#ONE: Fists of Fury 3

[criminalamnesia]

the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.��� he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina

[vividxpages]

✩˚౨ৎ˚✩‧The Great War PART 1 ✩₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧

PART 2 + PART 3

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 1700

summary: Jace and you are lovers, but stand on opposite sides of the war, not allowed to see each other anymore. But love always finds a way. (inspired by “The Great War” by Taylor Swift)

warnings: angst, reader is Alicents's daughter, the Greens being a bad family, hurt/comfort!, kissing

a/n: help, I'm obsessed with this boy and every song starts to sound like a possible fic idea for him!!!

𓆩♡𓆪

All that bloodshed, crimson clover Uh-huh, sweet dream was over My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War

Sometimes, you could only breathe above the clouds.

Up here on your dragon’s back, the trouble you left behind underneath you did not matter anymore. You thought of the castle that slowly poisoned you from the inside, the dark nights where you thought you were completely alone in the world with no comfort in reach but the memories you carried with yourself.

Once there had been laughter at the dinner table, the halls filled with the family you had not seen in months. Now, you only saw your brothers and your mother together in one room during council. You shuddered at the memory of today’s meeting, snuggling deeper into the saddle and closer to the dragon who kept you safe in the sky.

(“Maybe we should send our dear sister.” Your brother Aegon had proposed at some frustrating point of an endless council, taking a deep swig from the wine glass in front of him.

You had simply stared at him, silent. No one was really listening to you anyway and you were past the point of turning to your mother pleadingly. She was just as silent, always frowning, always doing nothing. “What do you mean, Aegon?”

“We can weaken them from the inside.” He had spoken to the others then, who at least looked so confused as you had felt. “Send them my little precious sister who a certain bastard son always had a weak spot for. I don’t see the problem if you kill him while you’re fuck-“

Your chair had screeched over the floor and fell down with a loud thud on the stone floor. You had clenched your hands into fists as you stood, fury in your eyes.

“Aegon, stop with such nonsense.” Alicent had said quietly, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. You fled.)

You welcomed the tears on your cheeks like an old friend, letting them cool your skin as you stirred your dragon through the sky, opting to just turn right and never come back to Westeros.

But oh, how your heart still clung to them.

The family up north in the realm, the family you had lost forever in the middle of his conflict.

Suddenly, you felt your dragon tense and directed your attention to the west, where a shape of a big shadow flickered through the clouds. Your mind began to race with what you’d do if Aemond had followed you, always being damned to bring you back when you had strayed too far away from Kings Landing.

But this shadow was not big enough to be Vhagar.

And those dark curls did not belong to your brother.

You gasped as your dragon let out a recognizing screech, lunging forwards through the clouds until you and the other rider could almost touch at how close your beasts were.

Time seemed to slow down as they flew past each other, teasingly snapping at each other’s necks with the joy of being reunited, but there was no doubt. As you raced through the skies, you looked into your Jace’s eyes.

You let out a broken gasp and quickly looked over your shoulder, but he and Vermax were already out of reach, descending down beneath the clouds. And suddenly, you knew where he was going. You spurned your dragon on, the wind cutting into your skin as you raced after them, faster and faster until you let your dragon spread its wings for a quick landing by the beach Jacaerys had chosen.

Only the silver moonlight illuminated the shore by the cliffs, void of any other soul who could witness the forbidden reunion between the two of you. If you had been in company, Jacaerys would’ve already been dead or held captive.

But you were alone, for the first time in months.

You slid down your dragon’s back, nearly blind by the need to reach him, to throw yourself into his arms like you had dreamed so often.

When you had seen each other for the last time, there had not been a war yet.

And Luke had been still alive.

(You had cried for hours when Aemond had returned, blood still drying on Vhagar’s massive teeth. You had begged your mother to write a letter, just a simple letter to Jace, but everything at court had still been too fragile to do anything but be in shock over what had happened up there. It had nearly driven you mad, to know that somewhere Jace was suffering the loss of his little brother and there was nothing you could do to comfort him.)

Now, he was right there in front of you, leaving Vermax behind him and running towards you on the wet sand by the water. You broke out into a sprint as well, a disbelieving laugh that was anything but amused leaving your tight throat as his features became more and more clear to you.

You crashed together like two waves.

The embrace was nearly violent as his arms slung themselves around you, lifting you up and pressing you into him. There was no strength in your bones anymore and if Jace wouldn’t have held you so tightly, you would’ve crashed onto the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

Only Jace was holding you together right now.

He was everything you had been missing in those terrible weeks. He smelled like sea and wind and smoke and your hands shook as you combed through his wet curls, your tear-streaked face securely hidden in his neck.

You never wanted to let go of him and it seemed like the feeling was mutual.

“Gods- my love…” He mumbled into your ear and you let out a choked sob as you held each other. It was like he could not decide where he wanted to touch you first. His hands drifted over you restlessly, up and down your spine, holding onto you as if you could disappear again at any moment.

“How did you find me?” You asked breathlessly, your bottom lip still trembling dangerously as you caressed his cheeks, needing to refamiliarize yourself with the feel of his skin on yours.

He swallowed thickly, unshed tears glistening in his beautiful years. “I remembered the route you liked to take when you needed to stop thinking. And it’s cloudy today. No one saw me coming. I’ve been waiting for a cloudy night like this for weeks-“

His voice broke and you pulled him closer again, shudders of pain and longing and relief to be with him going through you in an endless loop. How much had changed since the last time you had seen eye to eye: Your father had always said you’d make a good match back then and now Jace had one brother less and you were a captive in your own home.

“I missed you so much.” You whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as you both looked out on the ocean. “I- oh Jace, I tried to write, I wanted to send you a letter, but- I wasn’t allowed. I couldn’t help you and-“

“It’s okay.” He said, but it sounded lifeless, void. “It’s not your fault. I wished I could’ve been there for you too. I know how much you loved Luke.”

Gods, you wanted to cry and never stop again. Even now, Jace was trying to be strong for you, as he had always been.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.” He told you and cupped your cheek, looking deeply and longingly into your eyes. “I missed you every second we’ve been apart. Have you been treated well? Have Aegon and Aemond-“

“I love you too. I want to come with you.” You interrupted him fiery and he shuddered at the insane idea of it, the consequences unimaginable and likely deadly for one of you. “Please, please, let me come with you, I can’t stay a single day there, my mother is not the same anymore and- my brothers have been horrible with the things they want to do to Rhaenyra and you.”

He shushed you gently, drawing his arms tighter around you and swaying you back and forth. “I’ll find a way. I’m not letting you stay there alone for much longer, my love. It makes me sick to think about you being alone in Kings Landing, believe me, but…mother says it’s not safe, not yet-“

“I won’t cause your family any trouble, I promise-“

“It’s not us we’re fearing for.” He smiled sadly at you. “It’s you. I won’t summon your brother’s anger on you. I’d rather take it on myself, but- we need to be a little more patient, okay?”

You could see how much effort those words cost him and you had no doubt if it was his choice to make, he’d take you with him to Dragonstone and never look back. You watched his throat bump with tension, his jaw set, his lips pressed together tightly.

A sudden small smile danced over your face. “So you only came to me tonight because you wanted to see me?”

His eyes were dark with longing, with wanton he could not give in to, not tonight. “My love...I needed to see you.” His thumb lovingly brushed over your cheek, the pad of it briefly touching your lips.

There was so much you wanted to say, so many things you needed to tell him and hear from him, but in this short moment you were only a girl and he was a boy. Your boy.

 He met you right in the middle, delicately holding your face between his hands as your lips met, desperately kissing you as his taste exploded in your mouth once again. He kissed you drunk, enveloping all your senses until all you felt was him. His lips were dry and salty from the long flight over the clouds and along the coast, your runny noses sliding against each other, but it was perfect.

Your heart was mended with every little sigh into your mouth, his long lashes brushing over your cheeks, your hands tangling in his hair…

You thought that maybe, in another lifetime, the two of you could’ve been able to stop the war.

Another part of you knew that you always had been damned, cursed.

You blinked into the starless grey sky above you as Jace began to ravish your neck with wet kisses and you thought of the old saying passed on from generation to generation.

Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.

On which side would yours land if you ever lost him?

On which would his land when it finally sank in that he could never have you?

[gingerteafairy]

𝑬𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

"Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

tags n warnings: smut, obsession, ghost sex, heavy angst, vampire, cursing, death, blood, devotion, praise kink, fingering, oral, piv. word count: 5k

@ikkyfics thank you for making me post this and not hiding it on my virtual shelf, you deserve the world <3 masterlist

Friedrich Harding’s anguished cries tore through the air, echoing across the desolate countryside. The sound was primal, raw—a lament that seemed to pierce even the heavens. Strong hands gripped his arms, restraining him as he thrashed against them, desperate to reach the coffin that housed his beloved wife. His wife. The one who had once been his anchor in a chaotic world. But those who truly knew Friedrich understood a deeper truth—his devotion to her paled in comparison to his adoration for you. For you, he had defied every societal expectation, every unwritten rule. Now, his world lay shattered before him.

Despite the lingering fear of the plague that had claimed her, he yearned to hold her one last time, to press her lifeless form against his chest and plead for the impossible.

“Friedrich, stop this madness!” Sievers barked, his voice tinged with both command and desperation as he struggled to contain the grieving man. Harding’s fists swung wildly, his face twisted in despair. The crowd watched in stunned silence, their expressions a mixture of pity and disdain. Mothers shielded their children’s eyes from the spectacle, while fathers stood grim-faced, their silence betraying their discomfort. Children whispered questions to their parents, too young to grasp the depth of the tragedy unfolding before them.

“Release me! I command you to release me!” Friedrich roared, his voice a storm of grief, his blue eyes brimming with tears that fell freely down his face.

“Friedrich, enough!” Hutter pleaded, his grip tightening as he tried to restrain his friend. “This will not bring her back! You must—”

“No!” Harding’s voice cracked as he wrenched free from their grasp, his tear-streaked face contorted in anguish as he turned to Thomas. “She was everything, Thomas! Everything I had. God help me, what am I to do now? What is left of me? Damnation! Damnation upon this cruel fate!”

He collapsed to the ground, his body trembling as he crawled toward the coffin, his shaking hands reaching for the cold wood that separated him from her. But Thomas intervened, pulling him back into a firm embrace.

“Friedrich,” Thomas murmured, his voice soft yet insistent, “you must find strength. Look at me. Look at me.”

Thomas cupped Friedrich’s face, his hands rough and calloused, yet gentle as they held the face of a man utterly undone. The dark hollows under Harding’s eyes spoke of sleepless nights, of relentless grief that gnawed at his very soul.

“I can’t, Thomas,” Friedrich whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “She was my life. How can I go on living when my heart is buried with her?”

“Friedrich,” Sievers began, stepping forward cautiously, “I did not know your wife well, but I am certain she would have wanted you to find happiness again. Life does not end here. One day, you may find love again—”

The doctor’s words were cut short by a vicious punch that sent him stumbling backward. In a flash, Friedrich was upon him, gripping his collar with a ferocity that belied his weakened state.

“Curse you, Sievers,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with fury. “How dare you speak of love to a man who no longer has a heart? Insolent doctor! You know nothing of my torment.”

Thomas and the others rushed forward, pulling Friedrich away as he sagged against them, his strength finally failing. His body, ravaged by exhaustion and starvation, could fight no longer.

By the time they returned to his estate, Friedrich was a shadow of himself. He sat in silence, his eyes empty, his face devoid of the fire that had once animated it. He stared into the void as though nothing in the world could reach him now. Even if the earth had split open before him, he would not have flinched. He was a man as dead as his wife, his soul entombed alongside hers.

"Promise me you'll be well," Thomas pleaded as he stepped down from the carriage, his voice wavering as he struggled to maintain his composure. His eyes, heavy with worry, searched his friend’s hollowed face. "Promise me you'll eat, care for yourself. Do not fade away, Friedrich."

Harding did not respond. He merely turned, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his grief, and walked toward the door of his home. There was only one solace left to him—the fragile hope of seeing you in his dreams. To escape into a world where you were still alive: radiant, healthy, untouched by the horrors of the plague. There, you would be free, unburdened by the cruel fate that had stolen you away.

Later, cradling a glass of brandy in trembling hands, Friedrich lay upon his bed. The liquor did little to dull the sharp edges of his sorrow. His body shook with silent sobs as he closed his eyes, desperate to summon even the faintest memory of you—your touch, your voice, a fleeting whisper of your essence.

A scream tore through the silence.

He woke with a jolt, his sweat-soaked hair clinging to his brow, his breath hitching in panic. The room spun around him, and then he saw you.

You stood beside the bed, bathed in pale moonlight that streamed through the window. The white gown he had chosen for your burial clung to your form, pristine and ethereal. You were unblemished, untouched by disease, impossibly beautiful—more luminous than you had ever been in life. To him, you were divine, a vision too perfect to be real.

For a moment, he was paralyzed. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Fear and longing warred within him. If he moved, if he dared to reach for you, would you vanish? Was this some cruel trick of his shattered mind?

"My heart," you whispered, the words ghosting across the room.

Before he could react, you faded into the shadows, dissolving into the night as though you had never been there.

Friedrich collapsed onto the mattress, his body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as a guttural, muffled scream tore from his throat, buried into the pillow to escape the ears of the empty house. The pain was unbearable, clawing at his soul, leaving him raw and broken.

The next morning, he awoke to frantic knocking at the door. The sun was high, its rays spilling harshly through the curtains, though it brought no warmth to the bleakness inside him. Disheveled and barely able to stand, Friedrich stumbled toward the door.

Thomas stood there, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wide with dread.

"Friedrich. This is... it’s terrible," Thomas choked out, his voice trembling as his fingers combed through his disordered hair.

"What has happened, Thomas?" Friedrich demanded, though his voice was hoarse and distant, his mind still clouded by the haunting vision of you.

"Sievers," Thomas whispered, his hand instinctively covering his mouth as if to trap the horrifying words before they could escape.

"What about Sievers? Speak plainly!" Friedrich snapped, irritation flaring as the ache in his head throbbed from the brandy. "Thomas, what is it?"

Thomas hesitated, his voice low and filled with a grim finality. "Sievers is dead. He was found this morning... his chest torn open. His heart—" Thomas paused, his voice cracking. "His heart was removed."

The words struck Friedrich like a physical blow. He stumbled back, collapsing into the armchair behind him. His hands trembled as he pressed them to his temples. Memories of the night before flooded his mind, your whisper echoing like a ghostly refrain.

“My heart.”

It couldn’t be real. It was madness, surely. Yet the coincidence was too stark, too chilling to dismiss. His thoughts spiraled. Could it have been you? No. Impossible. And yet... Sievers had spoken of finding another, dared to suggest that love could replace the irreplaceable. Perhaps this was divine retribution—or something darker.

"Friedrich! Friedrich!" Thomas’s urgent voice pulled him from his reverie. The friend’s hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him gently as if to rouse him from the stupor.

Friedrich’s eyes cleared, a strange light igniting within them. He rose abruptly, pacing with a frenetic energy that had been absent for days.

"Call Von Franz," he muttered, his voice low but commanding.

"What?" Thomas blinked, taken aback by the unexpected request.

"Von Franz," Friedrich repeated, his tone sharper, almost desperate. "Summon him at once. That lunatic priest may know something—or I may be mad to even consider it. But summon him, Thomas!"

Without waiting for a reply, Friedrich strode toward his room, his steps hurried and unsteady. He needed to prepare. If there was even the faintest chance that Von Franz held the answers to this nightmare, Friedrich would face him. Hatred or no, he would endure anything to uncover the truth.

He stared at himself in the mirror, his hollow eyes scanning the face that no longer felt like his own. With deliberate precision, he splashed cold water on his face, the droplets clinging to his skin as if they could wash away his torment. A smile curled on his lips, unnatural, strained—then erupted into a jagged, manic laugh. His reflection in the mirror mocked him, a fractured visage of sanity, twisted by grief.

"Ah, my love," he murmured, his voice trembling as his fingers brushed the surface of the mirror, tracing a line over his own reflection. "You change me, even in death." His hand fell to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his coat as though he could rip his own heart out. "My heart… It belongs to you, always."

With newfound resolve, Friedrich shed his clothes, stepping into a bath as if it were a sacred rite. The water lapped at his skin, cleansing not only his body but the remnants of his despair. He emerged renewed, obsessed, his every movement deliberate as he trimmed his beard and dressed himself in his finest attire. His appearance was immaculate, a mirror of the man he had been on his wedding day.

When Von Franz arrived at the residence, the pastor, startled by Friedrich’s transformation, dropped his glass of wine. The shards scattered across the floor, but Von Franz’s gaze remained fixed on the man before him, his face pale as though he were staring at a ghost.

"By night, I sought him whom my soul loves," the pastor recited, his voice trembling with unease. "I sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him whom my soul loves. I sought him, but I found him not."

The verses fell from Von Franz’s lips as if they were a prophecy, words carried by something beyond him. Friedrich stood still, each syllable piercing him like a dagger, his jaw tightening as the pastor's voice resonated deep within his chest.

"I must tell you something," Friedrich began, his voice low, commanding the attention of both Von Franz and Thomas. They moved cautiously toward the table where candles flickered, casting restless shadows in the dimly lit room. The once-bustling household was eerily quiet, the absence of servants amplifying the oppressive atmosphere.

Von Franz broke the silence, his voice a mix of awe and warning. "Your devotion echoes through eternity, Herr Friedrich." He studied the man before him, a shadow of the grieving figure from the day before, now alight with a dangerous fervor. "But it is selfish."

