#❝ bearer of the flame ❞ — face

[primofate]

Quick Kinich Brainrot.

Kinich sings the Ode of Resurrection a little louder and with a little more earnest when you're involved.

He doesn't notice it, but Mualani sure does. Kachina is none the wiser, she thinks Kinich treats everyone equally.

"Excited?" Mualani prods the said man on his side, grin as wide as ever, while waiting for the Ressurection to start.

"Huh?" Kinich asks.

Turns out he was none the wiser too. He thought he treated everyone equally.

"For Y/N to come back!" Mualani tries to hide the exasperation in her voice.

"...Isn't everyone?" Kinich simply says. Ajaw is surprisingly quiet.

Mualani has a retort at the tip of her tongue, but the ceremony starts. The eulogy is recited and the humming commences.

The ceremony is the same as it always is, and as the Pyro archon disappears into the Sacred Flame, people start to cheer and shout.

Kinich stays quiet. Eyes tacked on to the flame, shoulders tense, searching for the first sign of the Pyro Archon and you.

His mind doesn't quite register it when the Pyro Archon emerges from the flame carrying you in her arms.

The cheers continue, but when people start to notice that you're unconscious and asleep, the noise dwindles down.

Kinich masterfully swings himself over to meet the Pyro Archon, peering over at your face. "Is Y/N okay?"

"What's wrong with 'em? Psh. And here I thought they weren't one of the puny ones! Well at least it ain't a bag of bones!" Ajaw cackles, but constantly tries to circle around to catch a glimpse of your face.

"Trouble in the Night Kingdom," the archon replies. "They're fine, they just need a bit more rest to stabilize the Abyssal energy in them,"

Kinich steps back with a sigh.

The wave of panic that hit him settling down to ripples. Something similar had happened to Kachina before, in fact that time had been worse. Kinich hated to admit it, but he didn't feel half as scared back then than he did now.

What did that tell him?

He puts his hands forward "I'll take Y/N, archon. I'll take care of them," urgency and desperation mixed together in his voice.

The pyro archon had no doubt that he would, but shakes her head. "They'll have to stay here until the abyssal energy stabilizes, it could be dangerous to you as well,"

"But--" His response was automatic, and he had to stop himself from protesting.

Just take Y/N home. Don't let anyone else take them.

Repeated in his mind, over and over again. Home. You'll be safe there. He'll make sure of it. But he relents, and drops his arms to his sides. "...Okay,"

The pyro archon promises you'll be fine.

Kinich was a competent fighter. He was an ancient name bearer. He had fought so many battles and looked for many more.

But in this one simple and single moment, suddenly he wasn't so strong anymore.

His fear was bigger than his whole existence.

[yandere-wishes]

˖ ࣪⊹𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞/𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐜𝐞 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⸸ Yandere! Capitano x reader

༒︎ Summary: He's the ice bearer, the monster sent to snuff out the flames of your homeland. But isn't that just love? To kill with such passion. Wouldn't anything else just be a lie?

🗡Warnings: Yandere behavior, blood, and gore, reader has a pyro vision and wields a claymore

𓌜 author's note: I made some Girlypop Capitano edits to sorta fit the vibe: One & Two

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪⭑ ๋࣭

Do you love me? Or do you love how I make you feel?

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪⭑ ๋࣭

Kachina is lost

She does not emerge from the scared flame

Nor does her ancient name echo across the skies.

Life stills, death looms.

light wanes, darkness reaches.

The glow of the sacred flame burns your eyes.

It's ambers whispering grime truths.

"I volunteer to go, too. You'll need all the help you can get."

Mavuika's flame mane rasps across her shoulders as she shakes her head. Lips taut in thought, sepia brows furled in eccentric fret. You've yet to see this shade of worry painted across your archon's face.

"I can't afford to excuse you, especially now that I fear my powers are dwindling. I need someone to have my back. Besides I'm sure the champians can handle it."

Duty first, that's the oath of the Princesses of Flame. Guard the archon with your life, protect her through any means necessary.

You force your head into a sharp nod.

The chill in the stadium air sends a nervous tang rippling through your spine. You've heard the Wayob speak of this sort of frost before. This all encompassing thing.

His boots grace the stadium floor with all the grace of falling stars. Ethereal armor glows in the soft roar of dancing flames. Icicles in dawn's first light.

The tall figure tilts his armor-clad head up at the archon's perch, with impertinence. You almost swear you hear a chuckle of mockery chime from the inside of his helmet.

"Pyro Archon" he speaks, voice distant and distorted, ice on ice through hail storms. The chill glides across your body again, how can one man be so cold? Shouldn't the cold be a sweet thing? Relief from harsh suns and harsher fires?

"Since the oath made five centuries ago remains unfulfilled, what use is the gnosis in your hands?"

He is all ice. But not the sugar-laced ice cubes that float leisurely in spiced cacao milk. No. He is the harsh verglas only spoken of in hushed tones around grisly campfires. The ice that leaves plains frozen and destroyed. It kills all things warm, all things that breathe.

There is a chill in the air.

It penetrates the skin and nests between the bones.

subconsciously you run your fingers across your neck.

"I challenge you for the gnosis, for the right over Natlan's rules" He shrugs off the heavy cape, the multilayered garment with too much wool and heat.

Strange, strange thing.

It amazes you how he hasn't melted from wearing such stout apparel in such smoldering climate. He tosses it to the side careful to never ripe the precious fabric.

"Fight, or summon your champion"

Your hand rests heavily on Mavuika's shoulder. Eyes transfixed in a silent plea.

The people need their Archon.

Natlan needs its Archon.

Besides this is your duty.

Mavuika nods.

Red eyes never once straying from the intruder.

Vicious sparks flicker across your palm. Like sparking a match across dried bark. You feel the inforno's kiss licking past your skin, weaving into the bone, as your weapon materializes. Your fingers ring across the worn, burnt handle of your loyal armament.

"I shall fight you fatui, for the honor and glory of Natlan and the Pyro Archon."

He watches you through the mask, through the ebony darkness that shields his mysterious visage. He reminds you of how Saurians watch their prey. Weighing each tiny breath, tasting each heartbeat through the air. He looks nothing less than regally monstrous.

Like death, doom, and despair.

You've tasted this before, engraved the bitterness upon your tongue, and honed your body to fight it. He will not take Natlan, he will not condemn your home to his cold.

The weight of your claymore pulls you down. Plunging into hard rock. You watch as he bats the dust with his hand. Gloved and armoured. What is he hiding? You wonder. What man truly needs so many layers? Armor, ice, frost, steel, wool. You long to peel them away, desperate to find something human underneath. Something squishy and worm. You want to feel his heartbeath between your teeth. Drink from his warm blood and relish in the sweet aftertaste. A testament to how you conquered the cold.

You've never seen someone so eager to be hidden in layers up layers.

Snow on ice.

Ice on iron.

"You're awfully young to take on such a big responsibility little girl"

his voice makes you shiver, you can almost taste his ice on your tongue.

Bitter, like barbwire and salt.

"Don't mock me Fatui" You warn, molding your body into a battle stance, knees folded almost kissing the stadium floor, weapon clasped with both hands. Eyes on the target.

Just like Mavuika taught you.

Just like you taught Kachina.

You can feel the heat from your vision coursing through your body, cracking your bones and mingling with marrow. You wait, just one more breath. You use the pyro blessing to project yourself through the air, like an arrow aimed straight for the man made of ice and lies. Swinging your claymore, ready to dent his helmet - and hopefully his head inside-  but he blocks it with his glacier sword. Just a thin dainty thing, capable of quelling your inferno-laced colossus.

Capitano advances, with a flick of his sword he pushes you back. Your heart hammers wildly, someone so skilled so strong, it's almost a shame he can never compete in the pilgrimage. That he can never be on your side.

You use the momentum of his push to frontflip through the foggy air. You land squarely on his wide shoulders, digging your foot into his trapezius muscle, while your knee scrapes his other shoulder for balance. You swing your claymore once more, trying to strike his head off. But to your shock, he parries it with the back of his rime gauntlets.

You keep pushing trying to slice through ice, armor, flesh, anything. Yet everything about this man seems to be made of inviolable steel adorned with everlasting cyro. For a second the metal of his helmet kisses the inside of your thighs. There is no shame in battle, no flirting with the opponent. There are only two bodies entwined until death and defeat. Until one rises and one falls. Still, there's something about the way his black face, regards yours that has a shy blush creeping on the hollows of your cheeks. The man, no this formidable monster is far too close, it's almost as if he's longing for a kiss. You leap back, whispering patronymic blessing to the Archon when your feet meet solid rock once more.

"You fight well little girl, but your attacks are careless, loose. You can not defeat opponents if you can not penetrate their defenses."

He dashes, so quickly you almost think he's flickering between the ground and air. You feel his familiar cold before, you feel the hilt of his sword nestle into your abdomen. He leans forward, helmet sending frostbite through the side of your head "You smell so sweet, like the roses of Snezhnaya". Capitan thrusts his sword with raw force sending you soaring into the stadium walls, the rocks crumple around you, as you struggle to lift yourself up once more.

Your eyes try to carve sight through dust and debris. The air is thick, hot and cold. You blink twice desperate for your eyes to focus. There are silhouettes dancing towards you twirling through the air like Yumkasaurus.

Capitano's ice projectiles glide through the air, they're almost beautiful if you could doubt their lethality. He commands them with flickers of his wrist, and it's only when their frost kisses your body that you fully remember this is a battle, not a dance. They lounge themselves between your ribs, underneath your heart, in the plump of your thigh, the bullseye of your shoulder. Pretty icicles cut open your flesh burying themselves deeply inside you, you'd almost dub it romantic, with how the icicles intonate to your erratic heartbeat.

The frost begins to infiltrate your vascular flow, cauterizing you from the inside. Spreading through the outside, you hiccup out a low moan. Capitano laughs, in a tone that feigns mockery. "I see my ice is to your liking". You bite your lip holding back another moan, it's so wholly painful yet so satisfying. You were right the cold does offer such a delicious relief from the blazing inferno all around.

Your opponent stalks closer, kneeling by your freezing body. You doubt Muarvirka can see through the grey air permutating the stadium. Maybe that's why, away from all prying eyes. The captain lifts his helmet revealing smirking lips. He grazes the side of your mouth with a faux kiss. savoring your warmth before, parting your lips, and deepening the kiss. Even his lips are utterly frozen, he sucks you flames from your mouth extinguishing your fires, with blood-deep frost. He runs a cold iron-clad claw across her cheek, scrapping up the skin, creating a rivulet of red. Before licking it lovingly with his icy tongue. "Why are you so cold?" you shutter, "Why so frostbitten? Has no one ever taught you the joys of the flame?"

He laughs, really really laughs this time. And while you still can't see his eyes, you swear they soften. "I've been burnt too many times, trust me the cold has its merits. But one must be willing to surrender to them."

Capitano plucks your body from the ground. He cradles you roughly in his arms.

He has no warmth to offer.

No heat.

He is only ice.

The fog yields, as you look up. Mavuika screams, her anger palpable. "I'll accept her as my prize for now archon" Capitano spits. "But next time I shall challenge you and know that I will take the gnosis too."

The flames in the stadium roar, trying to melt away the frost plaguing your body. Trying to replenish your spark. You begin to flail and kick, desperate to be liberated from Capitano's iron and frost-clad grasp.

You need to break free, to return to your archon's side, to be there when the others return with Kachina. You can not let this monster pilfer you away from your home, your people, your archone.

"Let me go!" you scream, your last attempt at a battle cry.

"Shhh, war trophies have no right to refuse."

⋆⋆⋆༺𓆩⸸𓆪༻⋆⋆⋆

Super tempted to draw the reader's outfit!!

🪐 @definitely-asexual-volcano @eth3realc0rps3  @numberonefanfury  @madara3437 @crystalkat6747 @m00nlight-mexican @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @orcasandtea @tecchoukisserr

[luvrxbunny]

gullible

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Prompt: Breeding

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, a lot of body descriptions, reader is on the curvier side, some grinding/dry humping, male masturbation (barely), ovulation, piv, unprotected sex (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 4.7k

A/N: lets say spider society is funded by the most rish spider-people and thats what the dinner was for. also this is long asf- i blacked out im so sorry 

It’s a formality. This whole dinner party. It’s something Miguel gets invited to every year and every year he dreads going to it, having to play posh in order to get some extra funding from the higher-ups. Although, he doesn’t mind too much this year because he’s bringing you. 

He’s fidgeting, and complaining about his collar when you come out of the bathroom, you’re asking him if you look okay and he knows his answer before he looks at you. He knows you look good, he tells you so before turning to you and only reassures you upon gazing at the outfit. 

This dress is new, and you’re worried your tummy might be too big for it so you’ve thrown a coat over to hide it. Miguel knows what the coat is really for but doesn't mention it, not wanting to risk making you so uncomfortable you change out of everything. He compliments your new perfume instead, winning a confused smile from you. You’re fidgeting with the coat on the ride to the venue, saying that it’s itchy and you’re getting too warm. He suggests you take it off but you gently refuse and stop complaining. 

He gets dragged away from you the moment he walks through the door. He hates leaving you alone at these things, he knows you don’t socialize well and he knows the men here want a taste of you. He’s anxious to get back to you for the entire hour these deep pockets talk his ear off. He hasn’t been listening, he’s thinking about you. He’s almost overwhelmed at the love he has for you, he’s never felt this way before. He’s missing you even though you guys are in the same place, even though he’s only been away from you for an hour. He can’t get out of there fast enough, shoving the doors of the conference room open and searching for you immediately. 

When his eyes find you, they find that you’ve already taken your jacket off and you’re socializing with an entire group of people. They’re conversing with you comfortably. You bring a smile to his face as you laugh at someone’s joke. His eyes rake over your body, finally taking in your true outfit. 

It has him stiffening in his pants. You’re wearing a dark red pencil dress, the same color as his suit. It hugs your curves perfectly, doing justice to your plush thighs, your ass and showcasing the curve of your back. His favorite part though, is the way it hugs your front. Your boobs look great, sure, but it’s emphasizing the little pooch that sits at the bottom of your stomach. 

You hate it, saying it makes you look fat, that you wish you could get rid of it… but in Miguel’s eyes? It’s just proof you��re the perfect woman to mother his children. He came to this conclusion before he even knew about your tummy. He had seen your wide hips, your care toward others, how good you are with children, and decided he wanted you. 

Once he got you to date him, to fall in love with him, he found out about your little belly fat. You’d been sucking it in as much as you could whenever you were around him, sometimes wearing higher pants than necessary in hopes of the jeans pushing your stomach down. It broke his heart to hear you so insecure but there was also a little flame igniting in his stomach. 

The flame never left. He didn’t tell you about it, but every time he noticed your belly pushing against your tank top, or a tight shirt, whenever he felt your soft tummy on his hard stomach- through the t-shirt you insist on wearing while he fucked you- the fire raged brighter. He added it to the list of reasons you’d be an amazing child-bearer. He’s obsessed with the protective fat over your womb. 

He watches you cover your stomach with your arm as you laugh, not even realizing you’re trying to hide his favorite part of you. He’s walking over to you before he plans out what he’ll say. He just stands beside you, inhaling your sweet perfume, and waiting for you to feel his presence, it doesn't take long. You turn to him with a surprised smile and give him an excited hug. ���Miguel!”

His heart expands at your excitement upon his arrival, he wraps an arm around your waist and presses you against him. Your voice is muffled as you speak to him. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” He’s not listening though. 

To any outsider, it looked like Miguel just really missed you, when in reality, he was making sure you could feel what you do to him. You let out a pretty sigh into his ear once you feel his bulge press into you. Your eyes are on his as you pull away, searching them for a reason as to why he’s hard but all he’s too busy taking in every piece of you. 

You’re both lost in your own world, you don’t realize the people you were talking to have moved on from your conversation, talking with some other people now and leaving you and Miguel to your moment. 

His hands are resting on your hips before one slides behind you, pressing his open palm against the small of your back before the other presses against your lower stomach, right over your uterus. Miguel can feel your stomach tense under his hand as you suck in, tightening your muscles but Miguel just tuts and tilts his head at you, disappointed. “Don’t do that, cariño. I love her.” Your gaze is on the floor as you listen to him, he sounds drunk, his voice is distant and hazy. 

His head is cloudy with fantasies. He can see your stomach, how it would grow and swell as you create his child inside you. He thinks about how beautiful you would look with your womb stuffed full of him. He swears she’s calling for him- your womb- begging him to fill her up, paint your walls white until his seed takes, maybe a little more after that just to be safe. 

You can see his thoughts racing, you can tell he’s working himself up, you just don’t understand what is doing this to him. His hand on your stomach is making you a bit self-conscious, but your muscles have been too tight for too long, and they give out. Your soft tummy relaxes and presses into his hand, pulling a relieved sigh from Miguel. His breathing picks up and his eyebrows furrow before he looks up from your stomach, looking into your eyes instead. “You know I love this, right?”

He looks back down at your belly as he readjusts his palm, opening his hand wider to cover more of your pooch. You whine and shift uncomfortably, the way his hand is resting over your womb is hot, it’s turning you on but you’re barely aware of that fact because anxiety is overrunning everything. You’re waiting for Miguel to slip up, for you to see a crack in his lies. You appreciate the attempt at making you feel better about your body but you don’t- you can’t believe him. 

Until you look up into his eyes. 

They’re drowning in need, his pupils entirely blown out, covering most of the red in his eyes. He’s gazing at you as he slowly pulls you in and presses his plump lips against yours with a moan. You pull away quickly and look around, a few people looking your way at Miguel’s louder-than-safe moan. You look back up at him to warn him, tell him to keep it down but the words die on your tongue. His eyes are hazy and confused, still looking at your lips like he can’t figure out why you pulled away. You smile at him incredulously and pull his hand away from your back but he whimpers when you try and take his hand off your womb. 

“Miguel, we’re public, baby.” Your voice is soft yet frantic, and his eyes are still begging you. “People are staring…” That gets a reaction, his face twitches and his eyes clear and harden a bit. He looks around the room with a snarl and you have to pull his gaze back to you. 

“Hey! What’s gotten into you?” The question hurts him a bit as he thinks it over, he really is trying to pinpoint why this is affecting him so much.  All he can focus on is you though, your scent enveloping him like a cloud. It smells like everything good, like flowers and honey, but also clean like soap and linen. It’s suffocating him, stopping all thought. 

“You smell so good, amor. What is that? I don’t recordar buying este para ti.” His voice is muffled as he buries his face in the top of your head, looking for the source of your scent. You’ve had enough, he’s doing all of this in the middle of the party, and you’re starting to feel a bit embarrassed. You’re pushing him back, slowly walking him to the edges of the party. You feel people staring until you finally hit a wall, pushing a grunt from Miguel. “What is up with you?” Your tone is gentle but you’re getting concerned, you’ve never seen him like this.

