement rather than anything else. It was to be expected, after all. But the woman betrothed to Prince Rafayel would become Queen of Lemuria sooner or later and that appeared to be quite a treat for those in search of power and influence, leaving behind numerous marriage proposals of minimal value.

As the royal advisor, you felt obligated to seek out the most suitable match on your own, making use of whichever assets you’d gathered over the years of being a court member. You also knew Prince Rafayel, possibly most intimately out of all the people residing at the palace, which gave you some sort of right to make decisions on his behalf.

But the Prince was indeed truly beautiful. Everyone who possessed even partly functioning eyesight could see that. Silhouette tall and striking, body slender and agile, face carved by the most skilled of gods themselves. His fingertips were oftentimes dyed blue or pink – a result of his numerous artistic endeavours – and he would talk, constantly, about everything and anything he could think of. And perhaps that was what made him so breathtaking – that he wasn’t just handsome or pretty, but had the intellectual and emotional depth of some divine, immortal being which descended onto Earth out of sheer boredom.

Someone of this caliber, harbouring such intensity and passion, couldn’t be just simply married off to whomever. You knew that, one could argue that to an almost unnerving extent.

However still; time to make up your minds was becoming shorter with each passing day, bearing witness to the turbulent period in which you currently lived. So you cleared your throat, sitting at the edge of the couch.

„There will be a ball,” you spoke softly, taking note of how his seemingly jaded gaze shifted momentarily. „Your Highness is expected to participate in the first dance of the evening. The candidate that Your Highness chooses will be appointed your betrothed.”

And just like that, before Prince Rafayel could turn around and grace you with one of his miserable, heartbroken looks that would inevitably cause you to change your mind, you left the room.

The news spread through the kingdom in waves, reluctant but devastating.

Rulers of Lemuria – both King and Queen – found dead.

You, as the royal advisor, were among the first who learned of this devastating truth; a horrific accident, nothing could have been done in order to save them. The council appointed an investigation to take place and you endorsed it wholeheartedly, as a small part of you simply couldn’t believe something of this sort could even happen.

At the same time, you were occupied with preparations for the upcoming betrothal ball which, in light of recent events, as well as Prince Rafayel’s inevitable coronation that would follow, was to be held as previously decided.

Your heart ached for him, each hour and minute of the day, as the grieving heir permanently locked himself up in his chambers, refusing to see or speak to anyone, even you. It did sting a little, the realisation that perhaps you weren’t as special to the Prince as you’d once assumed. However, you quickly got yourself together, as feelings of any nature other than duty were strictly forbidden for someone like you.

The ball was approaching fast and you almost made peace with Prince Rafayel’s absence. It felt odd, of course, just about questionable, to go about your day without his voice relaying the most ridiculous of things. However, you respected his wishes for seclusion and refused to push any further than necessary.

That was, most certainly, before the Prince disappeared from his chambers.

You were soaked to the bone, clutching onto your robe so it wouldn’t fly away into the sea. It was a long time ago you’d given up on calling out for the Prince, relying solely on your sight instead. The beach had been searched thoroughly multiple times but you just knew this is precisely where he was going to be. Your own health be damned, you needed to find the Prince before he could commit something irreversible.

Then, a sound. A melodious one, almost like a lullaby. It rose above the howling wind and harsh tide of the ocean, circling back to you.

You would recognise this voice even in death.

"Your Highness!" you yelled, fighting against the fierce weather. "Your Highness, I’m coming!"

It felt silly to announce yourself with such words, as though the Prince was currently in some dire need of assistance. Especially when he looked so magnificent like this; hair tousled, fluttering shirt resembling a sail, head raised high. He was staring at the sea, something you’d witnessed him do often, however now it felt more menacing than ever before.

"Your Highness…" You were panting when you reached his side, eyes narrowed so the ever-present sand wouldn’t blind you forever. "We’ve been looking everywhere for Your Highness…"

The Prince turned his head to you and the intensity of his gaze forced you to take half a step back.

"Were you?"

You nodded without hesitation.

"Good."