"Let it be," Friedrich replied sharply, striking the table with his fist before withdrawing his hand to retrieve a cigar from his coat. Lighting it with a flick of his lighter, he took a slow drag, the smoke curling around him as he spoke again. His tone softened, but his determination was unyielding. "Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

Von Franz’s voice grew urgent, his hands pressing against the table as though he could anchor himself to reality. "This is perilous, Herr Friedrich. You toy with forces beyond comprehension. Death is the final vow—'til death do you part.' To defy it…"

Friedrich interrupted with a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back in his chair. "Something as absurd as death cannot separate me from my beloved." He exhaled a stream of smoke, his head tilting back as he closed his eyes. The faintest sensation brushed against his chest—soft, velvety, unmistakable. His breath hitched. "Ah, my love… Do you approve of my words?"

Von Franz stumbled backward, his wide eyes fixed on Friedrich as the air around him grew thick and heavy. He reached for Thomas, pulling the young man close as they both watched in horror.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.” Your haunting voice tantalized Von Franz and Thoma’s ears, but delighted your beloved ones, hearing every word slipping from your icy and dry lips, rough against the warm soft cheek of him. 

From the shifting shadows, your form began to materialize. Von Franz’s voice faltered, barely audible. "Impressive…" he muttered, though his face betrayed the terror rising within him.

Thomas’s mouth fell open, his voice shaking. "This… this cannot be real."

His words trailed off as your ethereal hands appeared, their ghostly outline pressing gently against Friedrich’s chest. His head fell back further, his body convulsing with an eerie ecstasy.

Von Franz’s composure broke entirely. He yanked Thomas’s arm, dragging him toward the door. "We must leave. Now!" he hissed, his voice frantic. "If you wish to keep your heart beating in your chest, boy, then we must flee this place!"

Friedrich's grin turned wickedly amused as he closed the space between you intentionally this time. “Oh, my love. Be careful what you wish for.”

“I never play when it comes to what I want,” he muttered, swallowing hard as your fingers curled slightly into the fabric before reaching his arms. “And I want you, my muse.”

As he spoke, his eyes darkened, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before he regained control. “You have something I've been searching for and found in you” he continued, as if sensing his sudden vulnerability. He placed his hand on your waist with a delicate yet firm grip, guiding you into a slow, intimate dance across the room. “Something to wish for. You made me feel something…”

His movements were measured and graceful, leading you effortlessly as if he already knew every step of the dance. “Something?”

“Passion.”

Your hand seemed to tremble. For the first time, you felt like your words ran away from your thoughts. Something unexpected in your movement as you gently lifted back up. “You're not sure of what you're saying, Friedrich. I don't…”

"If you don't want this," Friedrich cut, swallowing hard, navigating the labyrinth of his own courage, "then why does your body say otherwise?"

"I’ve learned not to trust what my body says," you replied, but your wrist didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in, your fingers brushing the stray strands from his face with a tenderness that belied your words.

"Then listen to mine," Friedrich urged, stepping closer, pressing your hand against his chest. His heart raced beneath your touch, a frantic rhythm betraying the calm he tried to maintain.

There was something about Friedrich Harding—a tempestuous allure that made falling for him feel as deep as the ocean and as electrifying as the crackle of thunder before a storm.

His fingers lingered at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his touch sending an unspoken message straight to your heart. “You’re my wife, my woman, the only one I love. God spare me from my own sinful behavior through this sick pleasure.” 

“Would love be a pleasure?” you asked, your voice soft as your eyes locked with his. He studied your face for a moment before speaking.

“Perhaps the worst of them,” he admitted, turning his attention back to the fire’s flickering light. “I’ve avoided love at all costs since the last time I fell. And then you came along—wild, untamed, like the very flames in this hearth. I knew getting close to you wouldn’t end well for my… redemption.”

“Redemption?” you echoed.

“Indeed,” he murmured, leaning toward you, supported by his arm. “But it seems I’ve never learned to control myself when it comes to love. Lust, perhaps, but passion—grand, classic, all-consuming passion—never. You're my everything.” 

His voice, low and velvet-soft, broke the silence. "Make me yours again, my love.” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. 

"You’d have the world at your feet... but I'm afraid I only offer darkness." Your voice came out faint, clinging to him, the warmth of his body anchoring you. 

"You don't have to offer anything but yourself," he replied, his voice trembling slightly, but full of resolve. "And I choose you.”

With his fierce determination, his hands tightened on your waist with a strong reverence, crushing you against him as he angled his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with your own. 

He poured every ounce of his feelings into that kiss, the way you had consumed his thoughts and dreams.

His hands roamed over your back, mapping out the curves and contours of your body in that gown, committing every dip and swell to memory. He slid one hand up to tangle in your hair, gripping the locks and tilting your head back to give him better access to the sensitive skin of your neck. 

His heart raced, pounding against his ribs like a drum as he lost himself in the taste and feel of you, the softness of your cold lips and the heat of his tongue.

“Touch me, Friedrich.” You whispered panting as your lungs felt the breathing of life again, curling your fingers on his neckline. “Feel my heart. Even when I'm dead, it beats for you. Strong and hard for I love you more than everything to overcome death itself.”

He pressed his hand against your chest, squeezing painfully the soft flesh on his palm, feeling the frantic pounding of your heart beneath his palm, the way it raced and leapt at his touch. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, a sudden, overwhelming emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"God," he whispered, his voice breaking on a sob, "I love you too. I love you so much it hurts. You're everything to me, everything I've ever wanted and everything I know I don't deserve."

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours once more, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to regain control over his emotions. He could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, but he didn't care, not with your arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

“Make love with me, Friedrich.” you begged as the cold tears fell, cupping his strong face in your hands. “Take me the way only you know how. Make me feel alive, let your blood boil in my veins as you make me yours because I can't stand any other night without you, Friedrich.”

His heart leapt at your desperate plea, covering your hand with his own, turning his head to press a fervent kiss to her palm before tangling their fingers together. “I love you so much it feels like I can't breathe or sleep without you, I need you to survive.” 

He took your face in his hands and slightly pulled your hair back so his nose could longer on your neck, breathing in your essence that remained intact even among the light aroma of earth and ashes with the lilies placed with you in the coffin.

“You're my everything.” He shivered, sobbing, biting your flesh, sinking his teeth, leaving his strong mark, his saliva mixing with his tears that fell every time he realized that you were there with him. “Everything.”

He captured your lips in another searing kiss, hands sliding down to grip your thighs, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you towards the house, to the known love nest. 

He laid you down gently on the bed, his body covering yours, his hips nestled between your spread thighs. He looked down at you, taking in the sight of your locks splayed out across the mattress, skin glowing in the dim light of his bedroom.

Slowly, reverently, he slid his hands under the hem of your gown, pushing it up and over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He drank in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over the swell of her breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples straining on the cold air of the night.

He leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft, sensitive skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you as he gripped on your breast as his anchor, pushing him back to reality, his thumbs brushing over the nipples, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“Please, Friedrich. I need you, I'm begging, please.” You sobbed, choking on your own passion as you desperately searched his face in your hand, nipping the bottom lip as you tied him with your thighs. 

"Then you shall have it, my queen," he whispered before closing the distance, his kiss deep and unyielding, as though sealing a pact written in the shadows of the room.

He held you tighter, his hand now resting firmly on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles. The words you had spoken hung between you, a weight neither of you could ignore. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, everything felt like it was balancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice.

He slid his hand up your thigh, cupping the heat of your sex. He groaned at the feel of you, already so wet and ready for him, his fingers slipping easily between your folds.

“How is it possible?” He demanded, light headed with the feeling of his beloved intimate again, he could search in all the places, he couldn't find the one who pleased him this way. 

“You're giving me life, Friedrich.” You whispered, arching your back at the travel your husband is. Loving, intense, belonging. 

He slid a finger inside you, then two, pumping them slowly, letting you adjust to the new-old sensation. “God, how I missed you.” he groaned, curling them just so, rubbing against that special spot deep inside that made you see stars. “Missed your touch, missed your laugh, your moans, your cunt. The way you moan my name, oh… everything, yeah, keep moaning for me. Please, darling. Say my name just once more, can you?”

“Oh, Friedrich.” You moaned, curling your toes as your heart beated and you felt your pleasure slip on his knuckles with your peak. 

He leaned down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your stomach. He looked up at you, his blue eyes blazing with love and desire and a fierce, unbreakable connection. 

“Say you want me to claim you, to fill you, to make you a part of me in every way possible.” he demanded miserably, panting on your stomach, digging his fingers on your hips. “Say my name, tell me I'm not out of my senses and you are here with me. Say you need my sex deep as you crave life again as my seed overflows on your delicious inside.” 

“I want you, please. I want everything more than anything in this world or next. Fill me.” you whimpered, forking your hands on his locks, pressing him against you, grinding your arousal on his chest. 

He sighs, running his hands down your thighs, as well as his face that camped on your core, inhaling the essence and feeling an immense desire to cry at the touch of his tongue on your sensitive nerve, taking in every note of your taste.

He sank there, never wanting to leave, he just wanted to please you with his entire being, to adore you, swirling his tongue in the exact places you loved, because Friedrich knew you like the back of his hand, you were an open book to him, he deciphered all your secrets and dreams.

Everything you loved, his tongue in your canal, at the entrance, swirling on your clit and taking it all in to suck the little spot and leave a soft kiss.

“Frid, Frid, my love.” you called, sensing your approaching orgasm, you patted his head, his answers delayed by his fixation on your cunt. 

He swallowed the remaining taste, lifting his face lazily and meeting your eyes. “I love your taste.” he whispered, settling himself between your thighs, the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against your slit. “but I love being inside you even more.”

With that, he thrust forward, sheathing himself inside you. He groaned at the feel of your pussy so tight and perfect around him, it was made just for him, to wrap the way he wanted. 

Then, he began to move, his hips rocking against you in a steady, sensual rhythm, foreheads together to hear every moan, purr and whimper from you. He kept his thrusts slow and deep, wanting to savor every moment, every inch of you. 

His hands slid up your sides, cupping the soft, supple curves of your breasts, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he lost himself in the feel of you. He knew he would never get enough of this, of you, of the way you made him feel alive. 

“You're my life, darling.” He panted, deepening the sway of his hips, capturing your lips. “If it's necessary to be dead to be with you everyday like this, I'd sell my soul for just a moment. Take everything you need. Take everything from me.”

“As you wish, my love.” You whimpered, your moans becoming even higher as you craved your teeth on his neck on his pulsing point as a thin amount of blood flowed to your mouth. “Oh, God. You taste so good. Oh, fuck. You… Darling, uhmm…”

“Fuck, take it. Take more. Take every drop of me, love.” He begged, nuzzling his nose on your neck to mark you as you licked the remaining blood salty with his sweat. “Come on my cock while you suck me with your pretty cunt and your teeth. Take my soul.”

He could feel you starting to tremble, your body tensing and tightening as your climax approached. He doubled his efforts, his thrusts growing harder and faster, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he drove into you.

"Come for me, my heart," he urged, his voice a low, desperate growl, licking your bloody face. "Come on my cock, my queen. Let me feel you, all of you, now and forever.”

“Frid. AH!” The sound of your scream, raw and filled with ecstasy, pushed him over the edge. He groans,  burying himself to the hilt inside you as his own release overtook him.

"Fuck," he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the bedroom. "I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming so hard! Take it, darling."

He pulsed and throbbed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your womb as he held you tight, crushing you against his chest. He could feel every clench and flutter of her walls around him, milking him for every last drop as you rode out the aftershocks.

He could feel his body growing weak, prolonging that orgasm as he gave the last thrusts, his eyes turning blank and the grip loosening. 

"Frid... Frid, my love." You cried out, watching him smile weakly, his eyes nearly fading. Desperate, you stood up and slapped his face gently against your chest. "Frid. Friedrich. Friedrich, answer me!" you sobbed, cradling his nearly lifeless body in your arms, your tears falling heavily.

"It will be over soon..." he whispered, his hands weakly resting on your back, pulling you closer. "Soon I’ll... be with you... my love... Eat my heart, and you can live with our daughters."

"How? What do you mean, my Frid?" You shouted, gasping, as life slowly drained from him.

"Wasn’t that how you... came to me? By eating Sievers' heart?" He coughed and gasped for air, his lungs sinking from the lack of oxygen. "That's what Von Franz thinks... he knows about it. You trusted him before me... I didn’t believe in you..." 

"No..." You trembled, your eyes wavering as you turned his face towards yours, gazing into his pale blue eyes, already touched by death. "It wasn’t like that, Frid. You brought me back. Your love brought me here. I manifested because of you. I can fix it. I know I can, we can live forever."

You bite your wrist, but nothing came, your blood was dry. You tried to rip your ribcage to get your heart and make him eat, but you weren't strong enough.“No… no…” you gasped

“I've always admired you. You always did your best to make me live comfortably, made me feel a king, love.” He gave a soft laugh, his body moving slightly with it. "I'm glad... I could do something… I'll love you forever" he murmured, finally succumbing to eternal peace.

“And I'll love you always, Frid.” You sobbed, holding his lifeless body in your arms, rocking back and forth as you sang a soft lullaby, the weight of your sorrow deepening, while your body slowly disintegrated, returning to dust and slipping back into your coffin.

In honor of Friedrich's love, Thomas crafted a grand coffin, large enough for both of you. They carefully prepared his body and placed it comfortably in the wooden vessel, where your hands were intertwined with his, bound together for eternity.

[ddiwata]

peace with you

— mydeimos x fem! healer reader

— first drabble methinks?:3 basically r’s the opposite of castorice. fluffy!! REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

— mentions of death, lowercase intended. no use of y/n, unfortunately kind of ooc!!

she was a stubborn child. climbing jagged rocks, clawing at trees only for her to slip, fall, and start crying out for her mother. weak— that’s what she was. until she was chosen to be a chrysos heir.

closed off was how she was viewed, quiet, kind. of course, mydeimos has always been brash. he teases, he pokes and creates snarky remarks out of thin air, especially with phainon.

her heart thumps. faster. she noticed it happened everytime she was with the prince, her hands shaky, mind a mess. titans above, love was such an unfamiliar concept to someone like her. blessed and cursed with immortality, born to be a servant to the people after her years of recklessness.

she can feel it, too. his.. suffering. it isn’t a secret. he’s closed off like a labyrinth she can’t quite unlock, can’t quite find her way through the dark maze.

be afraid, his fury knows no bounds, they warn, the same people who revered the man spoke, warily. he was ruthless. so why did she have to fall for someone like.. him?

the mighty healer hurts, too. not physically— that isn’t one of her capabilities. her heart aches in her chest when he gets hurt. when he dies, again and again. his wounds pain her, and she’s sure he doesn’t miss the way she trembles as a gentle warmth soothes his skin, the wounds fading into nothing but scars. disappearing into the past, like it was nothing ever serious.

but it was. it was too serious for her.

“why are you crying over me?” mydei whispers to the healer, his hands tightening into fists. his heart clenches. he wasn’t supposed to have one of those. he wasn’t supposed to feel. but gods, why does it hurt when she cries? “i’m fine. see, girl?” he huffs, feigning annoyance at the show of emotions.

but she doesn’t stop sobbing, and his tall figure softens, slouching ever so slightly. although his guard was still up, as always. without any hesitation, he reaches out, embracing the other tightly, tucking her underneath his chin.

“you take care of me every time, pretty,” he gruffly whispers, the pet name unfamiliar, but welcomed. “i’m not dying any time soon. and you aren’t either, yeah? you’ll be stuck with me until the end of times.” his calloused hand reaches down to intertwine with hers.

his lips press against her forehead, a silent promise he would never leave her, not now, not in a million years. the pain and regret plaguing him eased slowly, and he exhaled, relishing in the warmth of the healer in his arms.

[covenofagatha]

But you're my stepmom! (Part 6)

Word count: 2100

Warnings: making out, mommy kink, jealous Agatha

Taglist:@stayevildarling@i-just-cannot@hazey-g@buttercandy16@320viada@evilangels-stuff@rmaximoff@morganismspam23@aboutcustardcreams@sasheemo@rigglemethat@walkethisway@mommywandas @r-3-becca @harknessshi

Before you can open your mouth to respond, she yanks you back into the bathroom you had just come out of. You rip your hand out of her grasp. 

“What – what are you doing here?” You ask, mouth agape. How had she known where you were? Why is she so mad?

She advances on you until your back hits the wall. Fury is radiating from her and you’re more than a little frightened (and kind of turned on). 

“You see me kissing your dad, so what?” She sneers scathingly. “You run and find the first girl you can for a lousy fuck in a bathroom?” 

She keeps coming closer so you put your hand on her shoulder to stop her. “What are you talking about?” You shout exasperatedly. “We didn’t ‘fuck in the bathroom,’ I was upset and she was comforting me!”

“You kissed her,” Agatha says, voice strangely calm. 

“And you kissed my dad! Also, are you fucking stalking me?”

“I followed you to make sure you didn’t do anything rash, because news flash, your father and I are married! I know you don’t want to hear it, darling, but not everything is about you.” 

You grit your teeth. “I know that. But do you? Because every time I even get close to a girl, you basically call me a slut.” 

“Well, maybe if you weren’t acting like one,” she snarls. You fist your hand into the shirt she’s wearing, digging your nails in through the fabric. 

“You know, it’s pretty rich that you’re calling me dramatic for earlier when you’re literally going crazy over the thought of me with someone else.” The air in the room seems to change. It’s the closest either of you have gotten to addressing this thing between you. 

You see Agatha falter for a split second. “That’s not what I’m doing,” she growls. 

“Oh, yeah?” You challenge. “Then what is this? Cause to me, it looks like you’re jealous.” 

The vein in her forehead throbs as she leans in. “You know what this looks like to me? Like a spoiled little girl didn’t get the kind of attention she wanted for one second so she decided to throw a temper tantrum. And now she needs to be taught a lesson.”  