His eyes are shut tightly as his brows furrow and he lets out a pathetic whimper. “I’m sorry. I- I don’t know.” His hand leaves your stomach to bury in his hair and you instantly miss its warmth. You take a step closer to him, waiting for him to say more. “Can we leave? I think we’ve been here long enough, yeah?” He’s already pulling your hand to the exit. 

He’s silent in the car and on the drive home, constantly running his hand through his hair, and bouncing the leg that isn't on a pedal. You’re taking in his frantic state and notice that through all this, he’s still hard. “Miguel…” He gasps softly and turns to you for a moment. “What’s wrong?

“I don’t-” His eyes dart to your form. “ Your dress for one.” You glance down and wish you hadn’t, you see your stomach split into rolls, folding the fabric of your dress, accentuating the it’s softness. Your arms cross over it, trying to hide and Miguel groans.

“Don’t do that, I told you.” His voice sounds painful and strained. You look back at him to see a distressed look on his face and his hand palming his throbbing cock through his suit pants. “I fucking love her.” His breathing gets heavy, causing him to inhale more of your painfully sweet perfume. “What the fuck is that smell, baby?” 

You can hear him take a big inhale of the air in the car and a shiver runs up his spine. “I’m…” You struggle to round up enough thoughts to answer him, too distracted by the way he crushes his dick against his thigh and the little moans that accompany his movements.  “I’m not wearing perfume, Miguel.”

That's when it hits him. Why he’s so desperate for you, why your scent is clouding his every thought and taking over his mind… You’re ovulating. 

A broken groan rips from his throat at the realization, he speeds the rest of the way home. When you guys finally arrive he parks in the driveway and unlocks the doors, but doesn’t move. “I need you to get out, bonita.”

You feel arousal settle in your stomach as you press your legs together. Miguel’s head falls back, and his hair falls with his head, revealing his red-tipped ears. His hips are still gently thrusting into his hand, the other is squeezing the wheel so hard you thought it might crack. “I- I need a moment, baby. I’ll explain everything, just go inside and-” He lets out a breathless curse and his hips stutter against his palm. “And go change and just- just wait for me, okay? I’ll be there in a moment, go.” You’re in a trance as he speaks but the force in his command shakes you out of it. 

You leave the car silently and make your way to his place. You change out of your clothes in a daze, putting on a tank top and one of his sweatpants as you try to process what just happened. You grab a blanket and wait for Miguel on the couch. 

It’s only a few minutes before you hear his footsteps approaching the door. You stand in front of the doorway, oddly nervous as you watch the knob turn. His eyes meet yours the moment the door opens, his eyes stay on yours as he ducks through the frame, and takes his shoes off. They only tear from yours to take in your new outfit, your lower belly is the first place his eyes land. He gets that weak look in his eye you’ve been seeing all night and his breathing picks up.

Miguel notices the way your stomach sucks in for a moment before relaxing, letting your body be as she is and it making him feral. He needs you so bad, he wants to just take you right here but he promised you an explanation. His eyes flicker up to you and he takes a shaky deep breath and tries to keep his voice steady. “Have a seat, hermosa.”

He looks nervous, he keeps wiping his hands on his suit pants as you walk over to sit on the couch, he seats himself at the other end, across from you. You’re turned to him, legs crossed and laying in his lap. He turns to face you more and accidentally places your legs over his bulge, you can feel his thighs tense as he folds in half, letting out a choked moan that he tries to cover as a cough. You let him think he got away with it, he leaves your legs over his bulge, giving him enough stimulation to think straight. 

You’re looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain and he decides to just rip the band-aid off. “You’re-” Arousal stabs in his stomach at the sentence he has to utter. He bites into his lip and tries to regulate his breathing. “You’re o- ovulating.” Your legs shift in his lap as your expression falls, embarrassed. “And I can smell it.” 

Your legs pull out of his lap quickly and you bring your knees to your chest. “What?!” You sit up and tuck your legs under you, sitting on your calves. “You can smell it? I’m- God that’s so- I’m so sorry.”

His mind is getting hazy again without your contact. “No. Cariño, not that. It’s not like that.” He sighs at your confusion, he wishes you understood how desperate he was, maybe then you wouldn’t ask him to talk so much, maybe you’d just let him fuck you already. “It’s more like pheromones.”

His hand slides across the couch cushion, wraps around your ankle and slowly drags you toward him. “It’s a change in your personal scent. Your body is trying to trick mine into breeding you, and guess what?” He’s pulled you straight and is crawling up your body, slowly lowering himself against you so his bulge is pressing against your pussy, right over your clit.

 He’s so hard he’s able to split your lips, rubbing the cloth of his sweatpants against your naked pussy and you gasp at the feeling. Your hands slide up from his biceps to pull his head in, anxiously awaiting the rest of his sentence. He smirks at the eager look on your face and leans in, just inches from your lips, and whispers against them. “My body is so gullible for you.” You whimper.

You can feel your entire being heating up as he kisses you so intensely, like he’s trying to devour you. He’s groaning against your lips and licking into your mouth as he wrestles his jacket off. Your hands shoot to his belt and struggle to get it off, whining into the kiss when his belt gets caught on the loops. He smiles into you and his hands come to rest over yours. “Tranquila, bebe. I’m the desperate one, remember?”

You shake your head his words and let him take his pants off while you wiggle out of his sweats. He moans at your bare pussy and his arms give out for a moment, almost dropping his weight on you before catching himself. “N-no panties?” His fingers are on you, rubbing your clit and spreading your slick all over you, coating his fingers in it. He’s being downright messy.

“Miggy- Miguel, I need it so bad- need you so bad. I love you so much. You’re so-” Your mind is already gone as you grind up into his fingers, overwhelmed by the added pleasure of his desperation. He’s groaning into your ear as he humps himself against your thigh in time with his fingers. 

“I don’t know. I need-” You cut him off with a moan and he smiles as you apologize in between whimpers. “I think I’d need to cum in you, cariño. I need- My brain can only focus on-” He groans as you writhe against him, pushing your thigh into his crotch. His head lowers to rest against yours as his fingers speed up inside you. He can feel the way you’re coating them, soaking every crevice with your sweetness. He can feel the way they’re sliding inside you, the way your walls are squeezing him, it’s too much. “I can only think about cumming in you, bebe.” 

Truthfully, his thoughts were more focused on what would come afterward, watching you swell with his child but you guys haven’t even had a conversation about kids yet.

“No.” You whine at him, he feels sadness shoot through his stomach but he tries to mask it. “Just fuck me, please?” You’re looking up at him with puppy dog eyes, your hands around his neck pulling his face impossibly closer as your lips try and lock with his. He nods at you gently, he wants to give you anything you could possibly want.

“Okay, amor.” He kisses you quickly before taking his hands off of you and starts unzipping his pants, pulling himself out of his boxers while you wait. You watch him for a bit as he gets undressed before a thought pushes into your head.

What if I took my top off this time? 

You think it over for a second, you want to be yourself with him, completely and he’s explained his love for your tummy over and over again. 

What could be the worst that happens?

Images of Miguel’s face twitching in disgust flash through your head. Unrealistic scenarios of Miguel pulling away, starting to reject your advances and your kisses plague your brain. 

He wouldn’t do that. 

You take a deep breath and bite the bullet, pulling your tank top over your head quickly and Miguel freezes, causing an abundance of discomfort on your end. You thought this was something he’d want, something he’d like, now that you’ve exposed yourself though, he’s silent. 

You try to stand strong, but your hands are twitching at your sides to cover your stomach. You pray to whatever god there may be that you somehow gain the ability to read his mind, to see his thoughts, to force him to say something… anything. 

His cock pulsing. He’s never seen you completely shirtless, despite being together for over a year. He never wanted to push you, too scared that he’d push you away. He’s seen you with no top but only with a towel over your stomach, or pants pulled over your stomach as you change. But now? Her full glory was on display, there’s a little curve underneath, separating your tummy from your pussy and he’s in love. 

His eyes are zeroed in on your naked stomach and your hands come up to cover it, legs pulling inward as you fold into yourself. He can’t have that. “Don’t” 

His voice is sharp and dark, a strong command but you don’t listen, covering your stomach fully. “It was a bad idea. I’m so uncomfortable, Mig. Can-” You let out a heartbreaking sigh. “Can you just pass me my top?” You threw it down just out of reach and your hands are occupied covering your stomach. Embarrassment is coursing through every vein.

How are we gonna move on from this? I fucking killed the shit out of the mood. Fuck. God, I hate this. 

“No.” He’s moving back toward you, climbing up your body again, ignoring the obvious confusion you’re facing. You curl in even more which just upsets him. He grabs your leg and pulls, forcing you out of your ball before pinning it under his own. “Uh-” You let out a noise of surprise but Miguel pays it no mind as he reaches for your arms. He takes both of your wrists in his hand and pins them above your head, holding them there as he admires your tummy. 

Your heart is racing but you don’t struggle. Miguel is looking at you like to most amazing piece of art and you’d do anything- anything- for him to keep going. You feel yourself leaking between your legs as he just stares. His breathing is slow and shaky and his brows keep furrowing, like he’s having an internal battle with himself. He takes another breath and exhales through his mouth, letting his breath fan over your face before releasing your wrists and leg. 

He’s waiting for you to pull your hands back down, cover one of your most beautiful features… but you don’t. 

Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in. “Can you please, please, fuck me now?” His face twitches before he smiles, taking a deep breath as he pulls away. He kisses your chest as he slowly rises, his hand already on his cock, pumping himself gently as he aligns himself with your entrance. You’re gripping the cushions with all your strength as he works himself in. 

He’s worried. You feel insane around him, the softest thing he’s ever felt, extra wet and open for him to breed you. His mind keeps wandering back to cumming inside you, even though you said no. He’s walking the line of some dangerous thoughts. 

I am stronger than her…

He shakes the thought out of his head and focuses on you. The way you’re moaning his name like it’s the only thing you know, your hips are growing frantic as the grind up against him. “Miggy-“

“Amor.” He smiles at the moan that rips from your chest as you bury yourself in his neck. His hips speed up at the sounds of your moans right next to his ear, your breath tickling the shell of it.  

“‘M gonna- “ Miguel cuts you off with a growl and his brows furrow. He doubles down on his thrusts, bringing his hands to the small of your back, gripping you hard and fucking you into his cock. 

It’s going to take a serious amount of focus to keep his orgasm at bay until you’re done. “Go- Fuck. No, just wait, baby.” You let out a confused noise at his command. He’s never asked you to hold it before. 

“Fuck! Mi- I don’t know how!” Your sentence turns into a sob as he watches your body tense up, pulling all your muscles tight and gripping the roots of his hair. “Haah- Miguel. Baby, I ca- an’t. Please let-“ 

A moan stops your sentence as Miguel presses onto your womb, forcing his cock against your walls, stretching you even more. You feel so full you don’t know what’s happening. Your eyes are wide as you stare at his hand, slowly looking up to meet his eyes. They’re frantic, desperate and wild when they meet yours. 

His panting aggressively, intermittently pausing so he can try and regulate his breathing. You’re staring into his eyes, shocked at his reaction and a smirk pushes its way into your face before you moan at him again. He pulls his hand away from your womb like it burned him and pulls out, gripping the base of his cock so hard it must hurt. 

You were so close, teetering on the edge, just hearing Miguel utter your name could’ve tipped you over… but he pulled out instead. “Miguel!!! Why? I- I’ve been good, haven’t I?” 

Your desperate pleads are worsening his situation. He ignores your words and starts rubbing your clit, his fingers moving over the little bud lightning fast. “I’m not punishing you, bebé bonita”

You whine at the love name and grip his arm, trying to pull him closer to you. “No puedo correrme dentro de ti and I’m… I’m too close right now, cariño.”

You’re trying to push his hand away now, shaking your head and whining. “S’okay”

Your yanking at his arm, trying to get him back over you. “Cum inside, Miggy.” 

His eyes widen and he doesn’t move. He honestly thinks he’s hearing things at this point, fantasizing without realizing but you’re look at him all shy and expectant. So you actually said something… “W-“ He takes a deep breath. “What?”

You whine at him and avert your eyes as your legs slowly spread for him. “You- You wanted to, right? I want it…” You whine at the thought. “I need it, Miggy.”

His vision blurs as he reaches out for you, lining himself up as quickly as he can. He can already feel his balls pulsing, tensing and preparing a load for you, for your pussy, your womb. 

It’s worse than the first time he ever had sex with you. Every nerve is alight, he can feel every little detail in your pretty, perfect pussy. On top of that, you’re moaning like he’s never heard before, louder, more high pitched, more desperate than earlier and they’d already shocked him then. He can’t. 

“Mm- Not- fuck. I’m not gonna last. Not even a min- shit. Oh my god, cariño. Not even gonna last a minute. Fuck me, niña bonita.” Your almost screaming his name at his words, his languid pace and the way he’s literally shaking for you. “Gonna- shi-it.” His words sound like broken sobs as his tip gently abuses your cervix. 

You’ve pulsing around him, trying everything you can to wait for him so you can milk him while he pumps you full. “I’m gonna cum. Fuck. I’m gonna cum in- in you, baby. Voy a follarte un bebé, amor. Te dejaré embarazada, te mantendré llena de mí en todo momento. Mierda. Te verás tan hermosa, manteniendo a nuestro bebé protegido en tu grueso útero. Oh, joder"

(“I'm going to fuck a baby into you, love. I will get you pregnant, I'll keep you full of me at all times. Shit. You will look so beautiful, keeping our baby protected in your thick womb. Oh fuck.”)

Your eyes roll back and the coil in your stomach snaps as Miguel rambles, hips thrusting into yours gently, his gaze on the back of his skull. You’re fucking yourself on him as best you can in this position. It’s awkward and over-exerting but completely worth it when you hear a whine of your name and Miguel’s cock starts throbbing inside you. 

Twitching once, twice, before hardening even more and pouring a torrent of cum into your waiting pussy. He’s the loudest you’ve ever heard. Moaning out your name on repeat, thanking you for letting him cum in you with a lot of other Spanish sentences in between. 

His hand presses to your womb as he winds down but his cock twitches out another load as he pushes down, fucking into you slowly again. “Te amo tanto, mi querida. No puedo imaginar la vida sin ti. Una vida en la que no tendrás mis hijos, en la que no estemos casados…” His entire body shudders as he finally stops pouring into you. 

(“I love you so much, my dear. I can’t imagine life without you. A life where you don’t bear my children, in which we aren’t married…”)

He leans down and kisses you slowly, eyes hooded but still focused on you. Your eyes are teary and trying to shut, exhausted from the entire night. Miguel keeps pressing kisses all over you as you drift off. 

“Un mundo sin ti es uno en el que no podría vivir, amor.”

(“A world without you is one I couldn't live in, love.”)

Thank you so mcuh for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[0bticeo]

i just want you to stay (with me) | dabi x reader

night shifts are hell, you think. here your are, stumbling back to your flat, in the dead of the night, hands shaking with the exhaustion of hours of work at the ER.

so, when you close the door behind you and all but slide down its wooden surface, you’re not expecting anything but a good night’s worth of sleep.

“rough day at work, sweetheart?”

you barely startle. barely. there, sprawled on your couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table before him, is dabi. 

you let out a huff, a tired smile tugging at your lips.

“night shifts suck.”

he grins, a sharp flash of white in the dark. you don’t bother turning the lights on. too much and he’ll shy away, shadow slipping in the dark streets below.

“quit your job, sweetheart.”

“and lose easy access to quality medical supplies? hard pass.”

“giran probably knows a spot."

you step closer, feet quiet on the linoleum floor. 

“i’d rather not be branded as a criminal. my poor mother wouldn’t handle it.”

“shame. you’d make a cute villain.”

dabi’s skin stretches and pulls over the narrow bones of him, taut over his jaw as he grins. he’s watching you, eyes blazing like his flames, a predator ready to pounce to all.

but you know him.

you see the way his shoulders sag in quiet relief, feel the way his fingers - long, slender, deadly - curl around your wrist. he won’t ask you to stay. the words would hang too heavily in the air. they might choke you both. you, little civilian meddling in the muddy waters of crime. him, villain with thirty known victims under his belt.

yet… yet, here, in the quiet darkness of the little place you call a home, he melts. lets you unravel him, lets you pull down his coat, the leather smoke-heavy, ember-warm on your skin. lets you pull off his shirt and run your hands over his burns, the gnarled flesh, barely holding on. you’re careful, when you touch him.

“my nerves are burnt, sweetheart. i don’t feel a thing.”

“liar”, you whisper against the shell of his ear, lips brushing against the cold metal of his piercings. 

he feels too much, you know. quirkless you may be, but if there’s one thing you learned in your meager twenty-four years of existence, it’s that meta-abilites are always a reflection of their bearer. and dabi…

oh, dabi burns and burns.

you look at him, sitting on your couch, watching you, teal eyes like twin pyres in the dark, a siren’s song of fire. the moonlight is kind to him, you think, curling in the dips and crevices of him, nestling in the jutting collarbones, the sharp edge of his jaw, the stark metal of his staples.

you settle beside him, hand light on his shoulder, touch gentle on his skin, gaze critical. 

“i thought your burns would be in a worse state than that.”

he lets out a low rasp of a chuckle.

“what, disappointed you can’t get your hands all over me, doc?"

you let out a huff.

“you’re a menace.”

heat on your hips. he’s pulling you closer to him, broad hands encompassing your waist. his head fits on your chest. a low rumble.

“you love this menace.”

he’s leaning into your touch, dabi, a lick of heat warming your side. his hair brushes against your shoulder. your palm presses flat against his chest, against the unburnt planes of him.

his eyes are half-lidded, heavy blue drawing you in. a small smile tugs at your lips. your fingers thread through his hair.

“i love you.”

you feel his cheeks grow hot, even through the fabric of his your t-shirt.

“that’s a low blow, doc.”

you grin, lips soft against his heated forehead. he nuzzles in your chest, burying his face in the cradle of your arms, driving you closer to him.

if he could meld you together, cremation flashing blue, he would. keep you all to himself, away from the hustle and bustle of your ER job, away from the hero commission and its demands.

he settles for this instead. 

he stays.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Womb

Summary: You become Horus' cupbearer, unaware of the true role he has prepared for you.

Horus Lupercal/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power imbalance, manipulation, forced medical procedures, breeding kink, dubcon

Word count: 4008

Author's note: Well, first of all, this is the most uncomfortable drabble I've ever written. Traitor Horus is a creepy dude. Secondly, I found the song he listens to every time before he goes to see his wife.

Song: Le Destroy - Breed

Crack the whip, break the skin Breed, breed, breed Take it out, push it back in Breed, breed, breed, breed

War spared no one. Neither the weak nor the strong, neither adults nor children. Everyone suffered, trying to find salvation in a Galaxy drowning in flames. You were one of trillions of people thrown out to be slaughtered at the whim of the Emperor and the Warmaster.