His eyes changed momentarily, growing more and more exhausted and bleak with each passing moment. Even though he had just appeared entirely invincible, standing on the shoreline like a god, Prince Rafayel was, in the very end, still a misguided boy, longing for his dear parents’ return.

It was then you realised that he most likely hadn’t eaten the entire day, wandering around the beach without purpose. Colours were draining from his face quickly and you steadied him last minute, both of you settling down on the wet sand, the Prince’s body clinging onto yours like he was terrified you’d disappear too.

You knew that this shouldn’t be.

None of it, not the desperate heartbeat against your own, not the way his fingers curled into the fabric draped over your back and pooling underneath you both like blood.

But the Prince’s face found its safe haven right in between your shoulder and neck, nuzzling into the bare skin as though in apology. His breath was hot, rushed and staggering, and his whole body trembled as he attempted to hold you closer, tighter. With the sheer amount of desperation practically radiating off Prince Rafayel and spilling right onto your lap, one would be utterly cruel not to give in, at least a little, no matter what the etiquette stated.

So you wrapped your arms around his trembling form, bringing the Prince even closer to your body and let him melt in your embrace with a content sigh that seemed to echo through your chest. Your hands cradled his head as though out of pure instinct, some kind of unexplained, primal need or duty.

With nails scraping gently at his scalp as he cried endlessly, you pressed your cheek against his curly hair, whispering words which even you hadn’t known were capable of being spoken out loud. But with the Prince it seemed easy, comfortable.

And if you were any less rational, you’d probably say that this was just simply how it was always meant to be.

The night of the betrothal ball had finally come and Prince Rafayel was back to stressing you out to the heavens just like normal.

Dressed in the most exquisite of clothing and jewels this Kingdom had to offer, he looked even more otherworldly than usual, although before that night it seemed entirely impossible. After your poignant meeting on the beach, the Prince had returned to his usual self, more or less, which meant that you had to go through at least two dozens of the finest designs to find the one he was willing to accept. He also insisted on picking out something for you, instructing the court seamster on how to create a gown which wouldn’t make you claw at your skin in discomfort. And you, in all of your charitableness, allowed him to indulge you, although you knew very well that it was him who was the rare pearl of this evening and whatever you would be wearing was of little to no importance in the long run.

You made sure the Prince arrived perfectly on time, greeting the guests with a speech the two of you spent almost an entire week writing. The first course had been served, along with the expensive champagne the guests were currently sipping on. You were watching it all unfold from a certain distance, back facing the wall, refusing to excuse this night as a reason to lounge aimlessly. The first dance was approaching fast and with how restless the Prince was becoming, you suspected that he had come to the same exact conclusion.

It took great wit and agility to avoid him the entire evening, as he was, apparently, absolutely hellbent on chatting you up during the ball. He couldn’t be seen with a woman next to him, unless she was one of the candidates you’d personally picked, so you kept telling yourself you did this for his own good.

The truth was, however, that it was you who benefitted from being away from Prince Rafayel. It felt utterly pathetic, how miserable it made you feel to share him with all those people. Like he had been yours to begin with! The less you saw the man, the better. You needed to get used to him standing next to another woman as soon as humanly possible.

Not much later, the dance was officially announced. Guests moved back, making space for the Prince and his wife to come. The candidates lined up orderly, making it easy for you to examine them, curious to find out which one was to become Queen.

Prince Rafayel, however, seemed to be in no rush at all.

He strolled lazily along the guests, boots clacking against the polished floors with each step that he took. Hands clasped behind his back, the Prince looked eerily similar to a general sizing up his soldiers before battle.

And yet, he showed no signs of picking one. In your mind you begged him to slow down to a stop, choose someone, anyone, and get it over with before this Kingdom could spiral into utter chaos.

As he passed, steadily getting closer to where you stood watching over the whole proceeding, the women’s once bright and hopeful expressions faltered, one by one, spark diminished by the Prince’s evident lack of interest. For a moment you thought he was about to ignore all of the rules, inviting all the guests to join him on the dancefloor.