“Fuck off, Agatha.” You let go of her shirt and raise your hands to shove her back but she easily catches them and pins them above your head. 

You inhale sharply, a noise sounding an awful lot like a moan coming out of your mouth. She smirks wickedly, her eyebrow raising. 

“What a naughty girl,” Agatha tuts and embarrassment burns your face. 

“Let go of me,” you say, struggling to get out of her grasp but she holds you tighter. 

“Is this what she did to you when you took her to the bathroom?” 

She’s bringing up Rio again. She clearly has some serious jealousy issues and you wish you didn’t find it so hot, however frustrating it is. “I didn’t have sex with her, for fuck’s sake! I kissed her, yeah, but I was thinking about you the whole time.” The admission stuns you both and her grip around your wrist slackens. But you don’t pull away. You need to see how she’ll react. 

Her eyes drop down your lips, then back up. She leans in closer and you forget how to breathe when she ghosts her lips over your mouth and you find yourself instinctively drawing in an attempt to actually kiss her. 

But she steps away before you can, dropping your hands and letting go. 

“What?” You sigh defeatedly. You’re already tired of this game she keeps playing, the one where she strings you along and makes you think she likes you and then cuts you off. She doesn’t get to be jealous and possessive and then back away after almost kissing you. 

“I’m married to your father,” Agatha says. “I’m your step-mother. I’m over twice your age. We can’t do this.” 

“I don’t care!” You insist, but she shakes her head. Your insides harden and you get a rush of boldness. “Okay, fine. Here we go. I want you, Agatha. I don’t care who you’re married to, or how old you are. Fuck, I like how old you are!” 

She scoffs in disbelief, eyes darting up to meet yours and then to the floor again. 

“So you can either do something about that, or you can let me go back out there and have fun with my friend.” You give her the ultimatum, praying that you didn’t just ruin everything.

For a minute, you think Agatha will change her mind. But then she spins on her heel and walks out of the bathroom. You feel a rush of emotion flood over you, but you shove it down. You got your answer. It’s better you know now. 

“Hey, where have you been?” Rio asks when you finally rejoin her on the dance floor. 

“Ran into someone I knew,” you say evasively. “You wanna get out of here?” She nods eagerly. You give the bar one last look over just to see if there’s any sign of Agatha. 

There isn’t. 

You bite back the disappointment rising in your chest and pull Rio out the door by the hand. 

You’re walking to your car when you see a shadow in the alleyway by the parking lot. You squint your eyes and can make out the trace of a woman. 

Is it her?

Stopping abruptly, you turn to Rio and drag her in for a long kiss, pushing her against your car. She groans into your mouth. It grows heated and you’re almost too distracted to notice your phone buzzing in your purse. 

You break away, both of you gasping for air. Rio runs a finger over her lip smugly and you pull out your phone. 

You win. Drop her off and come over to my house. Do NOT touch her. It’s from the unknown number you’ve memorized. A number you could recite in your sleep. A hot thrill runs through you. 

You smirk to yourself and turn to glance back at the figure in the alley, still cloaked in darkness. Of course Agatha would wait to watch, not being able to give up control even after she tried to. 

You’re not sure you’ve ever driven so fast in your hurry to get Rio home so you can go be with Agatha. But once you’re parked in Rio’s driveway, there’s an awkward pause. 

“Do you want to come inside?” Rio finally asks. You feel bad that you’ve led on her, made her a pawn in this game between you and your step-mom. 

“I should probably go. School tomorrow, you know. There’s still some things I need to finish,” you say apologetically. She nods like she understands and then she gets out of the car and enters her house without looking back. A pang of guilt hits you hard but you shake it off. 

I’ll be there in 20 you text Agatha. 

I’ll be waiting. Her reply comes almost immediately and your breath catches in your throat. 

Anticipation builds in your stomach the entire drive to your dad’s house. You’re not sure what will happen, or really what can happen if your dad is home. You have a feeling that if you have sex, Agatha will want to hear you make noise. 

You arrive in front of the house, all the windows dark. You shift nervously. Maybe she just made you drive all the way over here, knowing you wouldn’t do anything with Rio if she told you not to, and is hanging you out to dry. 

You check your phone. It’s been about twenty minutes, so Agatha should know you’ll be getting there any minute now. You wonder if you should ring the doorbell, make Agatha come down and explain or risk waking your dad. 

And then you see it. 

The gate to the backyard is unlocked and slightly pushed open. An invitation. 

You quietly shut your car door and creep up the driveway, cringing at the sound your car makes when you lock it. The gate squeaks. Your shoes echo on the patio concrete. It’s like you’re asking to get caught. 

When you finally turn around the house and come into view of the pool, your mouth falls open. 

Agatha is floating in the pool, an inviting smile beckoning you to join her. But that’s not what gives you pause. 

You can see in the light of the moon that she’s naked underneath the water. 

Your mouth runs dry as you strip off your dress as quickly as you can and your underwear follows in suit. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so turned on in your life and you can see her eyes darken at the sight of you. You walk quickly over to the pool steps and wade over to her, stopping when you’re right in front of her. 

The two of you stand like that for what feels like forever, simply soaking in each other’s bare skin. No words are spoken, risking nothing that might break this spell. 

And then Agatha reaches a hand out to cup your cheek, asking for permission with her eyes. 

You give it to her by entangling a hand in her hair and dragging her into a bruising kiss. There’s no teasing, no featherlight kisses – you both need this too much – and her tongue is in your open mouth before either of you knows it. You feel her moan into you and your arms circle around her naked back to pull her in even closer. You whimper at the feeling of her breasts against yours and you’re easily able to wrap both your legs around her waist, practically weightless in the pool.

Her fingertips dig into your ass and you can’t help but roll your hips against her lower stomach at the sting. 

“I can feel how wet you are even in the water,” Agatha chuckles darkly, walking with you until your back hits the edge of the pool, pulling another groan out of you. 

Her lips are back on yours, kissing you so fervently and so dominantly that it makes your head spin. You feel like you’re drunk. You’re literally vibrating with need for her. 

Her hot mouth trails down the side of your neck and then bites harshly. You whine, trying to get some stimulation on your clit by squirming against her stomach. Agatha tugs your bottom lip between her teeth and sinks them into it, eyes flashing with the sound you make. 

“Please, Agatha,” you beg. Her hands start stroking up and down your thighs, the dull ache between your legs now a roaring fire, still holding you in place against the pool wall. 

There’s a glimmer of mischievousness on her face. “Oh, baby, I know you can do better than that.” 

You’re panting, lips swollen, and grinding on her stomach. You’re not sure how much more she wants. “Please, Agatha, I need you, I want you, please fuck me, mom-” You clamp a hand over your mouth before you accidentally embarrass yourself beyond repair and she smirks like it’s the most delicious thing she’s ever heard. 

She leans in and whispers against your ear, “Say it. Who do you belong to?” Her right hand slowly moves up your thigh until she’s hovering her fingers right over your pussy. 

Your breath stutters, feeling her right where you want her. “You, mommy,” you whisper, barely audible. 

"That's right." She slides her hand through your folds, pressing hard on your clit which elicits a moan from you, and then she shoves you off her, stepping away like she had done in the bathroom at the bar. 

“What the fuck?” You ask, throbbing with need, never more aware of the emptiness inside you than right now.

“You didn’t think I was going to reward you after that little stunt you pulled in the parking lot, did you?”

“Agatha, I’m sorry, I just wanted to make you mad, please don’t, I need you so badly.” Your pleas fall from your mouth and she delights in them.

The smirk on her lips is pure evil. “I know, sweetheart. But mommy needs to make sure you learn your lesson. And trust me, when I do finally fuck you, it won’t be in a pool.” She climbs out of the water, grabbing the towel she set on the side and dries off. You watch her in a stupor, not believing that she’s going to leave you like this, lips still burning from her kisses. She throws the wet towel back on the ground for you to use and then walks naked to the sliding glass door, tossing you one last look. “And don’t even think about touching yourself.” 

She goes inside and you are alone once again. 

[milkbobatyun]

the emperor's mistakes

pairing: michael kaiser x reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: he let his anger get the better of him again and once more you were the one he directed his anger towards

word count: 968

C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : injury, implied abuse

a/n: for you @nfekwefdskldm cus you're such a big kaiser simp smh

at the kitchen counter, a pile of steaming dishes in front of you as you sat, staring listlessly into the flickering flame, waiting for michael to come back. in the midst of the banquet sat a singular blue rose in its crystal vase—a flower michael had gotten you last week, to apologise for another fight the two of you had.

the old grandfather clock ticked away, steady like a heartbeat. it was almost 10, way past the time that michael normally came home. your hand itched to call him on your phone, but the memory of last time made your breath hitch in your throat. his fury echoed in your ears: “stop being such a busybody.”

he had come home after with fire burning in his eyes, screaming at you, his words blending into a blur of rage and hurtfulness. as if the verbal assault wasn’t enough to satisfy his anger, he had raised his hand against you. to this day, your cheek bore the scar where his ring had cut deeply into the flesh.

the flame flickered, throwing shadows that danced and taunted you across the walls. you couldn’t go to bed early, he expected you to greet him at the door after all. each second passed with a mix of fear and baited breath.

you were about to doze off, the quiet ambience lulling you to sleep, when you heard the jangling of keys at the front door. 

sliding down the bar stool, you padded to the door, quietly greeting kaiser as he entered. but just one glance from him and your words died in your throat. his face was thunderous, frustration emulating from his visage. the look sent a shiver of fear down your spine, as you bowed your head and averted your eyes, shrinking into yourself to make yourself unnoticeable.

it was best if you didn’t anger him further tonight, yet no matter what you did, it seemed to tick him off even further.

he stalked past you wordlessly, slamming the door as he entered his study.

under your breath, you counted silently to 3 before you heard the tell-tale sign of kaiser’s anger. the muffled thuds of books falling to the floor, intertwined with the tingle of pens created a symphony of fury, conducted by the egoist himself.

sighing, you sat down on the large couch, hoping he would calm down soon. on the kitchen table, the food slowly grew cold.

10 minutes, 20 minutes, half an hour passed before the house was finally silent again.

you gave yourself some time before taking in a deep breath and calming your jittering nerves. your worries were rational, no one knew what this wild beast would do in his fits of rage.

tentatively, you knocked on his door. once, twice, thrice. you called out his name, still no answer. you reached out a shaking hand, turning the cold doorknob, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

the chaos of scattered papers and pens, discarded paper weights and overturned chairs were strewn about the room, the remainder of a hurricane. in the eye of the storm, kaiser sat, slumped in his chair, his hands buried in his hair, quietly muttering words of german in anger.

hearing the door open, kaiser’s head shot up, frustration an ugly mask on his face.

“get out!” he roared, slamming his fist on the table. “get out! get out! get out!”

you were too slow for his liking, so he grabbed a nearby book, throwing it in your direction.

time seemed to slow, as you watched the heavy, bound book fly towards your face. pain exploded in bright hot bursts where the corner ripped through your skin, blood flowing freely down your temple.

surprise was etched on your face, as you reached out a trembling hand to your head, fingers staining with your blood. still in a state of white shock, you closed the door with a gentle click.

the door locked away the wrath of kaiser’s anger, but it still echoed in the silence. the sting of the book had turned into a dull throbbing, a ghostly trail of rusted blood on your face.

stumbling into the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of yourself. how had the bright-eyed, cheerful you, turned into this life-less, pathetic ghost of a shell?

gently, you disinfected your wound, hissing at the singing pain that ran through you.

back in the living room, you lowered yourself onto the couch, exhaustion weighing you down. you were tired, you wanted to sleep. to rest. forever seemed like a long enough time.

you were tired of this relationship. you wanted to be free, but your tender heart and lovesick brain believed you could change him for the better. how naïve.

when kaiser had calmed down from his fury, he began picking up the objects strewn around the room.

as he bent to pick down the book lying in front of the door, his fingers came away sticky and coated in blood. your blood.

guilt twisted and gnawed at his insides. once again, he had caused you pain. he was so weak-minded, every time anger consumed him like a flame, you were always the one to bear the brunt of his fury. the bitter taste of defeat was on his tongue.

 every time, he promised that he would do better, rein in the anger, but his temper always won. he was weak to anger, quick to give up. that was not the way an emperor should act.

it was also not the way an emperor should treat his empress, he thought bitterly. once again, his fury had caused you to be hurt. how could he make it up to you this time?

for once, he suspected that no matter how grand, how sincere his apologies were, it may never be enough.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki, @nfekwefdskldm

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

i saw your prompt list and was hoping for number 6 with Aegon <3

‘’Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.’’

Request: Aegon married Rhaenyra's daughter. When the king dies, Alicent lock her in the dungeons so she won't go to her mother and ruin the coronation. Aegon ask where his wife is and get you out himself. Tells the guard that his wife is not to be made prisoner

—

You always knew Alicent had madness running through her blood, but you never thought she would have you taken to the dungeons and imprisoned. 

After dressing in your day dress, you were walking down the corridors, looking for Halaena when you heard voices coming from the small council chamber talking about sending men to Dragonstone to kill your mother and Daemon. Before you could get to your bed chamber and write her a message to send by crow, one of the guards saw you and brought you to the dungeons. 

You tried to scream for help, but the sounds were killed by the stone walls. So you sank to the floor and curled on yourself, praying to the gods that someone would come get you out. Someone must have noticed your absence. 

At his return from the dragonpit, Aegon walked into your chambers and called to you. He assumed you were with his sister, so he went to Halaena’s chambers, but she told him she had not seen you. On his way back from his sister’s chambers, Aegon heard the servants whispering about ‘the blacks’ daughter’ and stopped them. 

With fury in his eyes, the prince stormed down to the dungeons. He didn’t have his sword on him — only Aemond wore it on the daily —, but he had his dagger. Whoever would try to oppose freeing you will end their day bleeding out. Aegon was not afraid of a fight. 

His footsteps echoed off the stone walls and the torches flickered as he passed. As he reached the entrance to the dungeons, Aegon clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw tight with determination. Without surprise, two guards were stationed at the entrance. They moved to block the way when the prince approached. 

‘’We cannot let you go past, my prince. Orders of the Queen,’’ one of them said.

‘’The King’s dead, which no longer makes her Queen. And as the rightful heir to the throne, it is my command you obey.’’ Aegon tried to go past them, but the other guard pulled out his sword. ‘’I could have you removed from the kingsguard for pointing your sword at your future King.’’ His jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the hilt of his dagger as he stared the defiant guards.

The threat hung heavy in the air, a silent warning of the consequences should they continue to defy him. After a tense moment, the guard who had brandished his sword reluctantly stepped aside.

‘’My wife is not to be made a prisoner,’’ Aegon declared, his voice ringing with authority, holding his dagger at the guard’s throat. 

The guard gulped. ‘’Yes, my Prince.’’ 

Aegon walked past them, wondering how his own mother could do this. A part of him was not surprised, though. Her determination often goes too far. 

Finally, he reached the row of cells. All were empty, except one. His heart was pounding in his chest as he saw you sitting with your knees pulled to your chest on the cold stone floor. He said your name and you looked up, tears welling up in your eyes as you stood and reached out to him. You knew he would come for you. 

‘’Aegon!’’ Your voice held relief. 

He grabbed your hand through the bars, cold from being down here, holding it. ‘’Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.’’ Aegon reached out to caress your tear-streaked face, his touch a tender reassurance in the midst of chaos. 

Using the keys he stole from the guards, Aegon unlocked the door, a harsh creaking sound echoing in the silence of the dungeon when it opened. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if afraid to let you go. 

‘’Are you alright?’’ he asked, stepping back to look at you. 

You nodded. You were cold, and very thirsty, but not hurt. ‘’I heard your mother and her father speaking to the Lord Commander. They sent men to murder my mother,’’ you said, a tear slipping down your face. ‘’I was sent here so I wouldn’t write to her and risk ruining your coronation. I need to get to the dragonpit. I have to go to Dragonstone and save my mother.’’ 

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron   @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes@thirsty4nonlivingmen@naty-1001@katiepie67@moshpot24x@hc-geralt-23@lovelynerdytraveler@saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10@tabloidteen@timetoten@deekaag@wondxrgurl@aerangi@strmborns@astridyoo15@daemonslittlebitch@queenbeestuffs@severewobblerlightdragon@agentstarkid@msliz@vane1999-blog@fairyfolkloresposts@todaywasafairytale07@otomaniac@zgzgzh@thebeardedmoon@golden-library@kikyrizuki@hnslchw@camy85@winxschester @armstrongscommentsection

All and more taglist:  @kenqki  @hawkegfs  @gillybear17   @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever

[maryannecrimsworth]

A wolf, a witch, a lover

Pairing: Mel Medarda x Winged! Reader

Warnings: mentions of violence; i got carried away with this one; seriously, I made a whole plot for this; i can make fluff headcanons later if you guys like it

Summary: As the new wolf of Noxus, Mel had to face her mother's past mistakes. You were one of them.

Part 2, Part 3

Mel Medarda had a big role to fill. After the battle was won, not only was Piltover left to be rebuilt, but Noxus had also lost its leader. Queens had fallen, and Mel was the princess next in line. With her new abilities, she had a loyal army to guide and an entire country to reign over.

Piltover was no longer her home — perhaps it never truly had been.

It didn’t take long for her to leave the continent. Jayce was gone, Caitlyn had formed a new Council, and, despite all the bloodshed, the top side and bottom side were finally united as one. Mel no longer had a purpose there; she wasn’t Piltover’s leader. Now, she had inherited her name like never before, ready to replace her mother.

However, there were more secrets than she could have imagined—not only about her birth and father but also the hidden, dirty truths lurking in every corner of Noxus. The colonies, the wars, the cruelties committed by her mother—each new revelation showed Mel how little of the truth she truly knew.