It didn't matter who you were in your past life. Whether you had many rights or were almost on the level of serfs. Whether you could provide yourself with everything you needed or you had to work until you were exhausted. All that mattered was that you were weak and defenseless. Meat that could drown the ambitions of demigods.

But instead of sending you to work like other slaves, they prepared a different fate for you. A much more luxurious and safe life than in your past. At least that's what they told you. They promised you a bright future, but you didn't believe a single word of it. How can the future be bright when worlds are burning in the fire of battle, and people are captured on ships like cattle?

You couldn't hope for anything good. Especially when you were told that you would be the personal cup-bearer of the Warmaster himself. The slaves who explained the rules of the job to you, preening you along the way, tried to calm your cries. They said that he was very kind to his personal servants. Besides, he chose you himself. Of all people, fortune smiled on you.

Perhaps you could have believed them, convinced yourself that everything would be fine. But you saw pity in their eyes. Saw relief. "It's good that it wasn't me," they thought. And it would have been better if they had said these words, and not the ones they constantly said out loud.

He likes you.

Damn them, they could have kept silent for the sake of sympathy. But sitting on the floor in the Warmaster's chambers, you wanted to hear their babble again. If only not to sit in this oppressive silence. Perhaps one day you would have been glad to be on the "Vengeful Spirit" and serve the primarch. But now you would gladly refuse such an "honor".

As soon as you hear the door creak, you immediately rise. You hope that your master will not see you trembling. He will ignore your reddened eyes and not pay attention. Hoping that Lupercal will show mercy to you and let you go would be too stupid and naive. Besides, as the slaves said, he desperately needed a cup-bearer.

He likes you.

Looking at the primarch, you were stunned. Thoughts got confused in your head, and your lips parted, unable to squeeze out sounds. Before you stood a massive giant, a creation of the highest human mind. A man who cannot be looked at without awe. One of the best warriors and politicians of the Imperium. The most beloved son of the Emperor. At least what he used to be.

Now before you stood a primarch who looked more like a daemon than a man. Horus' once beautiful face had become gray and old. But even with his short grey hair and wrinkles, the Warmaster looked like an old man, but he wasn't. He still towered over humanity and was ready to live a long, if not immortal, life. His bright, hellish eyes practically screamed it.

It is said that the sight of a Primarch would make weak-willed people weep in awe or even faint. Those who could cope with such feelings still felt the rapture of meeting the son of the Emperor himself. But you felt no awe. Only pure fear.

Horus smiled softly at the emotion he evoked in you. It only made you tremble more. How could such a gentle smile appear on the face of pure evil? As if Lupercal still saw himself as a hero despite the atrocities he had committed.

“Please, do not fear me. I promise I will not harm you.” - the Primarch slowly approached you and knelt down, as if talking to a wild, frightened animal. - “What is your name?”

You barely whisper your name, hoping not to burst into tears. And yet, a small worm of hope stirs in your brain. The Primarch probably knew your name, but still asked it out of politeness. Or out of a desire to calm you down. Perhaps he really will not hurt you?

“A very beautiful name, like its owner.” - your cheeks warm up and, under someone else’s laughter, you shyly lower your eyes to the Primarch’s chest. - “You will have simple duties. Clean the chambers, serve me drinks and food if I ask. And be near. I ask no more. Will you do this for me?”

You nod, thinking over his words, as if tasting them. Such a kind attitude towards you from the Warmaster baffled you. But he has no reason to deceive you. So why not let the man circle you like a wolf in sheep's clothing? As long as he keeps it on, you are safe.

“Yes, Warmaster.” Your voice is quiet compared to the Primarch. You cannot see his terrible face, but you feel it spread into a smile. You imagine it on a younger, truly kind Horus, not on your master.

“I am very glad to hear that.” The man's hand twitches slightly, as if to touch you. But instead, he rises from his knees and walks towards the table, leaving you behind. You inhale, realizing that you have not been breathing at that moment.

***

The job was easy, really. Horus Lupercal didn't ask much of you. Although you had a hard time handling the jug in your hands. But the primarch lowered the cup low enough for you to pour wine into it. He didn't have to do that, and yet the primarch took into account the difference in size.

He might not have cared about your needs. Yet you got the most comfortable, the best room among the slaves. In addition, your quarters adjoined the primarch's chambers. And you did not have to worry about who or what you would meet on the way to your lord. When you realized that the bedding was made of silk, you gulped. As a free citizen of the Imperium, you could not even imagine such luxury.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg. Your closet (you had a closet!) was filled with a huge number of sets of clothes. Including shoes and underwear. And even though it was obviously a servant's clothing, it was made of too fine a material. Too beautiful. The Sons of Horus pattern stood out in particular.

And that's not even mentioning your rations. Not to mention slaves, many free citizens of the Imperium could never afford such a sumptuous meal. Your entire diet was carefully selected. The food was tasty and healthy, and considering that you were forced to eat strictly at certain times, your stomach was always full.

You felt safe. Safer than ever. And the Warmaster was a kind. Even though you were frightened by his appearance and the deeds he had done, even now he exuded an inhuman charisma that confused you. His care was suffocating, but you could not refuse it.

Deep down, you hated the Emperor's beloved son, now a traitor, for what he had done to your home world. For what he had turned the Galaxy into, which he had once sworn to protect. But alas, with each day that Horus spoke to you, the burning feeling of rage gradually faded.

“You know, my sons used to attend the Iterators’ classes.” - the man’s voice is filled with sadness and you look in surprise at the Warmaster, who has thoughtfully settled into his glass. - “There will come a time when the wars will end, and my soldiers must be prepared for a peaceful life. So I said.”

Lupercal winces and throws back all the liquid before slamming the cup down on the table. You take your time filling it, unable to take your eyes off the man. The conversation is too frank for you to simply brush it aside.

“I love war. It’s in my blood. But I also love peace, I wanted the Crusade to come to an end. And for my sons to receive the recognition they deserved. For all the blood they shed for humanity.”

A wicked grin appears on the old man's face and you clutch the jug tighter.

“But not my father. Not the False Emperor. He wanted to get rid of us as Thunder Warriors. We were always tools, but I did not think he was truly going to destroy us. Did all those thirty years I spent with him on Terra mean nothing? I really, truly, unlike my brothers… saw him as my father.”

A crushing silence falls in the chambers. And although you still feel fear and the thin thread of hatred has not yet completely broken. You already feel something different towards Horus. A bright feeling that you did not think you would feel towards this monster. Sympathy.

“I am sure you would have been a better father.” - the words escape on their own, but you do not regret what you said. You really thought so, listening to the Warmaster's stories about his sons. Even about the “prodigal sons,” traitors like Loken, Horus spoke with unprecedented sadness. And with the hope of meeting again.

You see how something breaks in the man. Was it your imagination or were there uninvited tears in his terrible eyes? But the man only smiles brightly at you and holds out a cup, which you immediately begin to fill. Trying to ignore the primarch’s devouring gaze.

“Thank you, my dear. It means a lot to me.”

It is only praise. Just gratitude for kind words. Recognition from a mortal girl who will continue to remain in the shadows. You repeated all these soothing words to yourself, scolding your long tongue. Only it was too difficult to ignore the strange tension between the two of you.

And this was only the beginning.

With each passing day, you became more and more entangled in the nets kindly laid out by the Warmaster. You were afraid of his behavior, you saw that there was a ruthless monster in front of you. But you couldn’t help yourself, willingly following his lead. There was something bright in the man, which made you simply open up to him.

He increasingly talked to you about his past, hopes and dreams. You listened to his stories with unprecedented interest, akin to awe. Not because Horus chose you as a personal listener or remembrancer, if you could say so. It’s just that at such moments you forgot where you were, drowning in thoughts under the man’s voice.

And if before you tried to behave as quietly as possible, now you did not hold back your emotions. If before you stood still like a wooden soldier, now you could sprawl right in the chair and put your hands under your head. But most of all, Horus liked it when you were located on the floor right at his feet. This is how children usually sit when listening to a fairy tale.

“You had a terrible childhood.” - you purse your lips, pulling your knees to you. - “It’s terrible when your whole life has to be tied to death and battles. Especially from birth.”

“I didn’t approve of such rules either, but they appeared on Cthonia for a reason. Radiation, lack of resources, dangerous lands. You’re right, it’s not the best place for a child.” - the man looks into the distance, delving into his memories. - “But it was my “birth” there that brought peace to this lost planet. And I will bring it again when I arrive on Terra.”

Horus smiles softly at you and you smile back uncertainly. You couldn’t say exactly when you stopped being afraid of his inhuman appearance. And although the Warmaster sometimes withdrew into himself and it seemed to you that he was talking to himself, you became more and more attached to him.

You want to ask more about the gangs, but a sudden knock on the door confuses your plans. You quickly get up from the floor and move away from Horus, looking at him uncertainly. Should you open the door and let the guest in? You had already forgotten that there were other people on the Vengeful Spirit. And not only mortals.

But Lupercal stops you encouragingly with his hand before saying, “Enter.” You turn into a shadow again, and, having glanced at the Space Marine unnoticed, you even want to hide under the blanket, like a little girl.

Perhaps once, like his gene father, he was handsome. But now a man with the same disfigured appearance stood before the Warmaster. The new sewn-on face looked too unnatural on the man. And hearing that the guest was called Little Horus, you only cringed from the specific humor of fate.

But the worst thing was his look. Not because it was blazing with hellfire, not because they were covered in blood. It was just that Aximand occasionally, but still looked. Glanced at you. Like a beast ready to attack. You felt his invisible hands wandering over your body, stopping at places that were especially interesting to him.

When you had to pour wine for Little Horus, it was hard to stop trembling. He was still talking to the Warmaster, but at the same time he was staring at your face. Not at all embarrassed by his behavior. The worst thing was when before leaving, he turned to the Primarch, but he immediately answered “No.” You looked at the Warmaster with gratitude, who was smiling reassuringly at you.

“Please forgive my son. He is not yet accustomed to the presence of women.” - your uncomprehending look caused the Primarch to chuckle. - “I told you that my father planned to destroy all the Legions? It was for this reason that he took away my sons'... desire. So that they would never even think of creating a new generation of men."

The gears in your head begin to turn like a machine. You look at Horus in disbelief. "And you-"

"Yes. I gave them back what was taken from them. Of course, not all of them have fully grasped their new needs yet. And some can be a little... rough. But they learn quickly." - the primarch lowers his gaze to the bowl, speaking too slowly and quietly, almost seductively. - "Though I would welcome someone to show Little Horus what tenderness is. My son has been deprived of it for so long. He deserves a little peace, don't you think?"

Your silent and stunned expression said it all for you. The man chuckles, reminding you of a very pleased wolf.

"Well, all in good time."

***

You are becoming more and more confused. You do not understand what role fate has prepared for you. Why can't life be simpler? The fact that the servant (even though you were the Warmaster's own cupbearer) had her own servitors was already a misunderstanding. But when Horus inquired about you undergoing the necessary medical procedures, it became completely uncomfortable.

You were not tortured. One could even say that they took care of you all these weeks. They conducted medical examinations, treated you extremely tenderly, as if you were made of porcelain. But at the same time, they clearly performed operations. About which they told you nothing, not devoting you to a single detail.

Once you burst into tears in front of one of the medics and said that you were scared. You do not understand what they are doing to your body. But the woman stroked your hair and assured you that all the augmentations were personally approved by the Warmaster. They will noticeably improve your life and make your body strong enough.

"Strong for what?" the woman never answered.

The last time you went to the medic, you woke up in bed, expecting everything to be calm, like the last time. But in your lower abdomen, you felt a pain like you'd never felt before. It was like someone had punched your uterus multiple times, turning it into mush. You quickly pulled the covers away before sobbing loudly.

There was blood between your legs. Too much blood. All the white sheets were covered in it. Where did you get so much blood? Are you bleeding internally? Gasping, you touched your lower lips, unaware of anything wrong, before moving your hands to your stomach. You felt nothing. Nothing. But something was wrong. You couldn't be bleeding that much.

Did they cut out your organs? Did they put something in you? What did they do?!

“Am I dying?” Your muffled wheeze escaped through the flood of tears as you desperately thought about what to do. “I'm dying. Cut it out, take it away. What's inside me? What's there?"

You didn't notice when the medics managed to enter before you felt yourself being pressed hard into the bed. Panic attack. Hormones kicked in. Full compatibility with implants. Bless Chaos. What are they talking about?! But even if you had the strength to resist, it quickly leaves you as soon as the needle pierces your arm.

Darkness covers you. But instead of saving and peaceful calm, you find yourself in a nightmare. You hear the disgusting laughter of the people around you. No. Daemons. They laugh at your sacrifice, at your suffering.

They want to swallow your soul. Tear your body to shreds. But the only thing they can do is drip saliva on you. And laugh. And whisper. About how soft and pliable you are now. How easily you will stretch and fill up. What wonderful meat and functional organs you have. How well you have been transformed into prime cattle.

Into womb.

***

This time the bed is warm. And so damn soft. You feel like you're sinking into it like a little kitten. You wish you could curl up into a fetal position and never get up. But a noise nearby reminds you that you can't hide in this place. That you'll never be alone.

You slowly open your eyes and lift yourself up on your elbows. You realize with surprise that you're right in the Primarch's bed. The man, unarmored, is sitting on the edge of the bed. Bright yellow eyes are watching you. A gentle smile appears on his face.

"See, Sanguinius? I told you she was strong." You looked around the Primarch's chambers in confusion. There was no one else there. A chuckle was heard nearby. "She's so cute under the anaesthetic. Now leave us alone, brother."

You pull the blanket up to your chin, not taking your eyes off Horus. The chambers are unusually dark, only a few lamps are lit. But it seems to you that even if the room were pitch black, you would still see the primarch.

“He’s gone, you have nothing to fear.” - the man moves closer and puts his hand on your leg. It would be easy for him to break your bone. - “The medic has been given a full report on your condition. All operations were successful. But how are you?”

Your heart squeezes from the knife of betrayal. He promised that you would not be harmed. That you would not be hurt.

“What operations?” - your throat is hoarse from tears, and your eyes have long since dried out. - “Horus, what have they done to me?” - panic again engulfed you from head to toe as soon as you remembered the liters of blood. You began to choke from an excess of emotions.

Seeing what was happening to you, the man pulled you to his chest. Softly and tenderly hugging as much as his strength allowed. You pressed your cheek to his massive chest, trying to even out your breathing. The smell of sulfur permeated the clothes and body of the primarch.

“You have been prepared, dear.” - the man’s languid voice envelops you, penetrating into your insides. You want to run away, but Horus squeezes you too tightly. - “Taking a man is quite a difficult experience for a woman. And a primarch even more so. But I want to do everything right. So that our child is born as it should be. Like a human.”

The words left your mind. You felt deceived, so pathetic and insignificant that you had no strength to fight. You could not and did not want to blame the Warmaster for anything. Just let it all end. Just let him shut up. But as always, Horus opened his soul to you.

“I love all my sons. And yet, it was not I who did not raise them. I was not in their lives from the very beginning. I had never had a connection with any of them as strong as I had with my father. I wanted to feel that same feeling, but in a different way. To be an example. To be a mentor. To be a real father. But better.”

“My legacy will not be grown in test tubes and used as a tool.” - the Primarch’s tone darkens and becomes lower, which makes you press yourself closer to the man you want to hide from. - “I will not get rid of them. I will not abandon them. I will be a better father than my own. And you-”

Horus unhooks you from his torso, still holding your shoulders. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears and how your whole body is stretched like a string. A monstrous smile lights up his old gray face, and his eyes burn brighter than ever, promising a future you have never seen before.

The Primarch slowly lowers you onto the bed, undressing you along the way. You can only sniffle and continue to watch. Continue to listen. All the slaves said you were lucky. But no one promised you that everything would be so easy. You yourself are to blame for your naivety.

“My father may not have wanted grandchildren, but Chaos was kind enough to tell me how to make them. The best specimens were collected, capable of enduring surgery and occultism. But of all of them, I chose you.” - a monstrous palm gently touches your cheek. - “I liked you immediately. So pure, so kind, so fragile. The perfect mother for my true sons.”

Your now naked body is covered in goosebumps from the cold. But as soon as the Primarch is on top of you, waves of warmth pass through you. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, but instead of withdrawing into yourself or pushing the man away, you cling to him. Hug him.

You are scared and alone. But beyond these chambers, it is even more terrible. You could have ended your life in grueling work or under the weight of a Space Marine. You could have been experimented on by soulless people or devoured by daemons.

But Horus will protect you. He was evil, he breathed it, he was the very embodiment of darkness. And yet the way he spoke of you with tenderness, the way he touched you... you won't have a better option. You may have fallen into the clutches of a wolf, but with you he would gladly wear the skin of a sheep, if only you were not afraid of him. If only you loved him.

"I'm sorry that you are afraid. You see me as a monster, for I was created for war. But I sincerely wish for peace." - the man whispers in your ear and you are surprised to realize that he is crying. - "And after the death of the Emperor, it will come. I promise you."

You sigh, feeling a foreign organ between your legs. But your renewed body, albeit with a stretch, still accepts the primarch. You say nothing to Horus, instead allowing yourself to cry quietly. While your body fulfills its intended role. And you know that this promise will not be kept either.

[rxqueenotd]

In the Roman world, damnatio memoriae was used to describe a range of actions taken against former leaders and their reputations. These actions included: defacing visual depictions, removing heads from public statues, chiseling names off inscriptions, and destroying coins.

summary: reader, who goes by 'Prima’, was raised by a powerful Roman consul, under the reign of Imperator Septimius Severus. When it comes time for his eldest son, Caracalla, to marry again, a chain of events is set off, changing the course of Prima's life and the lives around her.

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warnings: oral m receiving, arranged marriage, foul language, mentions of blood, bodily fluids, Ancient Rome as a warning within itself.

notes: i am tired. no big notes today, just the chapter and a huge thanks to @trashmouth-richie for beta’ing for me even though we’re dying and surrounded by the plague.

⟡ Imperator- Septimius Severus

⟡ Augustus- Marcus Aurelius Antoninus “Caracalla”

⟡ Caesar- ⟡ Publius Septimius Geta “Geta”

III

“Brother,” Caracalla chuckled, surrounded by the finest of the court—his beloved whores, concubines, and every fair face that caught his eye—turned to his sibling, “have you laid eyes on my wife?”

Geta, his fingers entwined with his main flame to his right, shook his head slowly. “No, the better question would be: have you seen your wife?”

A silver platter brimming with powder was offered to Caracalla, who eagerly partook, stumbling backward, snorting and sniffling, until he finally crashed into his gilded seat.

“I thought we agreed to save the Rhino’s Horn for Saturnalia,” Geta shot a glance at the bearer of the silver dish, waving them off.

