#i was in so much pain but when they came out the adrenaline like .made it all go away

[storiesabouteli]

Eli's gurl // Elijah Hewson X SingleMom!Reader (Fluff)

prompt: Violet had a minor accident, and Eli is there to calm her down, even though he's dead worried for her.

words: 1,8K

a/n: It's a strange trope, I admit, but I love writing kids, and I'm stressed, so this will happen again. Plus, Eli would be deffo super protective dad of a lil girl. (Yep, I'm running out of inspo too).

Your hands were cold, and you remembered your mother, your mind quickly recalling the need for bandages when you got hurt as a child. You hated that—when something bad happened and adrenaline only made it feel worse. But this time, something felt serious than usual. When Elijah called, you were just about to wrap up a meeting. His voice was shaky, and you could picture his nervous fingers ruffling his hair. This naturally made you uneasy. As you asked questions, he seemed to grow even more unsettled. Finally, it was clear that you’d need to pick them up from the hospital.

A tight knot formed in your throat, tension heavy in the air. The search for a parking spot felt endless, and parallel parking turned into one of the worst experiences of your life. Feeling how stiff your body had become, you leaned back in the seat, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. Gradually, your mind slowed as you thought of how Eli always knew how to calm her, whether she was in pain, nervous, or sleepy. She would hold his index finger in her small hand and rest her freckled face against his chest, seeking comfort. He had a way of making her feel heard and special, and you found yourself loving him even more each time you saw these moments. This brief thought offered some relief; after all, you trusted him.

Violet wasn’t biologically his, yet Eli treated her as if she were. It took you a while to introduce her to him, something he always understood, knowing how important it was for you. You’d been alone with her for quite some time, and although you’d tried dating a few times, there was a mental gap between your post-Vee body changes and the emotional and physical baggage that came with having her by your side. You didn’t regret it, but it was true—you couldn’t hold onto someone when your responsibilities were the very ones people your age often avoided. Not that they shouldn’t, of course; you understood that choice well. But you did start to think about opening up to someone again. You wanted to try, to feel the thrill of having someone who truly wanted you. When Eli came along, you were cautious, though you liked him right from the start. A long conversation unfolded at a show you’d attended without much expectation, and initially, you avoided the topic, wanting to enjoy his attention. But as your time together grew, you eventually told him about Violet, and he didn’t pull away.

The scene before you was all too familiar: Vee, with a pouting face, clung tightly to Eli’s shirt, while his warm, caramel eyes showed his worry. The room, painted in soft shades of blue, had small animal drawings on the walls, and the table held sterilized thick needles and thread. Elijah appeared even more tense than Violet.

"Look at me, it’s okay, little one," he whispered gently, holding her close and doing his best to comfort her. His eyes were red and misted over as they met her pained gaze, tears welling up in response to hers.

She intertwined her fingers in his shirt tighter and closed her eyes; his voice remained soft, just like the hand resting tenderly on her shoulder. “You’re very brave,” he murmured with a comforting accent. That brought a faint smile to your face. As the doctor stepped back, Vee noticed you standing there. “Mommy?!” Eli looked at you, visibly more at ease, and you nodded at him before going over to kiss your little one. Her eyes were small and tired, and you let her curl up in your arms. “How are you feeling?” you asked. She rested her cheek against your shoulder, carefully avoiding touching the bandage, and nodded. “Good. I cried a lot, but El was right—it didn’t hurt that much, and I feel better now that it’s over,” she said in small pauses, choosing her words just like Eli did, which you found so endearing. He usually laughed at this, but this time, concern overshadowed his usual smile.

“I want to go home, please?” Vee whimpered. As soon as she asked, you looked over at Eli, and he nodded, suggesting you go ahead to the car while he picked up the medications she’d need. His brief words and downcast eyes hinted at a sense of guilt, so you agreed to wait for him. You hated the thought that he might see her as his responsibility.

You stood beside her, gently holding her chair and placing your jacket behind her head to keep it steady. “Want me to drive, love?” You rubbed his shoulders, and though distracted, he turned to catch a kiss from you. “She’s okay,” you said when he confirmed he was fine with you driving. He let out a heavy sigh, as if about to say, “But what if…” in protest, but he held back.

The drive home was quick, and now and then, he glanced at the two of you in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t deny that seeing your gentle smile made him feel more at ease. Once you were inside, with Vee resting in his arms, he finally let out what had been weighing on him. “I let her fall off the playset,” he admitted, looking down at her with a mixture of guilt and sadness pressing in his chest. “I was watching, you know? Thought it’d be good to give her some independence but stayed close. I tried to catch her before she fell, but… it just didn’t work.”

You listened carefully, sensing the tension in his voice. He placed her on the bed, gently untangling her fingers from his shirt. “We won’t be able to protect her forever, El. It’s important she learns that too,” you said, arranging blankets around the bed to keep her safe while she rested. She lay there peacefully, her hair tousled, the haircut a try of her attempt to look more like Eli. He was certain that you were the voice of reason. Her eyes were a bit swollen from crying, and you smiled to yourself, feeling a mix of tenderness and quiet pride. Eli was a solid figure in her life.

"I’m afraid she might think I won’t be able to help her when she needs it, that she won’t trust me. I don’t like the feeling of not having stopped something bad from happening to her," he said in a low breath, his eyes distant and not meeting yours, and you felt the knot in your throat.

"Don’t say that," you disagreed, walking over to him, standing on your tiptoes as you used your fingers to wipe away his tears. "Do you realize that your concern about this makes you the best person she could have?" His shoulders softened, his eyes gaining a bit of light, still searching for the right words.

"Are you mad or upset?" The tip of his nose touched yours, his hair tickling you. He was a fool, worrying too much.

"Of course not, if I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be near my daughter, especially alone." He laughed, allowing you to hug him. Still, she felt the need to add, "She’s not your responsibility, and yet you treat her so well." You said that sometimes, and Eli found himself wondering how people judged you for it, and it hurt a little to see how much it weighed on you, no matter what he said. But he was still there, you’d have to get used to it.

He kissed your forehead, happy with how your face nestled into his chest, the pleasant scent finally allowing him to breathe without a heavy heart. "She’s a sweetheart, so much like you. I love her. I enjoy being with her." That relaxed you, even though you had heard it before, something broken inside you still made it feel like the first time. Eli would repeat it as many times as needed.

"I don’t like seeing her hurt or knowing she’s scared, but it’s not like I think it’s your fault, I know it wasn’t. Kids are unpredictable, and she trusts you so much that won’t change now. In that room, she was so focused on you, on your voice and your calmness—which I know you were acting—making her know everything would be fine." He hadn’t thought about it that way, but he realized it was true.

He was afraid that Vee might be upset with him in some way, but everything, as you said, pointed to the fact that she wasn't. "But you can talk to her tomorrow, what do you think? You can tell her how you feel, and let her know she can count on you when she needs you, because you'll always be there for her, uh?" He nodded, it seemed like a good idea. It was funny to think that all he needed was to talk to you, for his mind to calm down and for things to make sense. It was like that in many areas of his life.

His nose brushed against your neck, and he kissed the spot, followed by your face. You hugged him tighter. "I love you – so much." He sighed, and you could feel that he was less worried. "I love you too." His lips touched yours, and he lightly laughed at the salty taste.

"Do you want to eat something? What did you have for lunch?" You tried to break the melancholic mood. "I didn’t really have lunch, though I made Vee eat while we were waiting at the hospital, and she made me eat some of the sandwiches I made for her." He saw you bite your lip, and there was a silent understanding between you, which made him not have to mention how much Vee was like you. Besides, it only confirmed what you had already said; he was good for her.

"Alright, we’ll eat now, before you go crazy without nutrients in your body." His laugh was casual, and it felt good to see him well.

The next morning, still groggy, trying to avoid getting up, you heard Violet’s voice speaking softly to him. When you opened your eyes, you saw them both by your side, her little hands on Eli’s cheeks, counting his freckles with her fingertips, gently feeling his beard as he held back a smile.

"It’s okay, I insisted on going down the slide by myself, but you were still there with me." She rested her face on his chest, and he kissed her head multiple times. She stretched her hand toward you when she saw you waking up, holding yours. "Good morning, mommy." Seeing her happy made you happy too.

It was so good to have them both. The bandage this time was pink, and you cursed yourself a little for missing Eli’s interaction with her while he treated her wound. She jumped into your arms, hugging you tightly, and he looked at you with shining eyes and a gentle expression that said, "You were right, and I was way too worried for no reason."

[fict1onallyobsessed]

OKAY OKAY COULD YOU PLEASE WRITE SMTH ABOUT SEVIKA PROTECING READER BECAUSE OF SOMETHING LIKE HERE ON THIS PIC SHE PROTECTS JINX AND ISHA??

im sorry if i wrote something wrong but english is not my first language😭🙏

OF COURSE !!!!!!! I have an idea for this...

I got a little carried away and gave you more LOL sorry

Sevika x Fem!Reader

She grabbed you before you could process the fan being turned on. Thankfully, you weren't too far from the table that protected you both, otherwise you would have been swept with the air flow violently.

Your side hurt. The shot Caitlyn took must have not only pierced your skin but the force broke your rib too. Whatever the gun was made of was strong enough to go through the stone pillar behind you partially as well.

Safe to say it hurt as fuck.

You clutched your side and winced as Sevika crouched with you in front of her, the stone table keeping you sat up, but barely. Sevika's new metal arm grabbed onto the table and kept her put, the other going to hold your side with you.

You weren't sure whether your adrenaline was keeping you lucid or if the shot wasn't truly that bad. Regardless, you didn't want to hang around much longer.

You looked up at your girlfriend, head slightly bouncing off the stone behind you as you rested it. She looked worried, and although nothing but pain was filling your sense, you found the energy to sigh and show her a small smile.

Her hair was flying around with the wind, her face showing slight worry and mostly focus as she tried to keep you both behind the table.

"You'll be fine." She mouthed, and you couldn't do much more but nod. You trusted her. You believed her...but the blood slowly seeping through the cracks of your fingers, and onto her hand covering yours, it was looking more like you were not going to be fine.

The wind seemed everlasting and the longer you sat there, waiting for it to stop, the dizzier you became.

You wanted to see Sevika's face for as long as you could. Taking in her scowl of concentration, the barely noticeable glint of nervousness in her eye when she met yours, the shiny scar across her cheek.

You thought she was leaning down to get out of the wind more, but instead she leaned down to your ear and spoke through the loud fan.

"Don't look at me like that." She spoke it as a command as her hand squeezed your bleeding side.

"Like what?" You scoffed quietly, immediately feeling the burn in your rib.

"Like you're about to say goodbye. You're fine."

You hummed and looked back up at her when she pulled away, leaving no room for discussion.

She was so gorgeous, holding you, protecting you, as if you were about to disappear any minute.

Your head spun so much you didn't even notice the fan turn off. Sevika lifted you off the ground and instructed Jinx, who was also carrying a girl, where to go. It all came out as muffled to you though, as the blood loss slowly stared winning, and you passed out.

When you woke up, the first thing you saw was two heads looking down at you. Jinx's braids tickled your nose, while the other girls hair wasn't even long enough to reach her eyebrows. You groaned, immediately going in to hold your side as a reflex to find it bandaged.

"I told you to let her rest." Sevika's voice rung out in a disappointed tone as she walked in with a bunch of fresh bandages in her hand. Presumably for you.

You were in Silco's office, laid down on his sofa. The table was covered with medical supplies, alcohol bottles and jinx's crafts, but your eyes ended up laying upon Sevika. Her worried expression had you worried.

"How are you feeling?" Sevika asked, looking down at you as she put the obnoxious amount of wraps on the table.

"Trust you to get shot." Jinx scoffed playfully as she stared down at you, knowing damn well that bullet was meant for her. "Took it like a champ though!"

You chuckled back and attempted to sit up, but Sevika was faster and pushed you back down, shaking her head.

"I'm fine." You spoke, but Sevika wouldn't relent. She kept you laying down as she changed your bandages carefully. Your eyes fell from Sevika onto the little girl who was still staring down at you. "Who would have thought Jinx took in a stray. What's your name?"

"Her name is Isha. She's sticking around." Jinx replied matter-of-factly, a small smirk on her face as she said it. It made you giggle a bit.

"Alright, out." Sevika stood up from crouching beside you as she finished your bandages. Jinx took Isha and left, excited to show her some of her trinkets to get her mind off of...recent events. "She needs to rest."

"I'm alright." You spoke, reaching out for Sevika's hand to help you up. "How bad was it?"

"Bad enough to have me worried." She sighed, sitting beside you and letting you lean on her.

"Sorry." You sighed back, almost identically. "And you know, thank you."

She wrapped her hand around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head.

"Anytime."

[beeseverywhen]

Oversharing time:

Just remembered years ago when I was working in a pretty high up office block and they were having to write a fire plan cause my knees are pretty resistant to stairs and management's answer was just that I wait in the burning building until a fireman came to get me, to which I was pretty much like 'yeah I don't think so. I'll make do with the stairs.'

They were really touchy about this and were like 'we need to account for your disability, we can't leave you to do stairs by yourself when we know you might not be able to' so they wanted me to pick a 'buddy' as in a colleague that would evacuate by my side. So i pick 2 of my friends (one as a backup) and the manager is still like 'but what if your leg isn't working that day what do we do' and she's also like 'I didn't even know you knew him, why is he your first pick?' So I'm like, look off record, I've picked buddy 1 for a reason. He isn't my closest work friend but I do know he's capable of carrying me down the stairs if necessary and the manager is like, have you asked him if he can do that? And I'm like. No. I know he can. Don't sweat it.

And she's going look, I know you're small but you can't just assume that any man is capable of carrying you down multiple flights of stairs, he could have a weak back and I'm like, look I 100% know he can carry me, trust me. She kept questioning it until I was eventually like 'look I know he can because we are friends outside of work and he has carried me, easily, before' and tried to shut down the convo.

This unfortunately seemed to raise more questions which was awkward because in reality we were not particularly close friends in or outside of work, it was just that I'd been lowkey fucking him on and off for years (in that messed up early 20s, we could make each other worse kind of way) and knew that he could very easily fuck me standing up for an extended period. We were not friends because we didn't particularly like each other lol but I did trust that he would not leave anyone to burn in a fire, and that carrying me down those flights of stairs would be no sweat off his back

[clembian]

dies and comes back to life .hello everyone . i am a changed man

[suiana]

(yandere! alien x gn! reader)

the human spirit is indomitable. that much was obvious, especially with how you were still fighting against him even though there was clearly no escape. or at least that's what he thought.

"why do you still fight against me..."

the alien mumbles, voice cracking as he tries to move under the rubble you trapped him under. shit, this was not ideal at all. he can't believe you actually manage to drug him and then trapped him under the broken ceiling you shattered when he was chasing after you.

he still didn't know how you did it. he was faster, stronger, smarter... you shouldn't have been able to trick him like this. yet, his overconfidence might've been a reason as to why you got a one-up over him.

"you know there's no escape right? my spaceship has yet to dock at a port and we are light years away from earth."

the otherworldly creature tries reasoning with you, staring at your shaking figure as you tug at the collar he made you wear. it was a pretty thing, made of the finest jewels he got from another planet he visited a few years back.

he thought it would look good on you, and it did. so his heart aches when you destroyed it, allowing the jewels to scatter all over his once pristine floors.

no matter, he can just fix it again.

"darling, you should stop resisting. you will just tire yourself out."

the alien sighs, not finding your actions amusing as he shakes his head.

he doesn't get humans at all. why do you try so hard even when there's clearly no intelligent way to win this? perhaps that's why your civilization is still heaps below others, like his.

that was, until, he saw you dig out the microchip tracker he implanted into your neck with your bare hands.

his eyes widen in horror, jaw going slack as he screams, body shaking as he desperately tries moving under the rubble only for you to step on his face and throw the chip at him.