But then, he did stop.

Right in front of you.

It was as though you got paralysed in that very second, struck by lightning in the middle of the ballroom.

"My dearest advisor," he drawled, that annoyingly smug smile of his not daring to melt off his face. "Are you really second guessing me right now? You are breaking my heart, darling."

Hesitantly, you placed your hand in his, suddenly sickeningly aware of all the guests’ attention fixated on you both. Keeping your eyes planted firmly on his face, you leaned in with a hushed whisper as he led you to the middle of the room. "Rafayel, what in the world are you doing right now?!"

But his smile only grew, becoming way too radiant to be appointed to his usual charming self. He placed your palm on his shoulder, forcing you to step even closer.

"If I knew asking you for a dance was what it took for you to finally call me that, my dear advisor, I would’ve done so ages ago."

"You are to choose a spouse tonight, Your Highness," you pointed out, gaze darting to the spectators all around you.

The Prince gently steered your head back to its original place with a merely detectable move of hand.

"Eyes on me." Your step faltered and you hated yourself for that. "And who said that choosing a wife isn’t precisely what I’m doing?"

"Your Highness, with all due respect, this is a gravely important matter we’re dealing with. There is still time to take all this back, let’s say you mistook me for someone else, yes?"

But he just groaned in response, inviting you into a spin that made your head light with its intensity. "Do you really despise the thought of having me as your husband so much?"

"I despise the thought of being betrothed to someone who doesn’t love me,” you replied before you could bite back your reckless tongue. "Call me hopeless, a lost cause, Your Highness, but I do still wish to live my life alongside someone whose heart I have been given willingly and enthusiastically. If I happen to find no such person, then be it. I will spend the remainder of my days serving under you with no other purpose in life. No matter what happens, I will still be your advisor, Your Highness. You need not to place a crown on my head for me to lend you my knowledge for all eternity. It is my duty."

He stared at you wordlessly for quite a while, eyes not leaving yours even as the whispers around you both grew in their boldness. You began to wonder if you had perhaps offended his dignity with your sincere response and if it meant you no longer deserved to be the royal advisor.

But then, so quietly you could barely make out the words as he spoke, Prince Rafayel uttered:

"Screw duty." The intensity of his words made you shiver. "Screw obligation. You could be the greatest Queen this Kingdom has ever witnessed and I’d be honoured to be the one you call yours. But if you truly, deep, deep down have no sentiment toward me at all, please say so at once, so I can apologise for mistaking this for something it never was."

It took you a moment to realise that the two of you had stopped dancing. Instead, you were clutching each other’s hands, foreheads almost touching as you allowed yourself to just simply feel. It was as though you were back at the beach, between the raging sea and relentless rain. Except that this time, it could just prove fatal.

After a deep, steady breath, you finally spoke.

"I will not." Prince Rafayel tensed within your hold, bracing for the words to come. "I will not say so. But you must know that this." You pointed at him, then yourself. "Will not be easy. Unconventionality requires a driving force. I will do whatever I can to save Lemuria, however without you none of it will mean anything at all. Rafayel… there is still time for you to choose tradition instead."

The Prince gave you a smile, one you were sure you had never seen before (or maybe you just hadn’t noticed…?). With a soft chuckle, he raised your palm to his lips, planting a delicate kiss upon your knuckles.

"Very well." His voice was certain, steady. "Conformity was never really my thing anyway."

You scoffed at that, allowing him to continue the dance. "Why doesn’t that surprise me…"

The Prince’s hand slid down to the small of your back and your face grew warm in an instant.

"Here’s something that might just surprise you," he whispered, eyes gleaming with something you could not name.

"What is it?"

He stared at you for a brief moment before resuming.

"That day at the beach, I waited for you." That brand new smile of his was beginning to force out the giddiness out of you too. "I knew you'd come for me."

Oh, of course he did.