“Why not seize the day, brother?” Caracalla replied, “Father has departed for uncle’s villa, my wife is… well, lost to me at the moment, but that matters not. Let us enjoy these days of luxury.”

The two had been drunk for much of the day, with Caracalla lost in a haze of whatever was handed to him: Devil’s Breath, opium, Rhino’s Horn—none mattered. If it was offered, it was his. Geta, however, stayed pleasantly tipsy on sweet wine, his cup never empty, his tongue loosening enough to spill secrets like a river.

“Brother, I must share something with you.” Geta’s gaze met Caracalla’s, who leaned in, all ears.

Caracalla clapped his hands, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “At last, something of interest! Amuse me, brother.”

“Gracchus’s wife,” Geta began, “on the night of your wedding, her lips were wrapped so divinely around my cock.”

Caracalla nodded, interrupting, “A wondrous thing, indeed.”

Geta pressed on, “And Prima came to my chambers, asking to help you to bed while you were busy with one of your legendary displays.”

This piqued Caracalla’s interest. He sat up straight, eyes locked onto Geta’s face, lips pressed tight, nostrils flaring.

“And?” he urged Geta to continue.

“And, well, I commanded her to stay, to savor the moment.” Geta caressed the cheek of the woman at his side, who purred in delight, momentarily diverting his gaze from his brother.

Caracalla, though not entirely impressed, was curious. He grasped his brother’s arm firmly. “And she complied? She truly remained and watched?”

“Yes,” Geta affirmed with a nod, “who would dare refuse the command of a son of the emperor?”

Caracalla’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face before he leaned down and whispered to one of the servants who knelt before them, awaiting his command.

It wasn’t long before you made your entrance into the chamber, a mix of confusion and acceptance washing over you at being summoned after a week of silence. You stood before the two brothers, maintaining a stoic expression while disregarding the crowd surrounding them, who now beheld the new Augusta. Most gazed at you in wonder, some wore expressions of intrigue, while others looked as if they were ready to eat you, relishing every moment they stood in your presence.

“Has someone died?” Caracalla asked, his brow furrowed as he took in your appearance from head to toe.

The toga you donned was a careful choice. Its deep black hue a sign of mourning, a garment you had worn through various times of grief. The black veil draped softly over your shoulders, trailing down the back of your dress and nearly brushing the floor, swaying gently with the warm breeze that flowed in from the balconies on either side. You adorned yourself with jewels—a delicate headpiece that held the veil in place, a gift from the Imperator himself, paired with his late wife's stunning collection of rubies that gleamed on your fingers. A golden cuff encircled your bicep, intricately designed with fine lines weaving a lace-like pattern, complemented by matching earrings and your family’s cherished wrist cuffs, passed down through generations.

“No one that I know of,” you replied, a hint of mischief in your voice. “I just figured that if I dressed the part, perhaps the gods would take notice of my urgent prayers and send me off to the underworld with haste.”

A chorus of gasps filled the room, and you had to bite your lip to keep from grinning.

Caracalla staggered over, getting right in your face.

“Everyone, out!” he barked, his eyes locked on yours. When no one moved, he shouted, “Get out or live to regret it!” That was all it took for the crowd to scurry away like frightened mice.

“Tell me,” he said, dragging a finger down the bridge of your nose—an odd move, but on-brand for Caracalla, “did it make your cunt throb to see my brother getting his cock sucked?”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “Do not talk to me about implied infidelities when you’re surrounded by people the likes of which do not even make a good meal for a dog.”

Caracalla's expression shifted to a dangerous glint, his lips curling into a smirk. “Ah, so we’re playing at words now, are we? You think you can wound me with your tongue? I have better plans for that mouth of yours.”

“Brother,” Geta said, rising to his feet, “don’t do something you’ll come to regret.”

Caracalla pulled a dagger from his belt, pointing it at Geta. “You’ll sit down and keep your mouth shut, brother.”

And there you were, caught in the middle of two prideful men, like a sweet nectar drawing them in.

Geta lifted his hands in a gesture of defense, retreating toward his chair in defeat.

“On your knees, wench!” Caracalla bellowed, fury blazing in his eyes like a stormy sky.

Your gaze flickered to Geta, but Caracalla, with the edge of his sword pressed against your cheek, forcefully turned your head to face him.

“Is it not enough that you dared to speak with him? Must you also look upon him in my presence?” Caracalla whined, his naturally raspy voice sounding even more gravelly in his drug addled state.

“Are you deaf?!” he roared, “On your knees!”

You felt the cold of the sword as it slid from your cheek to your neck, pressing firmly against your carotid. With a heavy heart, you sank to your knees, shame washing over you.

As you gazed up at him, angry tears welled in your eyes. The golden laurel wreath tangled in his wild hair sat crookedly above his brows, as he looked down at you with a wild glint.

“Show me how well Gracchus’s wife treated my dear brother!” he cackled, delighting in the raunchiness of his demand.

“Absolutely not,” you spat through clenched teeth, attempting to rise once more, only to be met with his rough hands shoving you back down against the cold marble.

“Must I flog you for your insolence?!” he howled, spit flying from his lips, “Must I?!”

“Not here,” you pleaded, all pride abandoned as your knees ground into the cold marble, “Not like this.”

“Just like this,” he replied, smirking down at you as he pulled back his flowing robes to reveal his hard cock.

“Come on,” he flicked his tip against your lips, “open up for me.”

With angry tears stinging your eyes, you wrapped your lips around him, his velvet tip sliding past your lips, brushing heavily against your tongue.

“Should you dare use your teeth against me, I’ll have them knocked from your jaw with the hilt of my sword. Rome has no place for a wild, toothless harlot.”

He carelessly rolled his hips toward your face, swaying unsteadily with each thrust as you fought back the bile rising in your throat. When you didn’t please him the way he wished, he fucked your face with such fervor that he nearly lost his balance. You gagged as hot tears streamed down your cheeks, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth like a hungry dog.

“You must not have impressed her with your little show, brother,” he bellowed over his shoulder, gripping the roots of your hair, chuckling as you gagged even harder, pressing your nails into his thighs for fear you might topple over. “I have had better pleasure alone.”

He continued his brutal assault until finally he pulled you snug to the base of his cock, letting out a guttural groan, his legs nearly giving way beneath him as he released his hot seed into your mouth.

He stumbled back, shaky hands letting you go, but not fast enough to dodge the glob of cum you spat at his feet.

“You stupid whore—” he screamed, reaching for his sword again, but Geta grabbed him.

"‘Enough, brother,’ Geta commanded, gesturing toward the door. At once, two guards rushed in, seizing Caracalla, wrestling the blade from his grip, placing it firmly in Geta's hand.

A smirk crept across your lips as you met Caracalla's furious gaze, his struggles useless against the guards' hold. You wiped the last traces from your mouth, unflinching, while he spat threats of every punishment under the sun. His voice faded into the distance, growing fainter with each step as the guards dragged him away.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

As soon as you stepped into your chambers, you snatched up a decorative vase, your stomach churning from the memory of his touch as you unceremoniously emptied its contents into the vase. A pang of guilt washed over you for the poor servant who would later have the misfortune of clearing it out, but you quickly brushed it aside; purging any trace of Caracalla from your system took precedence above all else.

As you crossed the threshold to the adjoining balneum, the air was thick with steam, a sensation that caused you to groan in pleasure. The gentle sound of water splashing filled the space while the frescoes adorning the walls told stories of playful nymphs dancing amongst the clouds lost amongst a blue sky. The buff marble floor cooled your feet, contrasting with the warmth of your skin.

The bathing area itself featured a large, sunken pool, its waters shimmering under the soft glow of oil lamps. To one side, a small fountain trickled water into a basin, where fresh rose petals floated, adjacent to a nearby selection of oils: patchouli, lavender, rosemary, their scents mingled in the heady, warm atmosphere. A strigil and pumice stone awaited on a shelf built into the wall, along with fine linen towels, and cloths, all carefully placed for your use.

With a soft sigh, you dipped your toes into the inviting water, allowing the robe you had worn in to drop to the marbled floor behind you. You relished the sensation as you waded in deeper, the water rising to your ankles, then your calves. Each step felt like a release, the warmth washing over you, dissolving the tension that had clung to you throughout the day.

As you reached the center of the pool, the water enveloped you completely. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back as you floated for a moment, allowing the water to cradle you. Everything felt so distant, so unimportant. The world outside faded away, and for a fleeting moment, it was just you and the serenity of the private sanctuary. You let your mind wander, thoughts drifting like the petals floating in the nearby basin.

Reaching for the bottle of patchouli oil resting on the edge of the bath, you poured a small amount into your palm, the rich, earthy scent wafting into the space. With your fingers slicked with the oil, you began to comb it carefully through your hair, taking your time to work out any knots and tame the unruly strands. Once satisfied with your hair, you took a fine cloth, its texture soft as silk against your skin, and began to bathe yourself with the perfumed oil.

With deliberate movements, you sloshed water along your body, enjoying the feeling of it cascading over your skin like a gentle waterfall. When you were ready, you dove under the water once more, the coolness contrasting deliciously with the warmth of the oil. As you rinsed yourself, you felt the excess oils wash away, the strigil waiting nearby for the final touch.

“Domina.” The tranquil moment shattered as one of your newly assigned servants peeked through the ornate doorway, her voice breaking the soothing silence.

“What is it?” you asked, trying to stall for just a moment longer.

“You’ve been summoned.”

Of course you had. It only made sense that your peaceful escape would be interrupted. You emerged from the water, droplets glistening on your skin, and caught the nervous gaze of the servant as she shifted from foot to foot.

“Come inside,” you beckoned her, and she hesitantly approached, holding out a towel like it was a fragile offering.

“Do you know how to use a strigil?” you asked, and she nodded, though her eyes betrayed her anxiety.

“Very well.” You dried your face with the towel, then reached for the strigil and handed it to her. “Quickly.”

With shaky hands, she began to scrape off the excess oils.

“What is your name?” you asked, trying to ease the tension as she glided the strigil along your shoulder.

“Cassia,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Cassia,” you repeated, letting the name linger in the air. “Is it Caracalla or Geta requesting me?”

“Neither, Domina,” she paused, placing the strigil back in its assigned place. “It is the Imperator.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

You quickly slipped into a sleeping gown—something informal yet appropriate for the presence of the Imperator. Cassia’s hands trembled slightly as she helped you into the nightgown made of fine, onyx silk. She draped a matching robe over your shoulders, guiding your arms into the sleeves with a gentleness that put you at ease. The fabric glided down your arms, flowing behind you like a shadow as you moved to comb your damp hair away from your face.

“I believe it would be nice if you left your hair down to dry,” Cassia suggested meekly, her eyes meeting yours through the reflection in the looking glass.

“I can braid it when you return. It is not wise to make the Imperator wait.” Her eyes told a story, hinting at the consequences of such delays, as if she had witnessed them firsthand.

“Very well,” you agreed, sensing the urgency in her tone. “Lead me there.”

Cassia walked quickly ahead, navigating through the maze of twists and turns that made up the opulent palace. The gilded walls shimmered under the flickering sconces, casting warm glows on the marble flooring. You passed by frescoes depicting grand tales of valor and myth, the ornate pieces of art adorning each wall, their beauty almost distracting you from the nervous feeling that swirled in your gut.

Finally, you arrived at an imposing set of doors, intricately carved and adorned with symbols befitting the Imperator’s status. Cassia hesitated for a moment, glancing back at you with a mix of awe and fear. “I’ll wait here, Domina.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you stepped forward. The doors swung open, revealing the dimly lit chamber beyond.

“Prima,” Septimius spoke from across the room, his voice smooth yet commanding. You crossed the threshold, your heart quickening as you made your way toward him. He sat at a side table, a decanter of wine glistening under the moonlight that spilled through the billowing curtains beside the table, casting soft shadows along the table and its contents.

“Thank you for joining me,” he said, standing to pull out a chair for you. You took your seat, the silk of your robe whispering against the chair as you settled in.

“Of course, Imperator,” you replied, keeping your tone steady. You studied his face, searching for clues about his intentions. Septimius possessed an air of authority, his graying hair slightly tousled, and his sharp features illuminated by the silvery light.

He poured a glass of wine, the deep red liquid swirling as he filled it, and then slid it across the table toward you. “A toast, Prima. To new beginnings.”

You accepted the glass, “To new beginnings,” you echoed, raising the glass slightly before taking a sip. As you caught his gaze, a flicker of something unreadable passed in his eyes.

“Tell me,” he began, leaning forward slightly, “how do you find your new role here? The palace can be overwhelming, even for those accustomed to such grandeur.”

You considered his question carefully, weighing your words. “It is… a lot to take in,” you admitted.

“As to be expected,” he assured you, his gaze unwavering. “How are things with your new husband?”

“May I be bold, Imperator?” you asked, setting your glass down with a gentle clink, smoothing the fabric of your robe against your thighs to calm the tension that had begun to build within you.

“Go ahead,” he nodded, his expression encouraging.

You took a moment, drawing in a steadying breath. “I believe I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know how things have been going.” You reached for the glass of wine again, taking a sip to wet your drying, anxious mouth.

Septimius leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his features. You spotted Geta right away in him, the way his eyes were shaped and how he looked at you like you were the most confusing thing in the world that he sought to understand. But Caracalla was there too—his fingers digging into the armrest, his middle and pointer fingers tapping an offbeat rhythm against the leather. Caracalla's fierce gaze matched Septimius’s as well as his wild curls, both full of intensity.

“True enough. The palace is a place of whispers, and my son’s reputation precedes him. Yet I am interested in your perspective—how you truly feel about your situation.”

“May I ask what brought you back early from your trip to Baiae?” you asked, genuinely curious about the reason for his fast return.

“Word travels fast,” he leaned in, lowering his voice. “I—” he paused, selecting his words with care, “am aware of what transpired earlier today.”

You nodded, a wave of shame washing over you as you pictured someone recounting the scene to the Imperator.

“I also know that you and Caracalla have not shared a bed since your wedding night.”

“I…” you sighed, “truly am doing my best. It’s just that he and I are two very different people, and I’m trying to navigate the ocean of differences between us.” You explained, your tone almost pleading.

Carefully, he slid a familiar piece of parchment your way. No need to touch it; you knew well what it said.

“How did you come by that?” you asked, brow furrowed.

“Never mind that,” he waved a hand dismissively. “Do the words in this letter truly speak to your feelings?”

With a weary sigh, you opened it, your fingers dancing along its edges.

“If you wished me dead, you could’ve driven the blade yourself.” The words were yours, penned to your father a few days prior, when you felt as if being married to Caracalla was a death sentence, when tensions were at a high and you needed someone to hear you.

“It was confiscated before it left the palace,” he replied, his gaze steady as it met yours over the parchment.

“May I ask who thought it wise to spy on me and read my letters?” You laid the parchment flat, smoothing out the creases.

“You may not.” His expression was as stoic as a statue.

“I feel as if I’m being set up to fail, Imperator, as if your son wishes to see this marriage crumble, and I’ll be cast aside when I inevitably fail in my duties.” You spoke the truth plainly, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

“When he was, I don’t know,” he sighed, “seven or eight, we campaigned through Syria and up into the Taurus mountains.”

You leaned in, sitting up straighter, eager for him to continue.

“And I remember him shouting, ‘I’ve found another three!’ I turned around, and there he was, standing among a sea of headless corpses, yelling when he found one with its head still on. He took such joy in it; it became a sort of game for him.”

“Isn’t that what a man wants? A son who isn’t squeamish about death and war?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Of course, but not one who brings that chaos within his own walls, in his own home.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out with a weary sigh.

“And Geta,” he closed his eyes, “maybe I wasn’t hard enough on him. Maybe I learned my lesson with Caracalla. Maybe Geta is just his mother’s son.” He waved a hand dismissively, letting out a heavy sigh. “But none of this is your worry.”

He stood, and you followed, walking with him to the grand doors.

“Go and rest. After tonight, all will be well.”

You turned to question him, to ask what the gods had happened between the two of you and why it had become your concern even if he had assured you it wasn’t, but the doors swung shut before you could speak. You exchanged a bewildered glance with Cassia before heading back to your chambers.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Not long after, the harsh sound of screaming pulled you from your thoughts. You followed the noise, retracing Cassia’s steps from earlier in the night, until you stumbled into Geta’s chest as he stood by the entrance to his father’s chambers.

“What are you doing here?” he spat. You peered around him, drawn to the chaos behind the door.

“I heard the shouting and got worried,” you replied. “What’s happening?”

“None of your business.” He looked down at you, his expression cold.

“Back to your rooms,” he ordered, waving you away.

“You will take your wife back into your quarters immediately!” came the booming voice of Septimius. A loud crash echoed, and you and Geta exchanged alarmed glances.

“Perhaps you should show me some respect for the title you’ve given me,” Caracalla shouted back.

“Perhaps you should earn that title, boy,” Septimius seethed.

Another crash followed, accompanied by the sound of shuffling.

“You are only Augustus and emperor of Rome by my say, Marcus! I am your father and your emperor,” Septimius continued, his voice cutting through the chaos. “I will strip you of every title and give it to your brother, who might actually appreciate it!”

Geta’s ears perked up, and a flicker of hope crossed his face as he looked toward the door.

But Septimius’s next words dashed his hopes. “Perhaps I’ll take your wife into my quarters and father a son with her. A new line of succession could be just what Rome needs.”

Another crash echoed, and grunts erupted from behind the doors.

“Look at you, bleeding like a woman,” Septimius mocked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you bled between your legs like one.”

The grand doors swung open, and Caracalla stormed toward you, his face smeared with blood. When he spat a crimson splash at your feet, you instinctively jumped back. He rushed past you, exchanging a quick glance with Geta.

“Do not follow him,” Geta warned, his voice low and tense.

But you didn’t heed his warning.

You navigated through winding hallways, twisting and turning until you reached Caracalla's chamber. He had thrown the doors open, pacing like a caged beast, blood streaming down his face.

“Get the hell out!” he bellowed, sending everything from the side table crashing to the floor.

“I refuse,” you shot back, firmly closing the door behind you.

“You went and lied to my father,” he hissed, stalking toward you like a predator. “You treacherous snake!”

“I did nothing of the sort!” you yelled back, your voice rising with anger. “He knew before he called for me.”

As he approached, the full extent of his injuries became clear. His nose was smashed, blood pouring from it, and his lip was split wide open. You roamed about his room scouring for supplies to clean him with until you found a few plain cloths on his dressing table.

“Sit.” You were shocked when he followed the command, sitting on the side of the bed, brow pinched at the way you had spoken to him.

“We must work together until I’m with child,” you said, as he winced a bit when you pressed a clean cloth against his split lip. “Then, once a son is born, you can send me off to whatever warm rock you fancy.”