"fucking alien... don't you know? adrenaline is one hell of a drug."

he hears your laughter resounding through the hallways, your footsteps growing softer and softer as he tries to recover from your painful stomp.

his eyes shake, his features in undeniable pain as he feels his body giving up on him.

no, no, no!

he tries wiggling more, but unfortunately, his species had not adapted to recover from situations like this. so all he could do as he laid in pain under the rubble was to shout at you, desperation in his tone as he sees you touching and entering something into the emergency escape pod he had on his spaceship.

"darling don't you dare leave!"

he screams, looking absolutely pathetic as his eyes widen in both fear and anger. no! you weren't supposed to leave! you were supposed to be just some human who would give up escape and love him! you were supposed to accept him as your mate the second he kidnapped you because of how obsessed he had become after observing you for weeks in his spaceship!

you weren't supposed to leave him under the rubble like this!

you're clearly weaker, more stupid... and definitely an inferior species! why couldn't you just love him?! why couldn't you just give up and accept his affections?!

"darling! i'm warning you! if you leave i will find you and i will be very angry!"

the alien tries threatening, wincing in pain as the effects of your face stomping still lingered. but of course, he knew you wouldn't listen to him. not when you so eagerly pointed your middle finger at him (a sign he came to see as disrespect in human customs) before leaving in the space shuttle.

he lets out a strangled scream, completely still under the rubble as his frustration and anger reaches it's peak. god damn it! now he has to wait for god knows how long until the drug wears off to finally be able to move and try to find you!

maybe he shouldn't have doubted humans so much. perhaps the rumors about the human spirit being indomitable were right. maybe the humans really were meant to conquer the stars.

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Interference Part 1

Prompt: You run to your FBI neighbor when you and your boyfriend get into a fight.

Notes: Descriptions of DA scenario, mentions of drug use

Part 2

You tried to go over every thing you did throughout your day that might've caused your boyfriend to be so upset but couldn't think of anything. Maybe it was because you didn't stay up to wait for him to get home last night, even though you gave him till midnight. Or maybe you left some dishes in the sink that he had to clean up.

Either way, his anger was inconsolable and you knew better than to even utter a word as he slammed the doors and walked around the house with a hard set scowl on his face. You just took shelter in the kitchen as you nervously cleaned out the fridge, tossing the expired condiments away.

"This house is always such a fucking mess! You spend at least half the day here, you'd think it would look spotless!"

You knew he wasn't really mad about the cleanliness. You deep cleaned the house every single day till it was shining, he was just projecting. You weren't sure whether to respond to his outburst or just let it go but didn't even have time to make a decision once he came walking into the kitchen. The hairs on the back of your neck raised and your face heated up in anxiety as he stood there staring at you.

That's when you noticed the all too familiar state he was in. Dilated pupils, rapid breathing, slight sweat forming around his brows. He was high.

"What are you doing, huh? Throwing shit away? He said, grabbing the box of leftovers you had saved from a few days ago. "What if I still wanted to eat this? Were you going to bother to ask me?"

"I- uh- it's from a few days ago. I didn't think-

"Exactly! You didn't think! Just fucking throwing away whatever you want!"

You weren't expecting the box of expired food to be thrown at you, hitting you square in the chest, sticky noodles getting in your hair and falling into your lap.

"This is my fucking house! My fucking food! You don't get to throw away anything unless I say you can!"

You had barely recovered from food being thrown at you, you didn't realize he made a moved in on you and grabbing your arm tightly, jerking you up to your feet and pushing you towards the other side of the kitchen, the momentum causing you to lose your footing and fall to the floor.

Your senses were kicking into overdrive as you scrambled to your feet just as he grabbed a jar of pickles and launched it in your direction. It shattered on the wall besides you and you felt the sharp pain of small glass pieces cutting your skin.

You had never seen him this out of control before. There was something behind his eyes that scared you more than normal and you knew you needed to get out of his path of blinding rage. You made a run towards the hallway, him chasing you close behind but you managed to close and lock the bathroom door just in time.

"Oh, you wanna play this game now? Ok."

Your breaths were heavy, so much adrenaline flowing through your veins it almost made you woozy. There was a moment of silence, making you think he had walked away but was completely mistaken once you watched the whole door shake at the impact as he attempted to break it down. Another slam and you saw small cracks forming in the middle of the only thing keeping you safe.

You made a split second decision to escape through the window, sliding it open and trying your best to undo the screen that didn't want to cooperate. Another slam.

You looked behind you at the battered door and knew it could only hold maybe one more before he was able to get through- so like a rat trapped in a corner, you began banging on the screen until it popped off, quickly pulling your body to climb out, scraping your hips on the ledge in the process.

The gravel floor did no favors for you as you landed awkwardly, but at this point you couldn't feel anything. Or at least your brain wasn't giving you any time to register the pain. Springing to your feet, you ran out to the front of the house, your first thought to take the car but realized the keys were inside.

That's when you saw him.

He was standing on his porch going through his mail, seemingly looking like he had just gotten home from somewhere. You had heard rumors from some of the neighbors that he worked for the government or something, giving you some hope.

You began running over to him, not daring to look back to see if your boyfriend was chasing you or not.

He has seen you coming over and immediately looked concerned, putting his mail back in the mailbox and practically catching you in his arms once you reached him.

"Please. Help me- my boyfriend. H-he's gonna kill me."

You were crying now, trying to form sentences when he asked you what happened but couldn't.

When you spotted your boyfriend walk out the front door of your house and look over in your direction, a bat in hand your heart stopped.

"Please. Please," you pleaded, hiding behind his tall frame and holding onto his quarter zip for dear life.

"Here, get inside," he said, opening his front door, the both of you entering as he walked over to his kitchen counter where a gun, badge and handcuffs were set. He grabbed the gun and cuffs, clipping both of them on his waist band and turning to you.

"Stay here."

You nodded obediently and watched him walked back out. He didn't close the door so you were able to watch everything from the moment your boyfriend began waving the bat around crazily towards your neighbor to him pulling out his gun and pointing it at him.

"Get down on the ground!"

For a second you thought your boyfriend wasn't going to listen as he stared at your neighbor with fury but seemed to be coherent enough to drop the bat and put his hands in the air, looking over at you.

"Just you wait, bitch. You'll get yours."

By now, everyone was either peeping through their windows or standing on the sidewalk, nosey to see what all the commotion was about as your neighbor pushed your boyfriend to the floor and handcuffed him.

It wasn't long before multiple cop cars showed up, taking over the scene. Your neighbor made his way over to you and offered you a hand, making you realize that you were sitting on the floor, frozen to the spot, hugging your legs.

"The officers are going to want a report but I want you checked out by the paramedics first."

You took his hand but relied all on him to pull you up as your legs felt like jello. The feeling of relief and sadness overtook you as you fell into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Instead of being pushed away and teased for it like you were used to, you got pulled in tighter and long strong arms wrapped around you, enveloping you in a warm protective embrace.

He let you cry like that for a little until you calmed down enough to walk with him outside to the ambulance that was waiting. He didn't leave as they had you climb inside and lay on the stretcher so one of the paramedics could clean up the small cuts around your arm caused by the glass jar.

"How long have you lived there?" he asked, from besides you on the bench. You hoped he didn't feel guilty for not catching the abuse sooner.

"Not very long. He's been there for years but I just moved in about a few months ago. I don't usually leave the house since I work from home so that's probably why you didn't see me too often," you answered, wincing as the antiseptic touched your raw skin.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Hotchner....I'm actually busy at the moment but you can reach out to my Communications liason, Jennifer Jareau at the office....yes of course....goodbye."

"So you're names Hotchner?" you inquired, wanting to talk about something to keep your mind off the stinging pain.

"Aaron. Hotchners my last name."

"Nice to meet you Aaron. I'm Y/N," you greeted, offering your hand for a shake. He took it with a small smile and shook it gently.

"I wish it was under different circumstances but I'm glad you're safe."

"Thanks to you. I appreciate you by the way. You handled the situation really well."

He did that half smile again and played with his hands, almost nervously.

"Well unfortunately I deal with a lot of high stress situations like that so it was almost second nature."

"Cop?" you prodded, wanting to know if there was any truth to the rumors.

"FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit to be specific."

He didn't go into anymore detail than that but that was more than enough for you. So he's an Federal Agent. You literally couldn't have picked a better neighbor to run to.

- - - -

After the paramedic was done cleaning you up and you gave your report to the officer, Aaron came over, hanging up the phone.

"I know the house is technically not yours but he won't be back anytime soon and I'm sure you need to get cleaned up and everything. I'm gonna give you my card, I wrote my personal cell number in case you need anything but also feel free to come over if my car is in the driveway."

You took the card, reading his slightly sloppy writing and nodded with a smile.

"Thank you again Aaron. Really, you're a lifesaver."

He pulled you in for another hug, surprising you but you accepted it happily.

"No strenuous activity until those cuts and bruises heal," he advised seriously, making you laugh. You both pulled away and it took you a second to actually walk away, not really wanting to leave the comfort of his safe presence but you did and went back into the house, ignoring all of the mess and taking a long needed shower, thinking about everything that happened.

[zae-heeyyy]

Seraphic

Summary: You are Arthur's angel. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,222 Tags: smut, high honor Arthur Warnings: 18+ MDNI

a/n: Whew 😅 I'm a little nervous to post this one. 🫣 Been sitting on it for a while (no pun intended) I've read and reread it a million times, and I'm ready to share. Also, we're pretending like Arthur's tent actually closes. Anyway thanks for reading!

Seraphic: something angelic or celestial in nature, often suggesting purity, beauty, or holiness.

By 1 a.m., the sounds of camp had reduced to the songs of crickets and the crackle of the fire. While everybody else slept, you waited up for Arthur, reading a book under lantern light in his tent. He arrived eventually, keeping his greeting short and joining you on his cot with slouched shoulders, seemingly exhausted. When he took his hat off, the grimace on his face became all the more apparent. His expression and tense body language told you all you needed to know; whatever happened out there wasn't good.

You handed him a match and a cigarette from his nightstand, and he thanked you with a nod. Using the heel of his boot, he struck the match and lit the cigarette, holding it with his thumb and index fingers. Flickering lantern light and the burning ember tip illuminated his bruised knuckles.

"Should I ask?" You traced a gentle finger over the bruises, and he shook his head.

"Best not," he replied, exhaling a ribbon of smoke.

"Well, I'm glad you're still in one piece," you said, looking him over. His shirt had seen cleaner, less wrinkled days, and sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. "Well, mostly in one piece."

He let out a gust of air, a failed attempt at a laugh, before pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning.

"Headache?" you asked, and he confirmed. The discomfort came with the life he lived. Loud gunfire, the rush of adrenaline, and focusing on his shots all combined to leave him in pain afterward. You exited the tent momentarily and returned with a bowl of warm water, a cloth, and a bottle of miracle tonic.

"Here—for your head." He took the medicine and snuffed his cigarette. Rejoining him, you sat on the cot and dabbed his face with the wet cloth, wiping away dirt and sweat. A soft kiss on his temple prompted him to lean into you, the tension finally dissipating. You wrapped your arms around his big frame and held him close. Obviously, he was your safe space, but oh—were you his. Eyes shut, he rested his head on your bosom.

Arthur found comfort in his typical role as protector and provider. But in these moments, when roles faded, he could feel the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders—a crushing weight he didn't even realize he was carrying. Being with you like this made him wonder if heaven was real because you were godsent.

To Arthur's dismay, you unraveled yourself from him to tie the tent flap closed, sealing the two of you away in the dark. Walking between his legs, you untied his neckerchief and dusted his soiled shirt.

"—Needs a wash. Your blood or someone else's?" you questioned, fingers undoing the top button.

"Not mine," he answered. Peeling the shirt off and tossing it aside, you studied him for a second time tonight. He'd seemed more relaxed than when he arrived, but his brow stayed brooding. Still positioned with his legs on either side of you, you caressed his face, one of your thumbs stroking the hairless scar on his chin.

"What else can I do?"

"You done enough; I'm fine." He gave your hand on his face a reassuring squeeze.

Leaning forward, you kissed him tenderly. His arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you nearer until your foreheads touched. You spoke low against his mouth, a playful grin forming on yours.

"You gotta stop getting yourself into so much trouble, Arthur Morgan."

Your demand was met with a chuckle, and he replied, "I'll do my best, darlin'." You peppered his lips with loving, tender kisses, making him smile against them and squeeze you tighter in a hug. You would do just about anything to see that man smile at you the way he did, all soft and endearing.

Your kisses subsided, but Arthur's affectionate gaze stayed fixed on you. The slight smile on his face had straightened, his expression mirroring the intensity of the one he wore when he first confessed his love for you.

"Got that look on your face," you told him, and he just blinked slowly, awestruck. Though he often swore he was a man of few words, he could fill volumes with his devotion for you. You loved it when he got like that, entranced and overwhelmed with love.

The way he watched you set a fire within you that warmed the most intimate parts of your being. He was surprised when you let yourself fall heavily into him, trying to get as close as possible. Maybe he was going to say something or make a noise, but he didn't have the time before your mouth was on his again, your tongue pushing through his lips to tangle with his. You only pulled away when you needed to breathe.

Instead of pressing your lips to his once more, you dropped to your knees in front of him. Eyes widening, he tried to bring you back up to your feet, shaking his head, once again astounded by you.

"Sweetheart—"

Still on your knees, you patted his cheek and looked up at him with doe eyes. "Shhh, let me take care of you, Arthur." His hand found yours on his face, and he turned to kiss it, nodding placidly. Both of you managed to keep your volume low as you helped him strip down to his union suit. You began working at the buttons of his neckline, doing more ripping than unbuttoning, shoving the fabric down his shoulders.

As more clothing fell away, you trailed sweet kisses down his abdomen. At the same time, his hands roamed wherever they could. The rough pads of his fingers lightly tracing your skin mirrored a faint electric charge. Despite being a brute of an outlaw, he was overly careful with his hands when it came to you; your body was fine china and deserved to be treated as such. Goosebumps formed in a wake left by his touch.

As you kissed down the trail of hair under his belly button, his rapid breathing hitched, and the bulge between his legs strained against the flannel fabric, begging to be unleashed. You tried to find his eyes as you groped him through the underwear, but his head was tipped back, his mouth agape.

"Look at me." You whispered, and he snapped to attention like a soldier following commands. Eyes locked on his, you unclasped the last button, and his length sprung free, the pink head of his cock primed with anticipation. A teasing laugh crept up within you as you trailed soft kisses from the base of his shaft and left one long lingering peck on the tip. The loud, rhythmic thumping of his heart was music to your ears. Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, you took his entire length in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, taking him deeper until your nose touched the curly hairs at the base.

Then he couldn't hold it in anymore; a deep, guttural groan escaped him.

Your mouth was the warmest, most intoxicating blanket he'd ever been wrapped in, and he never wanted to leave. He gaped at you, seeing your mouth full of him, his pupils dilated with pure lust. The blunt tip of his cock pressed to the back of your throat, making it constrict around him. His whole body shuddered.

"Look whatchu' do to me, woman," he rattled, tangling his hands in your hair. Despite his eagerness, you withdrew from his aching sex, a string of saliva joining your lips to him. Something reminiscent of a whine exited him when you stepped away, but his open mouth fell shut at the sight of your bloomers slipping down your legs. You kissed him, savoring the salty, bitter taste of his arousal mixed with the tobacco and herbs of his mouth.

"Lay back," you murmured in his ear. Obeying your command once again, he let out a grunt as he felt your weight on top of him. You straddled him, and he held you up, his fingers digging firmly into your sides. Bending at the waist, you kissed longingly, your hips undulating against his. He pulled your nightgown up around your midriff, one of his hands gripping the flesh of your ass while the other one went between your legs. His index finger sank painstakingly into your weeping cunt, then brushed over your clit, making you shiver. He raised himself on his elbows, reaching for the hem of your sleep dress.

"Take this off; let me see you." You raised your arms and let him yank the garment away, leaving you completely exposed on top of him. "Beautiful," he breathed, using the back of his hand to graze your skin. Breathy sighs escaped you as he traced delicate circles around your nipples. His eyes bored into you, absorbing every detail like you were the most captivating thing that ever lived. Hyperfocused on your body, he fondled your breasts before gliding his hands down your torso, ogling, taking all of you in.