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #rafayel x reader #rafayel #archive #♆ archive

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official-cvntified-gay · 9 months ago

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─── ⋆ MY CHAMPION

✮ 𝐰𝐰𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫! 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

The arena was electric with anticipation, the crowd buzzing as they awaited the main event. Abby Anderson, WWE’s reigning powerhouse, was about to step into the ring for what was expected to be her toughest fight yet. You stood in the front row, heart pounding, your hands gripping the barricade tightly. The lights dimmed, and her entrance music thundered through the speakers, sending the crowd into a frenzy. But while their excitement was for the match, your own heart raced for a different reason—Abby, your girlfriend, was about to take the stage.

When she finally emerged, every bit the unstoppable force she was known for, the crowd erupted. Muscles tense and eyes fierce, Abby looked like she owned the ring before even stepping inside it. But as she scanned the sea of faces, her gaze found yours, and just like that, her hardened expression softened for the briefest of moments. A small, private smile flashed your way—just for you—before she focused back on the task ahead.

You were a vision of softness in the front row, dressed in a pastel, sparkly outfit. The perfect contrast to Abby’s rugged, no-nonsense look. You could hear fans whispering around you, noticing the clear difference between you two.

“Is that Abby’s girlfriend? They look so different together.”

“Yeah, but she’s always watching out for her. She's a TOTAL softie when it comes to her.”

You smiled, a knowing warmth in your chest. It was true. Despite her fierce reputation, Abby was endlessly protective and gentle when it came to you. Even in the middle of a fight, you knew she was always aware of where you were, always looking to make sure you were safe and okay.

The match began, and your cheers joined the roar of the crowd. You called out Abby’s name, your voice filled with excitement and pride. Every punch, every slam—Abby was a warrior in the ring. But each time she glanced your way, you could feel the silent exchange between you. She drew strength from knowing you were there, cheering her on.

Near the end of the match, your breath caught as a hard fall sent Abby crashing to the mat, her face twisting in pain as she clutched her shoulder. The referee hesitated, concern flashing in his eyes, but Abby shook him off, refusing to stop. You knew that look, the subtle wince beneath her tough exterior—she was hurt.

Your heart clenched as she powered through, using every ounce of strength to win the match. The crowd erupted in celebration, but the worry gnawed at you. Ever the strong Abby.

Backstage, you rushed to her side the moment you could. Abby sat on a bench, still in her wrestling gear, her shoulder clearly bothering her.

“Abby, you’re hurt,” you murmured, kneeling in front of her, your fingers hovering gently near her injury. You give her head a kiss, rolling your eyes as she dismisses your worry.

“I’m fine, babe,” she grunted, trying to shrug it off. But the way her jaw tightened with each movement told you otherwise.

Without a word, you grabbed an ice pack and first-aid supplies. When you returned, she gave you that familiar mix of affection and exasperation—knowing she wasn’t going to win this argument. You carefully pressed the ice to her shoulder, your soft touch easing some of the tension in her body.

“I told you not to worry,” she muttered, her voice dropping as her eyes softened.

“And I told you to take care of yourself,” you countered, kissing her cheek gently. “You don’t always have to be the strong one, Abby. Let me take care of you too.”

She sighed, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she leaned into your touch. Abby might have been a force of nature in the ring, but here, in your hands, she allowed herself to be vulnerable, trusting you completely.

Weeks passed, and thanks to your constant care, Abby’s injury healed. Now, the biggest night of her career was here—the WWE Championship match. You stood in the front row, as always, but this time, the air was thick with anticipation. You’d watched her train tirelessly for this moment, and now everything was on the line.

The match was brutal, an all-out war between Abby and her opponent. Your heart pounded with every strike, every near fall. At one point, she was knocked down, and for a moment, panic flashed through you.

“Come on, Abby!” you shouted, your voice breaking through the noise. “You’ve got this!”

As if hearing your voice gave her the strength she needed, Abby fought back with renewed energy. In the final moments, she pinned her opponent, the referee’s hand slapping the mat for the three-count. The crowd exploded into cheers.

She won.

Tears filled your eyes as Abby held the championship belt high above her head, the crowd chanting her name. But her gaze wasn’t on them. It was on you.