“But first,” you said as you settled beside him on the bed, “we need to stop this bleeding.”

He placed his hand over yours, pressing down harder against his lip, a silent agreement forged in a simple touch.

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Tag list:

@alwaysahiccupandastrid

@justnobodynothingmore

Dividers:

@ghoulbloggerrr

[familiarscars]

Infamous Desire | Nicholas Chavez

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. nicholas chavez x female reader. ⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. With dreams becoming more and more real, you live in the impasse between succumbing to the infamous desire. ⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). dirty talk, somnophilia, knife play, explicit sex, murder, stalker, profanity.

With your palms together, you hear each word of his like music to your ears. He says “God, our Father, take away the sins of the world” as if he were not the bearer of most of them.

Light brown hair perfectly combed back, narrow gaze and broad shoulders over the dark cassock with red details over the cross. Father Charles was the definition of a heretic, frighteningly handsome and intoxicating beautiful, capable of warming parts hitherto unknown beneath the sacred vestments.

"May the Lord lead you safely to your homes, my brothers, I have heard that an evildoer is roaming Houston." Father Charles warns, closing his Bible and turning his attention to the faithful. "Pray, fast, keep evil far from your homes and avoid going out at dusk."

Leaving the only chapel in Houston empty, everyone followed the low sun due to the time and left after the end of Sunday mass, except you. Running her fingers over the dark wooden benches as she walked forward, her eyes never left the man standing at the pulpit, focused on the scriptures. From this point of view, his arms seemed larger, as if they were going to tear the tailored fabric at any moment.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips, dreaming about him every night after prayer had become a routine, and it was common for the temperature to fluctuate between her legs.

"Is everything okay, sister?" Father Charles' voice cut through your thoughts that seemed to be drifting into dangerous territory.

''Yes, yes" You answered a little shakily, adjusting your skirt as a distraction "Do you need any more help to fix the church?"

Father Charles gave you that look and smiled, walking towards you, flames coming out of his pupils and shooting through your body like embers. Since his arrival at the parish, nothing seemed to have returned to its normal state.

"Always so dedicated, sister…" Charles said in a hoarse whisper, leaning down until he was at your height, he lifted your chin with his fingertips and your faces were so close that the warm air of his breath blew against your face. "You deserve the best reward that heaven has to offer you."

With his fingers moving away from the contact with your face, you felt him blush and smiled shyly as you shrugged your shoulders. "Would it be bold of me to ask what it would be, Father Charles?"

"That's not an answer I can give when my mission is to only apply punishments."

"Then maybe I deserve to be punished." You say frankly, forgetting that you are in front of a Catholic authority, obeying only the command of the unbearable heat between your thighs.

"Do you wish to confess, sister?" He asks before half-closing his eyes.

Closed in the four wooden walls of a confessional, your fingers lowered the veil that covered the top of your head, and from the side view you saw Father Charles sitting in the next room.

"Father, give me your blessing because I have sinned"

You say without taking your attention off his erect body. "Every night in my dreams my object of desire manages to persuade me, without any effort, I allow him to take me, to soil my body with his sweet profanity and give me the cup of sin to drink with him. It is becoming more and more recurrent, I am no longer able to separate illusion from reality and being close to him has been torture without remembering the images we experience every night."

"It doesn't seem that serious to me, sister" he began with a deep voice filling the confessional. "We cannot control our dreams, there is no need to consider it a sin to have carnal desires."

"Not even if the object of desire, is you?"

An anguished silence formed in seconds, from the side view you noticed Father Charles closing his fingers on his own thigh, shrinking the fabric of his cassock. You didn't know what that reaction meant more precisely, but a wave of regret for saying those words slowly emerged.

Six Hail Marys and twelve Our Fathers was your punishment, not exactly what you expected after revealing to your parish priest the unbridled delirium he caused in your head every night. Charles left the confessional in silence and, with the discouragement of having done the biggest mistake of your life, you returned to your room at the back of the church.

Cold water from the shower on your naked body, eyes closed, and nothing could contain the maddening agony of thinking about that man from the moment you woke up until the time you went to sleep. Like a volcano, he left a trail of overwhelming destruction with just his intoxicating presence and the woody scent of his skin.

Your fingers sailed to your nipples, twirling around them in circular motions, allowing your mind to take you as far as possible. Heat, tension, stiffness on the soft skin, that was the effect he had on you as if he were constantly electrocuting you with high voltage wires.

All the shame spread in his presence and you just wanted to feel him, you just wished that instead of your fingers entering, it were his. In your core, you made rotary movements until your clitoris stiffened from the spasm generated by your body. A moan escaped your lips, you're at the height of pleasure, didn't care about being heard by the other nuns in the room as you sank two more fingers inside yourself.

Between the strands of hair, you raised your head and noticed a presence watching you through the bathroom window, but you didn't move to stop when you realized that having someone on the other side made you even more excited.

A short scream tells you that you came on your fingers, and a last sigh of relief leaves your lips as you relax in the hot water. The sight of another body in the window is no longer there, and you raise your eyebrows, curiously wondering where the figure that was stalking you was.

After turning off the shower, you wrapped your body in a towel and with bare feet felt the cold floor on the way to the back door of the room. The night breeze attacked you with force, with a wind that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

You heard a grunting sound that seemed to come from the outskirts of the parish, and even though you were hesitant, you overcame your fear and followed wherever the noise was.

You covered your mouth with your hands to prevent your scream from echoing around the place as you saw Father Charles disemboweling a man's body in the middle of the lawn. His white clothes were stained with blood, his hair disheveled over his face, and he was panting like an animal as he finished taking the life of that being. Shock seemed not to be enough, your legs were frozen in place, and you forgot that your towel had slipped when you put your hands to your mouth in fright.

The dark and demonic gaze that had taken over Father Charles's body left the lifeless body and wandered towards you. Appetite leapt from his expression, as if the reclusive animal was finally free, thirsty for everything it needed to repel. He delighted in the fear on your face, and you tried to retreat as his steps advanced, but to no avail when he grabbed you by the throat and threw you against the church wall.

"Ask me, sister" he said softly, taking his hand from your throat to your hair, his face slowly nuzzled your neck and little by little you gave in as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "Ask me why my body is covered in the blood of a guy I don't know."

"Because, Father Charles…" You gasped when he passed a rigid tip at your entrance.

"Because he was watching you from the same place where I usually jump to see you every night, sister."

"You…

"No… it wasn't just a dream, we gave in to our desires together, every damn night since I got here." He blew and sent shivers down your entire body, pressing your legs tighter around his waist. The object he was using, cold and firm, pierced you and elicited a shy moan. "There is no sin without punishment, sister. Prepare to meet the worst of the devil in me tonight."

The handle of Father Charles' knife moved back and forth against the liquid that was running between your legs. Hot, voracious and with the taste of blood, it was the kiss of the man destined for the holy life who synchronized his tongues at the same time as he passed his lips over my face and pressed his body against the wall.

Infamous desire inflamed your veins and you used your hips to grind against the tip of the knife with the slow and sensual rhythm of the kiss. Your moans were muffled by Charles' lips every time he sank the object deeper.

"That's it, darling," he exhaled in a hoarse voice. "There's no need to rush to finish this dance, I'll always come back the next morning."

Every night was real, he invaded your dreams and confused your reality with the kisses on your belly and the rotating movements he made against your clitoris. Responsible for all the orgasms that flooded your bed the previous morning, Father Charles escaped your fantasies and came true before your eyes.

Taking the soaked knife out of you, he heard the plea you made when you felt you were empty. With a mischievous smile, it didn't take long for him to fill you again with his hard and robust member, too strong for your tight entrance. Charles tore the walls of your pussy as he forced himself against you, and your moan as he dug his nails into your wounded back sounded even louder.

Your breathing synchronized, and he looked deep into your eyes as he thrust and lifted your body with each thrust. You closed your legs to squeeze him, and you had never heard a sound as intriguing as the moan of a man like him. Your body gave the first spasm and your eyes rolled back with the high concentration of pleasure in your vertebrae.

Charles gave you a relentless sequence of penetrations, slamming your back against the wall, rough and delirious, he didn't waste a single drop of your body, running his tongue over your face, neck and breasts, as if it were his fountain of youth.

With a long grunt, you came all over Charles and drew a restrained smile from him. He used his own fluid as lubricant to continue his thrusts. The pause made him sigh and with his fingers digging into the back of your neck he led you to kneel in front of him. His entire length was entering your mouth with difficulty.

You thought it was impossible for someone to have something so exaggerated, but he did. Your hand helped you by stimulating his erection and you worked on smearing it with your saliva, tasting it as it hit your throat. Charles writhed silently and made up for his lack of control by squeezing your hair between his fingers.

Your free hand massaged his balls without breaking eye contact with him. You felt your legs slip again just seeing Charles blush at how slowly he sucked your cock inside.

It was definitely not just a dream this time.

[cagesofgold]

BOWS - Touya Todoroki / Dabi x Reader

Touya’s never had to buy a gift before. He has vivid memories of linking flower stems together, pinching their petals at the ends with his fingers and placing them on Fuyumi’s head. Or that time he found a stray football discarded against a lamp post and brought it home beneath his shoulder for Natsuo. He had given a gift before, as he knew it.

But is that what you knew it to be?

The whiskey glass in his hand seemed to never end, the bottom tilted to one side with lashings of ice beginning to melt. Brown lurid liquid sloshing with every jolt of his hand, subconsciously anxious and consciously angered.

Touya thought he knew you pretty well. He knew that you hated mornings, and relished hot showers. He knew that your smile lit up every room you’d ever walked into and you hated cutlery against plates. He knew he could find you most often behind the bar, tucked away in the corner observing Kurogiri as he whisked around the shelves lined with liquor - your nose within a book, the pages water damaged and crinkled. He knew you loved to laugh, and hated those who took that from you. He knew you found it hysterical when Twice would perform his All Might impression, and rejoiced when Spinner would bring in fresh pork cutlet for dinner.

He knew that you loved the stars and the moon. And every celestial being within that sky, untouched by the brutalities of humanity, and holding the secrets we would always sought. You loved pointing out funky shaped clouds and insisting they looked like cats, when to Touya they just looked like blobs. You loved when he would bring you in snacks from his avid disappearances from the base, showing you were still at the front of his mind.

He knew your eyebrows would crinkle nervously when his hands would dust over yours, never wincing from their ragged appearance, but wincing from his touch. He knew you loved to dance, arms wrapped around his neck and fingers drumming along his nape to the rhythm - telling him to “Loosen up”, he never did. You never stopped telling him.

He knew that your lips were soft. He knew that they had no right to touch his, wrapped in wholehearted good meshing with the bearer of sin. He knew he shouldn’t come near you, but everyone knew that you had poisoned him from the minute you walked in that day. A shy grin tugged at your lips, intelligent and calculated words silencing dubious conceptions - and a white bow flailing behind you.

He loved those bows. You had one in every color. Some crimped, some satin, some cotton. Some with butterflies and some with strawberries. Some with small blue flames you had painted yourself and excitedly thrust into his face one day, a classical book still shoved under your arm and hair wild from the morning air.

They were apart of you as much as they were him. He was always finding little bows everywhere you went, like a trail, follow the bow, there goes Y/N.

He would never forget when he found you on the ground outside. A puddle of coalescing liquids, some crimson, some grey - seeping into your jeans as you held something crushed in your hands. Your favorite bow, doused in deep red stains - mauve accents polluting the pink stitched hem.

He knew you were upset, soul as crushed as that little piece of fabric. And as the days went by and your hair was absent of their astoundingly large presence for their size, he felt a pit of unease settle in his stomach.

The ice in the whiskey glass had melted, and Touya’s hood was pulled over his head as he transcended the steps to the front door of the bar, tugging it open with force and tearing down the streets. Each step he grew faster, careful to keep his face downcast in order to maintain his identity - to hide his scars you would always kiss. He dug his hands into his pockets, the hands you would always caress and wash, sweet whispers that he didn’t deserve, didn’t deserve for a fucking second, reassuring him that he was loved.

That you…

“Do you want that wrapped?” The cashier smacked her gum uninterestedly, bright blue eyeshadow on her waterline contrasting her dark eyes.

He nodded, keeping his voice wrapped away in the confinements of his true self that only you were allowed to see. He had some nerve, acting as if that was some kind of gift. You really had rewired his deprecating tendencies.

Cash slid across the table and the paper handles were clutched by burnt fingers, black boots sidling across squeaky linoleum floors - and a ten minute walk back to the hideout.

The moon hung low, and the stars peeked out from the blanket of black which hugged the sky. He wondered if you were looking at them, hanging out your window in that way he always hated, your laugh cutting straight through him as you glanced over your shoulder at him, that smile that went all the way up to your eyes. That smile which told him everything he begged to know his entire life. He never valued it before, and selfishly, the only reason he values it now is to make sure that smile never leaves. It stays to bless everyone who has the courtesy to see it.

His fist met your door, three raps and a slap. The order you made up whilst wrapped in a cloud of giggles, he swore to never do it. You thought differently. The door slowly creaked open, and he was met with a flood of emotions all crashing into him at once. Your eyes were deep set, rings of purple hanging below those vibrant colors he loved so much - except they’d flattened into something unrecognizable - and an instantaneous anger rose through him. Not directed at you, god, never at you.

Before his name could escape you he placed the box in your hands. Your palms were flat against the decorative box, a sweet pink fabric adorned with white ribbon. Lace lining each edge. You cocked an eyebrow, confusion clouding your eyes before he just simply tapped it with his pointer finger, shuffling around where he stood - one foot tapping against the floor.

Your gaze dropped downwards, opening the box slowly, careful and mindful of the wrapping. He found this incredibly endearing. And when you saw what was inside, saw it laying there, unspoken words between both of you laced within every stitch - He knew.

Touya thought he knew you pretty well.

He knew you loved him, and by god did he love you.

[mothiir]

yknow what??? fuck it. im not even gonna turn on anon. IM NOT EVEN GONNA DO IT!! because at this point you'd clock my ass a nautical mile off for who it is just bc im gonna ask for exactly what you caught me for on anon LAST TIME.

SO,,,, haha,,,, heyyyy mothiiiiir,,,, pllllleeeasse more nasty ass rabbit/emp headcanonnns OR writing or anything,, you always cook and im one starving ass loser.

thank you ily and your writing once again ok ok ok BYEEE

cw: angst, not what you intended but this got me thinking about the emperor and then uh. we got this. not set in the little rabbit verse, which will soon become obvious. playing loose with the canon timelines because i don’t know exactly how the burning of monarchia went down.

—

—

Monarchia burns — and three days later, Guilliman and his sons make planet fall.

—

It takes a great deal to surprise a Primarch, and yet here Guilliman is, blinking at the charred rubble of your former capital, struggling to find words.

“Say that again,” he says, at length. You sit up from your prostrated position, lifting your head just enough to address his shins rather than the ground.

“There is no penance great enough for the crime we have committed against the Emperor and the Imperium,” you say, your voice soft, but ringing clear. “There is no punishment that we do not deserve for such blatant defiance of the Imperial Truth. I can state that we were misled — which is true — and that we were ignorant, but that is no excuse. All I can say is that when I discovered that my Lord Husband was acting in defiance of the Emperor’s wishes, I acted as swiftly as I could to remedy it.”

It makes even less sense the second time around. The once-glorious city is wreathed in flames; the sun blotted out by a miasma of smoke. The same story is repeated across the entire planet. A revolution almost overnight — temples torn down, idols cast into the sea, believers put to the sword. The few Word Bearers that remained had died at their posts; they had slaughtered thousands of their kinsman, but died all the same. Bears torn down by hounds.

“You did this,” he says. You shake your head minutely. Your hair — once a glorious braid almost to your waist, always ornamented with some fancy that Lorgar had gifted you — has been chopped into an unkempt bob around your shoulders. Guilliman vaguely remembers a tale amongst Lorgar’s adopted people: of a queen who had lost a great battle, and shorn her locks in penance.

“No my lord. I did nothing. My people acted against the rot in our ranks. They carved it out.”

“Millions have died.”

“It is no great loss that those who would espouse the evils of theology perish,” you say, your voice as flat and featureless as a windless sea. “All I ask is that those that remain…”

For a moment, emotion returns to your voice, colouring it.

“All I ask is that some of them be spared. Please.”

You lift your face for the first time since his arrival. Your lips are lined with blood, shadows hung beneath eyes sunk deep into their sockets. In the space of three days, you seem to have aged decades — from a fresh-faced woman in the bloom of youth, to a crone who has seen the ending of all that she loves.

—

The seas do not boil. The sky does not burn. Another battle is brought to a shuddering, decisive end as the Ultramarines join on the side of your rebels — no, you cannot think of them as such. They are not rebels; they are vindicated. They are fighting for the truth, for what is right and good. They are crusaders.

You — you are not a crusader. You are not sure what to call yourself. Lorgar called you a goddess; a title that always disquieted you, but you accepted it, for his eyes shone so when he looked at you, and he made love to you as though you were the only thing that mattered. Now, you have lost count of the number of men and women who have died for referring to you as such.

You are not a widow either. Your husband lives, though you do not know where he is. Once, Lorgar pressed his hand to your chest and felt the thrum of your heart against his palm and said that no matter where you went there was a golden cord that bound your heart to his; that no void nor fire could split asunder what was joined in love.

You dream that you wind a golden chain around your hands, pull it taut, and bite until your teeth chip, until your tongue bleeds, until it frays into dust on your lips.

—

When you meet the Emperor, you press your forehead to the cinder-warm flagstones that used to be a marketplace, and you wait for death. You know, in a distant dreamy sort of way, that you should be afraid, but you are not. You accepted your death what seems like a lifetime ago — in reality, it is less than four days since you gave the order to start burning the temples.

The irony of it all. People answered your call to arms, to not-so-holy war, because you are Lorgar’s bride, because you are the woman once called goddess. And what did you do with the power that he gave you? You ordered that his greatest works be destroyed.

But what else could you have done?

Colchis is your home. And in his arrogance — in his endless childish arrogance — Lorgar would have let it burn to ash rather than do as he had been bid. Did he truly believe his father a god? If so, why would he not obey his commandments as soon as they were given?

Thinking this way hurts you — not only because it stirs anger like a wounded animal in your breast, but because it throws into stark relief how Lorgar’s mind contained chasms and corners you never saw. How even though you gave yourself to him as completely as a woman can, he always kept parts of himself hidden from you — but you will not waste time delving into that labyrinth. His beliefs are inconsequential. Only the facts matter. Lorgar worshipped his father as a god. Lorgar was told to stop. Lorgar did not.

You visited the day of judgement upon Colchis before the Emperor got the chance, betting everything on a single desperate gesture. You do not regret it, though you will dream of the dying wails of your people until the end of your days. If you had not acted, all would have died. Now, maybe — just maybe — some may live.