Freezing, his stare intensified as you massaged the tip of his cock up and down your glistening slit. Touching his lips to yours, you pushed him into your wet folds. Neither of you could contain the sounds building with you. He split you open, stretching you, making room for him, filling you. You held yourself up with your hands braced on his chest, but you went weak as he bottomed out within you, brushing against that deep, tender spot. You would've fallen if he wasn't there to hold you up, a thought mirroring one he had about you so often.

"I got you," he whispered into your ear. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to snap his hips up into you, the warm embrace of your center clearing his mind and driving him mad all the same. Finally, you started to ride, surging and sinking into him. He was a simple, agnostic man, but being with you like this made him believe in all the theocracy of angels, soulmates, and divine intervention. This was his bliss. This was his heaven, and you were his seraph. He'd go through hell every day if it meant coming home to this—to you. Hypnotized in the rhythm of you, a new thought crossed his mind every time you bounced.

Up.

She's so goddamn beautiful.

Down.

So perfect.

Up.

My girl.

Down.

My girl, my girl, my girl, my girl.

Up.

My angel.

Down.

I love her so much.

Up.

So wet.

Down

So warm.

Up.

So danm tight.

Down.

Shit.

And before you could come back up again, he squeezed his eyes shut, halting your hips with all the strength he could muster, fighting the damn-near irresistible urge to cum inside of you. Sweat had built up on his brow, and his stomach rose and fell quickly with each panting breath. You folded to kiss him, your hard nipples grazing against his chest.

"It's okay," you whispered, patting his face and grinding antagonizingly slow against him. You wanted him—needed him— to come undone for you. With that goal in mind, you picked up the pace and rolled your hips relentlessly, moaning your every thought into his ear.

"You feel so good inside of me."

"I need you."

"I love you."

Your climax was building fast, and you reached to give relief to that sensitive bundle of nerves atop your center. Arthur pushed your hand away swiftly, replacing it with his own. Always a giver, he'd do anything to feel useful while you were treating him like royalty.

While one hand worked your clit, his other gripped the meat of your hip, rocking you in time with his upward thrusts. His head tipped and hit the pillow, and you could feel his thighs tensing and shaking beneath you. Lips parted, he stared up at you. You felt him twitch inside you, and his brow finally relaxed.

That did it for you.

You were wordless as your orgasm ripped through you, your head swirling, and your veins on fire. Arthur's guiding hand on your hip didn't stop, and he fucked you through your climax. Hugging your body close and nuzzling his face into your neck, he growled as he painted your inner core with his own release. You stayed like that, glued to each other as you came down from your highs.

"You're too good for me," he finally said. You clasped a hand into his, kissing the long-forgotten bruises on his knuckles.

"Shut up." You responded, and he didn't say another self-deprecating word. It was the least he could do.

You cleaned up and redressed, nestling into the small, one-man cot. Finally settled for the night, you resorted to your regular bedtime positions: your head on his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, your legs tangled in one another's.

He rose before you in the morning, perching himself on the cot's edge while you slept behind him. He wrote in his journal, his thumb leaving a smudge on the page:

"For a long time, I believed I could not live a bad life and expect good things to happen to me. Yet somehow, this woman of pure goodness entered my life, and it is clear now that I have been a fool."

[dollgxtz]

I gotta know when you’re posting the Zayne CNC fic??? I’ve been checking your blog multiple times a day for it!

But realistically, no pressure 😂 I know writing is hard, and I can wait, lol. It’s worth the wait. I just want to show support for you and your craft. ❤️

Also, I love your yandere!Sylus fic! I’m only on chapter four and I see so many asks about it and I have to physically stop myself from spoiling it for myself, lmao. I’m so excited to read more! Your writing and your tics are a highlight of my day. 😊🥰

Edge Of Control

Word Count: 6.2k

Tags: zayne x fem!reader, cnc, cutting, tw slight blood, scalpel play, choking, biting, degradation, blowjob, degrading names, pet names like darling, pain play, home invasion roleplay, primal play, aftercare in the end

AN: Hi everyone! I know this was a LONG awaited fic but I wanted it to be absolutely perfect for my second husband ^0^. Also ty anon for the very sweet words! I hope this fic makes up for the amount of time you had to wait!!!

It was well past midnight, and the house felt eerily quiet without him. You lay on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of Zayne’s boxers, the soft fabric a small comfort in his absence. A half-empty bottle of wine sat forgotten on the floor beside you, each sip doing little to calm the restless energy humming beneath your skin. The TV flickered, casting shadows across the room as you absentmindedly flicked through the channels, though nothing could hold your attention.

Your mind kept wandering back to Zayne, a dull ache settling in your chest. He was on another one of those grueling shifts—long hours with no word, no way to reach out to him. The pit of anxiety in your stomach tightened. You didn’t know exactly what his job as a surgeon demanded of him, but you could see it weighing on him more and more. His face had grown tired, the usual sparkle in his eyes dulled by exhaustion. You noticed the way his shoulders remained stiff, tension knotting in his body like a rope pulled too tight, barely holding it together.

Every time he came home like this, you saw it—the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. His body brimming with pent-up energy, adrenaline coursing through his veins with no way to let go. He was so tightly wound, like he was carrying the weight of a world you couldn’t fully understand. And every time you saw him like that, it broke something inside you. You wanted to help him. You wanted to be the one to take that edge off, to give him the release he so desperately needed but would never ask for.

You remembered the last time he came home with that storm in his eyes. Desperation had driven you to plead with him, to offer yourself as an outlet for all that tension, that frustration. You had begged him, your voice trembling, to let go, to take what he needed from you. But he refused. The worry in his eyes had cut deep, his voice firm but laced with guilt as he told you he didn’t want to hurt you.

That memory lingered now, thick in your chest. He was always so controlled, so careful. You knew he loved you, but there was a part of him that he kept locked away, too afraid to unleash it. But you wanted it—you craved it. You wanted him to feel safe enough to lose that control with you, to trust that you could handle it. That you wanted to handle it. But no matter how much you tried to reach him, he kept that wall up, afraid of what might happen if he let himself go.

You took another slow sip of wine, feeling the warmth of it spread through your chest, slightly loosening the anxious knot that had taken residence in your stomach. You always drank more when he was away—needed it, really. It dulled the sharp edges of worry that kept you up at night, made sleep feel a little less impossible. Without him beside you, the house felt too empty, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t control.

Your eyes drifted shut, and the thought crossed your mind again—he could hurt you, if he wanted to. God, he was strong enough. His hands, so skilled and sure in the operating room, could easily push you beyond your limits if he ever let himself go. He knew the human body better than anyone; he understood exactly where and how to apply pressure, how to control every reaction. And then there was the scalpel—his precision tool of choice. He was so adept with it, using it in ways you’d never imagined.

You remembered the first time he’d worked it into one of your nights together, after you had begged him to try something more daring, something that would leave you breathless. He had been hesitant at first, but the results... God, the results. The thrill of that sharp edge glinting in the dim light, the cold metal kissing your skin before it pressed just enough to break the surface. You shivered as the memory washed over you, your body tingling with the vivid recollection.

The pain had been brief, but it was the anticipation, the unspoken threat, that had driven you wild. You could still feel it—the delicate line of fire it had traced across your shoulder, a stinging reminder of his control. And then the blade had hovered at your throat, a silent promise lingering in the air between you, making your pulse race and your breath catch in your throat. In that moment, you had never felt more alive, more his.

Your hand had barely slipped down to your heat when the sharp trill of your phone cut through the quiet. Heart pounding, you snatched it up, the suddenness of it snapping you out of your haze.

“Hello?” you answered, your voice a little breathless, still tangled in the memory of him.

“Is that offer still on the table?” Zayne’s voice poured through the speaker, low and worn, with that familiar undercurrent of exhaustion. But there was something else this time—something darker. His words dripped with a kind of danger, smooth and sweet like black honey, making your stomach flip.

You swallowed hard, a spark igniting low in your belly. “Uh, depends which one,” you managed, trying to play it cool as you sat up, bringing the wine bottle to your lips for another sip. Your heart was racing, anticipation thrumming under your skin.

“The one where I use you.”

The words hit you like a jolt of electricity, sending a thrill straight to your core. The raw need in his voice was unmistakable, and it struck every nerve you had. You faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity of your own reaction. You tried to cover the sudden loss of words with another drink, the wine sliding down your throat as you let the tension stretch between you.

One more sip—just one more for courage. Then, finally, you answered, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Yes.”

“Is the wine good, darling?”

The question hung in the air, and your heart skipped a beat. “What?” you murmured, glancing around the dark living room. The flicker of the TV had left your eyes hazy, still not fully adjusted to the shadows creeping through the room. How did he know you’d been drinking wine?

Your breath caught as an icy chill swept through the house, raising goosebumps on your skin. Instinctively, your gaze darted to the front door, and your stomach dropped. It was wide open, swaying slightly as a gust of wind pushed against it.

You hadn’t heard a thing. Not the lock turning, not the door creaking. Nothing.

How had he gotten in without you noticing?

You stared at the door, frozen in place, watching as it swung shut on its own, the soft click of the latch echoing through the quiet. A chill ran down your spine as the realization hit—you hadn’t heard him enter on purpose. He wanted you to know he’d slipped in unnoticed, that he’d been watching you this whole time. Your mind spun with the thought: How long had he been there?

The phone slipped from your grasp, and you barely registered the sharp whine of the line going dead, drowned out by the thundering pulse of your heartbeat in your ears.

The soft but deliberate sound of shoes against the ceramic floor snapped you back into focus. Your senses sharpened, instincts kicking in. He was coming closer—fast.

In the low, flickering light of the TV, you saw him emerge from the shadows. Long strides brought him swiftly across the room, his form cutting through the dim light with an air of purpose. His form caught the harsh glow—the broad shoulders of his body, the sharp angles of his face—only partially revealed, but enough to make your breath hitch.

Then, without warning, the TV blinked out, plunging the room into complete darkness. The sudden silence was deafening. The sound of his footsteps, which had been closing in on you, vanished as if he’d disappeared into the night itself.

But you knew better.

He was there, somewhere in the blackness, waiting for you to realize it. The tension in the air was thick, every hair on your body standing on end as you strained to hear the slightest movement, feel the faintest brush of his presence.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Suddenly, the TV blared a sharp noise from the movie, flooding the room with light for just a second. And there he was, Zayne, only a few feet away—moving like a shadow, so silently it made your skin crawl. His face was bathed in the cold glow, and the way the light played off his sharp features made him look almost predatory. His expression was intense, dark, and unreadable, as if he was walking a line between control and something much more dangerous.

Your brain screamed danger. Fight or flight surged through your veins, heart hammering against your ribcage as self-preservation took over. Without thinking, your hand tightened around the neck of the wine bottle, the glass cool and smooth in your grip. Before you could second-guess it, you raised it high above your head and hurled it straight at him, instinct driving your every move.

But then—he catches it. Effortlessly. The bottle freezes mid-air, his hand snapping up to grab it as if it were nothing more than a tossed pillow. He doesn’t flinch. His stride doesn’t break. His hazel green eyes, burning with that same dangerous intensity, never leave yours for even a second. The best defense you could muster didn’t even make him blink.

Calmly, as though the act hadn’t fazed him at all, he places the bottle on the side table, his gaze still locked on you. The silence between you feels deafening as he closes the distance, his steps slow but deliberate.

Panic shot through you like a wild animal, adrenaline making your limbs tremble. But something else flared right alongside it—something that sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. It was fear, raw and visceral, but it was tangled up with desire, twisted into something you couldn’t quite understand but craved all the same.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Like prey trapped in the gaze of a predator, you couldn’t move.

Couldn’t look away.

And you almost didn’t want to.

You whip around, adrenaline taking over, and try to run—but you barely make it a few steps before it’s too late. You don’t even hear him behind you. The silence is terrifying, disorienting. Then, out of nowhere, his hand clamps around your elbow, and a startled shriek escapes your lips, cut off as he uses your momentum against you, spinning you sharply into the wall.

Your back collides with it hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. A whimper slips out, unbidden, from the shock of the impact. Before you can recover, Zayne’s voice, low and commanding, hisses in your ear.

“Don’t fight it,” he growls, the words sharp like a promise. “You asked for this.”

Panic surges through your body, instinct screaming at you to get away. “Let go!” you cry out, fear pulsing hot and fast through your veins. But your voice is weak, barely masking the excitement that’s battling for control inside you.

He doesn’t. Instead, he’s on you again, his mouth descending on your neck with a hunger that makes your pulse quicken. One of his hands grips your jaw with rough precision, calloused fingers pressing into your skin, holding you in place. You try to twist away, but he holds you firm, his touch demanding, possessive.

His lips travel down your neck, finding your pulse point first, then moving lower, grazing the soft curve beneath your ear. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and despite the panic swirling in your chest, a desperate whimper escapes. Your body betrays you, your hips instinctively rocking toward him, already aching for his touch. The heat between your legs flares, want burning through the fear.

His tongue traces a line down your neck, the warmth of it lingering only for a moment before the cool air chills the wet skin. Then his teeth sink into the muscle above your collarbone, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to make you gasp in pain. You wince, your body tensing as the sharp sensation rolls through you.

Your hand flies up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to push him off, your grip weak and trembling. But Zayne doesn't budge. His strength overwhelms you, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that leaves no room for escape. His breath is hot against your skin as he continues, relentless, leaving you caught between fear and an overpowering need that consumes you both.

"Zayne," you whimper. He releases his teeth from your neck with a chuckle that curls fear inside you…

His hands take your wrists, leading them above your head. You try to squirm out of his grasp. Partly because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of pinning you. Partly out of the fear of what he could do if you can’t push him away, his entire aura shifted to something more angry and dangerous than usual. 

"Don't pretend like you don't like it," he says into the angle of your jaw. He leaves soft kisses there while he effortlessly pins your arms above your head. He holds them there with one hand.

The other gropes and squeezes it’s way down your body. Your chest, your side, your waist. He grabs a hold of your hips, thumb perfectly lining up with the dune of your hipbone. He pulls your hips towards him harshly enough to draw a noise from your lips. He works his knee between your thighs, then pushes them open. He swallows any attempted protests with a kiss. His knee presses against your sensitive cunt and you whimper against his lips in response. 

“Oh, what happened to all the struggling?” Zayne mocks you, punctuating his words by squeezing your wrists hard enough to bruise. His hand comes up under your t-shirt and you shiver against the sensation of his fingers on your bare skin. You melt. Fucking putty in his hands.

You open your mouth to protest, to say anything that might break the tension or reclaim some of your control, but before the words can form, Zayne grinds his knee into your core. The pressure sends a jolt of raw pleasure through your body, and the only sound that escapes is a desperate, breathy whine. His reaction is immediate—he hums with satisfaction, his lips curving into a smug smile. He does it again, harder this time, and you can feel him reveling in the control, in the power he has over you.

Your mind scrambles to catch up with your body, which is already responding in ways you can’t hide. You try to meet his gaze, desperately wanting to say something sharp, something biting, anything to regain your footing. But the moment your eyes lock with his, whatever witty retort you had dies on your tongue.

His face is half-hidden in the darkness, but his eyes... there’s something in them that makes your heart stutter. Not just the hunger, not just the dominance—it’s deeper. There’s a flash of genuine anger simmering beneath the surface, something darker that you hadn’t expected, and it sends a ripple of unease through you. The intensity of it levels you, catching you off guard.

Suddenly, this feels like more than just a game. Warmth floods your chest, your body still responding to him in ways you can’t control, but a new sense of apprehension takes root. You’re playing with something dangerous, something unpredictable. The heat between you is no longer just desire—it’s the burn of real fire, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for the flames.

Your breath comes faster as you take in the sight of him. His chest rising and falling, his lips parted slightly, the way his muscles tense beneath his skin. You’re mesmerized, caught between the fear of what he might do next and the undeniable pull he has over you.