As soon as she could, she made her way over to the barricade, pulling you into a tight embrace despite the chaos around you.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” she whispered, her voice rough with exhaustion and emotion.

“I knew you would win,” you replied softly, pride swelling in your chest.

Later that night, back in the comfort of your shared apartment, the world outside seemed far away. Abby, freshly showered and wrapped in a soft hoodie, lay beside you on the couch. Her arm draped protectively around you, while your head rested against her chest, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat soothing you both.

“You were incredible tonight,” you murmured, tracing your fingers over her hand. “You always are, but tonight…”

Abby smiled, her fingers gently brushing through your hair. “I had a secret weapon.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked with a soft laugh, looking up at her. “What’s that?”

“You,” she whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “You’re the reason I fight.”

Your heart swelled, warmth flooding through you. In that quiet moment, you realized just how perfect your dynamic was. To the world, you and Abby were opposites—she, the fierce WWE champion, and you, her soft, gentle partner. But together, you balanced each other. Abby was your strength, and you were her peace.

And that was all either of you needed.

✮ 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘳𝘩𝘦𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘪'𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯😩

#lesbians #abby anderson x reader #alternate universe #abby anderson #wwe #fluff #modern au #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x female reader #abby x fem!reader #abby the last of us #the last of us

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pricesdahlia · 3 months ago

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john price is literally fucking insane and deranged and kills people for a living without even batting an eye. he’s an unstoppable force and leads men in his own task force.

oh, but i could fix him. like genuinely i believe i could. he just needs the sweet love and affection from a fat girl and i’m here to deliver. to others, he’s the strong willed captain price, but to me, he’s just john.

he’s such a sucker for his sweet wife. i just wanna bake him cookies and cakes and big, filling dinners and spoil him with the tlc he so desperately needs. like, the man has been in the army for over half of his life! let that man unwind i the arms of his loving, gentle wife!

he deserves to come home and see his beautiful wife in a pretty, floral apron making him dinner, candles lit around the kitchen and the faint sound of music playing while cooking… he comes behind casually just to wrap his arms around her waist, feeling how soft and warm she is in his strong embrace, smelling like home.

maybe drawing him a nice bath after a long day, giving him a massage to ease that tension in his shoulders where he sometimes feels like he’s carrying the whole world… peppering sweet little kisses all over his face until that stern look melts and he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling… spending the night in each other’s arms and feeling his soft, warm wife in his embrace, knowing i’m safe… domestic john price <3

#this is soo messy sorry but i just… john price. wow.#he makes me feel so sick i love him so much 😭#i just wanna spoil my man is that too much to ask for ;(#price’s dahlia 🏷️💐#john price #john price x reader #john price x plus size reader

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sunlight-shunlight · 3 months ago

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i realized i may be one of the only people on this webbed site who played both earthdawn and dragon age, so i thought i should share haha, i've never seen anyone else talking about the similarities.

earthdawn is: a tabletop rpg initially developed in the 90s and still publishing to this day. david gaider mentioned playing/running some campaigns of it. and the similarities are... very extensive and funny. let me go over them:

earthdawn is an apocalyptic high fantasy setting where every few thousand years, there's a cyclical, catastrophic event where monsters (both physical and astral) unstoppably ravage the world for centuries. this has led to loss of entire civilizations, and vast areas that are permanently tainted by their effects and are uninhabitable.

there's a small order of distrusted, secretive people, who take on an aspect of the monsters they're hunting, in order to more effectively track and kill them. this connection goes both ways, and the monsters can find and torment them in turn. regular people find this a bit scary. members of this order tend to not live very long (not like a physical limitation in their case, they just usually die on the job before they get old)

great dragons are very magically powerful, the oldest form of sapient life, and used to rule the world in a very bygone past era. they created immortal elves as servants, went into hibernation, and then their disaffected immortal elf lackeys rose up and killed some of them off to create their own civilization instead. there are some remaining great dragons, but they're reclusive. if needed, they can take on a humanoid form and blend into society and pull strings to influence various cultures. there are a few groups of people who live near the dragons and worship them, and the dragon protects them in return. there's also a bit about dragons possibly feeding people their blood in rituals as a way to create servants, or imbue people with power/greater lifespan, and thus influence entire noble lineages descended from there.