While investigating one of her mother’s secrets, she found you—imprisoned, trapped in a cage like an animal, brutally tied up. You could barely move inside the dark, metal cell. "War prisoners," Mel had been told. Ambessa had killed some of her enemies' leaders, but others she had kept here—for information, leverage, and interrogation. Even though your war was long over, you remained in this dark, cold prison.

Mel didn’t know how long you had been there, but one thing stood out: while the other prisoners were fed and minimally cared for—still caged, of course—you were different. You were cuffed, beaten, and chained far more cruelly than the rest. You were repressed, scared, and treated as if you were more dangerous. That’s why Mel decided to free you herself.

The moment you heard someone approaching, you began to fight. You couldn’t move much—your hands, feet, and chest were bound—but you wouldn’t surrender. You hadn’t before, and you wouldn’t now. You screamed at the silhouette nearing your cell, guttural groans escaping your muzzle. You felt less than human—a cornered prey fighting for its life.

— I came to free you, — a deep, soft voice reached your ears. — Do not fight. Our war is over.

Two guards grabbed your chains and released your feet. You jumped immediately, ignoring the pain, in a desperate attempt to fly. The chains around your chest had smashed your wings for nights beyond counting, and the agony was unbearable.

When they removed the muzzle from your face, you screamed at the shadow by the cell door:

— Our war is not over! It will never be!

The guards recoiled at your outburst, preparing to silence you again.

— That’s why you killed my people. All of them! But I won’t stop fighting!

— Mrs. Medarda, we should— — one of the guards began, stepping toward you with a chain in hand.

— No! — Mel’s voice was firm and commanding. — I’m tired of this senseless violence. Let them go.

You continued to fight, ignoring her words—empty words, you thought. You’d been fooled before, when you believed Ambessa’s promise of peace between your nations. You wouldn’t be fooled twice.

As soon as you were fully unbound, your wings spread abruptly, pushing the Noxian guards back. You screamed with pain and rage, leaping toward the shadow at the entrance—the Medarda woman who had freed you.

— I won’t be fooled again! — you shouted, raising your fists to strike her. But before you could land a blow, a golden energy enveloped her like a shield, stopping you in your tracks.

Blinded by fury, you lunged again, only for the guards to seize your wings and pull you back. Feathers tore, and your fragile bones stretched painfully under the strain.

— Stop! Let them go! — Mel’s voice rang louder than your screams. — I am not my mother! They won’t be hurt anymore!

The guards obeyed, releasing you. You fell to your knees before her—the new wolf of Noxus.

— Many mistakes have been made, — Mel said softly, stepping closer, now within reach of your wings. You could attack her if you wished, but you had no strength left. — I’m here to fix them.

You looked up at her, her hand hovering gracefully in front of you. Perhaps it was the pain. Perhaps it was another fevered dream. No Medarda would offer you their hand—it couldn’t be real.

Everything went dark.

You passed out.

Your body had been overwhelmed, or so you’d been told. You were too weak to move, let alone fly. The doctor had said you shouldn’t use your wings until you were strong enough to stand unaided. For now, you needed to rest.

When you first opened your eyes, the brightness of the room blinded you. After so much time in the dark, even this gentle light felt unbearable. The doctor’s voice reached you faintly as he spoke, but you paid little attention, instead focusing on your surroundings.

The room was large, elegant—too grand for someone like you. A palace, you guessed, judging by the ornate paintings and intricate furnishings. Outside the door, you could hear the steady march of guards, their voices low and firm as they gave commands. This wasn’t the darkness of your cell, but it wasn’t freedom either.

The doctor mentioned medicine before disappearing, leaving you alone. That was your chance.

You pushed yourself to your feet despite the pain, every movement a reminder of how broken you were. Your wings trembled behind you, fragile and aching, but you refused to stay. You’d been caged for too long.

A large window on the far side of the room caught your attention. It framed the city’s skyline—a sprawling capital of stone and steel, alive with motion. But it wasn’t the view that drew you. It was the sunlight.

You froze in place, paralyzed by the warmth. You hadn’t seen the sun in years, hadn’t felt its light on your skin since Ambessa’s betrayal.

Closing your eyes, you let the heat wash over you. Even through your closed lids, the orange glow of daylight filled your vision, and for the first time in so long, you smiled. The movement hurt—your face unused to such gestures—but you smiled anyway.

— I see you recover quickly. — The voice startled you. Deep, calm, and familiar.

You turned sharply, your wings flaring in a defensive posture, ready to fight.

Mel stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

— I only came to— she paused, her gaze shifting upward, catching on your wings. Her eyes widened, and for a brief moment, she froze. — I didn’t realize how badly you’d been hurt.

— What do you want? — you growled, stepping forward. Your wings shifted with you, their tattered state doing little to hide your intent.

Mel didn’t flinch. Her gaze returned to your face.

— I’m Mel Medarda. The new wolf of Noxus.

You studied her, your eyes narrowing. Her clothing was regal, refined—nothing like the armor of a warrior.

— You’re a witch, — you spat, your voice laced with venom.

— And what about you? — she asked, taking a slow step closer. — What... are you?

You hesitated, your glare hardening.

— I see the wolf has done her work well, erasing us from history.

— Us?

— Karyndor. My people. You exterminated us.

Mel frowned, her voice quieter this time.

— I’ve never heard of you. My mother never—

— She never told you how she enslaved and slaughtered my people? — you shouted, your voice trembling with rage. — How is that a surprise, princess?

— It’s not. — Her response was firm, catching you off guard. — I’m not here to be attacked. I’m here to gather the truth. I can only help you if you let me.

You snorted, disbelief twisting your features.

— I’ve heard this before.

Mel’s expression didn’t waver.

— Where do your people live? Why did your war with Noxus begin?

— It’s impossible, princess. Our land no longer exists. Your mother made sure of it.

— Why?

— Because we never gave up our freedom, — you said bitterly. Your wings shivered behind you, as though echoing your words. — We never let them cut our wings, one might say. Noxus couldn’t accept that.

Silence filled the room. Mel’s gaze dropped to the floor, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

— Will you kill me too? — you asked, your voice softer now, almost a plea.

Her eyes lifted to meet yours.

— I am the only one left, — you continued. — You should finish your mother’s work.

— I wonder why she didn’t do it herself, — Mel murmured under her breath.

Her words unsettled you, though you weren’t sure why.

— Why would she keep you alive? — she asked, more to herself than to you.

You clenched your fists, your voice breaking as memories surfaced.

— I was her trophy. The Karyndorian general, tamed and defenseless. She kept me in that cell, showed me off to soldiers. Sometimes... sometimes she would even... — You couldn’t finish. The scars on your body spoke for you.

— Will you kill me, princess? — you whispered. — It would be a mercy I never had.

Mel’s gaze softened.

— What’s your name?

You hesitated before answering.

— Y/N.

— I will not kill you, Y/N. You are free.

And with that, she turned and left.

The truth was, you didn’t know what to do. Dying felt easier than living; it was the end you had hoped for. Without your people, without your army, you were no one. All you had left were scars, weak wings, and your enemy’s palace to wander around. Among all the wolf’s surprises, this might be the greatest: her words meant something. She had changed Noxus — the guards and the servants looked at you, even spoke to you occasionally. While you recovered, the doctor visited you daily, and the staff brought you anything you requested. You even decided to test this by asking for wine. Deep down, you hoped it would be poisoned, but it tasted excellent.

From time to time, you could hear Mel’s footsteps echoing through the hallways. Always moving, always working — that woman never stopped.

She didn’t visit you again. Perhaps she hadn’t expected you to stay at her palace for so long. Honestly, neither had you. You could have flown away, but you never did. You were fascinated by her actions: you had seen prisoners walking around the palace as freely as you did, seen slaves being set free. You had seen families reunited after years, seen mercy — all because of her.

It seemed... impossible. Almost foolish. No enemy of Noxus would ever be as merciful as she was.

— May I speak to her? — you asked one of the staff as they brought your breakfast. They were startled at first but quickly nodded and left. A few minutes later, you were brought to her.

— Thank you, — you said as the servant announced your arrival, studying the immense hall you had walked into. It was vast, with maps, tables, and chairs scattered about. A meeting room for her councils, you supposed, but she stood there alone.

— Mrs. Medarda, — you greeted her. — I must say, you surprise me.

— Y/N, — her gaze locked onto yours. — I suppose I could say the same. I’m honored to see you again.

You smiled at her words. Always charming, a true politician.

— I’ve never seen a wolf with a heart, princess. — You carefully approached the table she stood beside. — You’re either that or a fox. This nation is full of them.

— I intend to change the nation you hate so much, general. Feel free to see it for yourself, if you must.

— I’m afraid I will. — You moved closer, your wings folding tightly against your back, unable to relax as her scent reached you. You glanced down at the papers she was studying — details about battles, casualties, and old enemies.

— This empire has been built on blood, — she said, and only then did you notice how her eyes traced your scars. — Too much blood. I want to rebuild it, to create a kingdom founded on choice and alliances.

— Alliances are volatile, princess. They shift with the wind; they can always turn against you.

— I prefer politeness over rigidity. I believe safety can exist without cruelty.

— I agree with you. I would rather make peace than war. — You saw the spark in her eyes as you spoke, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. — Because of that, we sought an alliance with monsters. It got my people killed.

— It shouldn’t have, — she argued firmly, her eyes locked on yours.

— I know, I know... — you whispered, looking down at the papers again. So much death reduced to mere numbers. — Just don’t mistake mercy for naivety. — With a broken voice, your wings shrank as you confessed: — That was my mistake.

You stepped away from Mel, uncertain where you were headed. A general without an army, a soldier without a cause to fight for.

— Perhaps you could help me avoid that... — her soft proposal froze you in place. — I need generals, not murderers, to train my army.

— Princess, I’ve lost everything. I failed as a soldier, I failed to protect my people. How could you trust me with your nation?

— I don’t, — she admitted, her gaze unwavering in the face of your doubts. — But I’m willing to give you a chance, if you’re willing to take it. It’s the least I can do after what my mother did to you.

You widened your eyes — once again, this was a constant effect she had on you.

You accepted.

Trust was a difficult thing for you at first. After everything you had been through, reservations and even cynicism were normal for people in your positions. There were traitors and rebels in every corner, appearing with every debt forgiven and battle ended by the princess. Empress: you remembered this title more and more every day. Until you had fully recovered, you decided to get to know the nation you had so wished to destroy. The target of your revenge was still undoubtedly a people: there were children playing in the streets and a prosperous future ahead. Untouched by the war, the civilians didn't even seem to know about their leader's atrocities. Perhaps if they did, you wouldn't be treated so cordially.

Over time, you let the children touch your scarred wings. It took a while before you had the courage to show them around town, you feared that they were still a target, but you were only targeted by curious children. Some parents were terrified when you started flying them around in your arms, but their laughter relieved any tension.

You missed it: a home, a people. It was strange that they were becoming that for you. It felt like betrayal, despite the kindness they had shown you. It felt like betrayal against the nation that raised you.

The guilt increased when you returned to your room in the palace, and lasted until the next morning when you met up with Mel. It was easy to hide at first, but the new wolf had an eye for detail. She noticed the improvement in your wings and the worsening of your eyes even with all your attempts to hide them.

--- I've heard good stories about you, general. You've already conquered the Noxus youth. --- she said casually.

--- I've played with children, empress, nothing more than that. They are the only innocents in our history.

--- They represent the future I intend to build… It's good that they trust you.

You frowned at Mel, uneasy about the next words that would come out of her mouth.

--- A legion of young people have enlisted. They're excited about Noxus' new beginning.

You flinched as her words aimed at you, your wings beginning to flutter with anticipation.

--- I want you to train them. --- Medarda stated.

The days that followed felt like walking through a battlefield, only this time the enemy was within you. Every step you took, every command you gave, was a reminder of the life you lost and the people who depended on you—and whom you failed.

Mel had given you a position, a purpose, but it felt more like a cruel jest than an honor. Training soldiers in the palace courtyard, watching them grow stronger, reminded you of the Karyndorian army you once led. Your soldiers had been fierce and proud, willing to follow you to the ends of the earth. These recruits, however, were hesitant, cautious, and unsure whether to trust their new general.

But Mel’s vision was different from her mother’s brutality. She wanted warriors, not butchers, and that meant you had to teach them discipline, not cruelty. You barked orders with the same conviction you once had, though your voice carried an edge of bitterness that was impossible to mask.

The recruits respected you, but they also feared you—your scars, your wings, your haunted eyes. And you couldn’t blame them. You feared yourself too.

Mel, as always, remained a constant presence. She watched from the balconies, observing your methods and the progress of her troops. From time to time, she would approach you after a session, offering quiet feedback or asking questions about tactics and strategy.

— You’re improving them, — she said one afternoon as you stood together overlooking the courtyard.

You didn’t respond immediately, your gaze fixed on the recruits sparring below.

— They’re young, — you muttered. — Too young for what they’ll face.

— I don’t want them to fight unless they have to, — Mel replied, her voice calm but firm.

You glanced at her, your expression skeptical.

--- You surprise me, empress. You're too good, despite it all.

She looked at you with suspicion.

--- I see you've heard stories about me too.

--- The kids talk a lot. --- You tried to soften her expression with a smile. --- I'm sorry for what your mother did to you and your brother.

Her gaze lingered on you for a long time: her eyes analyzed you cautiously, looking for something hidden in your gaze. But there was nothing hidden: you meant every word. You were sorry for her.

--- I appreciate it. --- she said at last. --- For all of it, in fact. You acted beyond all my expectations.

You laughed, relaxed, leaning over the counter while the soldiers below remained training. You could hear them shouting, celebrating and laughing.

--- I assume they weren't very high.

--- No. --- her soft tone made you turn to her. She smiled faintly, a flicker of warmth in her otherwise composed demeanor. --- Nevertheless, here you are. I can't help but wonder what made you stay. --- Her gaze wandered for a few moments, analyzing your wings behind the iron armor that covered your chest. --- You could fly to any destination, you could fight for any country. What could have made you choose the very nation that took everything away from you?

You felt your wings stir as your chest quivered. The answer came so quickly to your mind, and left your lips just as readily:

--- You did. --- you whispered in a low voice. --- I believe in you, Mrs. Medarda.

Her eyes lit up at your words, and your wings began to flutter as the rushing blood warmed your body. Sometimes it was hard for you to stay like that, so close, so focused on her. Your eyes began to analyze every detail of her face, your mind was taken by her elegant grace, you were bewitched by her: by her compassion, by her strength, by her power.

Like the breaking of a spell, you forced yourself to look away and swallow the heat that rose to your neck. You were at your limit, one second away from losing control, and so you pulled away. The last thing you wanted was to disrespect her - she was your emperor, you were her suitor. You were satisfied with that, it was enough after so many years suffering alone. With her by your side, you felt strength, warmth --- something close to hope, something close to purpose.

However, the empress pulled you close, holding your arm covered in scars and stopping you from leaving. She stared at them for a moment, her gaze hesitating before rising to your face.

She said nothing. Her hands moved slowly, cautiously and carefully, like everything Mel did.

--- I won't break, Empress. --- you whispered, the warmth now covering your face and making you smile as you felt her touch on your chest.

--- Your empress...--- Her whisper sounded like a question, yet there was a glint of doubt in her avoidant gaze. Her eyes didn't stop on yours until you said it:

--- My empress.

With that, you two finally gave in and kissed on the balcony of the Medarda palace. You became her general, she became your empress --- you would fight for each other like wolves, like warriors, like lovers.

[anisespice]

“ block boy ” || tokyo rev.

parings: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, kaku, sanzu, rin, ran ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. cursing, mentions of violence, blood, pregnancy mentioned in ran’s, a lot of down bad behavior on both ends lol and i think that’s it.

notes: i pledge allegiance to doechii, and the absolute banger of a song that is “what it is”. literally the first thing i thought of was bonten and couldn’t get ‘em out of my head unless i wrote something down sooo here ya go lol 

notes ii: basically times where you pulled their weight when they least expected you to/when they’re not around. called the shots, took some shots, beat someone up, defended them, loving on them, stuff like this (•3•>)

tagged: @fantasycantasy, @illegalspacecow, @captaincyberqueen

“Did the severity of the situation finally click in your thick skulls, or do I have to waste more of my breath spelling it out for you?”

When MIKEY returned from his much needed evening snooze in the break room you threatened sweetly advised him to take after working for 17 hours straight, he was expecting to return to the shitstorm he left behind. However, when he entered his office, to his muted surprise there you were, in the middle of berating a handful of subordinates nearly twice your size, all shrunk within themselves as your sharp tone pierced through them all. He stood in the doorway with a curious gaze, head tilted ever so slightly as he made sure to keep quiet so not to notify you of his presence.

Mikey took note of your hip popped outward, balled fist rested upon it in the stance he knew all too well whenever you were on your last nerve. Knowing what those idiots did, someone was bound to stumble outta there in tears; your fury wasn’t for the weak.

You eyed the group with raised brows, expectant. “Well?”

One member was brave, or stupid enough to actually answer. He hesitated, but cleared his throat and replied, “I-It was an honest mistake…we thought the product was secured in the truck already when we made the exchange, b-but-”

“B-B—Bullshit. You were given specific instructions to check the inventory to make sure those smarmy assholes weren’t trying pull a fast one, and you were too careless to do a full sweep. You failed abortions not only made Bonten look like complete amateurs, but you added more nonsense for my man to deal with all because you didn’t check the back of the goddamn trucks!”

You flung the clipboard you were holding at the guy’s head, making them all duck around to avoid getting hit, only one unlucky sucker wasn’t as quick as the wooden projectile got him right in the nose. He yelped, no doubt it was broken with the sheer amount of force you put in the throw. Mikey barely flinched, but he did blink a few times in astonishment.