You take him in, eyes sweeping over the familiar lines of his body now that he’s standing in front of you. His white lab coat is gone, discarded somewhere behind him, leaving him in his crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as if he couldn’t be bothered to fully undress. His shirt is buttoned neatly up to the collar, accentuating his thick, muscular frame in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. The tie around his neck is still knotted, slightly loosened from a long day’s work, but there’s something disheveled about him now—something raw and untamed lurking beneath the polished exterior.

His dark slacks cling to his legs, perfectly tailored to his build, emphasizing his long leg now settled between your core. The soft fabric sways with his movements, while his polished shoes make almost no sound against the floor, their silence unsettling given the tension simmering between you.

His arms cage you in, closing off this small corner of the world to just the two of you. It feels like there’s nothing outside this moment, no one else but him—towering over you, his strength radiating off him in waves. The air between you feels thick, charged with tension and unspoken desire. Your gaze travels back to his face, meeting his intense eyes, and despite the weight of the moment, you can’t help but smile mischievously.

Without a second thought, you turn your head and sink your teeth into his arm, biting down just enough to feel the resistance of his skin, tasting the salty warmth of him. At the same time, you grind your hips down against him, pressing into the hardness beneath his slacks.

You expect him to react instantly, to snarl an insult or degrade you for your boldness. To throw out one of his usual threats—punishment, discipline—his voice dripping with disdain for your insolence, for the way you always push his boundaries. You brace yourself for it, for the sting of his words, the sharp crack of his tone that would send heat rushing through your body.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, he goes completely still. The tension in his muscles shifts, tightening under your bite, but his silence unnerves you more than anything. You can feel it—the raw power coursing just beneath his skin, his body vibrating with restraint. His muscles flex under your teeth, taut with the effort of holding something back. You release your grip slightly, confused, nervous. But Zayne says nothing. He’s a coiled spring, quiet, calculating, like a predator biding its time.

Methodically, he moves, his hands sliding down your arms, his touch precise, controlled, like he’s performing surgery. Each motion deliberate, calculated. His fingers glide over your skin, and with each inch he covers, the nervousness inside you builds. His control feels absolute, every movement designed to unsettle, to leave you wondering what’s coming next.

Then his hands reach your head, enveloping it completely. His fingers curl around your skull, not rough but firm enough to make you feel small, trapped in his grip. His thumbs rest near your temples, steady, as if he’s taking his time to savor the way your breath catches. The weight of his touch presses down on you, making it impossible to move.

With one harsh movement, he’s pushed you down onto your knees. He undoes his belt and pulls himself free, his beautiful cock glistening with pre-cum. One hand presses hard into your jaw. Harder. His thumb pressing against the muscles there until you open your mouth for him. The head of his cock comes to rest against your lips.

The taste of salt and Zayne’s soap is too tempting to resist. He was usually such a giver, and when you went down on him, he always liked it slow. You lick up the length of his cock and he shivers in response. He drops his hands to your shoulders and you watch his forearms flex in pleasure. Your tongue swirls around his soft tip, and then you take him into your mouth soft and sweet.

Except... this time he doesn’t respond with shaking breaths and high pitched whimpers. Not even an utterance of your name. Insecurity flashes through you - you were sure this is how he usually liked it. Were you not doing well enough for him? You cast your eyes upwards for guidance, barely able to see him in the dark. 

“You really think that’s going to cut it?” His voice is cold and hard. Then his hands are on the back of your head, pushing you down onto his cock so fast and deep you almost gag. You pull away to drag a sharp breath into your lungs, abdomen muscles flexing.

 “You want to be fucked like a slut, you’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls you back down onto him.

Suppressing the urge to gag brings tears to your eyes, and it isn’t long until they’re falling down your cheek, mingling with the saliva making a mess of your mouth and chin. Wet, choking noises echo into the empty hall. When you start to slow, whimpering from the effort, he’s quick to pick up the slack. He thrusts his hips forward, pinning your head between him and the wall. You choke and gag around him, struggling to adjust around the brutal pace he sets, fucking your throat like you're nothing to him but a toy. Your hands come up to his hips, but he wrenches them away with a furious grunt. 

He pulls out suddenly, thick strands of saliva dripping off his cock. His breathing is hard and sweat rolls down the lines of his ab muscles. Your shoulders slump and you try to catch your breath. You’re absolutely spent. How humiliating that he didn’t even have to touch you to keep you wet for him, a vague sense of disgust emanating through your core.

“Was that good enough?” you weakly ask, but you might as well be begging him to fuck you for the look in your eyes. You don’t even bother to wipe the spit from your chin or the tears from your cheeks. You hope the sight gets under his skin so he can fuck you just as rough as he did your throat. 

“I don’t buy it,” he says. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and frustration. 

“What?” 

“I just don’t buy that you want me to fuck you.” 

You’re about to ask what you can possibly do more to prove it when something hard presses against your warmth, pushing your soaked boxers against you. You look down do see Zayne presenting his shoe. Polished and tightly tied, the mere sight of them gave obvious impression of what he wanted from you. But why?

You look up at him, but all he does is look back at you, expectantly. Your can feel the heat creeping up your neck as you adjust to straddle his shoe. You keep hoping he’ll just end your suffering by mocking you for even considering it, but it never comes. The cold, hard leather against you sends a wave of electricity through your body. Your hips are moving on their own. Your body desperate for anything it can get, chasing it’s high no matter how humiliating. You turn your face away from him, unable to stand him looking at you like this. Grinding against his shoe... 

“There they are. My desperate little darling,” his voice has the first touch of warmth it’s had all night. It’s enough to spurn you on, the heat coiling in your abdomen. You pick up the pace against your will, your body chasing ecstasy like an uncaged animal. And Zayne just watches you, expression never changing, never reaching down to touch you. God, were you really going to cum on his shoe while he looked at you like that?

He kneeled down to one knee, doing his best not to disturb your work. His strong hands take hold of your hips and push you harder against his shoe, dragging your hips up and down. You moan, tears collecting in your eyes again. You can’t believe you’re enjoying this. Even - no, especially because it hurt. You were getting closer, your moans coming faster. 

“Beg for it,” Zayne orders. 

“Please let me cum, Zayne, please!” 

“Tsk. Not that,” he pulls his shoe away like he's disgusted and you whimper in protest. Then, as if you were light as a feather, he’s tossing you to the side. You catch yourself on your elbows and feel them scrape against the ceramic floor. Your hips grind against the air as they searched for any friction at all that would send you over the edge. They found nothing. 

“Silly girl.” He sounds bored as he stands to his full height above you.

You watch as his hand pulls a scalpel from his pocket. It captures his full attention, glinting in the light of the TV behind him. When he speaks, it's almost to the room.

“Isn’t this your favorite part? Where you try and fail to escape?” 

You don’t move. He flips the scalpel in the air, catching it by the tip of the blade, and then again to catch it by the handle. He admires it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“Start crawling,” he suggests. 

You push yourself onto tired, shaking limbs and try to get up. They give out on you. You pull yourself forward on your elbows instead. You hear the nearly silent creak of his shoes. The another. Then another. You feel small crawling beneath him, listening to the gentle whirl of the scalpel as he tosses it in the air. His shoes creak again, then again. 

You turned to look at him. You were almost overwhelmed at how he towered above you. His broad shoulders blocking out the light in the hallway. One hand busy toying with the scalpel, the other pulling his pants further down his hips. He was clearly taking his time.

“You ever wonder why you like to fight so much?” You watch shoe follow shoe in lazy strides until they were at either side of your ribcage, standing above you.

“Should I let you get away again?” he asks, but then he’s dropping to his knees, pinning you beneath him. Fear takes hold of your vocal chords and you make a desperate noise, pushing at his legs. “Will you just give in already?” 

With a calculated shift, Zayne turns your body to face him, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from your chest. The tension between you crackles in the air, and before you can fully process what’s happening, his hand finds your neck, fingers wrapping around it with unyielding force. His palm presses against your throat, squeezing just enough to send a jolt of pain through you, sharp and undeniable.

"It takes about 10 seconds for pressure to the jugular to result in unconsciousness," Zayne says calmly, his voice low, almost clinical, as if reciting a fact from one of his textbooks. His grip tightens again, harder this time, and the sensation of control he wields is overwhelming.

The edges of your vision blur almost immediately, the world around you starting to fade. You feel lightheaded, like the ground is slipping away beneath your feet, your body caught in the thin space between pain and pleasure. But beneath the intoxicating sensations, panic begins to swell. The lightness in your head grows, and then you feel weightless, disconnected from reality as the darkness creeps in around your sight.

Your body starts to respond, instinct driving you toward the rising sense of panic. The pleasure and thrill that had mixed with the danger of it all suddenly feel too real, too much, as Zayne relentlessly pushes you to your limits.

You bring your hand up weakly, your fingers trembling, and tap his arm three times. The motion is small but deliberate, your safe signal.

For a brief, terrifying second, you wonder if he’s noticed.

He releases and you gasp for air. He lets you catch your breath, and for a minute you’re almost angry. But the growing wet between your legs betrays you to yourself, forcing you to admit you liked being pushed to the edge. An exhilarated smile picks up the corners of your mouth and Zayne, intently waiting for you to lead, just watches.

“More,” is all you need to say, and he’s on you again. Hand lighter on your throat, he brandishes the scalpel to catch your eye. It makes contact with your skin and you fight to control a shiver. 

It glides around your shoulder, then down your collar bone. The razor sharp point leaving a thin, red cut beneath the bone. You gasp, back arching into the sting. He withdraws. 

“If you keep squirming, I’m going to hurt you for real.” It’s as much a warning as it is a threat, and the dark rasp of his voice sends a chill down your spine. 

Then you go still again, he continues. The scalpel crosses your chest, taking it’s time tracing each and every one of your ribs. He draws a bead of blood there, before lifting the blade again. You moan, squeezing your thighs together to keep from moving your hips. The anticipation almost too much for you. But the movement catches his eye. He pockets the scalpel, and then he’s prying your thighs apart so hard you feel the ache in your hips. You try to shimmy away, but his hands hold your thighs fast against him. 

“I said hold still,” he grunts, squeezing his hands around the squish of your thighs hard enough that you make a noise. "What part of stop squirming do you not get?"

Your hand comes up to his hips, trying to hold them at a distance, but it doesn’t help. He pulls you closer to him and you feel his cock hard and leaking over your boxers. Fuck, you almost come undone all over again. Feeling him pressed against you like this... his cock easily reaching your belly button, reminding you how deep inside you he could be. 

“Zayne, please,” you whimper. 

“Please what?” He asks. You feel the cold blade against the tender, exposed part of your thigh. 

“Please fuck me.” 

He grunts, a noise that commits to nothing. He pulls the fabric of your boxers off your body and slips the scalpel beneath it. He cuts the thin fabric off of you in a show of strength and skill that intimidates you. 

He leans over you slowly, his hips pressed flush against yours, his cock pressed against where you want it most. A hand comes up to your face then, holding your jaw hard as he turns your face away from his. The scalpels beautiful surface approaches your cheek. Your breath picks up, fear coursing through you. He says nothing, and it makes it all the more terrifying. Your instincts freeze every muscle in your body. 

“You asked for this,” he reminds you, tracing the curve of your cheek. You bite your lip.

He pockets the scalpel once more, and you realize then that he's still entirely dressed, his pants only pulled down enough to fuck you. He shifts his hips, lining up with your needy hole. You’re already moaning for him.

“Begging me to use you like this, begging me to hurt you like this.” He pushes into you, your cunt struggling to adjust to his size. He only makes it a couple inches. He pulls out of you, then thrusts again, moaning as he does. This time when he pushes into you, he completely fills you. You both release an almost victorious sigh.

“Always fucking struggling. Can never just make it easy,” he growls, that angry look in his eye. His jaw flexes. Your cunt tenses around him.

He thrusts into you again, and again, so hard it feels like he could fuck you in half. He dips his face into your neck, moaning.

"You want me to force you onto my cock." His voice tightened with effort, but never lost that black-honey edge. "Can't say no to you. Do this because I love you."

You reach up and cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric. His words shouldn't thrill you, but they did. Your eyes flutter closed. Your body shook beneath him.

“This is messed up,” Zayne’s hips start to pick up their pace. You wrap your legs around him, encouraging him, pulling him deeper into you. You find yourself moaning his own words back at him; so messed up, so messed up. 

Fuck, he felt so good. The two of you dissolved into senseless babbling, saying whatever it took to push each other closer to the edge. A meaningless cloud of fuck and just like that and you begged for this until neither of you could form words at all. Your pace became erratic, moaning into each other’s necks, limbs tightening around each other as you both approached your highs.

“Fuck, fuck, m’so-” you barely manage, panting and moaning through your words. Your thighs tighten around him and he groans in response. 

And then you’re coming undone together. His hips driving his cock as deep as they can with the primal need to fuck his cum deeper inside you. You take it, greedily, breathlessly as your own climax rocks through your body like an earthquake. 

He rests his forehead against your chest while he pulls out of you, then collapses onto the cool ceramic floor of the hallway beside you. He turns you onto your side and buries his head against your back, forearms tight against your chest while he hugs you close to him. 

“I didn’t think,” you take a deep breath, trying not to pant through your sentence, “that when I asked you to use me after your work shifts, that it’d be like that.” 

“Bad?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically small. 

“No, no,” you rush to recover the situation. You lace your fingers with his, “Of course not.” 

He says nothing. You turn to look at him, and there’s that distant, tired look on his face. 

“Are you okay...?” 

“I will tell you about it soon, darling” he says. You hum as acknowledgement, wishing you could say anything, but feeling like nothing was the right thing to say. Instead you just let him hold you for awhile. 

Zayne held you close, his body a solid, comforting weight against yours, his bodily warmth gradually soothing the whirlwind of sensation still buzzing under your skin. But then, you felt him shift. His fingers, cold and precise, began to ghost over the cuts he had made, tracing the delicate lines he’d etched into your skin with surgical precision. You shivered at his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

His eyes softened, and in a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, “I need to tend to these.” His words were gentle, but firm, a quiet reminder of the care he always took with you, even now.

He pressed a tender kiss to your temple, the warmth of it contrasting with the coolness of his fingers, and then he pulled away. You watched him button his pants, his movements deliberate but unhurried, before disappearing down the hall. Even through the exhaustion weighing you down, you heard the faint sound of him rummaging in the bathroom, retrieving what he needed.

When he returned, Zayne knelt beside you, his medical kit in hand. His usual calm, professional demeanor was still there, but this time it was softened with a tenderness only reserved for you. Gently, he began to disinfect the cuts, his touch as light as it was thorough. The sting of the antiseptic bit into your skin, making you wince, but his hand found yours, his thumb brushing reassuringly over your knuckles. It was a silent promise: I’m here, I’ve got you.

With every stroke of the gauze, every carefully placed bandaid, Zayne’s focus never wavered. His gaze remained trained on you, on the cuts he was tending to, but there was something deeper in his expression—something protective, almost reverent, as though he was caring for a part of himself.

When he finally finished, he sat back slightly, his hand resting on your arm, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you were truly okay. You could see the tension from earlier still lingering in the set of his jaw, the concern etched faintly into the lines of his face.

“I’m okay, I promise,” you murmured, your voice heavy with exhaustion, your body finally giving in to the weight of the night. Your limbs felt like lead, but your heart fluttered at the care he was taking with you, the gentleness of his hands now so different from the intensity you’d felt earlier.

“I’m just…so exhausted now” you sigh, briefly closing your eyes as another wave of tiredness washed through you.

Zayne’s expression softened into a small smile, one so full of adoration it made your chest tighten with affection. He stood, helping you up with careful hands, supporting your weight as he guided you to the couch. His arm stayed wrapped around you, keeping you close, steadying you as he laid you down gently, as though you were something fragile.

He settled in beside you, his body curling protectively around yours, pulling you against his chest. “We’ll clean up later,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft kiss. The warmth of his breath and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you, the scent of him comforting, grounding you.