“The girl acted in the best interests of her people,” the Emperor says, and it is only then that you realise precisely what was happening: he was rifling around in your head, subtly enough that you could not see the intrusion; mistaking his exploration for an ill-timed moment of navel-gazing. All at once, pain rushes into your knees and thighs, knife-like cramps. How long have you been kneeling there?

Then, inexplicably, a wash of frustration: girl, he calls you. Girl. You are staring down your third decade of life — nothing for one such as him, of course, but really.

Girl. You carved out your still-warm heart and laid it on a flaming altar and he refers to you as girl.

“Stand,” he says, and you obey, fighting the hysterical urge to snort with laughter — you’re exhausted, swooning, and starting to feel the after-effects of the universe’s most powerful psyker reading your thoughts. Blood drips down your chin. “I am satisfied with the efforts of your loyal Imperial citizens against the primitive cultists.”

“Thank you my lord,” you say, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground — thus missing entirely the swift, puzzled look Guilliman gives you, for ‘I am satisfied’ is more praise than the Emperor normally gives anyone.

(And perhaps it is just a trick of the light, or the wild shadows cast by the afterglow of battle, but Guilliman swears that just for a moment his father smiles.)

“Heracles,” says the Emperor, addressing one of the gigantic golden sentinels standing to attention beside him. “You will escort her aboard the Bucephalus. We will speak further when I have dealt with my son.”

The golden sentinel inclines her head, and you try your best to stay upright, your legs shaky as a newborn colt. You do not think of what the Emperor will do to Lorgar; you cannot.

“It goes without saying,” says the Emperor, almost as an afterthought. “But your marriage to him is annulled.”

Eight years. Your life; your heart; that golden cord. What love has joined together, none may tear asunder - except that is not true, was never true.

“Yes my lord,” you say.

[moonflower91]

Where You Go, I Go

"He's afraid of me."

"Yes," Saerah hummed back, her fingers running softly through the ends of his long silver hair. "He's an old man now. Short of time, patience and temper. Like as not to lash out. Daemon has spent his life at war -- in the Stepstones, with his brother, even poor Rhea Royce to a degree. Now, likely the biggest war looms on the horizon, and he did not draw first blood."

“The folly of the young, as grandfather said. Smarter to wait than draw first blood.”

She fixed him with a sidelong look. “I shall say naught, for to insult Daemon for his recklessness, is to insult my love.” Aemond only rolled his eye, and settled further down her body to rest his head in her lap. 

"I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day."

"I know. You did not leave me intending to kill anyone, nor did anyone expect such a little fool to be the bearer of Rhaenyra’s business. You left me intending to make a marriage offer." She said it softly, stroking his hair, but he could hear the fire behind the icy tone in which  she spoke.

"That work is done now, Saerah."  He all but grumbled, turning his face into her lap.

"Yes, yes it is. Anyway, Daemon is full of bile and pride, but he is beholden to Rhaenyra. I can only imagine how burned he feels, to be reined in like a mad dog. Especially by her—not only his young wife, but the one whom Viserys chose over him.”

"You believe that whore would stop him from winning the war for her?"

Saerah thought for a moment. “To a point. She has ruined herself forever now with Jaehaerys’ slaughter. Mayhaps she takes pause now to act an innocent. But as her losses pile higher, I think it will make her desperate.”

“We fly with larger dragons and possess a larger army, with some of the best military minds in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Aye. She and Daemon will die for Helaena and Aegon’s boy. Imagining how I might kill them has caused me  such dark thoughts of late. I’m frightened of them because I know I truly desire them.”

“Tell me.” He said, turning his head to look up at her.

She could not meet his eye, and stared out, watching the flames in the hearth. “I would burn all of her bastards alive, perhaps making her watch. And then, I'd keep her alive for a long while, to let her wallow in her agony, and have Daemon ripped apart by dogs. His limbs thrown into the filth of slums he once lorded over.”

Aemond scoffed. "You've thought about it quite extensively."

"What else can I do all day, trapped here in the Red Keep but think of ways to make them suffer?" Saerah did not enjoy the idea of murdering children, even if it was in vengeance. But that little child, sleeping in his bed, who loved stories and ponies and playing with his mother's long hair...to be butchered, to die in fear and pain…

Her fingers tangled in her brother's hair, heart speeding because it felt just. Almost. But she knew her pain and grief drove this feeling. It would not be justice, she knew. But how she longed for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s agony to sate the burning ache of her family’s suffering and grief .

"I was terribly lonely without you here, Aemond. If you leave me again, I shall follow you on Vexxa."

“And leave Helaena here? Alone with naught but her fears? With her broken heart?”

“Helaena has Mother beside her. And Jaehaera.”

“Whom she can hardly look at without running away in tears. Jahaera and the boy looked just alike.” Like we did , he thought. When they were very small, Alicent once told them, they’d looked so alike no one could tell them apart. Of course, that had changed as their personalities grew. 

“I am a selfish creature, then, for I will still follow.”

“I am selfish then, too, for I would let you.”

[best-nun-tournament]

Round 3, Match 1

The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb) vs Mercedes von Martritz (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

Harrow is a nun of the Ninth House. She's been described as a space goth necromancer fantasy sci-fi bone nun.

Mercedes von Martritz is a nun of the Church of Saint Seiros at Garreg Mach Monastery.

The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus

She’s great. She has so many fucking problems. She’s been running the goth space convent since she was 10. She’s puppeting her dead parents around. She doesn’t like tastes. She is extremely passionate about bones. She’s locked in a twisted bond of love and violence and devotion and sacrifice with her childhood best enemy. She lobotomized herself to preserve the best enemy’s soul. She’s been in love with the corpse of the Devil all her life. She goes around in bone jewelry and skull face paint. She’s a sad wet cat who was born in a cardboard box all alone, etc. She chopped another woman’s arm off and regrew a skeleton arm, in a sexual way. She has awkward little fireside chats with God where he makes millennia-old meme references at her and she does not drink the proffered tea. She saw God make a your mom joke and it “destroyed some cavern of her reverence”. She’s even gay. She’s everything.

Mercedes von Martritz

Mercedes was born to the fallen House Martritz and bore a minor Crest of Lamine, a special type of blood that gave it's bearer enhanced abilities. Her father died shortly afterwards and Mercedes' mother remarried into House Bartels, giving birth to Emile von Bartels, who also had a minor Crest of Lamine. Mercie's stepfather was uncaring and only married for his new wife's crest which led to said wife's departure from House Bartels. She ran away with only her eldest child to the Kingdom, where Mercedes would really start her own life as a student of Fhirdiad's Royal School of Sorcery. There, she befriended Annette Fantine Dominic and both girls would later attend Garreg Mach Monastery together. Mercedes is a kind soul with a soft voice and the ability to speak her mind. She's the eldest student attending the Officer's Accademy and takes it upon herself to be a shoulder of support for her classmates, no matter their origin. When the timeskip hits, Mercie returns in a nun's garb and expresses reinforced belief in the Church, even in the route where you fight against the Archbishop. I find her extremely fascinating due to her sub-plot with her brother, Emile. Mercedes held deep regret for leaving her brother behind in House Bartels despite not knowing that he had chosen to stay behind to protect her and her mother. Emile later returns as The Death Knight, a general under the Flame Emperor's command and his story with his sister changes depending on the player's route. Should the player oppose the Flame Emperor, Emile and Mercie can reunite briefly, with The Death Knight granting Mercedes a relic that can only be operated by their Crest before dying in her arms in a later battle, happy to be with his family once again. In the event that the player does side with the Flame Emperor, The Death Knight becomes playable alongside his sister, revealing thatthe years spent in House Bartels changed him, giving rise to two distinct personalities: Jeritza von Hyrm and The Death Knight. Jeritza had been a teacher at Garreg Mach, serving as a spy to the Flame Emperor while The Death Knight quelled his bloodlust under the Flame Emperor's orders. In this route, Mercedes reaches out to both Jeritza and The Death Knight as their elder sister and the exchanges they have are some of my favorites in Fire Emblem history. Also Mercie is bisexual and both M!player and F!player can marry her in the end, regardless of route. Love her for that

[moodymisty]

Hi i have a request yandere lorgar x f reader (9 ,47,45,42)

Reader decides to support lorgar more after seeing the mental state of him after the burning of monarchy,lorgar starts to become more and more obsessed with her to the extent of treating her like a goddess , he wants to always have her by his side he doesn't want to lose more things in his life.

( idea inspired by roroco316's recent drawing https://www.tumblr.com/roroco316/746301636466589696/the-annunciation-warning-very-hereical-yes-the?source=share )

Sorry for the bad English I'm using an online translator.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

 Author's Note: I love that art so much, so I hope this in a way provides a similar vibe?

Relationships: Lorgar/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Tokophobia, Pregnancy, Does it still count as breeding kink if you’re already pregnant and he gets off on that?, Possessive, Praise Kink, Overstimulation

"Lorgar?"

You cautiously walk into his study and gently call out, peeking your head into to see where he is.

A few moments later you notice him on the far side of the room, looking out one of the large windows at the darkness, spattered with only a few stars. He turns shortly after hearing your voice, and gives a small, pained but pleased smile.

"Ahh, my little goddess. What are you doing up?"

Having successfully tested his mood and found it safe you come in, the door closing behind you. Your more casual, plain nightclothes are at odds with his decorated study, even if it pales in comparison to the one he had on Monarchia.

But that's nothing but ash now. All of those tomes, scrolls, tapestries, memories, gone.

The Fidelitas Lex is now your permanent home, after everything.

"I couldn't sleep, so I wanted to come see you."

There's a myriad of reasons you could blame for your inability to sleep; The only just concluded razing of Monarchia and your sudden transplant onto the Word Bearers flagship, or your growing child; Which has constantly caused you to feel ill up until recently. You absentmindedly brush your hands over your still somewhat subtle belly at the thought.

“I thought maybe seeing you for a bit help.”

You keep shaking and your mind is still racing even days later; It’s preventing you from getting much rest at all. Lorgar softens at your comment and beckons you closer with a hand.

"Come here then, I'd love for nothing more than for you to sit with me for bit."

You walk closer and he moves to sit down on his large chair, lifting you into his arms and sitting you in his lap sideways. It lets you rest your back against his right arm, legs going across his lap.

Taking his left hand he gently brushes it over your shoulder before he rests it on your belly, silently thinking. During it all however, he consciously avoids your arms, and his brow furrows for a moment when he sees your sleeves have ridden up to expose more of your skin.

Your arms and hands still have burns on them from when the invading Ultramarines set the entire palace ablaze, intent to smoke out anyone inside.

They'll heal, its the mental wounds you're far more worried about. For Lorgar more than yourself.

Apparently Lorgar had been not unlike a raging beast when he realized you were still trapped inside, and only managed to calm himself when you'd return to him, Word Bearers at your side. They’d hauled themselves through flames to get you if not only to then plead for their primarch to retreat; as even their legion mother was not worth losing their primarch and everything he had built.

Lorgar speaks up; His voice is quiet, but you can hear it fine in your little bubble.

"To think I almost lost you... Both of you," Lorgar moves his hand from your stomach to cradle your jaw. "I don't know what I would've done. You are my guiding light."

His grip is firm, holding you close as if afraid you'll leave, or be nearly ripped from his arms again. You gently touch his arm.

"I was afraid I was never going to see you again."

Lorgar's face softens, looking down at you.

"Don't worry. I will never allow that to happen again." You grasp at his clothing and pull yourself upward, him leaning down to gently press his lips to your own. The angle is still awkward with his height, but you just manage it.

The look in his eyes is dark when he pulls away, staring down at you as you lay so small in his lap. His tone of voice seems to change as does is attitude; He’s been even more mercurial as of late, to at least given circumstances it isn’t entirely surprising.

“They were all jealous of me, you know that?”

You at first don’t know who he means by that, but his latter statement adds some clarity. “They were all jealous of the world I built, the things I wrote, created,” Lorgar removes his hand from your jaw with a gentle caress, before trailing downward.

“They were all so jealous I found you, someone so beautiful, who understood me,”

His hand rests on your thigh and grabs the fabric of your dress, pulling it upward. Thankfully any cuts and bruises there have healed, since Monarchia. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as you shiver from the air against your once covered skin, and Lorgar puts his warm palm against your thigh.

“Perhaps if they weren’t so intent on killing one another, they would have found love.”

You sense a subtle jab at Guilliman, who had not only been one of the more vocal Primarchs against Lorgar having a lover so close and intertwined with his legion, but as well as having tried to kill all that he loved by razing Monarchia.

Lorgar's hand slips between your legs, spreading your thighs across his own as his right arm still cradles you close to him. His fingers brush over your outer lips and instinctively your knees try to close, but you can’t with his large hand in the way.

“You’re already so wet,” He mutters as if in a way teasing you. “I know I haven’t been accommodating to you, as of late.” Your bed has been quite cold without him, too busy commanding his legions movement after the Ultramarine’s devastation and his newfound disgust for the Emperor.

But he still had you, he had said; All to himself. The news of you being with child had still been fresh in his mind happening only days before Monarchia was up in flames. It only seemed to further his possessiveness of you.

"I have always thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world," Your hands grip his clothing deathly tight, trying to hold yourself steady. "But something about you and our child, you keep getting more beautiful by the day."

His index finger slowly sinks into you, curling upward as he fully sheathes it inside of you. The way you’re sitting sideways, you don’t have much options to move, and so you’re stuck writhing in his lap as he has his way with you.

"Lorgar..." He makes you feel good, you want more, but you can't help but feel as if something is off. Nothing you can speak of to him, as you lean into his arm and your heart hammers against your chest. Your thighs quiver and shake as he slips a second finger into you, stretching you just enough to get the friction you needed.

You've been so sensitive since getting pregnant, it's not long before he makes you cum on his fingers. You cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle your noises despite the room being empty apart from the two of you.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, but doesn't completely remove his hand from between your thighs. Instead as you feel your muscles twitch from the aftershocks he presses his finger against your clit, causing your hips to jerk from the suddenly overwhelming sensation. Within moments you're whining even louder than you had been earlier, the sudden overstimulation nearly too much for you to handle.He gently rubs, slowly pressing and rolling with his fingers before he eventually decides to slip them back into you, but he doesn't get much farther beyond just barely pressing against your entrance.

A firm knock on the door startles you, but Lorgar almost seemed to have been prepared for it. Perhaps he heard them coming, long before the knock.

“...Primarch Lorgar? You’re needed on the bridge.”

Lorgar pulls his soaked hand from between your thighs, and wipes it off on his clothing as he turns to look over his shoulder at the still unopened door. His other arm still holds you closer to him.

But while he is irritated by the interruption, you know that Lorgar enjoys the suffering, in a way. You know once his duties are done he’ll find you again and finally satisfy himself, after he’s waited so long it aches.

“Very well. I will be there in a moment.” Lorgar gently ushers you to your feet, hands hovering as if doubtful you won't fall.

“I can walk still, Lorgar.” You joke at him, and he smiles back.

“I know, I only worry.” His hand drifts across your jawline, before he stands fully upright; You notice him softly adjust the fabric of his trousers.

“I will finish with whatever they have for me, and then I will return to you. Get some rest in the meantime, I urge you.” You nod, crossing your arms gently.

Lorgar’s eyes are soft, but there’s a darkness in them you catch.

“But do be ready for me by then.”

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Wicked Games

Assassin!Reader x Poly!Feysand

Author's note: This is my first self-insert and first smut, wanted to try something new for a change. Not proof-read, we die like men.

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This mission was supposed to be simple, quick. In and out, cut and dry, the job coming in like all the others: A manila envelope under your door, no markings, the target and order inside. That was how it had always been, how it always would be, it was the only thing you knew to be true. So how in the Seven Hells had you ended up here? The High Lord leaned against the wall, his well pressed shirt open half way down his chest, the swirl of Illyrian ink in stark contrast to his bronze skin, so casual in the face of what should have been his own demise. Worse, the High Lady, perched atop the desk, her bare legs bouncing against the wood as she kicked her feet almost giddily. Neither of them looked displeased with the fact that you had been sent there to kill them. In fact, you were quite sure the infamous Curse Breaker was laughing at you as you squirmed uncomfortably in your seat. They hadn't even tied you down! It was starting to feel like an insult, they way they'd simply ushered you in here and asked you to sit like you'd come in for a meeting and not for the poison you'd slipped into their wine minutes before.

"It was a valiant effort, really," said Rhysand as he pushed away from the wall and came to stand behind you.

It was impossible not to be aware of the sheer power of him when he was this close. It was like a dropping a stone into a pond, the ripple of star-kissed power brushing steadily against you. You'd been around powerful males your whole life, had been trained to kill many of them, but none had ever felt like this. He was the shadow of a thought in your mind, a brush of darkness against your skin, you could practically taste jasmine and citrus.

Feyre was no better as she placed her elbows on her knees and leaned forward to get a better look at you. The dress she wore was cut low, the neckline plunging towards her midsection, accentuating every curve when she sat like that. Power radiated off her, not just Night, but something other, as if something beyond the power of the High Lords prowled beneath her skin.

"Not many people dare try," she said with a grin. She'd been the one to catch you. It had been a mistake going for her first, you could see that clearly now. The decision to spike their wine and than disguise yourself as their new cupbearer was already a risky move, but you liked to be absolutely sure the job was done, and done right. And Feyre hadn't taken her throne, she had been perched in Rhysand's lap, kissing his neck and whispering in his ear as she drank cup after cup. You'd thought she would be too drunk to notice the change in taste, too caught up in the revelry to even notice that you were not their usual cup bearer. You had been very, very wrong. She hadn't even gone in for a sip, had somehow been using her public display of affection to distract from the fact that she'd slipped right into your mind and seen exactly what you had done. And still, she could have killed you right there, could have summoned water or flames or ice and you'd heard she could do and taken you out in front of everyone in the Court of Nightmares. But she'd gotten out of Rhysand's lap, stumbling on heels you thought were too tall for her, and thrown an arm around your shoulder, whispering in your ear that she needed your help finding the bathroom--and knocking the spiked drinks out of your hands in the process. It was very clear to you now that she had never been drunk in the first place.

Neither of them were anything like the report you'd gotten.

"I-" what was there to say? Words felt useless.

Rhysand leaned down, resting the bulk of his weight on the back of the chair, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "So who do I get to thank for sending you?"

You shivered at his proximity, at his warm breath over the shell of your ear. Not many people dared to get this close to you; not many people got the better of you like this either. This was certainly a lot of firsts.

When you gave no response, Feyre said, "Don't be shy."

They were likely to rip the answer right out of your skull with those terrifying daemati powers if you kept your mouth shut, or worse, summon that Shadowsinger you'd seen lurking around the halls earlier. "I don't know."

Rhysand made a disappointed sound from where he still hovered by your ear. You refused to try and turn to look at him, refused to acknowledge that you had even heard him.