“You’re gonna hunt those fuckers down like dogs and make right of your ‘mistake’ by the end of today, or I’m gonna have Sanzu chop you into pieces and throw you in the Shinano River-!” Mikey cleared his throat.

You swiftly looked over your shoulder at the noise, mood doing a complete 180 when you locked eyes with the object of your affection, skittering over to wrap him in your arms. “Oh! Jiro, baby, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“‘s okay..” he leaned into your warmth, eyes hooded as he graced you with a faint, sleepy grin. “Didn’t want to interrupt your.. meeting. Seemed serious.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Just doing a little ‘housekeeping’ until you got enough rest, that’s all.”

He slowly nodded, lips pursed. “Could’ve sworn I pay good money for people to do that for me.”

“You do, but I was already here. Figured it was more productive to handle it myself rather than waste time looking for someone available. Besides, had to make sure you didn’t try to sneak your narrow butt back in here to continue working—We both know I’m the only one around here who can keep you in check.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“Mm.. can’t say you don’t fill the role of boss rather nicely. It suits you. Should have you do it more often.”

Though you were sure he was teasing you, you couldn’t help but feel yourself grow warm at his praise. You lightly hit his arm, bashful. How this was the same woman who struck fear in a room full of criminals was beyond comprehension, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Speaking of which.. Mikey couldn’t help but notice the said group of subordinates silently begging for him to reconsider in his peripheral, hands clasped in prayer while the one with the busted nose bowed deeply to the floor, forehead to hardwood. It was as if the idea of you being in charge any longer brought them great despair. How interesting.

Huffing through his nose, Mikey placed a loving kiss on your forehead whilst eyeing the group behind majority of his stress for the day, void of any remorse as he coldly spoke.

“Matter of fact.. think ‘m still feeling a little tired, angel. How about you handle another hour f’me? Or two?”

The silence was deafening as the dual-color eyed man avoided looking at you while you stitched him up without a word. When you were greeted by a bleeding KAKUCHO at your doorstep a little past midnight, pale in the face and could barely stand, there were no questions asked as you quickly escorted him into your home, setting him gently on the couch before you sprung for your first aid in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what he could say in that moment, feeling like a complete moron for even showing up looking like he fled a crime scene which he kinda did but that’s besides the point. Your relationship was still in the budding phase, just starting to get a feel of one another as you tested the waters.

Well, consider the waters tested.

“You’re not really an undercover cop, are you?”

Kakucho gulped. He slowly shook his head, eyes trained on his lap while yours felt like they were burning holes right through him. You nodded as you continued carefully stitching him up. It wasn’t the best, but it would hold him over until he got proper medical attention. At first, he figured that would be all you said to him. But, when you completed dressing the wound, you asked a follow up question. “It’s something illegal, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer, his strained grip on his pant leg enough response. Kakucho half expected you to berate him, curse him for potentially endangering your life, for lying.

“.. forgive me..” he croaked, bowing his head.

He felt sick to his stomach, he couldn’t bear the thought of you despising him, but he’d honor your wishes without protest if you never wanted to see him again…

However, what he didn’t expect was for you cup the sides of his face and bring his wavering gaze to your soft one. You smiled endearingly at the bewilderment that overcame his ashamed expression, him blinking at you widely with tears hanging onto his lashes like a wounded puppy. Your thumb ghosted over the tiny droplets, careful not to aggravate the bruise forming around the socket.

Leaning forward to shower him with tender kisses, Kakucho was at a crossroad—One side wanted nothing more than to melt into a puddle of goo, but the other refused to believe that he wasn’t hallucinating, waiting for the sick twisted punchline of this dream come true. Feeling him still so tense in your hold, you leaned back with your smile still present.

“This doesn’t change how I feel about you, Hitto.”

Kakucho blinked. Then, he meekly replied. “W-what?”

You coyly tilted your head, “To be honest, I always figured there was something…off about you. Like, you were holding something back. My first guess was that you were seeing other women-”

“Never.” His eyes switched from uncertain to stern in a matter of seconds, as if the implication alone repulsed him. He softened once you giggled at his declaration, patting his leg in reassurance.

“I know. You’re much too sweet to be a player. I pondered over it for a while, thought back to how we usually met up late at night, or you would have to leave at odd times. My second guess was your work just kept you really busy.. and after tonight.. after all of this,” you gestured at the blood stains everywhere, “safe to say I was on the right track.”

Kakucho hesitated. “And that doesn’t…put you off?”

“That you’re a thug?” He winced, but nodded. The silence that followed behind was borderline suffocating, leaving his hands sweaty and nerves shot as he anticipated your response with baited breath. But, he didn’t need to worry.

With a loving coo, you placed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, right over the split in his lip causing him to flinch slightly at the sting, but he welcomed the affection all the same. However, when your warm tongue peeked out to soothe the cut in slow, teasing swipes, homie nearly choked.

Kaku’s jaw fluttered open as a soft gasp escaped him next, the sensation foreign but not unpleasant as he felt his entire face heat up like a furnace. Your sudden proximity forced him back on the couch while you slid down to the floor betwixt his spread legs, making his head spin; this wasn’t going like how he thought it would at all. Being careful of his stitches, your arms rested on either side of him as your tongue explored his mouth, making him groan softly at the feeling of the wet muscle tangling around his so earnestly, hand reaching up instinctively to caress the side of your face as he deepened the kiss. His other hand held your waist, gripping your shirt as if he couldn’t believe you were there—That you wanted to stay.

The ravenette’s breath hitched when he felt one of your hands trailing up his thigh, slowly but surely making your way to his stiffening cock confined in his pants. Slightly startled, Kakucho pulled back from the heated kiss, a string of saliva still keeping you connected as you panted in each other’s mouths. Before he could question what you were up to, he cuts himself off with a whimper when you palmed his thick shaft while maintaining intense eye contact, a smile on your face as you sent the gangster into paradise when you sweetly whispered:

“Always wanted to be a ride or die.”

It was as if someone pushed him into an alternate dimension.

Not even moments ago, you were showing SANZU a cute tiktok of a kitten wrapped up like a burrito and mewing dramatically, nearly tearing up at the sight as you tugged on his arm and pleaded for him to buy you one just like it. Having bought out the entire evening in one of Tokyo’s most exclusive five star restaurants for your anniversary, Sanzu figured it’d be nothing more than a simple night with his lovely wife. Man’s must’ve forgot who he was.

When those fools tried an ambush on him, Sanzu was more than happy dealing with them quickly by just airing them out until his gun was empty. Although, as he went reaching for it, imagine his shock when you held his wrist to stop him. You had a different sentiment.

It was like a scene out of one of his most crazed fantasies. His lovely wife, holding his beloved katana to an enemy’s throat, covered in the blood of his comrades as he sobbed pathetically for you to spare him. As if Beatrix Kiddo entered the chat, you sliced into them with a swiftness, shredding through them all like paper; a dinner and a show. He wasn’t sure when you learned how to wield the weapon with such grace and precision, but he couldn’t care less when his pants were this fucking tight. But he couldn’t let you have all the fun, watching your six any time a goon tried to get the jump on you while your back was turned, Sanzu was quick to bust a cap right between their eyes. After spilling gallons of blood from the opposition, leaving one still standing, you decided to play with him a little bit.

“P-Please! I-if you let me go, you’ll never see my face again, I-I swear! I was just..just following orders, I-”

“Oh, c’mon, where’s your conviction from earlier, huh? You were so confident before I minced all your friends. What was it you said you’d do to me once you killed my husband? Can’t seem to put my finger on it…Haru, darling, do you recall?”

Sanzu, with his chin placed atop his interlocked fingers like a smitten fool, smoothly answered, “Said he’d ‘Fuck you raw on top of my corpse’.”

You winked. “Bingo. Thank you, handsome.”

“Welcome, gorgeous.”

The sniveling man yipped when the blade nicked his skin, a thin stream of blood flowing in its wake as you pressed it closer to his throat. His heart rate paced like a rabbit caught in a trap, nostrils flaring as he breathed sporadically while his life laid in the palm of your hand.

“Guess that didn’t go according to plan, aw.” You sardonically cooed, spurring on a bit of rage as he gritted out a dry ‘Fuck you’ in his final efforts of showing dominance. “Oo, there’s that passion we were missing!~ Let’s see how much more I can carve outta yo-”

Hearing the sound of faint sirens in the distance, Sanzu clicked his tongue in annoyance. With a grumble the pinkette popped a piece of his steak in his mouth and spoke between chews as he cocked his gun, “Alright, [_____], playtime’s over. We gotta haul ass.”

You pouted. “But, we didn’t get to fuck on top of his corpse...”

Sanzu swallowed, hard. He couldn’t help but internally groan with desire at your innocent display of vulgarity, tempted to take you up on that offer, but the last thing he wanted was for you to be involved in a standoff with the cops. You’ve proven you can handle yourself very well, a lot more than he realized that’s for sure, but you were still his precious baby at the end of the day.

Better to keep you out of danger than thrust you in more of it, no matter how much the thought excited him.

“Next time, pretty baby.”

You huffed. “Fine.”

Without hesitation, you strummed the man’s throat like a cello, the katana tearing through the skin with ease. The symphony of gurgles that escaped him sent shivers down Sanzu’s spine as he watched in manic glee as the man choked on his own blood. You never looked more stunning covered in red and holding his blade like it belonged in your hand, he wanted nothing more than to ravish you on the spot, but as the sirens drew near he tamed his urges just this once. You took his extended hand gratefully, swaying them as you both rushed for the restaurant’s back exit.

Once outside, while he scoped out the area for any cops patrolling, you nudged him. When he turned to see you beaming at him whilst blood stained your face, he swore his heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“You’re getting me a kitten to make up for this, right, Haru?”

He raised a brow, but exhaled a chuckle. “Sweetheart. Show off that violent side of yours more often, and you can have as many as you want.”

“You good, ma?” A delightful shiver ran down your spine and straight to your pussy.

That was always the visceral response your body had whenever RINDOU spoke, especially low and intimately in your ear. From either gently waking you first thing in the morning, or to secretly shit-talk in crowed areas, it was his go-to method to getting your attention effortlessly. A dangerous method, one that was about to make you act up in front of all these important clients, decorum be damned.

“I am now,” you purred, falling back into his embrace as strong arms came vining around your waist. He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple as he gently swayed you both to the rhythm of the soft jazz playing over the speakers of the ballroom.

“Missed me that bad, huh.” You nodded with a slight pout, turning in his hold to stare up longingly into his eyes. They were lidded, heady. Another dangerous method of your husband’s that made you weak in the knees—his undivided attention. “Bored?”

“So fucking bored,” you whined, tugging on his lapels. “These things are always such a drab..”

Rindou hummed, hands slowly slipping down from your waist to hold your hips. You tensed slightly, not even bothering to mask the second shiver it caused. His grin turned sharp in response, head tilting. “Ya sure that’s what has you so out of it?”

You tilted yours, confused. He continued, “You’re not as subtle as you think you are. You’ve been eye-fucking me for the past ten minutes. Came over to make sure you weren’t dripping all over the damn floor—”

“Shut up,” you jabbed him in the side, face boiling. Rindou barely flinched, squeezing your hips as he snickered cheekily at your embarrassment. “You’re so irking...”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. If you knew I was horny, I could’ve been folded on my back ten minutes ago.”

“Hm, almost as if I was doing something important, like…” he trailed off, making you squint and almost jab him again until he grabbed your hand in the last second, bringing it to his chest with a smug grin, “working.”

You huffed, “I’m important too…do me.”

Rindou snorted, but brought your hand up to gently kiss the inside of your wrist with a tender look in his eyes. “‘course you are, baby. Didn’t know it would go for this long, ‘m sorry.”

“Then, how ‘bout you and I take a little…smoke break,” you suggested, hopeful; desperate. However, it’s futile when your husband clicks his tongue.

“No can do. Kakucho’s still not over the last time we took a ‘smoke break’ together.”

“He’s not? Seriously? We weren’t even gone for that long!”

He raised a brow. “[______]. The check made it back to the table before we did.”

You groaned, exasperated as you wiggled around in his hold. Rindou merely watched in mirth, not even phased as he let you finish your tiny tantrum. He teasingly cooed, “I know, I know. Poor thing can’t go a day without something plugging up her slutty little hole.”

“Shut up..!” You shrunk into his chest to hide away from the sultry words spoken directly in your ear, thighs clenching together as his deep chuckle came soon after.

Rindou was very much aware of your voice kink. It filled his ego to the brim with how needy you were, crumbling anytime he so much as spoke to you in a certain way. There’s nothing he wanted more than to ditch and bury himself in your thighs, giving it to you however you wished, for as long as you wished, whispering praises to you with a sprinkle of degradation in there to keep you craving for more of his soothing voice. But, unless he wanted his nuts handed to him on a silver platter by his stickler of a superior, you were just gonna have to wait.

And he knew how much you hated doing that.

“Ten minutes.”

He sighed. “[_____]…”

“Five minutes?”

“We can’t-“

“A minute, god, I don’t even have to finish, Rin, please.” You whined in his ear, forcing him to close his eyes as a means to strengthen his resolve. It didn’t do much help when your arms wrapped around his neck to gently rake your manicured nails against the nape, your thigh deliberately rubbing up against the growing erection confined in his dress pants. The tables had turned with a shiver now running down his spine, mind turning to mush as common sense slowly sunk into his dick. Maybe…sparing just a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Even though the lavender-haired gangster couldn’t see your face, he was certain you were grinning victoriously at the sound of his resolve breaking instantly, the slow exhale through his nose being all the confirmation necessary. Clearly, you weren’t the only one who was needy.

Swallowing down a groan, he hissed through clenched teeth, “You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?”

Giggling, you were already leading him toward the nearest exit, swiftly evading the eyes of his coworkers, satisfied that you were getting exactly what you wanted in the end.

“Better me than Kaku.”

“Like I’ve already explained to you, Officer. My husband’s been here all day. Dunno if you’ve noticed, but he can’t exactly afford to leave my side for more than ten minuets let alone an entire evening.”

Despite gesturing to your swollen stomach and the small child shyly peering from behind your leg, the cop still fixed you with a skeptical look. You did your best to remain unnerved, providing comfort for not only your son but yourself as you ran your fingers through his hair. Apparently, there had been a shootout that happened in the streets of Tokyo, and apparently a witness was able to describe one of the shooters…

Henceforth, the unexpected visit from law enforcement. Again.

“Mhm. And, may I ask, where exactly your husband is now? Surely if he’s been tending to his pregnant wife, he wouldn’t have her answering the front door.” He raised an eyebrow, wry grin stretched across his face.

You worked your jaw, annoyed. “In the shower.”

“How convenient. Washing off the blood, I assume?”

“You can assume whatever you want, it doesn’t change my answer. He’s been here, with us. Whoever said they saw him was mistaken. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got mouths to feed. Have an evening, Officer.”

“Now, hold on—”

Without an ounce of hesitation, or care, you slammed the door in his smug little face. And just like that…blissful silence. A grand weight lifted off your shoulders at the disgruntled sound of the pig’s flat-footed steps exiting out of your day. Releasing a slow exhale, your son took it upon himself to blow a raspberry at the closed door, having worked up the courage to mock the officer now that he was out of sight.

You grinned as you ruffled his hair, endearingly. “You tell ‘em, baby.”

However, that silence didn’t last long as RAN made himself known now that the coast was clear. Having hid around the corner in case things escalated, he too released an exhale, easy grin spreading across his face. Though your child was happy to see him, racing to cling onto his long legs, you merely glared in disapproval. Based off his appearance alone, disheveled and glistening with sweat, you wished your fib from earlier was true; he needed a shower.

“[S/n], don’t touch daddy right now…he stinks.”

Though a bit childish in your phrasing, Ran was well aware it held an underlying meaning, a chill running down his spine under your harsh scrutiny. He cleared his throat, somewhat nervous, as he searched his brain for honeyed words that would soothe your soreness toward him. And he laid it on thick.

“That’s ‘cause Daddy had to run the rest of the way home to make sure his babies were safe,” he leaned down to scoop up the clinging child, lightly tickling at his stomach poking out from under his pajama shirt to receive more joyous squeals. “But, Mommy scared away the big, mean police man all on her own, didn’t she?”

“Yea!” [S/n] squeaked, bright laugh bouncing off the walls as he wiggled around eagerly. You felt the corner of your lip twitch upward at the sight, but you pursed your lips to hide the impending smile—Ran noticed. He always did.

“Yeah.. we’re real lucky to have someone as wonderful as her to watch our backs whenever we’re in trouble.. right, mama?”

Your glare still remained, though not as harsh compared to moments ago. Despite the mirth swirling in his lavender gaze, you took note of something else hiding within. Something more raw, more vulnerable.

Remorse.

Ran didn’t like getting you caught up in his business. He did everything he could to ensure that none of you were ever exposed to the ugly parts of his life. Tonight, he was sloppy. He fucked up, and he knew that. The second shit hit the fan, his only priority was his family… You had every right to be livid with him, having both your son and a pregnancy to deal with virtually on your own, while also covering his ass from prying cops itching to nail him to the wall…It’s a miracle how you haven’t packed up and left him yet…

And he thanks his lucky stars that you haven’t.

With another deep exhale, you rubbed your temple. “I don’t know what it is that you do in those streets to cause such an upset, Ran-”

“For the record, tonight wasn’t exactly my fault-”

“-and I don’t care. I just…”

Your exhausted tone was more than enough to shut him up. He felt his throat tighten as he gently bounced your son on his hip to distract his increasing anxiety. The lavender-haired man mentally prepared for your scolding, already set on sleeping in the dog house if that’s what got him in your good graces again…but it doesn’t come. Eyes that were hyper focused on [S/n] fiddling with his loosened tie slowly trailed up at the sound of you huffing in, what he assumed to be, relief.