You nestled deeper into him, the tension of the night melting away in his embrace. Wrapped in his arms, in the safety of his presence, your exhaustion finally caught up with you. Your eyelids fluttered closed, the world around you fading into the soft haze of sleep. And there, in the quiet of the night, you both drifted off together, tangled in each other, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the quiet rise and fall of his chest.

[kimarii-00]

Honey would please write something like when Armando left his gf she is a hacker and a weapon specialist without saying anything turned out that's not the only person he left behind. ( Tiny a baby girl who like to hold a wooden spoon ) They meet again when they going to the ammo squad in bad boys for . Her Kelly are besties . Very very angst.

(I accidentally deleted the ask, but I wrote it down before I did so above is the prompt for this, asked by anonymous)

Regrets and Punishments

❥Summary: Armando knows he made a mistake. He knew when he decided that his mother was more important than his girlfriend. But he planned to return to her, he did. He never could’ve anticipated being gone for as long as he was. Seeing her face again was like getting shot: You get that adrenaline rush, yet the pain ends up biting you in the ass later on. Especially when he discovers what, or dare I say, who he also left behind all that time ago.

❥Warnings: Slow burn, kidnapping, language

❥Word Count: 2.7k

❥Part 1/2

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

AN: I’m ngl I’m not sure if you meant that you wanted them to have a kid or not, but I wrote it just in case, let me know if that's not what you wanted and I’ll rewrite it! (I also gave the kid a name)

I think I’m going to make this a two parter because I kinda took this prompt and ran with it lol

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

He never thought he’d see you again. As much as he didn’t want to, he accepted the fact that he’d fucked up your relationship when he decided to leave you in favor of helping his mothers’ dirty work. He didn’t even give you so much as a call after he’d left to let you know that he was even alive. He only hoped that you were doing fine on your own.

Nonchalantly, Armando walked through the door to the house of the people Mike and Marcus knew, not giving a damn about the warning to stay outside like Mike had told him to. No wonder a gun was drawn and pointed at him as soon as he stepped foot in the home.

“Woah, woah! Kelly-” Mike began his attempt to mediate the situation, “I asked you to wait outside for a second… Alright, Kelly, he’s with us.” Standing in between the gun and his son.

“He can’t be here.” Kelly retorted, keeping her gaze on the wanted criminal standing before her.

“This is my son, Armando.”

“I know who he is and that’s why he can’t be here,” The gun never faltered as she spoke with a solid, demanding voice, “I trust you with my life, but I sure as shit don’t trust him.”

“I trust him,” Mike confirmed.

“Then take him to your house.”

Dorn cleared his throat, trying to release some of the tension that had built in the room. Armando said nothing as Dorn came over to try to calm his girlfriend, and Mike took his son to the opposite side of the room.

Marcus sat down on the couch in the middle of the room and snatched up a bag of chips, “This is some dysfunctional shit.” He said, looking back and forth between the two duos.

They came back together after a minute or two. “She’s fine,” Dorn said.

“She don’t look fine…” Marcus expressed, taking in the obvious irritation and discomfort on her face.

“I’m fine.”

“Yes, you are.” Everyone turned in the direction of Armando, where he only opened the fridge to grab a drink.

“It’s the language barrier,” Marcus explained to Dorn.

“It was English!”

“It was definitely English.”

“I have to call someone. I’ll be back,” Kelly said, picking up her phone and already beginning to dial, “If I’m going to do this I’m gonna need another girl here. She’ll be able to help with the tech stuff too.”

“Is it–” Dorn began, but cut himself off when Kelly nodded, “Tell her to leave Demi at home, we don’t know what kind of shit we’re getting into.”

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

When you got the call from Kelly, you weren’t entirely sure what to make of it. She told you she needed you to come over, but when you asked her why, she only said something about “emotional support”. You’d tried to press her for more details but she only mentioned having some people over and needing your tech skills. After a while, you just decided you’d go, but not before you handled your own business.

“Demi, come here please!” You called out while folding another shirt, making a nice crease and adding it to your pile of similar neatly folded shirts.

The aggressive pitter-patter of small feet hitting your hardwood floors alerted you that the person you’d called for was on their way.

“Mama!” You felt the bed on which you were folding clothes dip a bit as a weight threw itself into the soft mattress. You smile when you set your eyes on the girl who is smiling to herself contently—your daughter.

“Mimi, mama has to leave soon,” You said as you picked her up and set her on your hip so you could continue to fold while holding your toddler, “Tiara should be here soon to look after you, okay?” You say, referring to your babysitter that you should probably be paying more considering how many times you’ve called her in the past week or so.

“Mama leaving… again?” Your heart dropped when you watched the smile fade from your daughter's face when she realized you were going to be gone and she was going to be left with the babysitter for what felt like the hundredth time. You always felt bad when things like this came up but… you couldn’t just blow Kelly off. Not after all she’s done for you.

“Yes… Mama’s leaving, I’m sorry baby but I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can okay?” You tried to cheer her up by giving her stomach a few tickles but your daughter was as stubborn as they come, her pout seemingly permanently stuck to her face.

The doorbell stole your attention and you gently set your daughter down. She followed you to the front door, and when you opened it her permanent pout was replaced with nothing but… confusion. You joined her in sporting this facial expression when you both looked at the stranger at your doorstep.

“Can I.. help you?” You ask the woman. She had a soft smile on her face, but for some reason, it didn’t seem welcoming.

“I’m your babysitter.” The woman replied.

“Um… I’m sorry there must be some mistake. My usual babysitter’s name is Tiara, I called her a while ago-”

“Tiara asked me to come here in her stead, she isn’t feeling too well, unfortunately. I’m a coworker of hers.” The woman explained, but you weren’t convinced. Tiara hadn’t mentioned any of this to you when you called her-

Just then, as you were about to make up your mind about whether or not you wanted to slam the door on the lady, you received a message from… Tiara.

3:34 Tiara (Babysitter): Hey, so sorry for the inconvenience but I’m not feeling good today, I sent over my coworker because I know you needed a sitter ASAP! Her name is Sara.

“What was your name again?” You asked, slowly taking your eyes off of your phone and to the lady, still wearing that smile on her face.

“Sara.”

You look her up and down once more before stepping to the side to let the woman inside. Your daughter hid behind and clung to your leg, only peeking out when she was sure the strange woman was not looking at her.

“Um… This is Demi,” You gesture to the girl who has glued herself to your right leg. You try to get her to say hello but she refuses. Sara stoops down to your daughter's level and tries to wave at her but Demi only scooches further out of sight. “The fridge is fully stocked, there are only a few weres, really: Don’t invite anyone else over, no drinking, oh and her bedtime is 8:30.”

“Please do not worry, I’m sure me and Demi will have a great time together.” Sara expresses, that damn smile still plastered on her face. There’s something about this lady that you just don’t like, but if Tiara sent her then it’s probably just you overreacting, right?

“Right… Could I get your phone number, just in case?” You say. She recites her number to you and you quickly enter it into your phone and save the contact, just in case of an emergency. You then turn around and kneel to look your daughter in the face.

“Be good, okay Mimi? I promise I’ll be back soon,” You say, giving her a quick peck on the forehead and a hug. She looks extremely hesitant and to be honest, so are you, but you’re already running late… “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Demi says meekly.

You smile and turn to leave.

If Tiara sent her, there shouldn’t be a problem, right?

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

You parked in front of the house that your best friend and her boyfriend lived in. You had no guesses as to why she called you here, but if your technology skills could be useful to her, you’d want to help in any way you can.

You knock on the door and after a while, Kelly answers but stops you before you can go inside. “We kind of got ourselves in some shit, we’ll fill you in.”

She grabs your wrist, pulls you inside, and closes the door shut. The first thing that you lay your eyes on is the monitors that Dorn was sifting through. Pulling up various pictures of people and files that look confidential.

Should I even be here right now…?

“What's the situation?” You ask as you move towards Dorn.

“Remember when we told you all that stuff about Captain Conrad–”

“(Name)?”

You pause when you hear your name. The voice sounds so familiar you're almost scared to turn around and see who it was that called you. You think you know who it was that called, which is probably another reason as to why it takes you so very long to fully turn and face the man that has broken your heart time and time again.

It’s like the world stopped. All of a sudden, everyone in that room except for the man in front of you was irrelevant. There were so many things you wanted to say, yet no words left your mouth.

What is he doing here?

Why is he here?

All of the emotions flowing through you quickly became too much. Without a word, your feet guided you to the nearest room in which you could be alone.

“Do yall know each other?” Mike asked, but received no answer when his son went after the girl, “Do they know each other?” He asked in a more general way, but was met with nothing. The tension silenced everyone.

You ripped your arm out of the hand that had caught it when you reached the empty room. “Get the fuck off of me! What the hell are you doing here?” You exclaimed angrily. All of a sudden, all of those feelings you felt were entirely replaced by rage. Anger, directed at the man who’d left you without a second thought.

“I–” Armando began, but was cut off.

“Y’know what, I don’t care! Get the hell out of my face!”

“(Name), wait– stop,” He said, grabbing hold of your bicep when you tried to turn away from him again.

“You have some fucking nerve!” You growled, entirely in shock of the fact that he thinks he’ll just have a nice chat with you, “I haven’t seen your ass in years! Not a fucking call, or even a damn text! Nothing!”

“I know, I know, I didn’t plan on it being like that,” he pointed out. In actuality, he had no clue or reason as to why he followed you here. He knew he fucked up their relationship and a few words wasn’t going to change that fact. So why was he so desperate to get you to hear him out? He was never like this. It’s been years, why do you still have this weird affect on him?

“Yeah? Well I never planned on being abandoned by you, but look where we fuckin’ are now. Get the hell away from me,” You seethed. He had no clue how hard you were trying not to cry, “I said get the hell off of me!”

You snatch your arm from his grip. Deep down, underneath all of the anger that had boiled up to the surface, you’d missed Armando. You really did. Dealing with the pain of losing him, and never hearing from him until, well now. Taking care of Demi–

Does he even know about Demi? Does he know he’s a…

“Guys, so sorry to interrupt but we have a problem,” Kelly announced from around a corner. You hold eye contact with Armando for a few more seconds, trying to read his face but ultimately giving up. You didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. You stomp out of the room, and he lags behind you.

Upon entering the room where everyone was gathering around Dorn and his monitors, you see he is tapped into someone's security feed, which you quickly find out is Marcus’ and Mikes’ homes where their families were. Dorn was notifying the police to send backup and you realize that there are people attempting to break into the homes. Does this have something to do with their investigation with Captain Conrad?

Mike and Marcus grab their phones and quickly make calls, telling their people to hide, and leave their houses. You watch the cameras and watch as the masked men make their way into the two guys’ respective houses.

“Fuck, fuck!” Marcus says when he watches someone from his house grab a gun from a safe and hide the rest of the family in a closet. You can only home that whoever Marcus decided to trust with his family’s safety was skilled.

Everyone watches and commentates on the man's performance in the security feed, taking down the trespassers one by one until he is able to safely transport the rest of the family out of the house, but not before saluting to the security camera for us onlookers to see.

Mike is not so lucky, as he is not able to reach his wife in time to warn her and the girl who was with her at the time. We all have to watch when she’s easily overpowered and tied up. Mike is still on the phone with her, able to hear everything that’s going on.

A sudden devious voice sounds through the phone, one that was definitely not his wife, “Mr. Lowrey.”

“Who am I speaking to?” Mike lowers his voice and says in a serious tone.

“I think you know who you’re speaking to,” the voice says ominously, “I need your boy, and whatever evidence your beloved Captain has foiled away.” You eye Armando whose eyes were flicking back and forth from the phone to Mike, “And for that, you can have your wife. I’ll call you back with instructions.”

“Ah, shit…” Mike grumbles, but the man on the other side of the phone has not yet hung up.

“Ms. (Name), I know you’re there as well.” Your heart drops to your toes. What could this man want with you? “I’d go ahead and check the security systems for your house as well.” A beep was heard as the man hung up and your eyes widened. No…

He wouldn't, right? You had nothing to do with this operation.

Nevertheless, you pushed Dorn out of the way and pulled up your homes’ cameras, and scanned for anything out of the ordinary. You spotted Demi playing with dolls in her room. The only thing was that you couldn’t spot the babysitter, but you figured she must’ve been in the bathroom.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.

“Who’s kid is that?” Armando spoke up. You looked over but didn’t fully turn around, fearing he’d already figured it out, and just wanted clarification. You were afraid. You were afraid that if he found out, he’d come back into your life. Demi’s life. You didn’t want to get hurt again. You don’t think you could handle him leaving you again, so you stayed silent. You left the question to hang in the air.

The breath you let out was sucked back in when you saw your front door open slightly, then all the way and three masked intruders walked in. “Fuck!” You exclaimed, snatching up your phone and dialing the phone number you’d received from the new babysitter before. She answered after one ring, which you were entirely grateful for, “Sara, grab Demi and get the hell out of there, now. Please!” You frantically spew out. You’d be surprised if she caught any of that.

There was no response on the other end until Sara spoke, “There’s people in the house?” She asked, too calm for your liking.

“Yes, so grab Demi and get the fuck out of there. Take the window if you have to, they’re searching the living room right now,” You say, watching the men search the living room and kitchen, slowly making their way down the hallway which they would find your daughter.

Again, no response. That is, until the chilling words made their way into your ears. “Finally, I was wondering when they’d arrive.” And she hung up.

Your eyes were blown wide enough to where you were sure you were going to start hearing colors and seeing sounds. You were speechless and your heart was racing a mile a minute as you watched the ‘babysitter’ pick your daughter up and… deliver her to the intruders.

You could only watch, helpless as your daughter was kidnapped.

What the hell just happened?

[callsigns-haze]

hi, I was wondering if you could do a one shot, where the reader and tyler are storm chasers, but the readers ill and tyler makes her sit this chase out so she can get better. so she watches the live stream, when boone shows the tornado and it looks really bad, when suddenly the camera cuts and the reader can't get a hold of tyler or anyone else. you can pick the ending, and you don't have to do it. thank you x.

Unanswered

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Y/N anxiously monitors a severe tornado chase from the sidelines due to illness, fearing the worst when the live stream abruptly cuts off, only to be relieved when Tyler, her partner, returns safely.

Chapter Warning: Descriptions of illness, anxiety, and intense storm danger, including a brief moment of panic.

The rolling plains stretched out endlessly under a steel-grey sky, the air thick with the tension of an impending storm. Y/N sat in the passenger seat of their truck, her usual excitement for the chase dampened by the persistent ache in her chest and the fever that refused to break. She had been trying to shake off the flu for days, but it clung to her like a stubborn cloud.

Tyler, her partner in both storm chasing and life, shot her a concerned glance as he steered the truck down the dusty backroads of Tornado Alley. They’d been tracking a supercell all morning, the energy between them usually electric during these chases, but today it was different. The worry in Tyler’s eyes had grown more intense with every cough she tried to stifle.

“Y/N, you’re in no shape to be out here,” Tyler finally said, his voice firm but gentle. “I need you to sit this one out and rest. You can follow the chase on the live stream, but I can’t focus if I’m worried about you.”

She wanted to argue, to insist that she was fine, that she could push through. But the truth was, she felt awful, and the thought of being a liability to the team gnawed at her. Reluctantly, she nodded.

“Okay,” Y/N agreed, her voice raspy. “But you have to promise me you’ll be careful. This storm looks like it could be a monster.”

Tyler gave her a reassuring smile, leaning over to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “I promise. I’ll keep you updated, and Boone will keep the live stream going so you won’t miss a thing.”

He pulled the truck to a stop near a small diner at the edge of town, where Y/N would wait out the chase. As much as it pained her to let Tyler go without her, she knew it was the right decision. She grabbed her laptop and settled into a booth, her eyes already glued to the live stream feed.

The storm was already gaining strength as Tyler and the team pushed deeper into the heart of Tornado Alley. The sky darkened ominously, and the wind began to howl, whipping dust and debris across the road. Boone, their seasoned cameraman, narrated the scene for their live stream viewers, his voice steady but tinged with excitement.

Y/N watched the stream intently, her pulse quickening with each update. The camera captured the swirling clouds, the lightning flashing in jagged arcs across the sky. The radar showed the supercell tightening, the classic hook echo indicating a tornado could drop at any moment.