Feyre jumped off the top of the desk, her stilettoes clicking against the polished marble floors. "Now, now, don't make this difficult for yourself."

"Your secret is safe with us," Rhysand said mockingly.

"I don't know! I get my orders in the mail. There's never a return address or signature."

"Where's the mail?"

"I burned it."

"Well in that case," his voice was the only warning before you felt something scrape against your mental shields. You tried to throw more walls up as a talon slashed across your mind, but it was not Rhysand that slipped past, but Feyre, quick and quite as the huntress they said she used to be. She laughed as she sprinted through your memories, all attempts at shielding useless as Rhysand kept poking at what little shields you had up to distract you. They were the perfect team, synced to perfection, each move calculated and sharpened.

Feyre stepped into the memory of you opening the envelope as simply as if she had stepped through a doorway. The memory unfolded for her, you saw your own hands break the seal, open the letter, and burn it in a flash, before reality broke back through. You shook your head, fighting the memory away like it was a spot in your eye.

"That handwriting looked familiar, didn't it, Darling," Rhysand purred, the low timber of his voice rumbling in your ear.

"How thoughtful of Keir to give us an Anniversary gift," Feyre returned.

Keir. You only knew the stories about him, what a horrible male he was. You'd been lucky to have not been born in the Court of Nightmares like your mother, had grown up only with the tales of what kind of place this was. Your mother had protected you for as long as she could, but when Amarantha had come, when war bands had fought and bickered over land in the little territory she and your father had managed to make for themselves... well, they were gone and you'd had to find a way to survive, but you hadn't forgotten those stories. Your stomach twisted. This job had never been easy, but it had never been for males like Kier. At least, you'd never thought so.

You must have looked surprised because Feyre put two manicured fingers under your chin and tilted your head up to look at you. Something wicked gleamed in those strikingly blue eyes and you quickly blurted, "I swear I didn't know! I needed the money, I didn't know the job was from him."

"We believe you," she said. "But I think you should prove you're worth letting go."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I'll do anything!"

Rhysand chuckled at that. "Anything?"

The suggestiveness in the question made you shiver, more so when the High Lady broke into a grin. That couldn't be a good sign.

"I want to see Keir sweat a little, don't you dear?" Feyre asked over your head to her mate.

"More than just a little, I should think."

This felt like a fever dream, everything a little distorted and muffled. Perhaps it was. You had hit your head pretty hard on your last mission. How else could you explain what was happening here?

"Stand," Feyre ordered.

You did as you were told, even if you were biting the inside of your cheek.

"So responsive," Rhysand said, more to Feyre than you.

You frowned at that.

Feyre stepped closer to you, settling her hands on your hips. There was no room to twist away as her mate settled in behind you, the heat radiating off him seeping through your shirt. They even moved in perfect sync.

Nowhere to run now.

"You're going to play our favorite game with us."

Game? The reports hadn't said anything about them liking games.

"I don't understand-"

Rhysand cut you off, "Just follow our lead."

Feyre gave your hips a squeeze, "It's fun, trust me."

You didn't know what this had to do about proving you had made a mistake in taking this job, but you didn't know what other choice you had, so you just nodded.

They led you back into the throne room, the night's revelry still in full swing. Near the back, where the tables were still piled high with food, was Keir, the aging steward speaking conspiratorially with some of the other high ranking officials of the Court. Did he know already that you had failed? If he did, he didn't show it. He didn't so much as look up from his conversation.

Something hot twisted in your stomach at the sight of him. How could you have taken a job for a male like him?

Feyre pulled your thoughts away from him as she pulled you over to the dais, where their thrones sat empty. Even though Keir wasn't paying attention, others in the crowd were.

You swallowed thickly as Rhysand slid into his rightful seat, looking every bit the High Lord he was. Feyre didn't resume her seat in his lap, however, this time she perched on the arm rest, and guided you into her former place.

Your cheeks heated, mouth dry as the High Lord looped a strong arm around your waist and positioned you more comfortable on his lap, one long leg slotting between your own.

Feyre chucked at your obvious embarrassment. "Now now, you said you'd do anything." She said into your mind.

You dared a glance at her. This wasn't what you'd meant!

"This game is much more fun if you relax," Rhys purred as he dragged his nose over your throat looking for a place to sink his teeth.

You shivered despite yourself, the warmth of him seeping into you.

Feyre gripped your chin in her hand, forcing your gaze away from where it had wandered into the crowd. Keir still wasn't paying attention, but more and more people were halting their dancing and drinking to leer at this new pet their High Lord and Lady had brought back with them.

"Eyes on us."

Rhysand's hand slid over your hip and down to your thigh. The servant's garb you'd borrowed was a thin pair of pants, and a large, hooded sweater, not the sexy, revealing gown the High Lady donned, but you still couldn't help but feel incredibly vulnerable in this position.

How were you supposed to know what to do? How was this proving you could be trusted not to take another job from Keir? Was that fool even looking this way?

Rhysand nipped at the underside of your jaw and you jumped, thoughts careening away from Keir and whatever he was doing. The High Lord's breath was warm on your neck, each nip he left along your jaw sending shivers down your spine. It was an effort to keep your eyes open, to not immediately tilt your head back against his shoulder and let him explore every inch of you as you submitted fully to him. He could make you, if he wanted, it would be all too easy for him to reach inside your mind and move you however he wanted. You'd be a liar if you said the thought didn't excite you. The thought of handing yourself over to someone with that kind of power, testing to see what they'd do with it was more tempting than you'd ever dare say aloud. And maybe the High Lady had heard those thoughts, because a moment later, she was threading her hands through your hair and tilting your head back to let Rhysand explore further.

You whimpered softly as he ran his tongue over your pulse point and then Feyre was leaning in and nipping at the other side of your neck. It was too much at once, the overwhelming scent and warmth of them had you leaning fully into Rhysand's shoulder, eyes closing. One of their hands slid under your shirt, stroking at your side, you thought it might be Feyre, but didn't dare open your eyes to look, lest this really be a dream and you'd awake alone.

"Good girl," Rhysand praised. Somehow, even in your head his voice was low and husky. His hand slid further up your thigh, testing as he drew closer to your core. The move had you squirming and Feyre responded by dragging her hand from underneath your shirt to hold your hips down. There was no escaping either of them.

You still weren't sure how you ended up in this position, but you no longer cared. All you knew was this, them, and how much more of them you needed. Distantly you wondered if this was some daemati trick, if they had slipped into your mind and convinced you to do this. You decided you didn't care if they had, not as Feyre's lips were on yours, her tongue sliding past your teeth. There wasn't a hint of wine on her lips, despite all you'd seen her drink earlier. How she did that was anyone's guess.

Rhys drew circles on the inside of your thigh with his fingers, teasing you now as he continued to nip at your throat. There'd be marks in the morning, of that you were certain.

Feyre broke apart abruptly, laughing as you chased after her. "I think she likes this game of ours."

"Shall we play some more?"

You could play it all night if they wanted. There was something intoxicating about the two of them that had you desperate for any scrap of affection they could give you.

"Yes!" You said it faster than you intended, a blush creeping it's way back up your cheeks as you realized how pathetic it sounded, especially to two high fae. "Please."

Feyre leaned over you to kiss Rhys this time, intentionally pressing herself forward so her chest brushed up against you. You arched up to press your lips against her collar bones, too scared to go lower. She hummed approvingly into Rhy's mouth and he rewarded you by dragging his hand the rest of the way up your thigh, cupping your core through your pants. You were desperate for friction now, grinding your hips into his palm, even as your lips continued to work of Feyre's collarbones. She smelled so good! Her skin soft under your lips. You wanted the time to run your lips over the smattering of freckles she'd gotten while hunting in the summer time.

Rhys' free hand slid into your hair, pulling tight as he whispered in your ear, "No marks on your High Lady. Not without my permission, understand?"

If you were of any sound mind you might have been tempted to scrape your teeth across her throat, just to see what he would do, but you knew you weren't lucky enough to get away with it after everything that had happened already. "Yes, sir."

His dark laugh rumbled in his chest, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. This was a very dangerous game, far more dangerous than any assassination attempt had ever been. Dangerous, because, for once, you were enjoying it and enjoying anything in this line of work got you in trouble.

Feyre leaned back, out of your reach, and still held by Rhys' arm around your waist, it was impossible to reach out after her. Especially now that the High lord had decided he didn't like the article of clothing between his hand and you, and was reaching for the waistband of your pants.

The blush returned tenfold. This--touching, kissing, in front of all these people was one thing, but that?

The High Lady pouted as she looked at you, her eyes lust-blown, so dark you almost couldn't see the blue. "I think you have too much on."

Before you could contemplate what that meant, she snapped her fingers and your sweater disappeared entirely.

You tried to move to cover yourself, squirming now, and she grabbed your hands with a disapproving tut. "No hiding."

Rhys' hand had slid inside your waistband, so close again your hips rocked forward, searching for him without conscious thought, even as your face heated. There was a fine line between your pleasure and sheer mortification and somehow you were still teetering between the two, torn between wanting more and wanting to sink into the floor and disappear. The crowd was watching, or at least you were pretty sure they were, at this point you were too scared to look and kept your gaze glued to where the High Lord and Lady were touching you.

"So pretty," Feyre hummed as she moved your hands up and around Rhys' neck.

There was no hiding what they were doing to you now. You might have fought them harder if Rhys' hand wasn't finally where you wanted him so desperately, a finger sliding easily into you. Your jaw dropped, a strangled sound coming out of you.

"So wet," he teased, mind to mind. "All this for us, pet?"

Pet. Toy. The High Lord's little play thing. You'd been called worse.

"Yes, sir."

"So well trained, maybe we should keep her," Feyre said as she placed a gentle kiss on your nose.

"Where'd you learn this manners, hmm?" He nipped at your ear as he slid a second finger inside you.

Your eyes rolled back into your head at the stretch, at the way he curled his fingers, hitting all the right spots. Heat coiled in your gut and you found yourself instinctively tightening your hands into the silky strands of his hair.

"Certainly not Keir," Feyre said as she brought her hands to squeeze at your breasts.

You'd had your eyes closed, lost in the bliss of Rhys' ministrations, unprepared for the new sensation of her hands on you, you let out a moan louder than was appropriate for the situation.

"Guess I'm just good at this game," I quipped weakly. The two of them working together like this was becoming overwhelming, you could barely think past the point of contact of with their hands. There was only this and them and the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach. Rhys' pace was quickening. Feyre was playing with the clasp at the center of your bra, toying with it like she was contemplating ripping it off you.

She might have, if someone hadn't cleared their throat at the base of the dais.

"What do you want Keir?" Rhys sneered, the true picture of princely boredom, as if he was not currently holding you at the cusp of an orgasm, as if his mate wasn't leaving hickey's on the exposed skin of your breasts as they spoke.

You'd thought, as you registered Keir's presence that this would be the end of it, that they would stop now that they had his attention, but Rhys was still curling his fingers inside you, stroking relentlessly as Feyre bit and sucked at your sensitive skin. You arched into her, biting down on a moan, this game be damned. Who cared about Keir? About the rest of the court? You needed them to keep touching and kissing you. This was all that mattered.

You were panting as Feyre giggled into your skin. "Doing so good for us."

"Please," you begged, grinding yourself down on Rhys palm. You were so close, just a little more.

"I hate to interrupt," Keir began.

"No you don't," said Feyre. "It's your favorite thing to do."

"But your little toy-"

"Brought us a gift for our anniversary?" Rhys finished for him.

"We know," Feyre added. "It was a really sloppy attempt at a gift."

Keir stammered, none of the words coming out right.

"She needs some training," Rhys said. "A little refining around the edges, but I think this will be a very profitable relationship."

"Just wish we knew who sent her our way," Feyre cooed.

Rhys' free hand hand came up to rest on your throat, just tight enough to make you lean your head back to look at him. The move sent heat straight to your core, your muscle tightening as you whimpered for him. "But we'll get it out of you eventually, won't we, pet?"

Keir was visibly shaking now.

"Mhmm," you whimpered.

"Come on now, where are those pretty little manners you had before?" Rhys teased, his hand suddenly stilling.

The loss of friction was too much, tears welling up in your eyes. "Yes, yes High Lord." You stammered.

His grin was feline as he started moving again, faster this time. Feyre slid behind your mental shield again, this time opening up a door in her own mind to show you what you looked like through her eyes, your pupils blown, your cheeks flushed, lips kiss swollen and red. They'd left little red marks all along your throat and chest. Then she blasted you with an image of what she still wanted you to look like, images of her between your legs, of you taking Rhys in your mouth. You tightened around Rhys' fingers.

"And you would take the word of some-" whatever word he was about to throw at you was suddenly cut off as Rhys removed his ability to speak.

"Careful how you speak, Keir."

The steward's mouth opened and closed as he tried in vain to defend himself.

Rhys waved a hand, "You clearly have nothing useful to say here, you can go." Keir spun like a top, mouth still flapping open and closed like a fish, limbs splayed awkwardly, clearly not in control of his body, until Rhys made him walk half way to the door. Once he'd been released from the High Lord's grip, he stumbled and all but ran for the door.

"Why...?" The rest of the thought eddied from your mind as Rhys curled his fingers, hitting a spot inside you that made stars dance across your vision, your orgasm barreling through you so fast you're sure you screamed their names, but didn't have the presence of mind to hear it for yourself.

"We could kill him now," Feyre said as you slumped back against Rhys' shoulder. "But what fun is that? Why show him the mercy of a quick death when we can have him looking over his shoulder every five minutes, contemplating how to beat us in this wicked little game of ours?"

"I think," Rhys cooed as he placed a gentle kiss on your temple. "That it would be much more fun to eventually turn you on him instead."

You huffed a laugh at that.

Rhys carefully removed his fingers from your core and attempted to bring them to his mouth for a taste, but Feyre beat him to it, sliding his long fingers directly into her mouth, holding eye contact with you the entire time.

You clenched your legs together, wincing at the bit of soreness you felt there.

"Besides," Rhys purred in your ear, right before he shifted you around, settling you chest to chest in his lap. "This game is just getting started, isn't that right, pet?"

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Part 22 Straw Hats go to Dressrosa to stop Doflamingo! (Who has big plans for Reader)

You already have plans but I think it would be cool to see these things happen

Reader joins Luffy and Ace in the Area (Because she was stubborn)

When she was the walking and talking toys she actually felt very uncomfortable and that something is very wrong

They learning that the Area Prize is the Flame Flame Fruit! (Because when Reader brought Ace back to life she brought him back to life with his powers)

Reader meeting Sabo with Ace and Luffy and is in awe meeting her new brother (She’s sparkly eyed learning about her newest big brother)

When Robin was turned into a toy, what if Reader’s power was activated on her mind to prevent her memory of Robin from being ‘Erased’ and she’s just confused as to why everyone doesn’t remember ‘Mama’ (When Robin and everyone turned back to normal her horn stoped flaring)

I think it would be interesting since Sugar’s power affects memory when she turns people into toys, however if it’s someone that Reader knows then her power is activated on her own mind, preventing her memory from being wiped

Doflamingo intends to make Reader join his ‘Family’ as the Heart Suit (As her ability will be useful to him) as he learned what Caesar found out about her blood and wants her power

She brings Scarlet and Corazon back

Reader’s in awe seeing the little Tontattas and find them cute

Reader meets Bartolomeo (Or ‘Big Brother Barto’) and he swears to keep her safe

So much happens in Dressrosa I can’t keep track! 😭

-Arriving in Dressrosa was incredible for everyone! The city was massive, and it had been a long while since you had all been to such a large city.

-Despite everyone wanting to go out and have fun, Law had to be the bearer of bad news, warning and reminding everyone that Doflamingo was in charge here, and he had people everywhere.

-Nami was hesitant on letting you go onto the island, even in your disguise, as they didn’t want to risk your safety, but after you, unknowingly, giving her big pleading eyes, as you wanted to explore, she relented, allowing you to go with the group.

-Robin gave you a hat much like her own, only dark blue, and a large pair of heart shaped dark purple sunglasses that covered a good portion of your face. The two of you were matching, something you couldn’t help but beam at and Robin thought was adorable as everyone was wearing disguises, something Law insisted on, despite some of them being very bad.

-When a massive tournament was announced with a wonderful prize, none of your family was anticipating seeing your face on the poster, offering you as the grand prize for the tournament at the colosseum.

-Ace and Luffy were furious, wanting to immediately throw hands as you were hugging Usopp, who had immediately kneeled, panicking.

-Law realized that this was a ploy to capture you, “They must realize we’re here already. This is a trap so we should- OI YOU IDIOTS!!” He was quickly yelling at Ace and Luffy, who had grabbed you, running off to the colosseum so one of the two of them could win, to ensure your safety, but not before Luffy grabbed you and ran off with you!

-The others ran after them, but once inside the colosseum, there was no way out for the fighters. Luffy explained his genius plan, that if this was a trap to kidnap you, the safest place for you would be at the colosseum!

-Robin agreed, thinking that would be a smart choice, before her group agreed to research more of the other strange reports, like marines, government officials, other pirates, and other nobles from other kingdoms going missing.

-Robin showed her rare scary side, as she stared down both Ace and Luffy with a sweet smile on her face, “You promise to keep Y/N safe, right?” all four men, Ace, Luffy, Usopp, and Law, were all quickly intimidated by Robin, but they promised and you beamed brightly, “We’ll be back soon Mama!”

-She smiled at you, giving a small nod and everyone went their separate ways. However, it was amusing when your brother’s signed up, because they couldn’t use their actual names, so Luffy became Lucy, and Ace became Anne, which you thought was kind of funny, before they gave you the nickname Eri, which you loved as you got to match with them with new nicknames! Despite not fully knowing the reasoning behind it.

-Your big brothers wound up being in different rounds, so they wouldn’t be fighting against each other, which did work out so one of them could stay with you during the different rounds.

-Rebecca was so pretty, and she let you inspect her helmet after she bought Luffy and Ace each a lunch box, and you beamed, “It’s so shiny!” she couldn’t help but smile softly down at you, worried about you, seeing a child there, but Ace just gave her a firm nod, “She’s the safest with us right now.”

-Rebecca didn’t know the situation, but she didn’t question it as your brothers commented a lot on the different fighters, seeing so many strong ones. Ace cracked his knuckles, seeing Burgess there. Ace told you, as he walked away so he wouldn’t attack the taller man, that he was part of Blackbeard’s crew, who was the one who almost got Ace killed.

-Three men approached as you were watching the first round with Luffy, as Ace was in the first round, something he enjoyed, as you got to see him fighting without his Devil Fruit ability, as that would have given his identity away.

-The tallest of the men spoke to Luffy, revealing he knew exactly who he was, despite the disguise, explaining that he fought Garp many years ago, and Garp ruined his life, and now he and his grandchildren were going to take their anger out on Luffy!