Waddling over to your boys, you reached up to caress their faces. Instinctively, they nuzzled into your palms, Ran a little more hesitant than your beaming son before reaching out with his free hand to touch your stomach. When your unborn child kicked against it in response, you noticed his shoulders visibly relax. Your thumb gently rubbed under his eye, frowning at the dark circles that formed on the pale skin. He looked solemnly into your eyes, turning his head slightly to kiss the inside of your palm. You sighed once more, eventually granting him a smile in reassurance.

Despite his abnormal lifestyle, and how hectic it could get, “I’m just glad you’re home.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[chxrryhansen]

4.   rafe finding reader's toys she has and using them all on her at once because his ego is all like “I’m not good enough or something? Fine!”

-💎

i’m so sorry i literally just realised you asked for him to use them all on her after, i didn’t see it until i was just about to post, sorry if i disappointed <3

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

you stood from the couch in shock as rafe burst through the living room door, his messy bangs sticking to his forehead and his face red with fury and a medium size box in his hands, the rage in his eyes clear.

“rafe wha-“

he threw the box into your lap, his hands settling on his hips as he stared you down with his dark blues.

“what. the. fuck. is. this?” his tone calmer than usual which immediately put you on edge, and causing an eery feeling to rise in your stomach.

looking down at the box you stilled, a bright pink 7 inch dildo staring straight back at you, along side your pretty purple vibrator. swallowing heavily you looked up at him through your lashes, rafe sneered.

“what the fuck is this shit huh? what yo-you think that im not good enough or somethn’ ? hiding that shit from me, did you really think i wouldn’t find out? huh? you thought that i- that i wouldn’t find out that my own girlfriends a-a needy fuckin’ cock whore?”

his anger was visible through his clenched fists as he rambled, pacing back and forth in-front of you.

“rafe i-i swear i haven’t used them since i met you, i don’t even need them anymo-”

he scoffed, throwing his hands in the air in mock understanding before swiftly moving to grip your jaw in a tight grip. you hated when he got like this, when his jealousy and insecurity took over there was no grounding rafe cameron. you should’ve known there was no point in trying to argue with him, he always wins. every single time.

“you’re a fuckin’ liar. you’re a lying fuckin’ whore. this dick not good enough for you, hmm? i’ll fuckin’ show you.” he murmured. you held his hand in your own, planting your feet and making a move to stand on shaky legs.

not on his watch.

rafe gripped your shoulders, roughly throwing you back down onto the couch, face down, before pulling up your skirt and tearing your panties in half. you keened, gasping at the sensation of cool air hitting your bare cunt.

your gasp quickly turned to a scream as rafe pummelled his cock into your pussy, no warning, no preparation, nothing. with one thrust he was balls deep, bottoming out into your cervix and sending tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. “fuck rafe!” you cried, the pain overwhelming.

he didn’t care. in his mind you deserved it. i mean, how dare you use his hole without permission? thoughtlessly shoving another cock in his cunt.

“shut the fuck up, you dumb bitch. i really gotta’ teach you the basics all over again, huh? this is my pussy, y’hear me? mine. say it, tell me who’s pussy this is.” he growled, his hips slamming into your plump ass from behind, the sound of skin clapping filling the room, his thick hand wrapped around your hair and tugging roughly.

“yours! it’s your pussy. i’m sorry, daddy. i’m so s-” you wailed into the cushion as rafe pushed your head back down into the couch.

“damn right it is, and did i give you permission to put some other cock in my pussy? caus’ i swear i didn’t.” he laughed manically, drowning out your cries. his thrusts becoming heavier, his thick length driving into your cervix with every pump.

“didn’t your ma ever tell you not to touch other peoples toys?”

[criminalamnesia]

HIIII!!! I just wanted to say that i really love ur writing! I've read ur traitor series and I can't wait for part 4! I'm a new author, and english isn't my first language, so it's sometimes very hard for me to write bcs i'm stil not that good, but ur fics have helped me improve<3💗!

thank you so much!🫶 im glad you’ve enjoyed the series! and speaking of part four, here it is :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

simon didn’t turn to watch you leave the gym.

he stood there, eyes forward, mask clenched in one fist. he could feel the blood drying on his skin. he made no move to wipe it away.

he didn’t blame you for your anger— he couldn’t. he understood the rage. had felt it himself a time or two.

but he couldn’t take everything lying down.

did he deserve your wrath, your fury? yes— and he knew that. there was no making up for what he did; he realized that, but why couldn’t you understand?

he’d never fully taken his walls down around you, and that was no fault of your own. he was a guarded man, and his past gave him every right to be.

he had been burned and broken too many times. he’d seen the people he loved murdered because of him.

he swore he would never let that happen again. he put those walls up, and you knocked some of them down.

but there were some you’d never gotten through, at least, simon told himself you hadn’t. there was always something he was holding back, a piece of himself he wouldn’t give freely. he told himself it was because he couldn’t stand to love you so deeply and then watch you leave.

but really, it was because he needed an out. he needed a way to justify his leaving if something ever happened— and that’s what got him here.

simon trusted the 141 with his life. he trusted his captain with his life. price had never led him astray; john knew his face well before any of the others. well before you.

and when someone you trust so deeply, someone you’ve followed for years, tells you that the person you love has betrayed your team?

you can’t help but believe them. and that’s what simon did.

the evidence was coincidental at first. wrong place, wrong time. but then, everything started to seem like more than a coincidence. pieces of a complicated puzzle were fitting together. things only you and the rest of the 141 would know were leaked.

and all the signs pointed to you.

and although he didn’t want to, simon couldn’t help it. the second price had confided in him that you may be the rat, simon began to distance himself. you had been confused, but he had offered no explanation.

price was the one to question you first. it was a heated conversation in his office, consisting of him showing you the evidence and you becoming furious at the accusations.

johnny came to you next, buttering you up with his flirtatious and unarming words before asking if you’d leaked information.

then there was kyle, who pleaded for the truth. he told you that a case was being built against you, and that if you came clean now, things wouldn’t be so bad.

simon never tried to talk to you about it. the other men would tell him what you’d said, but he had never gone to talk to you himself.

maybe it was pride. simon wasn’t trusting, not after his past. he had let the 141 in, had let you in. and now you were a suspected traitor, and he was angry at himself. angry he hadn’t seen it sooner; angry he’d let you in at all.

but maybe it was hurt. hurt that you’d done this to him, to the team, after knowing everything they’d been through. after stitching up wounds on the battlefield and taking bullets for one another. after sharing simon’s bed and whispering you loved him.

all he knew was that he trusted price. and as evidence built, so did the distance between the two of you, until you were tied to that chair.

and simon had taken his hurt, his anger, out on you. he wasn’t proud of it, and he knew now that he was wrong. but he was still a little angry. angry because you couldn’t see his side of things— not like he could see yours.

so, he was an ass. he didn’t apologize. he snuck flowers to your bedside but kept his distance. he told you to watch your tone because you were still part of the team, and speaking to price like that was only something an outsider would do.

and he told you that he’d spared your life because he had. anger had consumed him, and truthfully, you were lucky he hadn’t done worse.

even if he’d smothered his feelings for you with rage, he still harbored love for you, and that’s why some part of him held back.

he knew you would probably never forgive him. he had made his peace with that.

but he couldn’t stand the fact that you couldn’t understand why he’d done what he did.

the creak of the gym door opening broke simon from his thoughts. he pulled his mask back on before turning around and making his way to the door.

it took one firm knock on the door for price to answer.

the door clicked open, and price sighed when he saw simon, scrubbing a hand over his unruly beard before letting the taller man in. price turned, walking back to his desk chair, while simon closed the door behind him and locked it.

“this is a bloody mess,” the captain said, falling heavily into the chair. it squeaked at the sudden weight, old leather crinkling and crackling.

“doc came and saw me earlier, ‘fore she left for the night. told me about some new injuries, and yelled at me for letting that happen.”

simon didn’t speak. price’s eyes met his, and he sighed again.

“fuckin’ hell, simon. what the fuck did you say? doc said she had to stitch up both their hands.”

“doesn’t matter what I say,” simon spoke, eyes still on the captain “they won’t fuckin’ listen.”

price shook his head. “that’s not true, ‘nd we both know it,” he sounded tired as he spoke, dark bags under his eyes. he paused for a moment, then spoke again.

“spoke to laswell after you left earlier. she said she’ll try to speed up the transfer process. tryin’ to avoid more fuss, and im not fightin’ it any longer.”

“they’re part of our team,” simon spoke, tone rough.

price shook his head. “they are, but I can’t keep doin’ this. can’t keep pushin’ off transferin’ because of you lot. it may be better for us, but not for them.”

the room fell quiet. simon inhaled, exhaled. his fists clenched at his sides before quickly unfurling once more.

he didn’t have a right to be mad at you for leaving, but he was.

“laswell say anythin’ else about tha’ transfer?” simon asked.

price leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “not much. no word on where or with who, but even if she knew, doubt she’d tell us. for their sake.”

simon gave a small nod and made to turn, but froze as price spoke again.

“she did say she didn’t know if it would go through. they’d have to pass another eval.”

they both knew what that meant. if laswell said that, then she didn’t believe the transfer would happen. kate wouldn’t outwardly say it, but price had known what she’d meant.

pushing the transfer through wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t pass a physical and psychological evaluation— and laswell didn’t think you could.

although he wouldn’t admit it, price was unsure, too. torture was something that took an incredibly devastating toll on the mind and body.

but torture at the hands of your team? there was no telling the damage that that would do to someone. to you.

an honorable discharge was more likely. and, if that was the case, then your rage would likely grow tenfold.

you career, your livelihood, taken from you by the hands of the men you trusted the most. your family, cutting you up and pushing you out.

damned by your team and your country, regardless of everything you’d done for both of them during your service.

you were just another cog in the machine, one that had been damaged and discarded, and a discharge couldn’t make that any clearer.

he thought back to what you had said in the gym earlier, before you’d left.

‘you should have killed me.’

maybe he should have.

thanks to everyone for your patience! also just incase you didn’t see my post about it—

im no longer doing a taglist! my side blog @troiastitans will reblog my works from now on, so if you want to know when I post, follow that account and allow notifications!

as always, thank you for the love! (also I hope you all enjoyed a little peek into simon’s head!)

[novaursa]

hello !! i hope ur doing amazing and i wanted to say how much i rlly enjoy reading ur work like its always amazing and just MWAH chef’s kiss fr fr !!

do you think you can do a short writing for either aemond or aegon and how they betray their mother and grandsire for the reader <3 ! sorry if it’s not detailed this is my first time requesting 😔💕

oh and if u can’t i completely understand bookie !!

Broken by War

- Summary: When his mother and grandsire declare you a threat to be rid off, Aemond betrays his family for you.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: The reader is the daughter of Rhaenyra and is bonded with Vermithor.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Next Part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The pressure in the small council chamber was stifling, every member seated at the long, dark table focused on the map sprawled before them. A heavy silence blanketed the room as Dowager Queen Alicent’s voice echoed through the stone walls, calm but insistent.

"We must strike at Rook’s Rest," she said, her eyes glinting with determination. "Vermithor is a threat that grows with each passing day. We cannot allow her to roam free."

Otto Hightower, standing at her side, nodded in agreement. "Rhaenyra has grown too bold. Your niece wields too much power with that dragon. Vermithor must be neutralized, Aemond. Only Vhagar has the strength to bring the beast down, and only you have the will to do what must be done."

Aemond sat at the far end of the table, silent until now, his one violet eye fixated on the map. His jaw clenched as the voices of his mother and grandfather droned on, discussing tactics to trap her. You. The only person he had loved, the one who haunted his dreams and memories of youth. 

The very mention of your name, though unsaid, sent a ripple of heat through his chest. His gaze shifted from the map to Alicent, then to Otto, as they spoke of you and Vermithor as mere obstacles—just another enemy to be destroyed. 

But you were not a mere enemy. You were his niece, the daughter of Rhaenyra, and the girl who had once shared moments of innocent laughter with him. Before the war, before the bloodshed, before the divide of loyalties had driven them to opposite sides of this cursed Dance. How could they expect him to harm you?

A sharp crack split the air. The sound of his fists slamming against the table reverberated through the chamber, startling everyone into silence. Alicent and Otto turned, eyes wide, as Aemond rose from his seat, his face a mask of anger and resolve.

“I will not harm her.” His voice was low, dangerous, shaking with barely contained fury. “I will not harm my niece.”

“Aemond,” Alicent said softly, her brow furrowing as she reached out a hand as if to calm him. “She is a threat. You must understand—”

“No,” Aemond snapped, cutting her off. His gaze burned as he turned on them. “You expect me to kill her? To kill the one person I have loved since we were children? Vermithor is no more a threat than Vhagar is. And Y/N—she is not the enemy you make her out to be.”

Otto’s face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something dark in his eyes. “She rides a dragon that is an old menace. Rhaenyra and her supporters will stop at nothing to see the end of this war, even if it means your death. You know this, Aemond. Only you can put an end to this before she burns the realm to ash.”

Aemond’s gaze flicked back to the map, the cold stone beneath his hands, and then to the faces of those who had shaped his life, who had molded him into a weapon. But not for this. Not against you. His chest heaved with barely contained emotion as the weight of everything pressed down on him—his duty, his family, his love for you.

Slowly, he shook his head, his voice low but firm. “No. I will not do it.”

“Aemond,” Alicent’s voice sharpened, desperation edging into it. “Where are you going?”

Aemond had already turned, his long coat sweeping the floor as he strode toward the door, each step heavy with purpose. He didn’t look back as he answered, the words cutting through the air like a blade. “I am going to Dragonstone. I will kneel before Y/N and Rhaenyra. I will beg for their forgiveness. For everything. For Lucerys.”

There was a stunned silence in the room as the weight of his words settled. Otto’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp as steel. “They will kill you the moment you set foot on Dragonstone, Aemond.”

Aemond paused at the door, his hand on the cold iron handle, and turned to face them. His eye gleamed with a fierceness that made Alicent flinch. “Then let them. I would rather die at her hand than live knowing I betrayed her.”

He left without another word, his footsteps echoing through the stone corridors, each one bringing him closer to you and the fate he had chosen. The weight of his family’s expectations, of the crown’s demands, fell away with each step. In its place, only one thing remained—his love for you and the need to right the wrongs that had torn them apart.

As he mounted Vhagar, he knew there was no turning back. His path was set, and for once, it was a path he chose for himself.

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part four of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 3.)

summary:

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

wc: 1.6k

tw: political machinations, reader being inches away from killing everyone in the damn place including feyd, kissing, biting, mentions of breeding, possessive & needy feyd, sub!feyd, oral (fem receiving), fingering, hallway sex.

you’re getting tired of dreams. 

there’s terrible, terrible purpose dripping from their edges. you see it all - snapshots of horror, fractals reflecting endless bodies dropping to the ground. sixty one billion people, dead. ten thousand worlds burning, the universe begging for respite under your brother’s crushing fist.

paul. little mouse, whom you’ve shielded all your life, whom you’ve sparred with, crysknife pressed against his throat, his shield a feeble protection against your blade. something shatters. blades. so many of them. your blade. jamis’ blade. feyd-rautha’s blade. 

your dream has you standing in what you know to be the emperor’s ship, shrouded in bene gesserit veils. two silhouettes stand against the bleeding sun of arrakis. 

the realisation embeds itself in your mind, marble-carved. fate is looking down upon you and tells you: one of them dies in the end.

when you wake up, there’s a scream dying on your tongue.

you don’t know where you are. you don’t know where you are, why your side is on fire, why you taste blood in your mouth.

slowly, you rise, heart beating furiously, breath laboured. i must not fear. your fingers dig your sheets. the infirmary. fear is the mind killer. you close your eyes, will yourself to breathe. fear is the little-death that brings total -

a hand settles over yours, bone pale fingers weaving with yours. warmth settles on your shoulder. you relax, ever so slightly, leaning into the touch, burying yourself in the crook of feyd-rautha’s neck. he’s all sharp edges, honed to deadly perfection. in the quiet midnight of geidi prime, he softens for you.

“what troubles you?”

you wonder if you should tell him. of the golden path, paved with blood, so much blood it clings to the soles of your feet, you see it rise, rise, eager to seize you-

a low mumble of your name.

“dreams are messages from the deep,” you whisper in the crook of his neck. 

his hold tightens over you, brings you closer to the warmth of him, thumb running over the smooth skin of your belly, over your unborn child growing there. from your position, you can feel it, the way his vocal cords vibrate. he’s purring, soothing you bit by bit.

you tilt your head, hand coming to cradle his face, knuckles brushing against his cheek.

“i should be plotting your death.”

a low chuckle, a flash of almost eagerness in his eyes.

“i don’t doubt you will.”

his hand wraps around your neck, resting on the soft skin of your throat, bringing you closer to him, shifting your bodies until you’re straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck. you could strangle him. you could use the voice. ask him to take the knife you know rests on the bedside and slit his own throat like the harkonnen beast he is. use it yourself.

but you’ve sealed your fate the moment you stepped on arrakis. so instead, you let the darkness swallow your confession.

“i don’t want you to die.”