Suddenly, the feed shifted, and Boone's camera zoomed in on the horizon. A dark funnel began to descend from the clouds, twisting and turning with terrifying speed.

“There it is!” Boone’s voice came through the speakers, the adrenaline evident in his tone. “We’ve got a tornado on the ground, folks. It’s a big one!”

Y/N’s heart pounded as she watched the tornado touch down, tearing across the open fields with a ferocity that made her stomach churn. The massive twister seemed to devour everything in its path, growing larger with each passing second.

Tyler’s voice crackled through the feed, giving commands to the team as they maneuverer to get a better position. But just as the team closed in, the camera suddenly jerked violently, the screen filling with static. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as the stream cut out entirely, leaving her staring at a blank screen.

“Come on, come on,” Y/N muttered, frantically refreshing the page. But the stream refused to return. She grabbed her phone and dialled Tyler’s number, her fingers trembling with fear.

The call went straight to voicemail.

“No, no, no…” Panic began to claw at Y/N’s chest as she tried Boone’s number, then the rest of the team. But every call went unanswered, the dread growing heavier with each failed attempt.

She could barely breathe as she stared at her phone, the silence around her deafening. Every second felt like an eternity. Images of the storm, the twisting tornado, flashed in her mind, and all she could think about was Tyler out there in the path of destruction.

Y/N’s mind raced, torn between the urge to jump in the truck and drive out there herself, and the knowledge that she was in no condition to help. But sitting here, doing nothing, was unbearable.

Just as she was about to give in to despair, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Her heart leaped into her throat as she saw Tyler’s name flash on the screen.

“Tyler!” she answered, her voice choked with emotion. “What happened? Are you okay?”

There was a brief pause, and then Tyler’s voice came through, slightly shaky but alive. “Y/N, I’m okay. We’re all okay. The tornado got too close, we had to take cover. Boone lost the camera when we were scrambling to get to safety.”

Y/N exhaled a shaky breath, tears of relief streaming down her face. “I was so scared, Tyler. I thought… I thought I lost you.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Tyler said softly, his voice filled with regret. “I didn’t mean to scare you. We’re safe now. The tornado’s moved on, and we’re regrouping. We’ll be back soon.”

She closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart. “Just come back in one piece, okay? No more close calls.”

“I promise,” Tyler replied, the sound of his voice steadying her. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Y/N held onto the phone long after the call ended, her heart still pounding but slowly settling back into a more normal rhythm. The storm was still out there, but knowing Tyler was safe brought her a sense of calm she hadn’t felt all day.

Hours later, the door of the diner swung open, and Y/N looked up to see Tyler walking in, looking tired but unharmed. She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, the relief overwhelming her.

He held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I should have kept you updated.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a small smile. “I’m just glad you’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

Tyler cupped her face in his hands, his eyes full of love and concern. “Let’s get you home. You need to rest, and I need to take care of you for a change.”

Y/N nodded, feeling the exhaustion hit her all at once. But now, with Tyler by her side, the fear and worry of the day seemed to fade into the background. They had faced the storm and come out the other side, and now all that mattered was that they were together.

As they left the diner, the storm clouds were already beginning to clear, the first hints of twilight breaking through. The danger had passed, and with it, a new appreciation for the quiet moments they could share, far from the chaos of the chase.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

[slvttyplum]

what if what iff jjk men dealing with an s/o who likes to bite & scratch whenever overstimulated

also im so glad i found your account fr 😩

જ⁀➴ jjk men dealing with: partner who bites and scratch.

nanami

- finds it alluring to see you claw and whimper out his name when he’s repeatedly hitting your sweet spot.

- coddles you and rubs your hair as he keeps going.

- doesn’t care if you’re too loud.

- if anything he prefers that.

- the way you claw his back and his chest from how good you were feeling…

-biting him shoulder and your spit slowly dripping down.

- it was like a reward.

- at the end of the night looking in the mirror and seeing his chest and looking at his shoulder.

- he looks like he just got in a fight.

- he loves it.

satoru

- at first he was turned off by it because of the pain.

- but he slowly started to sink into that feeling and like it.

- the way you begged and screamed whenever he went over your limit was music to his ears.

- trying to clench your thighs together, pushing your nails into skin that it draws blood.

- that was the shit he liked.

- and when you bit him it was like a rush of adrenaline for him.

- you were so frantic and cute in the way you did things.

- no one moaned and whimpered out for him the way you did when he was deep inside you.

- squirming around whimpering and crying from the overwhelming pleasure.

- it made him want more.

suguru

- was very surprised by how you acted in bed compared to your regular demeanor but…

- he started to like that side of you more.

- you were more controlled by pleasure and overstimulation he would give you that you would be doing outlandish shit.

- scratching you so hard he starts to bleed, biting him, spazzing out and saying nasty things.

- he wanted you to hurt him more.

- everytime you got close to him you would bite him shoulder because of how good you felt.

- it was something about how your nails dig into his skin and left a mark that he loved and desired so much.

- opening your legs for more even though you were shouting and crying scratching his neck and all for him to stop.

- the faces you made when you were in this state were incredible.

- it’s like he was looking at a painting.

- he wanted more, so pushing you pass your limit was going to get him there.

choso

- the scratching, biting and crying never phased him and never will.

- whenever you scratched or bit him that was his sign that he was doing what needed to be done and was going to keep going.

- he didn’t stop on your terms, he doesn’t care how much you cry from the over pooling pleasure.

- he was going to stop when he wanted to, and the scratching only motivated him.

- kicking and arching your back whenever his tip slightly grazes your sweet spot was something he enjoyed.

- he enjoyed teasing you after you came a couple of times.

- just to see how you react.

- the way you squirm and push his face then scratch his face was like viagra.

- his dick was jumping again.

- he wasn’t going to stop.

toji

- oh he enjoys that shit, he WANTS you to scratch him, bite him, curse him out and push him off.

- it was his motivation in fucking you more.

- the way your body reacted whenever just a finger laid on top of you was something he never saw.

- you were so sensitive to his touch and everything he did, and he used that to his advantage.

- fucking you into the mattress again and again toning out your cries and your flailing arms.

- he knew how much you wanted it and loved it.

- loved the way he fucked you and didn’t care how you reacted.

- his body will be bright red with marks all around his body.

- always smirking because he knows you do it on purpose.

[landossnorriss]

a soulmate equation || ln x she.

Pairing: lando x she. Summary: soulmates are a rare thing these days. it was better that way, everyone said, given that you shared a link to your soulmate that manifested in scary ways, feeling their adrenaline, feeling when they were hurt. even if you never met your soulmate you might pay the price of being connected to them. given lando never had any feelings himself he never thought he had a soul mate till the little cut appeared in his palm. Word Count: 1.9k ( one shot. ) Warning: small mentions of injuries and intentional cutting of the palm but with a purpose! mainly just pure fluff and happiness.

the adrenaline rushes started as far back as she could remember. her parents had thought that she was sick at first, the way her heart would race so much she sometimes felt like she was doing to pass out. they had taken her to several different doctors before one had been brave enough to bring up the soulmate connection to them. her parents were not soulmates themselves, they only knew of one other pair and so they were quick to dismiss it.

other small injuries cropped up every now and then, ones that could never be explained given she was often in class or tucked into bed when they occurred. again, the doctors gave her a clean bill of health and just as the injuries came, they went again, leaving her and her parents puzzled.

as she grew up, the feeling of that high that came when her adrenaline spiked were just a part of her normal day. where her parents were sceptical, she had long since accepted there was a connection out there too someone, but given the way he left her feeling when she had no idea who he was? she had no interest in seeking him out. he was an adrenaline junkie at best, maybe even a low life and she simply prayed he didn't seriously hurt the both of them one day.

the big hit of 2021 had been her biggest worry for a while, she had been unable to climb from her bed she had been so sore following that one and she had spent the day googling accidents despite herself, wondering if that might highlight who the hell had thrown himself into the road with how she felt.

a set of bruised ribs worried her friends so much she was forced to tell them the truth, an unwise choice on her part given the witch hunt her best friend started at the news. soulmates didn't happen all that often anymore, there were only two others everyone knew of in their whole year and that made her special. that's what they all said anyway. in reality she just wanted to be left alone, she didn't want to know about the man, she worried about him enough as it was.

november 2023. that was when her best friend decided that she'd found the answer. they'd taken her to hospital this one was so bad, there was no cause of the injuries she suffered, she had been at the movies with her friends when she had suddenly cried out in pain pulling all the attention onto her self. stupid really, she should have known to move herself from the crowd, she'd felt her adrenaline spike moments before.

but it was the doctors comment that had set her bestfriend off. "if i didn't know better, i'd say you'd driven into a wall at 200 miles an hour." given her best friend was a fan of all things that went fast, it had narrowed her into a focus area she couldn't shake. she had tried to deny it, she didn't want it to be true but there had been a flicker of something in her chest as her friend had linked the timing of her favourite f1 driver to when she had felt the impact roll through her.

still, she did her best to play it down, to brush everything off as a coincidence because she wasn't even sure she wanted the pressure of having a soulmate, let alone that soulmate being a famous fucking f1 driver. she wasn't cut out for that.

then the cut across her nose came and any hope she might have had of convincing her friend that she wasn't the soulmate of lando had gone out of the window. the little scar across his nose was cute, hers was cuter across her small button nose and the fact couldn't be denied anymore. what she didn't know how to do, was approach him about it. it wasn't like she could just walk up to him, she hadn't ever really been hurt or put herself in situations her heart rate would have spiked enough for him to know about her, he could hate the thought.

it wasn't a risk she was willing to take without certain proof and her friends crazy plan was just sure enough that she agreed to it. they waited until summer break, she wasn't about to risk his hands when he had a race, but on the first week of summer break, sat across from her best friend she squealed as she held out her palm to the other. was inflicting herself with a small cut insane? probably. but there had been a time the very idea of soulmates had been beyond belief to her and now here she was. the cut they applied was small but deep, enough that it would likely leave a scar and she would be forced to dress it. silently she sent a small, sorry lando, out into the universe and she hoped he wasn't in the middle of something too important as she looked down at her hand that was now bleeding.

a few days later, as she scrolled through her Instagram, totally not looking for any answers, she found them loud and clear. lando had updated a story and his left palm was wrapped in an identical fashion to her own. holy shit, her soulmate was lando norris.

lando himself had been in the middle of dinner with the quadrant team when the blood had started pouring from his hand. it had taken him several moments to convince his friends that he wasn't so clumsy he had managed to randomly cut his hands whilst he was enjoying a glass of wine. soon enough max had been wrapping his hand when someone had joked about a soulmate. lando's eyes narrowed at the thought. not once in twenty four years had he ever thought it was possible. he'd not felt a thing, not once.

that wasn't uncommon, most people never did but those with soulmates tended to figure it out early on so it had never bothered him much but as he watched the final wrap be applied to his palm, for the first time he couldn't help but wonder.

he put the thought of out his mind, not daring to think he could be so lucky, until the moment weeks later when he saw her in line for the fan meet and greet. she was beautiful, that was his first thought. what would he do if a girl like her, turned out to be his soulmate. he'd shook the thought away as she stepped closer, laughing to himself as he met her nervous gaze.

on her part, the thought of doing this at a fan meet and greet was her very idea of hell, but she hadn't seen another way. even if her bank account was currently crying thanks to how much she had paid for this. in her hand, was a carefully constructed time line and matching trips to the hospital to match. photos of her random injuries with post it notes to confirm that none of them had been the cause. on the underside of her last thumb just a small band aid was all that was left covering her hand as she nervously chewed at her lip. "hello." she could do this, she could hand him the file in her hand.

sensing her nerves lando reached out a hand. "hey, what do you have for me?" his voice was warm, smile genuine as he looked back at her. she wasn't sure what she had been expecting when she met him, she had spent an embarrassing amount of time online looking into the man stood before her. some adored him, some thought he was a brat and childish, others had been underwhelmed. right now he just seemed, normal and well, kind.

clearing her throat she finally handed him the file. "i um, i figured this might be the only way that you believe me, but i um - " she paused looking at his hand where his injury matched hers. "i gave you that." bracing herself for impact she waited as landos green eyes flicked through the pages, muttering to himself as he did so.

"ribs...belgium, vegas...." the time line matched each and everyone of her records, right down to the photo, well selfie of her and another woman with a knife and a fresh cut in her palm. the cut he had. lifting his head he let his eyes meet hers, a tender gaze dropping for just a moment to the matching wound she wore, back up to her nose where sure enough he was met with a mirror image of his scar. "its you."

meekly smiling back at him she found herself nodding and for some odd reason, tears appeared at the edge of her eyes. years of doubting and he was right here, he didn't even look like he wanted to run away. "surprise?" her laugh was dorky and more like a snort as a tear escaped. "god you believe me, sorry i thought that you were going to think i was insane. no one teaches you how to do this."

in true lando fashion, the first feeling that overwhelmed him was guilt, he'd been accidentally hurting her all these years. "i never...you never...you're okay right?" he mused as he flicked his eyes over the paperwork and then her again.

"i'm ok, you sort of delivered enough adrenaline for the both of us." she joked softly. "at least i know why you feel that rush every weekend." it was insane, but having watched as many races as she now had, pairing it to that feeling in her chest each time she had felt it. she was the only person in the world that knew exactly what he felt when he raced. it was uniquely beautiful and equally mind blowing.

hearing a cough behind them lando turned for a moment. "jon can you come here for a second." the driver had fans to get to and promises to keep but he didn't want her to vanish. "this is um...my soulmate. will you take her back for me?" he quizzed his manager quietly who watched her warily, not that she could blame him. "she has proof of everything." lando assured the male who nodded, turning to her with a smile. "come on then."

stepping out of the queue she moved with jon, not daring to steal another look back at lando until she heard him call for her to wait. "you ok lando?" jon asked, unsure of how he'd ended up with a soulmate equation to deal with when he'd picked his driver.

"yea i just...you're gonna stay right? i have no many questions and things i want to check and god promises to make like i'll be more careful, more gentle with you...with us." it had been one thing to risk his own life every single time he climbed into that car, but now that he knew there was her too? god it was going to make everything so much harder.

"i'll be here lando...don't worry, i think, well i sort of think we have forever to figure it out." she offered in a warm smile before she turned to vanish with jon again.

watching her leave, lando found himself smiling like a dork, even as she vanished from sight. forever. well shit he could get used to that.

[valerie-is-in-the-cupboard]

HEYYYY! loved your alastor fanfic! since your taking requests, could i get a human alastor x wifey where he comes home after killing someone and she cleans him up? make it really sweet because he’s totally into it pleasee!!!!! thanks youu~~

Taking care - Part One - human!Alastor x human!fem!reader

Hello, anon! Thank you so much for your sweet request <3

Before we dive in, I have a few announcements to make. First, I’m not sure when the next update for the "Out of Darkness" fanfic will be. I’ve been dealing with some overwhelming events in my life recently, which has made it difficult to find the inspiration to write a full chapter. However, I’m hoping to post an update sometime this week.

Second, I’m uncertain about how to handle the taglist for my "Out of Darkness" work. If you’re on that taglist, please let me know if you’d like to be notified about all my Hazbin Hotel posts or just the "Out of Darkness" fanfic. You can let me know in the comments, via DM, or, for an easier and safer option, by filling out the Taglist Google Form)

With that said, I hope you enjoy this post <3

Words: ~2050 TW: mentions of blood and fluff

Coming to terms with who Alastor truly was hasn’t been easy. The night he took you to the basement and revealed his latest victim has lingered in your nightmares ever since.

But if it was for him, he wouldn't have shown you. He didn't want you to enter this world full of violence. Still, it was better than the countless arguments whenever he would come home late at night, acting strange, not knowing how to answer your questions. In fact, he did it because he felt insulted by your accusations - him, who would kill for you, accused of cheating. Pathetic.