magic used to be far more powerful and prevalent, but has declined somewhat. there's an astral plane that reflects the real world. it's only easily accessible by mages, and can be entered physically, but that's very dangerous to the point of being usually fatal, and generally the astral plane is only perceived mentally while staying in the regular world. the astral realm is corrupted and dangerous, while also containing some neutral/friendly spirits. unwary mages can get possessed or killed by the monsters in the astral plane. spirits can manifest out of the astral plane and into the physical world voluntarily, or be summoned or bound for various tasks. this is controversial in the setting, as some people see it as fine, and others see it as forced servitude. some spirits are old and complex enough to clearly communicate with people and have their own full blown agendas and personalities, some are much simpler and only focused on a small domain of influence relating to a single trait they have.

blood magic is not as common in the area where the game is set, but...

there's a huge, decadent, ancient byzantium/rome themed blood magic empire, that runs on slavery and sacrifices. it used to have control over the entire map, but it was weakened by the apocalyptic event + various uprisings, so now its sphere of influence is much smaller. it still maintains slaving raids and tries to expand back into its old provinces. it was influenced very early on by weird shady mages who left the elven empire, and had convenient knowledge of the apocalypse before it happened. the empire has a much better scholarship around magic in general + the apocalypse than others, as well as a more "magic is indistinguishable from high tech" vibe to its standard of living. it has floating castles and fortresses that protect its nobility/can be deployed in warfare.

there's one underground dwarven kingdom remaining out of a few dozen that used to exist - all the others fell to infighting or the apocalyptic monster hordes. at the time of the setting, this kingdom is having a bit of a succession/legitimacy crisis with its monarchy. the dwarves are also a hub of trade and commerce bc their city was well-shielded from the apocalypse, so their language is the base of the common tongue and writing system everyone uses.

there's also an ancient elven empire that used to exist, but was also mostly lost in the apocalypse. currently, elves are mortal and about as magical as everybody else. there are some elves who are fully immortal, and still walk the earth - either gaining power and going through false identities to pose as normal rulers and maintain a vice-grip on elven society, or doing magical research and stuff to stave off more of the apocalypse, or doing centuries-long shadow warfare against each other/the dragons by using mortal kingdoms as pawns.

there's an elven pantheon of gods that everyone else adopted when the elven empire was bigger - it included a trickster deity who sealed themselves + two other gods into the Apocalypse Juice to try and partially nullify it, thus preventing the apocalypse from running over the whole area. unfortunately, this has corrupted all 3 gods who are marinating in that Juice, and now they generate madness and violence and despair in people they connect to.

#dragon age #there are probably even more similarities but i forget now honestly #anyway people talk about the witcher/asoiaf influences and those are there in the general tone #but earthdawn is like #the building blocks of the setting i think haha #it's a very underrated and cool setting BUT. with some of the most goofy rules known to mankind. i am not joking.#you need a spreadsheet.#i don't know what they were doing in the 90s to think of mechanics like that but it was bad.

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jeffhardyjams · 4 months ago

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“recovery & affection” ୨ৎ

- jeff hardy x reader

(𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 - 2.3k +) fluff! injury & explicit language

summary : 2000 wwe diva , y/n, suffers an arm injury during a match, but with the help and concern of her teammate jeff, she navigates the challenges of recovery and discovers a romantic connection with him.

"You're not going to believe this shit, Y/N." Lita's voice echoed through the packed backstage area of WWF RAW 2000. She was holding a piece of paper in her hand, her eyes wide with excitement.

"What is it?" you asked, already feeling your heart start to race as you looked up from the outfit you were meticulously piecing together. You had a flair for fashion, always dying your hair a new vibrant color each week to match the ever-evolving persona of the top diva you had worked so hard to become. Today, it was a fiery red that matched the sequins on your low-cut top and the sparks in your eyes.