“i won't,” he mumbles against your lips, words like an oath as he kisses you.

they say the beat of a butterfly wing can cause a tempest on the other side of the globe. you wonder what tempest will be borne out of the fury beating in your chest. here goes: morning comes. the spice rules it all, even the baron’s affairs, so he gathers his troops to make a planetary governor out of feyd-rautha. 

the glorious sun of geidi prime shines its lifeless light upon you all. 

the finest harkonnen soldiers, ruthless hounds barking their sovereign’s name in fervent adoration, thousands upon thousands of ants stretching as far as you can see. they corrupt it all the harkonnen, eating away at the horizon. waiting. 

you’re waiting, too, hands folded before you, lone silhouette clad in dark robes, veils like a mask before your face. bene gesserit, the court calls you. 

not quite.

by bearing feyd-rautha a child, you’ve gained a modicum of respite. the bene gesserit will spare you, the mother of their precious kwisatz haderach. they will keep your survival a secret and bury it behind inscrutable eyes.

plans within plans within plans. you’re a pawn in the baron’s meaty hands, he’s a pawn in yours, and the bene gesserit have been pulling the strings for ninety generations. 

your gaze flits to the scene before you. feyd-rautha harkonnen, clad in dark leathers, silver embroidery like pauldrons over his shoulders. the mass of his uncle hovers above him, a hovering beast eager for power. two meaty hands encompass his face - absolute disgust coils in your chest as you watch vladimir harkonnen kiss his nephew. he kisses back. a show of dominance.

the soldiers howl his name, earth trembling under the clamour. they salute, arms crossed over their heads, a living, breathing organism, synchronicity at its peak. 

arrakis has a new ruler. 

a hand clasps over your wrist, drags you away from the adoring masses, in the sweet darkness of the palace’s hallways. you’re pinned against the wall, and feyd-rautha looms before you, terrible hunger burning in his eyes. slowly, he lifts your veils, high enough to bare your mouth to him. 

“my lord-”

you’re cut off by his lips on yours, eager, desperate, savouring you like fine arrakean spice-wine. 

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

he nips at your ear, grin sharper than his blade as he sinks to his knees. slowly, intimately, a shadow curling at his mistress’ feet. he unravels you, nails raking up your thighs, liquid desire burning in their path. 

“eyes on me.”

your eyes snap open. oh, he’ll be the death of you, with the way his eyes freeze you in place, willing, begging for his touch. you shiver, a low, needy sound escaping you. 

he grins, a flash of black teeth against the liquid darkness of your robes. shadows will swallow you whole - he will swallow you whole. already is, with the way he trails kisses up your thighs, teeth sinking in the meat of it until blood drips on your skin. 

he’s lapping at it, hands wrapping around your leg, spreading you apart inch by precious inch until he fits the broad expanse of his shoulders in the space he’s carved for himself. he raises his head, leans his cheek against your thigh, nuzzling in its softness. there’s blood coating his lips, sweet like forbidden fruit, and an unquenchable fire in his eyes.

“exquisite,” he purrs, nail digging in the blossoming mark he’s left, until your hips seek his touch.

he puts his mouth to you. you bite your lip, hard, as you feel him tease you, tongue lapping at you like sweet pomegranate, skilled fingers coaxing pleas for more. the cold of his silver ring has you keening - you're melting against him.

it’s obscene, how the only sounds you can hear are the pleased moans of your lover, the squelching of your juices dripping down his face, his wrist. it’s too much, too fast - your nails dig into his nape, bringing him closer. fucker’s purring, hands digging in your hips. he’s making a feast out of you, and you’ve never seen prettier sight. 

feyd-rautha, kneeling at your feet, a pretty, pretty blush dusting his cheeks, his soft mouth on your cunt, ruining you as he denies himself sweet release.

“feyd-”

a jolt - he’s just nipped your clit, and you’re falling apart with his name on your tongue, burning, melting in the pits of desire. you grow boneless, faltering on unsteady legs. he pulls you to him before you can fall, kissing you, moulding his devouring mouth to yours. 

distantly, you register that he’s breathless, that he’s pressing you against him, that you can feel the dampness at the front of his pants.

his voice is a low, needy rasp.

“you taste divine, my dear.”

there’s a commotion. someone, somewhere, is calling. a servant. a feast is prepared. blasphemy - the baron is a beast, and he will not have his nephew leave without obscene amounts of food. good. it leaves room for you to plan - you’re running out of precious, precious time. there are too many variables for you to act alone, yet you are.

you’re sitting at feyd-rautha’s side at a banquet table. on you watch, a mockery of a bene gesserit, nails digging in your palm. there’s a knife before you, of course. the baron’s sitting at the head of the table, stuffing himself until he’s about to burst. 

repulsive.

you could do it now. put an end to the harkonnen, avenge your family. plunge that knife in the baron’s throat and watch him die like an animal. 

but revenge is best served cold. you remember princess irulan being seated in front of you. you remember the emperor at the head of the table. you remember his knife slicing through unknown poultry. a falcon. he’s doomed your family to death. 

the emperor is old. paranoid. anybody would’ve seen that the atreides were far too loyal to even consider rebelling against him, rising influence or not. someone convinced him otherwise. the truthsayer, reverend mother gaius helen moriam. 

you take a bite of your own meal and find it tasting like ash. the only dish you yearn for is revenge.

you want the baron dead. you want the emperor stripped of his power. you want to watch the split second of horrified realisation on the reverend mother's face. 

you want them to burn, and burn they will.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @moonsoulk @alexandrainlove @saturnhas82moons @coureurs-de-bois9 @kamcrazy123 @beebeechaos @avidreader73 @yzuposts @jaiuneamesolitaiire

[diazsdimples]

Tommy can remember the day he knew he was going to kill Vincent Gerrard. Or, not kill exactly, but do some serious, irreparable damage to him. He'd kind of figured this day would come, if the way he felt like ripping the old man's mustache right off his face whenever Buck came home upset was anything to go by. He just didn't think it would happen quite so soon. He's held Buck plenty of times after rough shifts, where Gerrard would make him man behind for no other reason than "I want this place clean and perfectly organized. That's what you people do, isn't it?". He's heard enough stories from Eddie, and Hen, and Chim, about the abuse they were all getting but how most of Gerrard's hellfire seemed directed towards Buck.

But nothing could prepare him for the fury he felt when that day arrived.

He'd gotten a text from Eddie, a short and simple "he needs you", and he'd been in his car in a flash. The whole drive he'd been worrying, not sure what he'd be arriving to.

When he gets there, he knows it’s bad. Hen and Chimney are locked in a furious screaming match with Gerrard, their faces all varying shades of puce, and it looks like Hen's about to punch Gerrard in the nose, based off the hand Chimney has wrapped tightly around her wrist.

He spots Eddie and Buck immediately; they're in the locker room and Eddie has his arm around Buck's shoulders. When he looks up and locks eyes with Tommy, he can see the flames of rage licking behind Eddie's eyes. Buck's got his face in his hands, and his shoulders are shaking in a way that tells Tommy that he's crying. Tommy's across the station in 3 quick strides, dropping to his knees in front of Buck and taking his face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over his cheekbones.

"What the hell happened?" he asks Eddie, because Buck's not in any shape to breathe right now, let alone talk.

Eddie doesn't reply immediately, but his jaw ticks and he looks like he's carefully picking his words. Just as he's about to speak, Buck's voice, quiet and broken, cuts through the silence.

"He made me watch."

Tommy's brow furrows in confusion, and a ball of dread settles in the pit of his stomach. Buck swallows convulsively and even Eddie looks like he might throw up. It's bad.

"Watch what?" Tommy asks carefully. He doesn't want to push it, not if Buck isn't up to speaking, but he needs to know.

Eddie speaks up first, and his voice is shaky too.

"We were called to a massive haemorrhage at the Pride Event in West Hollywood. A man and his husband had been attacked by one of those bible bashers that stand there and tell everyone they're going to hell. A bystander said they'd been arguing with him and he pulled a knife. Got the first guy in the stomach, second just above his heart. There was nothing we could do."

Buck takes a deep breath, a whine issuing from the back of his throat. Tommy puts a hand around the back of his neck and rubs soothing circles just below his hairline.

"He made me watch," Buck repeats again, a little louder this time, and Tommy's heart clenches cause he knows, he fucking knows what Buck is going to say next. "He said "ride with Wilson, Buckley. This is a good opportunity for you to increase your medic skills." He knew they weren't going to survive but he made me...." Buck trails off, unable to finish his sentence, and Tommy's vision goes red. He's never hated anyone more than he hates Gerrard right now.

That is, until Buck finishes his sentence.

"He said "you might learn something valuable," but he wasn't talking about the job."

Buck's fists are clenched so tight his knuckles are white, and there's blood under his fingernails. Eddie's got a fistful of Buck's shirt clenched tightly in his fist and he looks like he's doing all he can to not run upstairs and tear Gerrard limb from limb.

There's a ringing in Tommy's ears and everything sounds kind of muffled, like his head is underwater. He's clutching the back of Buck's neck so hard that it's got to be painful, but he can't make himself let go.

When he left the military, Tommy made a vow that he would never take another man's life. But for this - for Gerrard - for what he did to Buck, the light of Tommy's life, he might just make an exception.

[dollfacefantasy]

past the limit ♡

chris redfield x fem!reader ft. leon kennedy

you decide to act up when your boyfriend has a friend over, and he has no problem punishing you right in front of him.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, spanking, daddy kink/ddlg, fingering, orgasm denial, praise/degradation, voyeurism/exhibitionism, marking (skin turning red)

a/n: commissioned by the lovely @skirt-russell. thank you again so so much <3

Chris nods along as Leon goes over the little points on the papers laid out across the kitchen counter. He was trying to focus. Leon had gone out of his way to stop by the house tonight just to go over some of the D.S.O's restructuring plans that might affect the BSAA.

Normally, he'd have no issue focusing on this. It was work, and when Chris was in work mode, it was hard to break that stone-faced concentration that overtook him. But today you were in a pissy mood. You'd been in one all day, giving attitude and rolling your eyes. Now you were sulking on the couch in the living room, watching some trashy tv show at a volume way louder than necessary.

So now Chris was in a pissy mood.

It was visible to Leon with how the older man kept glancing over his shoulder, as if that would telepathically communicate to you the need to get it together. The blond smirks at his friend's obvious displeasure.

"Trouble in paradise?" he asks with a small smirk.

Chris's eyes dart back to him. A bit of annoyance gnaws at him. He knows it was an innocuous comment, but it was just another reminder of your defiance; the fact that you were testing him, in front of someone else no less.

"Something like that," he grumbles.

He tries to get back to the topic of conversation, but the idea of you having some sort of perceived advantage feels like chafing between his thighs. He lets Leon finish one more sentence before he interjects.

"Just give me one second," he tells the other man before turning away and heading to the door that leads to the room just off the kitchen. He takes barely a step inside, only enough to get a look at you.

"Think you could turn that down, baby?" he says.

You don't even turn your head before shooting it down and saying "No. I'm watching it."

"How about watching it quieter?" he suggests, his tone growing clipped.

"How about you and your friend talk louder?" you retort.

A sharp exhale comes from his nostrils before he heads further into the room. He's much closer now, in a position to actually look down on you.

"How about," he starts, speaking firmly now and leaving no room for argument, "You go to the bedroom and watch it on the tv in there?"

"I was here first," you say flatly.

You still don't even look up at him, and he swears he can literally feel his blood pressure rising. His eyes feel hot and his limbs taut with irritation.

"I don't have time for petulant games. Move upstairs or turn the tv off," he says. The tone of his voice is commanding now, one he takes on when it's absolutely his way. When it's time for you to do as he says or receive punishment. You had the safeword, of course. It was there for you if you ever needed this to stay grounded. But this was exactly what you were looking for, wasn't it?

"No," you shrug. Now you do look up at him, and stare into his eyes like you can laser holes into them.

"Get your ass to bed. No tv at all now. I'm done playing with you, and I won't tell you again," he seethes. You can tell he's still reigning in his anger a bit, staying quiet to keep this conflict between the two of you.

"I won't tell you again. Fuck off," you spit.

And that's it. You'd hit the bullseye. Your boyfriend's eyes blaze with fury. Before you know it, his large fist is curled around your bicep, and you're yanked to your feet. He takes your spot on the couch and flings you face-down over his lap. One arm keeps you pinned there as he shuts off the tv.

You whine and kick your feet, but he's not having it. You don't even get a warning smack like usual. He goes straight for the waistband of your sweats and practically rips them off of you. Once your cheeks are exposed, his palm comes crashing down hard, a slap echoing through the room.

"What did you say to me, little brat?" he says before landing another lash, "You want to repeat that?"

All you can do in response is yelp at the stinging heat that radiates through your ass. Your head droops for a moment, but you stay strong and keep it up as best you can.

"What's that?" he taunts. Another slap rings out. "C'mon tell me what I heard come from that dirty mouth."

He smacks you again, ripping the words from your throat.

"I said fuck off," you whimper. You were already starting to regret your antics from how much your backside ached only a handful of hits in.

Once you repeat the words, the hardest lick yet rains down on your sore ass. You mewl and jerk your feet, but it's of no use.

"That's what I thought you said," he says. His voice is so cold it nearly sends a chill through you. "I thought you told me to fuck off, but I couldn't believe it. My baby girl would never talk to her daddy that way. She'd never say something like that to the man who takes care of her."

Oh god, the guilt. If there was one thing that made Chris the perfect candidate to have control of you, it was the way he could zip between intimidating you into submission and prodding at your emotions with ease. He continues lecturing before you get the chance to speak.

"My baby gets fussy sometimes, sure. But she'd never say something so blatantly disrespectful. Especially not with daddy's friend here," he chides.

"I'm sorry," you pout, giving him an inch.

"Oh you will be when I'm done with you. Save your apologies for now," he says.

Smack!

"Daddy, please," you whine, "I didn't mean it. I just wasn't thinking."

"Hush. I know you weren't thinking. That's obvious," he tuts, "That's not an excuse. Not one I'll accept. Thinking or not, you were behaving like a silly brat, and you know how I handle silly brats. You want to play games, you don't complain when you get your prize."

His palm tingles a bit itself from how hard he smacks you this time. You howl in pain, and he gives you another two quick slaps to drown it into whimpers.

"Quiet down. You know Leon can hear how bad you're being. He knows what's going on in here, that you're getting your naughty ass spanked by daddy," he taunts, "He knows what a needy, spoiled little girl you are."

As if on cue, Leon's head pokes through the living room door.

"Everything ok in here?" he asks. His tone is innocent enough, but you know in reality, he's asking Chris for permission to observe. Leon knew the kinds of things you and Chris got up to in your private life thanks to a couple nights when you got way too drunk and way too comfortable sharing things with him. Also Chris may have let it slip once or twice while bragging about you, but who's to say? Regardless, Leon knew, and he was interested.

Chris was fine with his interest, enjoyed it even. It felt good being admired. The thought of Leon having the two of you in the back of his mind riled him up more than he'd ever admit.

"Everything's fine. She decided to be a little mouthy, so I had to remind her how she's supposed to behave," Chris says as if it's the most casual thing in the world, "Come on in."

You feel your cheeks heating up, and you try to hide your face against Chris's hip out of instinct. He doesn't allow you that privilege though. He shifts you over his knee and tugs you back into place by your jaw as Leon heads over to a nearby chair.

"Daddy..." you whimper. A quiet plea for mercy. However, if you really needed mercy, you could call out that exact word, and it would all stop. You didn't though, so deep down, Chris knew you wanted this.

"What, sweetheart? You scared of daddy's friend all the sudden? You didn't seem so scared earlier, acting out when you knew he was here."

"It's different," you pout.

"You don't gotta worry, princess. Just act like I'm not even here. It's just you and your daddy," Leon adds, leaning back and getting comfortable. The mocking was clear in his voice, and the way he said 'your daddy' made your stomach twist in the most sickeningly erotic way.

"I tried to give you a warning, babydoll. Tried to give you a chance to be dealt with later. But words didn't work. You kept going, so now you're gonna take your punishment like a big girl."

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Three brutal hits land in the center of your butt. You shriek and buck your hips, but Chris has you held down nice and secure. You're not getting anywhere. 

Your pussy throbs between your thighs, both from the spanking and the extra set of eyes on you. You know you'll be dripping by the time this ends. You just have to last till then you remind yourself. You just had to take the punishment, and then daddy would play with you like always.

"Such a bad girl, and it's a shame because she's usually so good," he says, shaking his head, "I might be getting too soft on her."

"No, daddy," you whimper, "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I was being dumb."

He switches from spanking you to rubbing your cheeks, massaging the soon-to-be bruised skin. You can feel his eyes on you along with Leon's. Both watch you with condescending lust.

"Yeah? You think you're really sorry now?" he asks.

"I am. I won't do it again," you sniffle.

He pops each cheek once, admiring how your glowing flesh jiggles. His hand then returns to rubbing the skin when he hears your whine grow in desperation. Leon watches on with interest.

Chris hums as if he has to think your previous words over. His warm, heavy hand continues to rub soothing circles on your ass. The silence is killer, waiting for the result even worse. But you get it soon enough when he gives you a final hard, searing smack.

"I think you have had enough," he agrees, "You just needed some attention, hm? Just needed daddy to make those bad, bratty feelings go away, yeah?"

His other hand pets your head and allows you to lean into the touch. You nod along to his words. A sigh leaves you. Finally you could get to the good part. His hand slides from the swell of your bottom and nudges your thighs open. The pads of his fingertips coast over the damp fabric of your underwear.

"You think you deserve this, baby?" he asks, "You think you deserve daddy's touch after being so disobedient."

"I don't know..." The words come out soft and uncertain. It felt like a trick question, saying yes would get you in trouble but relenting to the possibility that you didn't deserve this could mean he'd take it away.

"You don't know? You were so sure of yourself earlier," he mocks.

Leon chuckles from his seat, and your head feels as though it's engulfed by the heat of humiliation. You whimper as your eyes cast down which only amuses the other man more.

"You're lucky daddy can't keep his hands off you when your ass is all cute and red like this," he says.

His digits press down on your pussy harder over the thin fabric between your thighs, drawing a mewl from between your lips. He works the thick appendages under the sticky cloth and swipes them through the gleaming slick there.