That night, he was waiting for you to run, to tell the police, even preparing for the painful scenario in which he'd have to kill you. But you didn't. He couldn’t fathom why you chose to stay, but he would lie if he said he wasn't relieved.

But you did tell him you don't want to know - You didn't want to know who he killed or why. You didn't need that and he respected it.

Alastor did everything in his power to shield you from this part of his world, attempting to protect you from the brutal realities he faced. So whenever he would come home, full of blood, adrenaline rushing through his veins, he would try his best to hide from you.

Usually, when your husband came home, he would make his presence known: humming his favourite songs as he enters the house or immediately telling you about his day, followed by a kiss on your wrist or cheek.

But whenever someone died at his hands, the night would be silent. The way he locked the door behind him ever so slightly or the way he would make his way to the bathroom in the darkness of the house, almost like a cat - that's when you knew to stay away. When you knew not to ask about his day. It's when you knew it was better to just continue preparing the dinner in silence or just fall back asleep, depending on the time, waiting for him to get ready and return to his everyday demeanour. This way, it became easier for you to deal with it.

Tonight was different though.

Alastor burst through the door, a rare sight of raw distress evident in his heavy, laboured breaths. It was clear something had gone terribly wrong. In a rush of adrenaline, you jumped out of bed, rushing to your husband.

"Dear, don't come here, please..." you heard him saying, hissing in pain as he tried to close the door. But you didn't listen. You peeked in the entryway, seeing him sliding down against the door, falling on his knees.

"Love?" you asked, cautiously stepping towards him. "What happened?" You turned on a lamp next to you, your eyes widening at the sight.

Alastor looked up at you with tired eyes, showing the signs of recent violence. His suit was torn in various spots, and his face was swollen and bruised.

"Ah... I didn't want you to see me like this, love," he said, his voice hoarse from pain. He tried to smile, but the effort was half-hearted. He looked down at himself, taking in the state of his battered body.

You got closer, trying your best to help him get up. Alastor stumbled forward, leaning heavily on you as you attempted to support his weight. He let out a pained grunt as you struggled to keep him upright. "Careful, love... I'm not as light as I look," he tried to joke, his breath laboured.

"What happened to you?" you asked, carrying him to the couch, trying your best not to fall. Alastor winced in pain, his body feeling heavier with each step.

"Ah... Just a run-in with some trouble," he replied through gritted teeth. "But I'm alright, love. Don't worry about me too much."

You carefully guided him to the couch, your hands trembling slightly as you unbuttoned his shirt. Beneath the fabric, his body was full of bruises and wounds, each one a stark reminder of the night’s violence. You brushed your hand along his chest, your heart clenching at the sight.

"Who did this, Al?" you asked.

He winced as your fingers grazed over the bruised and battered skin of his chest, the pain still fresh. He attempted to keep his smile, trying to reassure you, but you could see right through his facade.

"It's nothing, really... just a few bumps and bruises," he muttered, his voice strained. "Nothing to fuss about, love."

You started to take off the rest of his clothes, taking advantage of the fact that he was too tired to argue with you. He grumbled under his breath. He had always despised showing weakness, and being cared for like this made him feel vulnerable, a feeling he wasn't used to.

"Love, I don't need your help... I can take care of myself," he insisted, though his voice lacked its usual strength.

"You can't. We need to clean these." Alastor huffed in annoyance but didn't protest further. He knew that when you used that tone, there was no arguing with you.

"Fine, fine... Do as you like," he grumbled, reluctantly submitting to your care.

You made your way to the bathroom, the warm water filling the bathtub. You jumped when Alastor appeared behind you, leaning against the wall, the pain written all over his face.

"You should've waited for me to help you!" you protested.

"Ah, come now love, you worry too much. I'm not made of glass," he said, trying to shrug off your worry. He walked past you, slowly getting into the bathtub. He hissed through clenched teeth as the warm water enveloped his battered body, the stinging sensation intensifying as it touched his open wounds.

You kneeled next to him, Alastor letting out a deep sigh as your hands caressed his battered flesh, the pain mixing with a strange sense of relief. He closed his eyes shut, leaning back against the tub, silently enjoying your care.

"They tried to fight back, didn't they?" you eventually asked, your words coming out no louder than a whisper. You had to admit that a part of you grew more curious with every arrival of his: did they fight? did they beg him to stop? Sometimes it made you think if you were just as twisted as him for not being more disturbed by the whole situation.

Alastor's body tensed slightly at your question, his muscles aching. He knew the question would eventually come, and he had hoped you wouldn't ask. But he knew he couldn't lie to you, no matter how much he wanted to keep you away from the darker sides of his life.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice low. "They always do."

You started cleaning the bleeding wounds, your mind still wandering at what could've happened that night: why did he kill them? how did he do it?

“Do they… suffer?” you asked quietly, a shiver of dread coursing through you as you thought about the pain endured by those he faced.

Alastor’s gaze met yours, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He understood your curiosity, but the truth was too grim to reveal, and he was torn between honesty and the need to shield you. But you were stubborn, and he knew you wouldn't let it go that easy.

"No," he said after a few moments, his voice steady. "They don't suffer." It was a lie. But it was the only answer he could give you to keep the truth hidden.

You reached for the shampoo bottle, poured some into your palms and started scrubbing his scalp. Alastor let out another hiss of pain as you rubbed the shampoo, the knots and blood making the process more painful. He tried to keep his face passive, hiding his discomfort from you.

"Careful, love... You're pulling too hard," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Sorry... I need to take the blood out. It's really dried up."

Alastor grumbled under his breath as you continued to wash his hair, a mix of frustration and discomfort etched on his face.

"It's fine," he finally said, forcing himself to relax a little. "Just... try to be a bit more gentle, will you?"

You nodded, your hands rubbing more gentle as the water became red. Alastor leaned back against the tub, his body slowly relaxing under your touch. The pain began to fade, replaced by a strange sense of comfort. He closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh.

"Love...," he muttered softly, his voice weary. "You don't have to do this, you know. I could manage on my own."

"It's not a crime to let me help you sometimes, you know?"

Alastor chuckled weakly, his usual cockiness returning, if only slightly. "Ah, stubborn as always," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of affection. "You never back down, do you, love?"

You ignored his question, your eyes never leaving the wounds. "Did this happen... before?"

Alastor's eyes darted to yours for a moment before looking away. The truth was, he had had many run-ins before where he had to defend himself. But he had never been this badly injured before.

"Once or twice," he finally answered, his voice low.

You looked at him, your heart hurting at the thought. You hated seeing him in pain, you hated the thought that on those many nights, he was here alone, taking care of his wounds, trying to hide from you.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Alastor leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes for a moment, the truth catching in his throat. "I didn't want you to worry," he finally admitted, his voice soft. "I know it bothers you when I come home late, when I'm quiet or when I try to hide from you. But I didn't want you to see more of... this. I didn't want to scare you off."

You wrapped your hands around him, resting your face against his bruised neck. For a moment, his body stiffened, but he slowly relaxed into your warmth, finding solace in your touch. "I know I said I don't need to know... that I don't care who you kill or why. But I do care about you, Al! And seeing you like this..." Your words, spoken with such sincerity, hit him deep and stirred something within him

"I... I didn't want to hurt you," he said, his voice catching in his throat. "I just... I wanted to keep you out of this... To keep you safe."

“If you want to keep me safe, then you need to be safe too,” you said, your voice firm with concern.

Alastor chuckled weakly, his lips curving into a wry smile.

"You and your logic," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You always find a way, don't you, love?" His hand squeezed yours in a gentle, yet firm grip, as if silently pleading you not to let go.

"But I gotta admit... I kind of like taking care of you like this," you said, a small smirk on your face.

Alastor chuckled softly, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Is that so, love?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Well, if I'm being honest... I could get used to it too."

“As long as you promise to cook jambalaya for me at least once a week,” you teased with a small, relieved smile.

Alastor let out a mock sigh, feigning reluctance. "Ah, you drive a hard bargain, love. But I suppose I can live with that." He chuckled, his eyes holding a hint of warmth and affection.

"Al..." you said, a hint of worryness in your voice. "Please, don't die..."

Alastor's face instantly softened at your words. Your worry tugged at his heartstrings, and he knew he had no choice but to reassure you. He took your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks.

"I can't promise I'll always come home unscathed, love," he admitted, his voice sincere. "But I can promise you this... I'll do everything in my power to come back to you. I always will."

Tags: @ratsematary

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 16 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley never imagined he'd get to have even one all encompassing love of his life, let alone two. But he could barely put Rose down for more than a minute, already wrapped around her tiny fingers. He couldn't wait to take both of you home.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, swearing, DILF Roo

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Exhaustion washed over you like a wave as soon as your daughter was born. The pain started to subside only to be replaced by a bone deep desire to close your eyes and not open them again for a very long time. You were sweaty and damp everywhere, and your head felt fuzzy. But as soon as you heard your daughter start to cry, it felt like a jolt of adrenaline hit your nerves.

The sound of Rose wailing made you smile even as tears streaked down your cheeks, and Dr. Morris said, "Congratulations. A perfect little girl. Time of birth, 1:02 a.m. on March twenty-second." She was officially here.

Your husband's smile matched your own as he whispered, "That's our perfect little girl, Sweetheart."

"It's Rosie," you sobbed, and Bradley kissed your lips while you tried to catch your breath. The nurses were weighing and measuring Rose, and you wanted to hold her, but your arms felt so heavy, you weren't sure you would be able to. But you were just in awe of her. "We have a daughter."

"A Nugget," Bradley replied with a nod, his voice shaking slightly with emotion. Rose was naked and crying, and your husband had the softest look you'd ever seen on his face. His excitement to become a father made your entire pregnancy easier, because you didn't feel alone. He'd been worshipping your body and writing in the notebook for months, promising you he was ready for this. And now, as the nurse approached both of you with your daughter, it was his time to get exactly what he wanted.

"You hold her first, Daddy," you whispered, and he was instantly reaching out to take her. She looked perfect in his arms.

"Oh my god. Look at her," he gasped as she tried to snuggle against him.

"She really is perfect," you whispered, and he nodded as he watched her yawn with a big smile on his face.

"Rose Carole Bradshaw," he said, voice deep with emotion as he carefully placed her in your arms. "We already love you so much."

You gasped as the weight of your child pressed against you, and Bradley ran his fingers along her fuzzy hair as one of the nurses started to untie your gown and open it. "Try some skin to skin contact with the baby," she said softly, wiping Rose clean as she curled up against your bare chest.

Your hand came to rest on her back, and you weren't even surprised to find your vision was blurry again. "She's so small," you marveled as she puckered her lips and rubbed her face against you. When you met Bradley's gaze, he was still kneeling next to the bed with the sappiest, lovesick smile on his face.

"She looks like you," he whispered, tracing her tiny shoulder with his index finger. "God, she's so cute."

You looked up at the nurse, realizing you were going to be leaving the hospital in the next day or two, at which point you and Bradley would be completely on your own. Your nipples were leaking like crazy at the moment as Rose let out a soft cry. "Is she hungry? How do I know if she's hungry? Am I supposed to just like put her on my boob?"

Bradley grunted in response, his finger trailing up Rose's arm. He probably thought he was in for a treat hours ago when your water broke, but now he was cracking his back and trying to stand, wincing as he stretched. Luckily the nurse had mercy on you and helped you get Rose into position while Bradley leaned on the bed next to you.

"If she's hungry, she might latch right on. If she doesn't seem to be getting the hang of it, you can talk to a lactation specialist in a few hours."

But you didn't think that would be an issue. Your daughter seemed hungry and also seemed to know what she needed to do in order to be fed. "Oh!" you gasped at the feel of her. It was foreign but not unpleasant, and really nothing you'd ever seen before was as adorable as your own baby. Her little fingers were curled into a fist which was resting on your chest as she ate.

When the nurse walked away, Bradley leaned down to kiss your forehead. "Don't worry," he murmured, running his nose along your cheek, "if you've got any issues, I'm actually something of a lactation specialist myself." You couldn't help but laugh as he let his hand come to rest on top of yours where you were holding Rose in place. "You did this, Sweetheart," he whispered, clearly already entranced by his daughter. "You made my life better than my wildest dreams."

You wanted to argue and tell him that you did it together, but Rose seemed to be getting tired which was making you tired. Her tiny yawn was too cute for words, and now her nose was pressed into the side of your boob as she made herself comfortable.

"Close your eyes," Bradley whispered next to your ear. "I'll watch over both of you. I won't go anywhere."

Within minutes, you fell asleep in the hospital bed, mostly naked with your daughter occasionally wriggling against your chest and your husband's hand in yours.

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

"You're something else," Bradley murmured with a chuckle. You dozed off and on for the rest of the night while he held Rose, handing her over each time she got fussy, looking for something to fill her belly. "But you're just so damn cute."

"Don't swear in front of the baby," you murmured as you curled up on your side, watching him. "I don't want her to have all of your bad habits."

As if you couldn't teach a class on Creative Cursing, especially considering the things you said when you were in labor. Bradley kissed Rose's tiny fist and said, "Mommy doesn't know what she's talking about about. I don't have any bad habits."

"Okay," you said a bit sarcastically. "Then what would you consider a potty mouth? And snacking all day long?"

Bradley laughed. "Well, she has the snacking thing down already. Can't keep her away from your tits for more than an hour or two." He kissed her soft skin again. "Just like your old man."

She yawned and curled up, wrapping her fingers in his bit of chest hair. He'd taken his undershirt off, wanting to try the skin to skin thing for himself, and that's when he realized just how relaxing it was. This must have been why you fell asleep so easily earlier with Rose on your chest. She was like a heating pad. Or a little blanket that smelled sweet.

"Has she been in her bassinet at all?" you asked. 

Bradley looked at the metal cart on wheels with the bassinet on top of it and shook his head. The thing looked cold and uncomfortable, nothing like the crib waiting for her at home. But he smiled when he read the card that had been placed in the side of it. 

Rose Carole Bradshaw

Born: March 22nd, 01:02

Length: 19 inches

Weight: 6 pounds, 14 ounces

"No, I've been holding her. Why would I put her down?"

You and Rose yawned in unison. "So you can change out of your flight suit and get some rest."

The fabric was rough, but the sleeves were tucked out of the way; he wouldn't make his perfect little girl touch anything that wasn't soft. "I'm fine," he promised, his boot squeaking on the floor as he adjusted his foot. He carefully stood with Rose held firmly against his chest and murmured, "You didn't even give Daddy a chance to get changed after work. You were too excited to stay put any longer."

"Work," you gasped, looking around the room. "Where's my phone? Did I leave it at home? I need to tell Bickel I won't be at work. Oh my god, I need to call my parents!"

"I took care of it," he replied softly, walking around and bobbing a little bit so she would stay asleep. "Bickel has been texted. Your parents have been, too. Jake and Nat and the others all know I'm the proudest dad in the world. I took a bunch of pictures on your phone, and now it's charging by the window. I've got this. Just relax."

That's when two of the younger, female nurses walked in again. The ones who seemed to gawk at him whenever he greeted them. Bradley nodded in their direction while he unplugged your phone with one hand and held Rose with the other.

"Just checking to see if you need anything," one of them said, eyes trailing down to where his flight suit was bunched up around his hips. At least the second nurse was attaching the blood pressure cuff to your arm as she stared at him. 

"My wife probably wants breakfast," he mused. "Do you have any little packets of hot sauce? I forgot to pack some in the overnight bags."

"I'll take care of it," the first nurse said, almost running from the room before she even asked what you wanted to eat. When they were both gone, you laughed at Bradley as you stretched and got out of bed. 

"They can't handle how hot you look," you told him, walking around carefully. You'd obviously be sore for a few days, and he didn't want you lifting a finger for a single damn thing. But as you made your way toward him with a smile on your face, his heart beat a little faster. 

"I can't handle how hot you look," he murmured, still bouncing slightly in place as Rose snoozed.

You glared at him. "I just delivered a baby like seven hours ago. I look gross. I smell disgusting."

"You're perfect."

He collected you against his side and watched as you leaned in close until your nose barely touched Rose's, and a smile found your lips. "How did we make something so cute?" you whispered, hand coming to rest on Bradley's bare abs. "I can't stop looking at her."