-You had been on a bench when they started to attack, with other fighters yelling at them, as Luffy was doing his best to dodge the attacks, telling him to knock it off, and that he was the wrong person.

-You gasped, seeing your big brother being attacked, and as Chinjao charged, you called out, running into the way as shouts filled the air, seeing a child, “Please don’t hurt my big brother!”

-Your glasses were folded and down the front of your shirt, as you were having issues seeing inside, as it was a bit too dark for you, so your face was revealed as your large tear-filled eyes were looking up at him, silently pleading with him, Sai, and Boo to not hurt Luffy.

-They froze, seeing this tiny child willing to defend her big brother, and as the first tear fell, instantly they were all on their knees, trying to console you, apologizing, their vibe instantly going from scary to soft as you sniffled softly, trying to stop your tears. At least Chinjao knew who you were, but he kept it quiet, not wanting anyone else to know so you wouldn’t be at risk.

-It was amusing when Ace arrived back, winning his match, seeing a room full of rough looking fighters all acting goofy, trying to make you smile as you were in Luffy’s arms.

-You were learning what Garp had done as you were holding onto Chinjao’s hand, or at least one of his fingers, “So grandpa made you sad?” your cheeks immediately puffed up in a pout, glaring lightly, angry for him which instantly caused heart related issues as people all over the room collapsed from cuteness.

-You told Chinjao, “I’ll call grandpa and I’ll ask him to apologize. Everyone should apologize when they do something wrong, right?” As you asked this, you looked at Luffy who beamed brightly, telling you that was correct.

-After Luffy fought, winning his match, returning Chinjao’s head to normal, which looked pointy and made him even taller, you got to meet two new people after Luffy made it back to you both.

-The first was a man who looked like a chicken, with a bright green mohawk, who called you Y/N-senpai, knowing exactly who you were.

-His name was Bartolomeo and he beamed, getting to meet his idols, as he told Luffy that he joined because when he saw you were the prize, he had to win so he could save you and return to your family, unaware that it was a ruse by Doflamingo, but Luffy could tell that he was a good person as you were holding onto his hand, looking at his painted nails while he was gushing that you were holding his hand.

-The second man was someone that Ace and Luffy both knew, and you were wide-eyed as they rushed to him, embracing him while ugly crying. Sabo was so warm and kind, hugging both of them, so happy to see them again.

-You were a little shy as Sabo kneeled, removing his hat, “And who is this?” Luffy beamed brightly kneeling beside you, “This is our little sister- Y/N!” If he was more surprised he didn’t show it as he gave you a warm smile as Ace spoke, “And Y/N, this is Sabo, he’s our third brother!”

-Your eyes went huge, immediately sparkling as Sabo quickly fell, clutching at his chest, “Really? I have another big brother?” and Koala didn’t hesitate to take blackmail pictures, thinking it was adorable.

-It was about a half hour later and you were crying, your hands clutching at the end of your dress as a super tall man walked into the room you had been put, after all the fighters were being attacked, pulled in by a sticky man that made your skin crawl, Trebol.

-You didn’t know where any of your big brothers were, as you had been ripped from Luffy’s arms, screaming out for him.

-This new man was very tall, wearing glasses over his eyes and had a huge fluffy pink coat. He introduced himself as Donquixote Doflamingo, and you knew the name, as Law had been saying this was a dangerous person.

-Doflamingo had smiled wickedly, seeing you there, as he knew from Caesar what you were able to do, not only naturally, with your unusual ability, but also your blood.

-After Law had destroyed the lab, making sure every piece of research that had been collected, including the blood vials, had been destroyed, Doflamingo was furious, until he realized that you and the rest of the Straw Hats would be coming to Dressrosa.

-He knew that your family would take the bait on offering you as a prize in the tournament, as it would make them not think clearly, and he had been proven right, as your brothers had basically delivered you right to him.

-He picked you up by the back of your dress, letting you dangle as he laughed, “You are quite the surprise, Y/N.” you sniffled softly, your eyes piercing into his own, despite being hidden by glasses, “Mister Dof-Dof…Mister Flamingo, where’s my big brothers?”

-Doflamingo was stunned stiff, seeing your tears, hearing your words, mainly only what you had called him, as he had a sudden flashback of Corazaon, who would always call him big brother.

-Only moments later, Doflamingo had you in his arms, holding you carefully, properly as he smiled down at you, “You’re going to join my family Y/N. Let’s see- you’re cute so how about the Heart Suite!”

-You were a little confused, holding onto his fluffy coat as he held you like a little doll, “But… I have a family, my big brothers and sisters, and mama!” He just ignored your words, choosing only what he wanted to hear, “You can call me big brother! And I’ll introduce you to everyone else!”

-Your instincts were telling you that he was dangerous, so you behaved, not wanting to do anything to upset him as he took you into a large room where lots of other people were, introducing you as the newest member of the family!

-You saw Law, but he was hurt as your eyes went wide, but he caught your eyes, silently telling you to be quiet, which you did. Doflamingo sat you down on his own chair so the others could greet you, many of them commenting on how tiny and cute you were, including Sugar who was elated to have someone her own size now.

-She had to leave not long after, to go back to work as Doflamingo lounged around, as he wanted your family to come to try to save you, so he could take them out so you would have no choice but to join his family!

-When Luffy and Ace arrived, shouting at Doflamingo to let you and Law go, your horn surprised everyone by suddenly growing, being covered by the aura as you looked confused, reaching a hand up to touch it.

-Doflamingo chose to ignore it for the moment as he chuckled, “Your plan to take out Sugar failed, Nico Robin is a toy now!” You froze, hearing this but tears welled as you saw everyone’s confusion as Luffy spoke, “Who’s Robin?”

-Law spoke to you while Viola ran over, holding a key to Law’s cuffs, telling you that Sugar had the ability to change others into sentient toys, but when they get changed, the memories of those changed are lost to others. You could remember her no problem as he theorized your ability activated when you realized that she was in danger, so you were able to remember whoever Doflamingo was talking about, while they didn’t.

-Ace and Luffy managed to throw Doflamingo out, who strategically retreated to call upon the family, as he watched in horror, seeing toys returning to normal, your horn also returning to normal, showing that Sugar had been taken out!

-After you unlocked Law’s shackles, being the only one there without a Devil Fruit ability, seeing the Sea Stone cuffs, Ace glared slightly, knowing that they needed to take Doflamingo out and Luffy agreed.

-The plan was for them to meet in a specific place, and Luffy trusted Viola with getting you to Robin, as she knew the back streets, which she agreed to. You didn’t want to be apart from them again, hugging Viola tightly, but she did her best to keep you calm.

-She told you of Scarlett, and what had happened to Dressrosa all those years ago, including what happened to Rebecca’s mother Scarlett, who was Viola’s younger sister. Your eyes were big and sparkly as she hid around a corner, trying to get you to the flower fields, after you both saw Robin flying overhead, “Are you and Rebecca princesses then?” She couldn’t help but giggle, thinking you were cute, as she told you that they could be, but they had to take care of Doflamingo first.

-At the flower fields, you were reunited with Robin and a man who was dressed like a prince and Bartolomeo as your eyes were sparkly, “It’s a prince! Mama it’s a real prince!!” Cavendish adored your praise, posing for you as you squealed happily.

-When the group was attacked again, Robin put herself in front of you, glaring hard at the opponent who blew his hat off, you didn’t know his name, before she spoke to Bartolomeo, “Will you take Y/N and get her to safety?”

-He seemed stunned by her request before he immediately grinned, creating a staircase out of barriers with his ability, as he and Cavendish stood in front of her, the two easily blowing the unknown man back, “Take Y/N and run, Robin-senpai!” she picked you up and ran with Viola, sending him a wink as you waved, “Bye-bye big brother Barty! Bye-bye Prince Cabbage!”

-While Cavendish was in anguish over his name, as you had trouble saying it, Bartolomeo had fallen to his knees, large tears flowing from his cheeks as light shined down upon him, as if he had done everything in his life worth doing, being your big brother!

-Robin did her best to protect you, as more members of the family appeared with the intent on taking you from her, and when she was trapped, Leo, who appeared, “Take Y/N and run!”

-You looked back, scared for Robin, who gave you a firm nod as you followed Leo, running. You learned that he was a Tontatta, a race that you could only describe as fairies, which you adored, holding Leo in your hands as he guided you through a forest to safety.

-Leo told you to stop and you gasped, seeing Law hurt, one of his arms off, while he was trying to stand, as Luffy and Ace were fighting against Doflamingo, all of them hurt.

-Leo took to the skies, looking for a safe way away from the area before he gasped as you ran for Law, “Big brother!” Ace and Luffy froze, hearing you there as Law turned, looking panicked, telling you to run.

-Law lunged, sensing Doflamingo charging to grab you, and he took a hard hit to the back as he covered you, keeping Doflamingo from grabbing you, who was sneering down, “You’re just like Corazon- weak!” You were in shock, your eyes wide as your brothers charged, getting him away from you as you hugged Law’s head.

-Law told you about Corazon, who was Doflamingo’s younger brother, who was killed protecting Law so many years ago. You felt so sad for Law, hearing how this man, Corazon, had died to protect him, just like how he had protected you just now.

-The first sob ripped from your throat as you hugged Law and he felt the wave of energy flow through him as you healed him, reattaching his arm and healing his wounds before they all froze, seeing two figures reforming from nothing.

-Corazon kneeled beside Law, who was stunned, seeing him there as tears welled as Scarlette gasped as you swooned, catching you as you developed a fever and fainted.

-Luffy and Ace were both now furious, seeing that you had been pushed so hard to not only heal Law but bring two people back from the dead.

-Scarlette took you and ran after Law and Corazon turned to face Doflamingo alongside Luffy and Ace, as he was now furious, looking almost unhinged.

-Scarlette was stunned to find not only Kyros, but Rebecca and Viola as well, all of them banged up, but safe and sound, as they all gaped, seeing her there, seeing her alive again! With you included (despite being unconscious), as they shared a family hug, all of them crying, being reunited at last.

-After discussing your condition, Viola told them how she knew of your ability to heal others, but there had been a rumor, after you had revived Ace and Whitebeard, that you could bring others back from the dead, and many were trying to stop that rumor, not wanting it to spread.

-A new voice spoke up, “You’re right.” They turned, seeing Sanji there, who looked beat up, smoking quietly as he looked relieved, seeing you there, knowing that you must have done something reckless again as Scarlette passed you to your brother after Viola vouched for him.

-Sanji told them to get to safety, as something big was coming, sensing Luffy and Ace’s power, and he took off towards the ship after getting word from Robin that he needed to take Nami and the others on the ship and they would meet up on Zou.

-Chopper and Nami took care of you while you were recovering, finding out what had happened between Sanji and you, once you were awake, and they were amazed so much had happened, but they were glad to hear that you hadn’t been hurt, just kidnapped and scared, and overdoing it with your ability again, but they didn’t scold you, just making you rest instead.

-You thought about all the new fun people you had met on Dressrosa, you wished that you had been able to say goodbye to all of them, as they had been helping everyone.

-As you sat on Sanji’s lap as you ate, holding up an apple slice to him, Brook was sitting next to you, telling you of the next destination, Zou, which was a giant walking elephant, which made your eyes sparkle brightly!

-When you asked about Luffy and the others, Nami told you not to worry about them, as they were going to meet your group on Zou, so you all would wait there for them, and you nodded, hoping they wouldn’t take too long.

[dgrailwar]

Round Δ, Day 3 - 'Launcher' versus 'Shielder' versus 'True Foreigner'

"Haah!"

A ray of light, like the sun, scorched the ground and rocketed towards the Shielder, who jumped out of the way.

The Shielder was absurdly fast, dashing and leaping from one bit of broken, floating land to the next, moving as a blur as the Launcher continued to fire more and more attacks at him, explosions covering the battlefield.

"You're not bad-- Launcher, was it? How'd you get stuck with a class like that!?"

"An old friend considered me more of a laser cannon than a spearman. So, I hold this title with pride, even if it may be less 'legitimate' than other Extra-classes, made from edited code and careless whims."

The barrage of light was briefly broken up as the Shielder launched a spear towards the Launcher, striking against it's target as the Shield-bearer closed the gap within an instant, shield materializing in his grip as he smashed it against the head of the Launcher, watching his opponent spiral and crash into the ground.

Watching, dumbfounded, was the 'True Foreigner'.

"It's… okay for Yuyu to be here… right?! I…Isn't this a l-l-little too intense?! Why did I get in the fight with two superhumans...?!"

The Launcher turned his attention towards the consort, his eye flashing again with that scorching light as he fired it towards her, now having two targets in his sights.

"Eeeeek!"

"You say this battlefield is intense, but you're much more dangerous than Shielder, Foreigner…"

"Oi! I kind of resent that! I'm plenty dangerous, Launcher! Just watch!"

The boosts in play are...

Karna: +25%

Achilles: +20%

Yang Guifei: +20%

Servant Skills:

Karna (Launcher)

Brahmastra (Unranked): A true hero kills with his eyes. Gain a +30% boost when engaged in combat.

Mana Burst (Flame) (A Rank): No matter what demerits may come his way, his boost will be 20% at minimum.

Discernment of the Poor (A Rank): Inflict a -10% demerit on his opponents.

Achilles (Shielder)

Valor (A+ Rank): When in battle, gain a +20% boost.

Affection of the Goddess (B Rank): Achilles is immune to demerits, no matter how severe. (Note: Skills that 'cut' boosts, such as Gatekeeper's skill, do not count as 'demerits').

Battle Continuation (A Rank): He is about to take damage when losing a fight, and they are at least within 10% of their highest opponents score, they can avoid taking damage completely.

Yang Guifei (True Foreigner)

Consort of Devastating Beauty (A Rank): The immense power of the country-ruiner's beauty. When in a Free-for-All, if she lands in 2nd Place and her score is within 7% of 1st Place, they acquiesce the victory to her. If in a One-on-One, the scoring zone is increased to 10%.

When facing against Male Servants, gain a +10% boost per Servant present. When faced against female Servants, the boost is simply +3%.

Male Servants:

Shielder

Launcher

Sun of a Calamitous Star (A Rank): Intense, ever-burning flames. When in a One-on-One, gain a +7% boost. When in a Free-for-All, gain a +10% boost.

Affection for Three Thousand in One (A+ Rank): When engaged in a Free-for-All, all other participants are given a -5% demerit.

[noctylisse]

Back To You, I Will

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ A promise he whispers to his lady, the night before he departs.

Clive Rosfield x Fem Reader [Set before the Night of Flames. Takes place the night before Clive sets off to Stillwind.]

You feel the cold rush of the wind on your skin as you lay in bed. Moonlight shines across the room, tiny specks of dust floating in its wake like little fairies.

Rosalith is silent now, save for the occasional gentle sound of wagon wheels moving across the pavements.

The curtains of your bedroom window dance softly with the wind’s command. It is peaceful. And slowly, your eyes close as sleep washes over you.

Not long after you drift asleep, a loud crash sounds from outside and jolts you awake.

“Fucking bearer! Quiet down!” a slavemaster’s gravelly voice could be heard from outside, followed by the immediate defense of his slave in a trembly voice. “I-it wasn’t me! I w-was just..!” 

“I don’t give a shit! Just be fucking quiet you damned thing! And clean up your mess!” The slavemaster shuts his doors, leaving the slave to clean up whatever mess was there.

You sigh. It’s unfortunate how these bearers are branded and treated as such. A recent memory sparks in your mind. One of Clive Rosfield, the Archduke’s son, helping and smiling at a bearer who had dropped fruit from a carton. He treated the man with respect as he should be, despite the beliefs of the non-branded common folk. 

“Ever so kind, he is.” You whisper, smiling at the memory and facing the wall. “How lucky I must be to have his eyes on me…”

Quite forbidden, your love is. The difference in status would ruin Clive's reputation all the way through. But it didn’t matter to him, it never did. He has never failed to reassure you no matter what doubt you had. 

Consumed by the thoughts you had of your lover, you fail to hear the creak of your windows as they begin to be pried open fully. The curtains begin to speed up their dance as the wind gets stronger.

A leg wearing a fine leather boot swings down, finding its footing on the window stool. Its pair does the same, and the very one who occupies your mind swoops down in his entirety. He’s crouching now, both arms keeping him steady. 

“I should’ve been more careful..” He sighs as he looks downwards, to his left. The poor bearer was forced to clean the mess he had made, accidentally tripping on and breaking off a huge tile of the slavemaster’s roof as he was quickly trying to get to you.

He silently promises to give the man a gift of apologies (disguised as a spontaneous gift) before he departs in the morrow.

Your eyes narrow. That smooth voice. So familiar, so gentle. You turn around to face him. 

“Clive!” You smile. It always felt nice to say his name. All the more to have him right there in front of you. He smiles back, and you sit up, swinging your legs off the bed and opening your arms to him. He rushes into your embrace and presses a kiss on your head. 

“I wanted to see you before I depart to Stillwind tomorrow.” He says softly, letting go of you before kneeling down on the floor to embrace you again, his arms wrapped around your waist and his head on your shoulder. He presses a kiss on your shoulder while you play with his hair. 

“But you’ll be seeing me tomorrow before you go.” You start. “I’ll be there to see you off.”

“But that’s different.” He lifts his head up to look at you. “Everybody would be seeing me off. I won’t be able to embrace you like this. To be with you like this.”

He looks away to press the back of your hand to his lips, before looking back at you again.  “I only ever wish to be with you freely, my love.” 

You smile sadly. “I do as well and you know that.” You caress his cheek. “But given your position..” 

You sigh, placing a hand on his left cheek. He is a bearer, unbranded. You wish he would stay that way.

He frowns. “It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t.” He stands, gently pulling you up with him. “I promise you, my love. I will find a way.”

He begins to smile softly, deep ocean blue eyes twinkling as the both of you are bathed in moonlight. Ever so hopeful he is, you can’t help but share the same hope. For the future, for both of you. You smile.

He leans down, his forehead against yours, his smile and yours never wavering. “It is my duty to be the Shield of Rosaria…” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Just as much as it is my duty to be yours. To  love you, come what may, my love.” He presses his lips against yours. Soft and gentle, the way he kisses you. So full of love. 

You pull away from one another briefly before you cup his face in your hands and give him a short but sweet kiss in return.

Your eyes look away from him for a moment, focusing on the moon. A silent agreement is made between you and the heavenly body. To keep him safe, for his safe return.

Looking back at him, you smile softly, arms around his neck. “I trust your mission to be successful, my love. I just know the soldiers will sing your praises. As they should be.” He kisses your cheek as a silent ‘thank you’.  

“Be safe, Clive.” You whisper as he leads you both toward the window. 

“I promise I will.”

"Come back in one piece, you must."

He lifts your hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss against the back of it. “Back to you, I will, my lady.” 

And with that, he kisses your lips once more before he leaves.