"Such a nasty little girl. Getting all wet when you're supposed to be thinking about what you did wrong," he says.

"I am thinking, daddy. Promise," you whimper. "I just-"

Before you can finish that thought, pinches your clit. Your words die by the sword of your own moan. Your hips jerk over his knee. Muted laughs come from both him and Leon. His middle finger begins to circle and tease the sweet little bud.

"Hit that button, and your brain just turns off, isn't that right, honey?" Chris coos, his voice dripping with mockery.

But you don't care about that. You were still getting what you craved. Leon and him could make fun of you as much as they wanted as long as you got your pretty little pussy played with.

"Mhm," you hum.

"Good girl. Maybe I should do this anytime one of daddy's friends is gonna come over," he says, "What do you think Leon?"

The D.S.O. agent perks up and shifts in his chair from where he had been passively palming himself. "I think that's a good idea," he agrees, "Sticking a vibrator on her little cunt would keep her in line the whole time."

Another moan floats from your lips upon hearing that. At the same time, Chris had started stroking your bundle of nerves directly. His digit flicks over it and massages at the tingling pleasure blooming from that spot.

"You like that, sweetheart? That what you need to be a good girl?" he prompts.

You nod. His fingers glide through your arousal to teasingly dip into your entrance. They don't stay there though. They drift upwards again and return to stimulating your clit alone. It's still enough to get you close, so you don't protest.

Your thighs vibrate with the impending release. You clutch at his thigh and try to hold still as best you can.

"Getting close, pretty baby?" he coos and twirls a little figure eight on your pulsing nub.

"Yeah, daddy," you whimper.

"So precious," he mutters and keeps up his efforts.

The pleasure blooms in your tummy. You can feel yourself approaching the high. Everything grows soft and hazy. Your fingers dig into his jeans as his stroke you into bliss.

"Daddy, I'm gonna cum," you whine.

But as soon as you utter that phrase, he takes it all away.

In seconds, his hand leaves the warmth of your center. He pushes your legs closed again, lightly patting your ass and boosting you onto the wobbly limbs. You feel like you're gonna collapse. Looking at him with confused urgency, you whimper and reach for him.

He grabs your hands and kisses the palms before chuckling. "You didn't think you'd get to cum, did you? That wouldn't be a very good punishment."

Your lip quivers with the intense desire to protest, but you knew he wouldn't budge. Leon laughs slightly at your dilemma. You shoot him a glare for it but then groan and stamp your foot, deciding not to complain.

"That's my girl," Chris praises. He rubs your hip bone and presses a kiss to one of your stinging cheeks. "You head up to bed. You need to rest after getting that sweet ass spanked raw. I'll be up there in a little bit."

You nod and look down, doing some sort of inverse walk of shame.

"Oh, and baby?" he calls before you can actually leave the room.

"Yeah?" you ask, turning to give him a hopeful look.

"Ever pull some shit like that again, and you'll be right back over my knee."

[probablyintensemuses]

I Miss You, I’m Sorry.

Armando Aretas x black!female reader

🎧- I miss you, I’m sorry- Gracie Abram’s

summary: in an attempt to guard his heart, Armando pushes you away. But how far is too far? And will he ever have a chance to tell you his true feelings?

themes: angst and fluff.

warnings: gore and blood, kidnapping and murder mentioned.

authors note: I’m still obsessed with Armando. The more I think of him, the more I wonder how broken he must be and how confused and overwhelmed he might feel. I hope it can be explored more in future films <3

Hot and iced coffee was passed around to everyone in the compound, everyone but Armando.

You passed them out with a smile, never once looking his way.

The avoidance was purposeful, he could feel it in the way chills spread wide throughout his chest, desperate for the warmth of your gaze.

But you never gave it to him.

And maybe that had something to do with last night.

How he’d gone too far for the last time.

Last night, Armando was in a mood, working late at the compound. You’d found him crushing the weights, pressing out every dreading thought lingering in his head.

Like always, you’d been attempting to talk to him, let him see that he wasn’t alone.

You had approached him just as he was re-racking his weights and heading over to the treadmill.

With a small smile, you handed him a sweat towel. “What’s on your mind?” You asked, gently.

Armando wiped his face with the towel, tossing it to the side. “Nothing.” He grumbled.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “I know you’re lying. You only stay this late and train this hard when somethings bothering you.”

Armando eyed you, the fury of his troubles—his mothers lies and manipulation, all the innocence he’s lost as he killed for her, only for his life and legacy to amount up to nothing—glazing behind his eyes.

“Don’t try your psychologist bullshit on me.” He grumbled.

You swallow. “It is my job.”

“Not with me it’s not,’ he sizes you up with his shirtless frame.

“Armando, that’s not what I’m doing. I’m just checking on you, making sure you’re okay.”

“What do you even know about me?”

You place a hand on his chest, fingers caressing his heart. Armando tries not to melt at the touch, wishing he wasn’t so starved for this kind of affection all his life.

“I know your heart, and I know it’s heavy, because we’re friends.” You say.

Armando grabs your hand, removing it from his chest, before his body decides to suddenly combust.

He lets out a low, resentful chuckle. Armando didn’t have friends. He couldn’t even trust his own blood, let alone some stranger like you.

He didn’t know why you continuously tried to look for the good in him.

There wasn’t any.

He was a cold, hearted killer. And no amount of hugs, smiles, or coffee runs would change that. He wished you’d stop, because he would only hurt you with expectations in the end.

“Who ever said we were friends?” Armando says, coldly.

You frown. “I just thought—,”

Armando presses the treadmills start button, rubber fills the air with a stench.

“I’m surprised you can think, because if you could, you would have notice that our relationship is one sided.”

You frown, clutching at the bottom of your skirt. “Armando, you don’t mean the things you’re saying.” You croak. “I know you don’t.”

Armando takes a step forward, his rising anger pushing you back into a punching bag.

Cornered, Armando leans into. “I mean every, fucking, word.”

You slip past the punching bag, shaking your head. “No.”

Armando can see the tears building in your eyes. His heart burns, but a deep breath snuffs out the flames.

“Yes. Now leave me the fuck alone and get the fuck out before I say something we both regret.”

Armando points to the door.

You bite your lips, salty tears leaking one by one against your warm brown skin.

Armando’s fist shake at his sides, wishing he could punch himself as he watches you leave.

He thought, like many times before you’d be over the spat. But he was wrong, because you still haven’t looked his way.

And he’d kill just to have one last glance at your eyes.

By the time lunch roles around, you and Armando still haven’t talked.

The silence was killing him.

So the moment you hit the corner, walking back from your lunch break, Armando grabs you up, pulling you into a quiet room.

“What the hell,” you push away from him. “Did you just kidnap me?”

“Kidnapping would require me to take you to a second location.”

You roll your eyes, walking towards the door. “Please move. I’m leaving for my prison sessions soon.”

“You still working there part time?” Armando questions. “It’s dangerous.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe you should come visit for a session one day, considering your mental deficiencies.”

You attempt to leave, but Armando’s hand sticks out, blocking your exit. “You’re not going anywhere, not until you tell me your issue. Are you still mad about what I said last night?”

You pause, folding your arms over your chest. “I thought you wanted me to leave you the fuck alone?”

“So this about last night.’ Armando smacks his lips. “That’s petty.”

“Petty?’ You throw your keys and purse down. “More like downright disrespectful, Armando.”

“Do you want an apology or something?” Armando scoffs.

“No, actually, I came to terms with some things after I left you last night.”

Armando’s eyebrows raise. “Yeah, and what’s that?”

Your smile is crooked, hurt, and so unlike you. “That you were right last night, we aren’t friends.’ You grab your belongings and brush past him. “So let’s continue to act like it, yeah?” You slam the door shut behind yourself, leaving Armando more hallow than before you two had even spoke.

Armando rubs a hand over his face, his hands eventually finding their way to his hips as he lets out a loud sigh.

Had he made the right choice? Had everything he’d said last night been the truth?

Or was he just afraid of the possibility that his mother wasn’t the only one who could betray him? Or that one day you’d go against your gut and see that there was no light in him, at all, and all he’d do is snuff yours out if you got to close.

It wasn’t clear, the truth muddied by desire and fear, but maybe the space was safer for you in the long run. Neither of you could be hurt that way, anyhow.

May he should take you up on your offer and go for a therapy session.

Armando finds his way back inside the compound where he sees the team gathered around one of the large plasma screams, watching a large, bloody fight play out.

“What’s going on?” He asks, catching everyone’s attention.

The footage pauses and everyone remains silent.

Mike swallows, consoling Kelly as she wipes at the tears on her face.

“A riot broke out at the prison.” Dorn swallows hard. “And there’s not doubt that she’s been taken hostage by a patient of hers.”

Armando blinks, shaking his head. “Hostage?” He swallows, his throat drying up. “What the hell do you mean, hostage?”

“I mean the guards can’t find her anywhere in the prison and her office looks like a struggles taken place.’ Dorn sighs, taking a seat. “We can’t even get in contact with her.”

Armando’s fist curl up as he stalks over to Dorn with a fury. “Well you better keep fucking trying geek squad.”

Dorn stands, sizing Armando up. “You don’t think I’m trying. The place is a fucking dead zone right now, no one can get into anything!”

Mike slips between the two, asserting his weight and presence. Armando pushes against him, flashes of what could be your fate play in his mind. “Well try harder, we need her exact location.’ He turns, heading to the armory. “We leave in thirty.”

Kelly stands. “Hold on, leave and go where? We don’t have clearance there.”

Armando slams his hands against the cages guarding the Armory, sending a shock wave through the compound. “Listen here, I don’t give a shit about clearance, and neither should any of y’all. If it was any one of us in that situation, she wouldn’t hesitate, so we should do the same.”

The group is quiet before they join Armando in the armory. They work in heavy silence as they suit up, cleaning and checking their guns.

Armando’s mind reels and slips, imagining what could happen to you. You had no combat or weapons training in the fiel, your specialties lied in communications as a liaison officer for the department. You also oversee some of AMMO’s operations along side Rita.

Going back to school for a PHD in psychology was merely prideful, as you didn’t need too, leading you to work on a thesis in regards to the psychology and reform of prisoners, which is exactly why you were missing now.

If anything happened to you, Armando didn’t think his heart could handle the massive guilt of pushing you away last night and letting you leave today. If someone could grant him one last wish to cling onto you and never let you loose, he’d take it in a heartbeat.

“Armando,’ Mike says, his voice crashing over Armando’s thoughts like a wave. “You ready?”

Armando clocks his gun, shoving a knife into his pants pocket.

“Yeah.” He says.

Mike pats his shoulders. “We’ll bring her home, okay.”

Adrenaline didn’t allow for Armando’s pride to take control, he just nodded, following behind the team as they stepped out and began the pursuit to the hospital.

As the van nears the prison, kelly moves toward the back with an iPad in hand.

“When we get inside, Mike and I will coordinate with the other officers on sight to try and gather as many prisoners as possible. Dorn you’ll be air support with the drowns, and Armando you’ll find—,”

The van comes to a stop and Armando slings his gun around his body, adjusting it in his grip. “I know what I need to do.” He kicks the door open, rushing inside.

Armando slammed through the prison doors, doing a quick sweep of the halls before perusing down them.

The prison smelt of sulfur, gas and water leaking from the ceilings and floors as he walked past. He couldn’t believe this was a place you’d actively chosen to go to, no woman like you deserved to be here.

Armando pushed past a lot of broken cell doors and hiding prisoners, he was just about to turn the corner when a scream erupts from behind him.

Your scream.

His blood freezes over and his fingers clutch and sweat against his guns trigger.

What if he was too late?

What if you were hurt…or worse?

Panic carries him as he bounds down the hall until he reachers the only door.

He sweeps into the room, a large stage front and center, pointing his rifle at the front of the room.

You’re being held hostage by a man whose eyes are darkened and lust field. This must have been your patient.

Armando’s eyes sweep your body. Your cheek is scraped and bleeding blood, along with your forehead, smooshing curls to your face along with sweat and tears.

Your once white pant suit is soiled and bloody and your heels are long gone.

Armando just wants to shoot the man holding you, but he can’t, not without risking your life. The man holds a knife to your neck, pressing in and drawing blood, seeing Armando’s gun, he uses you as a shield.

“Back the fuck up!” He shouts. “Or I slice her open and spray us fucking both with her blood.”

Armando’s heat skips a beat at the thought. His mouth opens, the closes, he knows better than to negotiate as he couldn’t, he was used to just killing for these kinds of threats. But right now this man held the upper hand by holding on to you.

“Armando,’ you said, voicing weak and unsteady. “Leave us, okay.”

Armando shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you, not again.”

You whimper and your eyes shut, leaving tears to spill from them. Your cries alone were enough for Armando to drop a few rounds in this man, but he needed to be strategic. Something like you. He needed to try to use his words because maybe if he had used them earlier or last night he wouldn’t have anything to regret if this was the last time he’d see you alive.

Armando took a few steps forward. “What would make you let her go?”

The man shook, looking around frantically. “A way out of this fucking hell pit.”

Armando shook his head. “What if I said I could you that, off the books.”

The man swallowed, loosening his grip on the knife against your neck. “How? How could you possibly do that when this place is swirling with fucking cops!”

“The way I came in, there’s no cops stationed over there, so let’s make a deal.’ Armando drops his gun, letting it hang at his side. “You let her go and I get you out of here.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Give me your gun.”

Armando frowned. “Why?”

The knife presses back into your throat and you scream out in searing pain. “So you can’t shoot me fuck head! Now give it to me heart eyes, or I cut her open.”

“Armando! No!”

Armando takes off his gun, placing it on the floor. “It’s okay, el cariño .’ He says. “I’m gonna slide it over at the same time you let her go, okay?”

Armando slides the gun across the room and the man loosens his grip, giving you enough space slip out of his hold.

You limp across the room and fall into Armando’s arms, he catches you with ease, holding you steady.

“¿Estás bien bebé?’ He questions, frantically pushing your curls away from your forehead. “¿Dónde te duele?”

You don’t respond, instead you pass out on his arms. Armando lifts you up bridal style. Heat boils through him at the thought of this man hurting you.

There was no way he was going to let him go now.

“Let’s go,’ the man says, clocking Armando’s gun. “Or it’s her fucking head, then yours.”

Armando walks you and the man towards the exit he came from, hoping to not run into any cops on the way.

His ears were buzzing, he needed a way to dead this situation without jeopardizing your safety anymore than it already was. That’s when he felt something searing in his pocket.

The knife.

Armando sat you down, tucking you against the wall behind a cell door.

“The fuck you doing!” The man shouted, jutting the gun at Armando.

Armando kneels over, pretending to be out of breath. “She’s heavy and I’m tired. I need a break.”

“Nah, muscle-head,’ the man’s says, putting the guns cold muzzle against Armando’s back. “There’s no time to be tired. If she’s too heavy, leave her and come back once you get me out of here.”

Armando smirked.

He’s just where he needed him.

In quick, trained motion, Armando whips his knife out. He turns, slicing the man’s wrist.

The man screams out in paid, dropping the gun. Armando uses his leg and sweeps his feet from under him, casing him to land on his ass.

The man clutches his wrist, crying out in pain. Armando takes no sympathy when he picks up his gun and shoots him thrice in the chest.

Armando scoops you up once more, calling into his coms.

“I’ve got her,’ he breaths. “Get a kit together, she’s pretty bad.”

Armando holds you tight as he walks you down and out of the prison. The warmth of the sun hitting your skin, the glimmer reminding him of just what he’ll never let go of again.

###

A stir shifts Armando awake.

His eyes open, blurry from the nights sleep before sharpening and focusing on you.

You sit up in your bed, holding your torso and groaning in pain.

Armando sits up, grabbing your arm and helping you reposition.

“How are you?” He asks, stuffing your pillows behind your back.

“Where am I?” You mumble, holding your head. You reach up and touch the bandages on your forehead, feeling a sharp pain spread, causing you to hiss.

“The hospital, you were hurt yesterday in the riot.” Armando says, taking your small hand in his larger one.

You nod, and Armando’s heart sinks when he feels you pull your hand from his.

“So what are you doing here?” You ask.

“I’m here with you.”

“Why?” You turn, glaring at him. “I thought we weren’t friends.”

Armando sighs. “Bebita, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How else could you mean it, Armando?”

His hearts pace quickens, last time he didn’t use his words, he nearly lost you. He didn’t want to risk it and waste anymore time with you. “I was scared.”

“What?” Your voice cracks.

Armando grabs your hand, squeezing it. “I was scared to loose you. I was afraid you’d see how fucked up I am, and just when I thought I had you, you’ll see the monster I am and push me away.”

You shake your head, squeezing Armando’s hand. “No, listen to me,’ you take his face in your hands. “You’re not a monster. You were lied to and you’re hurting.”

Armando melts into your touch as you stroke his cheeks with your thumbs. “I see the good in you, and I’ll always be there for you. I promise.”

A tear slips from Armando’s eyes, the truth of your words bleeding into him through the warmth of your touch. “I’m sorry,” he says, nuzzling into your touch and kissing your palms. “Cariño, lo siento mucho.”

“It’s okay,’ you sniffle. “Come here.” You pull him towards you.

Armando leans in, the hospital bed groaning under his weight as he takes you into his arms.

Armando takes your face into his hands, titling your head, placing his lips onto yours. You two melt into each other, kissing away the physical and mental pain you both harbor.

“I missed you,’ he moans against your lips, holding you tight. “Te extrañé mucho bebé.”

You slip your hands into his hair, pulling him down and on top of you.

“I missed you too.’ Breathlessly, Armando shivers, pressing himself into you. “So never push me away again.” You say.

Armando sucks in a breath, taking in how breathtaking you look underneath him. “Sí, mamá, lo prometo.”