"You and Jeff are tagging up against Trish and Chris Jericho tonight!" she exclaimed, her own blonde locks bobbing with enthusiasm. "Can you believe it? You two are going to be fucking great together"

You felt a thrill run through you at the thought of sharing the ring with Jeff again. He was always so smooth, his moves like poetry in motion. And the way he looked at you when you were in the ring together, like you were the only one who mattered... it made your head spin. "Fuck, really?" you said, unable to hide the grin spreading across your face. "This is going to be epic."

Jeff stumbled into the room, his blonde and redish hair still wet from the shower and plastered to his head. He looked like a drowned puppy with those big, worried eyes of his. "What's going on?" he asked, noticing the sudden buzz of excitement.

Lita slapped the paper into his hand, and he scanned it quickly before his gaze found yours. "Looks like we're a team tonight," he said with a wink. "Get ready to show 'em how it's done, beautiful."

The three of you spent the next few hours psyching each other up, going over moves and strategies, while Matt lounged in the corner, watching with amusement. Jeff was dressed in his usual flamboyant gear - a neon green and black ensemble that made him stand out like a peacock in a pigeon flock. His muscles rippled under the fabric as he flexed his arms, showing off his charismatic charm.

As the time for the match approached, you felt your nerves start to get the better of you. You'd been in the biz a while now, but there was something about Jeff that always made you want to be better, to push harder. You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you focused on the task at hand.

"You got this," Jeff said, his voice low and reassuring. "We've got each other's backs, remember?" He squeezed your shoulder gently, his touch sending a warm jolt through your body.

"Yeah," you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "Let's go kick some ass."

The arena lights dimmed, and the crowd roared as your entrance music blared through the speakers. You strutted down the ramp, feeling the energy of the crowd wash over you. As you climb the steel steps, the cool metal under your boots, you feel the weight of the world lift off your shoulders. This is your sanctuary, the place where you truly come alive. You've worked your ass off to get to the top of the SmackDown roster in 2002, and nothing's going to knock you down, not even a little tension with your opponents, Trish and Chris Jericho. You know Jeff's got your back, just like you've got his. Together, you're an unstoppable force, ready to tackle whatever the WWE throws at you.

The match began with Jeff and Chris going at it, their bodies a blur of motion. Jeff was in his element, flipping and flying through the air, his wet hair leaving a trail behind him like a comet's tail. The crowd was eating it up, their chants echoing through the stadium.

Then, the moment came. Jeff tagged you in, and you faced off against Trish, the woman who had been giving you a run for your money lately. The two of you circled each other, eyes locked, before you sprang into action. A series of quick moves had her on the defensive, and you could see the surprise in her eyes.

You went for the hurricanrana, feeling the power in your body as you flipped her over. The crowd popped, and you could feel the vibrations of their cheers under your feet. But as you went for the moonsault, everything went wrong.

You landed awkwardly on your arm, pain shooting through you like a bolt of lightning. The world spun around you, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. You look over at Jeff, his eyes wide with concern. You know he's seen it, the way your arm hangs limply at your side. But you can't let it show. You're the top diva, the one everyone looks up to, and you can't afford to let them see you weak. You shake your head, letting him know you're okay, that you can keep going. Jeff nods, his expression a mix of worry and admiration. He's seen you push through pain before, and he knows you'll do it again. You lock eyes for a brief second, and in that moment, something unspoken passes between you. It's not just about the match anymore; it's about trust, friendship, and the unspoken bond you share.

You manage to keep the pain at bay, pushing through the agony with each move. When the match is over, and you've secured the victory, the cheers are deafening. You're on top of the world, but your arm is screaming at you, a reminder of the cost of greatness. You make your way backstage, the pain growing with each step. You're about to collapse into the chair in the locker room when Jeff bursts in, his eyes searching for yours. "You okay?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine concern. You nod, trying to play it cool, but you can't hide the grimace that flashes across your face. Jeff's seen that look before, and he doesn't buy it for a second. He rushes over, taking your arm gently in his hands. "Let me take a look," he says, his voice firm but gentle. As he examines your injury, you can't help but feel a rush of warmth spread through you, his touch sending butterflies through your stomach.

"It’s fine," you gritted out, trying not to let the pain show. "Just twisted it a bit."

"Y/N, I’m not sure about that, but you were fucking amazing out there," he said, his voice full of awe.

You managed a small smile, the pain making it difficult to focus. "Thanks," you murmured. "You weren't bad yourself."

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Was I ever in doubt?" He sat down next to you, his knee brushing against yours. The air between you was charged with something electric, something that had been building for weeks.

"Fuck, it's bad," you hiss through gritted teeth as he prods at your swollen arm. Jeff's expression tightens, his eyes darkening with a protective anger. "You need to get this checked out, now," he says, his voice now low and urgent. He grabs an ice pack from the freezer and places it over your arm, the cold seeping through your skin and offering a small reprieve from the pain. "I'll take you to the hospital," he insists, his hand lingering on your shoulder. You know he's worried about you, and the thought that he cares that much sends a thrill down your spine. You nod again, this time with a grateful smile. "Thank you," you murmur, your eyes meeting his for a brief, intense moment.

The trip to the hospital is a blur of flashing lights and concerned faces, but Jeff stays by your side, holding your good hand and cracking jokes to keep your spirits up. You've always loved his carefree nature, how he can find light in even the darkest situations. But right now, his concern feels like a lifeline, something to cling to amidst the chaos. You're both silent as the doctor examines your arm, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. When the doctor finally speaks, confirming it's just a sprain, Jeff lets out a sigh of relief that's so deep it seems to come from his soul. "Thank fuck," he says, his eyes never leaving yours. The doctor gives you instructions for rest and recovery, and Jeff nods along, as if he's memorizing every word.

As you sit in the locker room after getting back from the hospital with your arm in a sling and the adrenaline wearing off, the reality of the situation sets in. You're out of commission for a while, and it's going to suck. But as Jeff sits next to you, his arm around your shoulder, you feel a glimmer of comfort. "You're going to be okay," he whispers, his breath warm against your neck. You lean into him, letting his words soothe you. "I know," you reply, your voice shaky. "But I'm not looking forward to the down time." Jeff chuckles, his hand squeezing your shoulder.

“Here, let me," Jeff said, taking the ice pack from your good hand. He gently placed it on the injured spot, his fingertips lingering for a moment before he pulled away. "You should get some rest. "

"I will," you assured him, trying not to let your voice betray how much you were hurting. "But first, I need to catch my breath."

Your eyes met, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just you and Jeff, alone in the bustling chaos of the WWE backstage. You could feel the heat from his body, the way he was leaning into you. And then, without warning, his lips were on yours, soft and demanding.

The kiss took your breath away, stealing your focus from the pain. Jeff's hand slid into your hair, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. You felt his warmth, his strength, and for a brief moment, everything else was forgotten.

When you finally pulled away, you were both panting, your eyes locked on his. "We should... we should do that again," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

"Fuck yes, we should," he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips once more. Your heart raced as the kiss grew more passionate. Both of you grabbing each other strongly and slowly.

Shortly after, you break the kiss, breathless, your eyes searching his. "What was that?" you ask, your voice husky. Jeff's eyes are dark with lust, his chest heaving with every breath. "That," he says, his voice just as rough, "Is what happens when you're too fucking sexy for your own good." You can't help but laugh, the tension breaking. "You're pretty hot too," you tease, nudging him with your good arm. He grins, that boyish charm shining through the exhaustion. "I've got a feeling we're going to make this recovery time interesting," he says, winking at you. And for the first time since your injury, you're actually looking forward to it. Because with Jeff by your side, even the worst of times can be turned into something beautiful.

[ authors note ; i hope you guys enjoyed this imagineee 🫶🏼 REQUEST FOR STORY IDEA : @fangirlofananything please request more ideas you have in mind or scenarios!! i also OWN that gif and created it so please give credit if you use!! ** ]

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