"Right? I mean, my god, Sweetheart... I'm never going to be able to put her down."

You rubbed his flat tummy and whispered, "Look, she's waking up. I want a turn," as you tried to reach for her. Rose immediately started crying, and Bradley laughed.

"Better get your tits ready. She's hungry."

Of course the nurse showed up just in time to hear that and see those beautiful tits as you settled on the small sofa with Rose. The baby calmed down again immediately when she realized you were going to feed her, and Bradley collected the enormous breakfast platter with a smile as the nurse stared at his bare chest.

"Thanks," he murmured when he saw the tiny bottles of hot sauce. "My wife loves hot sauce."

The nurse looked at you a bit wistfully as she turned to leave again, but you were completely absorbed with Rose. "She's adorable," you crooned. "Even her crying sounds kind of cute."

"I didn't want to say anything before," Bradley said, almost relieved, "but it's a very cute cry." 

He took a few enormous bites of the bacon, eggs and pancakes, realizing he was running on pure adrenaline and about to crash if he didn't get something in his stomach. Then he loaded up the fork with eggs dipped in hot sauce and carefully fed it to you, cupping his hand over Rose's head so he didn't make a mess while she enjoyed her own breakfast.

The bead of milk forming on your nipple was highly distracting, and Bradley grunted as he watched you feed her until she was full and drowsy again. He wanted to ask you if you'd let him taste you again when he got the three of you home, but your parents called while you were finishing your pancakes. When he switched the call over to facetime, both of your parents started crying.

"Rose! She's beautiful," your mom said, wiping at her eyes with a tissue.

"How's everyone doing?" your dad asked, leaning in closer to get a better look at their granddaughter asleep in a onesie in Bradley's arms.

You started to tell him that you were feeling pretty good when your mom cut you off. "When can we come out to San Diego? Tomorrow? Next week? I need to hold that little girl in person as soon as possible."

Bradley chuckled while you sighed. "Mom, just let us get settled at home with Tramp for a day or two, okay? And then we can decide?"

She nodded, but it didn't seem like she was listening as her head tilted to the side with a sigh. "She's just perfect, isn't she?"

"Just like my wife," Bradley remarked, and your mom swooned a little bit more.

You spent the next five minutes trying to get them to end the call before you promised to send dozens of photos throughout the day, but it wasn't until Dr. Morris arrived that they actually agreed to go.

"You gave us a bit of a scare with your blood pressure," your doctor remarked, checking it one more time for herself. While she did so, she looked at Bradley and said, "You can send the baby down to the nursery for a bit if you need a break."

He stared at her and snuggled Rose a little tighter. "No, I'm fine." He couldn't fathom that anyone would want to put their newborn in one of those bassinets and send them to the nursery. He could sit here with her all day.

"How is my blood pressure now?" you asked as Bradley kissed the top of Rose's head over and over again while she slept.

"Much better," she promised, and Bradley let out the breath he wasn't really aware he had been holding. "I'll probably send you home tomorrow morning, but I'll leave some information with you now that you can start reading." She turned toward Bradley as she handed you a folder and added, "The nurses in the nursery are there specifically so you can get some rest. And they know how to wrap the babies up in their receiving blankets like tiny burritos."

"Really?" Bradley asked, suddenly intrigued. "Could they teach me how to do the burrito wrap?"

"I'm certain they could," she said with a smile before leaving.

"Do not put hot sauce on our child," you said, tossing your hospital gown aside and standing there naked. It was strange to see your belly this way as he held the child in question. You were somewhere between your normal state and your fully pregnant state, and it was just something he would have to get used to seeing. "I'm going to take a shower."

Bradley reached for your hand, and you let him have it. "I'm going to turn our child into a burrito."

"Please put a shirt on first. It's really too much, Roo." You smirked before ducking into the bathroom. 

Very, extremely begrudgingly, Bradley set Rose down in the uncomfortable looking bassinet for the very first time while he dug around in his overnight bag for a shirt. Then he carefully rolled her to the nursery where one of the nurses wrapped Rose up into a very soft pink and blue blanket. It was striped and reminded him of the Nugget notebook, and she looked snug and sleepy in it.

"Can you make sure I do it right?" he asked the nurse. "I want to impress the hell out of my wife."

She smiled and carefully unwrapped the baby so he could try. Rose stretched her fist up toward the light and smiled when he ran his fingers along her cheek. "She's your first?" the nurse asked him while he got to work.

"Yeah," he replied, grinning. He paused before adding, "She was born less than twelve hours ago, but it feels like she's been around since I first learned about her. Been getting excited since July." He tucked the end of the blanket in and patted her. "Looks just like a burrito."

The nurse laughed. "It's called a swaddle, and you're very good at it. Do you want to leave her in the nursery for a little while so you can get some rest?"

Bradley looked around at his surroundings. The room was cozy and clean, but he shook his head as he picked Rose up again. "Nah. I just can't seem to put her down for more than a minute or two," he replied, kissing her nose before she yawned again.

"You'll be a good dad."

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

You lounged around in the hospital room in the robe you got from Nat, feeding Rose whenever she started to cry for you. Bradley was never too far away, opting to hold her as much as possible. As afternoon turned into evening, he eyed you up and down and said, "Do you want to put on some real clothes from your overnight bag?"

"Why?" Then there was a soft knock at the door, and you sat up in the bed. "I thought we said we'd wait until we got home to have visitors?"

"Well, this one wouldn't take no for an answer," he replied with a bit of an eye roll. He had Rose pressed against his chest with one big hand, and he opened the door to reveal Nat holding an enormous bouquet of colorful roses.

"Oh my god," she gasped, tossing the flowers onto the foot of the bed as soon as she saw the baby. "She's really here. You're really parents!"

Bradley held up his palm and said, "Go wash your germy hands," as soon as his best friend reached for the baby.

"Roo," you scolded with a smile. "Ask her nicely. She's Rosie's godmother."

Nat's dark eyes went wide and then welled up with tears as she ran into the bathroom. Bradley leaned down to give you a kiss. "Thanks," he murmured.

"I wanted it to be her, too," you insisted. "I mean, look how excited she is."

Nat ran back out of the bathroom, gave you a kiss on the cheek, and then plopped down on the couch. "Please?" she asked, making grabby hands at Bradley and Rose.

After he handed her over, your husband finally took the time to take off his boots, and he went into the bathroom to replace his flight suit with a pair of gym shorts. Then he climbed into the bed with you and murmured, "I'll just rest for a few minutes while Nat's holding her."

His heavy hand rested on the tie of your robe as you whispered, "I think that's a great idea." Three seconds later, he was snoring softly. He'd been awake for thirty-six hours, and he was the only one who seemed unable to admit that he was exhausted. But he was as entranced by your newborn as you were, and you didn't want to tell him he should put her down and rest when he was having the time of his life. 

You ran your fingers through his messy hair as Nat cooed softly at Rose. "You are adorable," she said before looking up at you. "Seriously, she's so cute."

"Bradley hasn't set her down for more than twenty minutes since she was born, and even then it was just so I could feed her or have a chance to hold her myself."

"Sounds like you got your dad wrapped around your tiny fingers already."

"She really does," you replied softly, tracing the scars on Bradley's cheek while he slept. You didn't rush Nat out of the room, and she didn't seem to want to leave. When Rose started fussing, she handed her over to you so you could feed her, and Bradley continued to snore. Once her belly was full, Nat walked her around until she burped, and soon she was yawning again.

"Should I just set her in the bassinet so everyone can sleep for a bit?" Nat whispered.

"Please."

She put her down as carefully as you would have yourself, then she rolled the cart over until it was right next to the bed. "Call me if you need anything once you get home. Groceries, someone to walk Tramp, a break from the baby, anything."

"Thanks, Nat," you said over Bradley's snores.

"I take godmothering very seriously."

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

"I still can't believe you tricked me into sleeping all night."

"You were exhausted, Bradley."

"But I missed out on hours with the Nugget."

"But now she's about to go for her first ride in the Bronco. This is even more exciting."

Bradley was still pouting a bit as he drove the three of you home in his vintage Bronco the next morning, going about fifteen miles per hour. He'd never driven this slowly before in his life that you knew of, and you were getting impatient in the backseat with Rosie. She had her fingers wrapped around your thumb while you read through your discharge paperwork from Dr. Morris.

"This says we have to take Rose to the pediatrician within the next week. And there's a bunch of information on how we need to place her in her crib at bedtime. And we can't have sex for six weeks while I heal."

You were met with a few seconds of dead silence as you watched Bradley's face go pale in the rearview mirror. "Oh."

You pressed your lips together so you didn't snort. "Is that going to be a problem for you?"

Once more, silence. He cleared his throat. "Of course not." More silence. "But you can't seriously think that medical professionals expect me to live with you and not want to fuck you? Like, that's not accurate."

You laughed as Rose stared back at you from her car seat. "It's not like I'm going to leave you hanging, Roo." But you honestly didn't know how you were expected to get your husband going when your body looked like it had been weirdly deflated. And when you were this tired. And when you had to take care of your baby without the help of a full staff of nurses. 

Bradley coasted carefully into the driveway and parked next to the red Bronco. In an instant, he had the back door open and was helping you down. He kissed you hard on the lips. "You never leave me hanging. Ever. But I'm not concerned about that right now." You wrapped your arms around his neck, and his lips ended up teasing your ear as he said, "Let's get Rosie inside. I've been dreaming about showing her around her nursery for months."

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

We have a Rosie. We have a DILF. We have a MILF. We have a godmother. We just need a godfather. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 17

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@marve2014

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Falling for the Sun in a Cold Empire || Kalim Al-Asim

You lose everything you've worked after getting transported to the novel that you read when you were a teenager after a freak accident. As the villainess.

It's time to rebuild yourself, one step at a time with a little help from Kalim Al-Asim, your betrothed.

This one isn't as silly as the rest, I hope y'all still like it

Series Masterlist

The bar was bustling with the lively sounds of clinking glasses, laughter, and music. It was the kind of place that invited camaraderie, a perfect spot for celebrating the latest success your team had pulled off. You were surrounded by your colleagues, all in high spirits. The project you had all worked tirelessly on had finally paid off, and the sense of accomplishment was almost palpable.

Someone had insisted on buying another round, and before you knew it, shots were being passed around. You weren't normally one to indulge too much, but tonight was an exception. After all the stress and sleepless nights, you deserved to relax a little.

“Cheers to us!” someone shouted, and everyone raised their glasses, laughter rippling through the group.

You smiled, genuinely feeling the warmth of the moment. There was something about the shared joy of victory that made the exhaustion worthwhile. You took a sip of your drink, eyes drifting across the room to see your colleagues—people who had become something like a second family over the months of grueling work.

But then you noticed one of your colleagues.

He looked like someone who’d already had a bit too much, was stumbling his way towards the exit, mumbling something about needing fresh air. His unsteady gait set off alarm bells in your mind, and without a second thought, you set your drink down and quickly followed after him.

“Hey!” you called out, catching up to him just as he pushed open the heavy door to the outside. The cool night air hit your face, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bar. “You okay, man? Maybe you should sit down for a bit.”

He waved you off, a lopsided grin on his face. “Nah, I’m fine! Just need… air,” he slurred, his steps veering towards the curb.

You frowned, reaching out to grab his arm gently. “Come on, let’s get you back inside. It’s not safe—”

Suddenly, he pulled away, stumbling further into the road. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The flash of headlights, the blaring horn, his eyes widening in confusion as the truck bore down on him.

Your body moved on instinct. Without thinking, you lunged forward, shoving your colleague out of the way. The last thing you heard was the deafening screech of tires, the rush of adrenaline flooding your veins as the realization hit.

There was no time to move.

The impact came with a force that stole your breath, pain radiating through your body before everything went dark.

The world faded away, the laughter and warmth of the bar replaced by an all-encompassing silence.

You woke up slowly, the world around you blurred and unfamiliar. There was an ache in your body, a heavy sort of weariness that made every small movement a struggle. You blinked, trying to clear your vision, your head pounding as if it was caught between a vice.

The first thing you noticed was the ceiling. It was wooden, beams running across it, the kind of architecture that seemed straight out of a period drama. You frowned, your eyes narrowing in confusion.

Where were you? This wasn’t the hospital—there were no sterile white walls, no beeping monitors. And the bed… It was hard, almost uncomfortably so, and you could feel the scratchy fabric of the sheets beneath you.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up, the unfamiliar weight of the clothes you were wearing making you pause. They were heavy, the fabric rough against your skin. You looked down, taking in the sight of the dress you were wearing—long, old-fashioned, and visibly worn. The sleeves were frayed, and the fabric itself looked like it had seen better days, like something out of a historical novel.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. The room around you was small, cramped, the furniture sparse and outdated. It was then that you noticed the mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. You stood, your legs shaky beneath you, and made your way towards it.

The face staring back at you wasn’t your own.

You swallowed, your heart thudding painfully in your chest as you took in the unfamiliar features—the pale skin, the hollow eyes, the face that looked almost gaunt. The realization settled in slowly, the pieces falling into place with a horrible sort of clarity. You knew this face. You knew these clothes, this room, the aching feeling that lingered in your chest.

It was the face of a character from a novel you had read as a teenager. A tragic, doomed villainess—one whose story had always stayed with you, not because of her actions but because of the injustice of it all. She was a character meant to suffer, her only role to push the heroine into her journey. She was used, discarded, her death nothing more than a footnote in the protagonist's story. The villainess with a cruel fate, a pawn in the hands of those more powerful, destined to be cast aside the moment her usefulness ran out.

You felt a chill settle in your bones, your body sinking back onto the edge of the bed as the weight of your new reality hit you. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t some fleeting nightmare you could wake up from. You were here—stuck in the body of a character whose life was nothing but misery.

Everything you had worked for—your career, your friendships, the life you had painstakingly built for yourself—was gone. All the late nights, the hard-earned successes, the laughter with friends over drinks—all of it was gone in an instant, replaced by a fate you wouldn’t wish on anyone.

The hopelessness of it all settled in, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. There was no future for this character, no way out. She was meant to suffer, to be used and discarded, and no matter how much you wanted to fight it, to believe that you could change it, a part of you knew the truth.

You were powerless here.

You buried your face in your hands, a shuddering breath escaping your lips. You wanted to cry, to scream, to demand answers. But there was no one here to answer you, no one who would care even if they could. You were alone, in a story that had already decided your fate.

The tragic villainess—the role you were now forced to play.

And you couldn’t help but feel the crushing weight of despair.

After coming to terms with your new reality, you made a decision. You couldn’t afford to be a passive character in this story, waiting for the inevitable to crush you. If you were going to live in this world, then you would fight for it, rewrite the narrative, and carve out a future for yourself—even if that meant playing a role that no one expected of you.

The first challenge came at home. The character you possessed had a father—a lazy, indifferent man who spent his days drinking, oblivious to the decay of his household. The family was in debt, the estate falling apart, and the few servants left were more interested in lining their pockets than doing their jobs. You took a deep breath, refusing to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the task. One step at a time.

You started with the estate. You reviewed the books, fired the corrupt staff who had been bleeding your family dry, and brought in trustworthy people to take their place. It wasn’t easy—there were threats, and more than a few people tried to intimidate you into silence. But you had faced challenges before in your old life, and even in this new one, you weren’t about to be cowed.

Slowly, things began to change. The estate began to recover, the debts lessened, and the people who worked for you started to believe in you. You gained a reputation—first as a shrewd manager, then as someone who could be relied on to get things done. You built relationships, carefully navigating the intricacies of this world’s social dynamics. It wasn’t long before the local nobles started to take notice.

Your father, indifferent and content with his habits, became less of an obstacle as you quietly took over the responsibilities of your household. You made connections, attended social events, and gradually climbed the ranks. It was exhausting, demanding work, but every success fueled your determination.

Then came the opportunity that changed everything. A crisis in the kingdom required volunteers, and you stepped forward—a move that shocked those around you. A woman, much less a former disgraced noble, didn’t typically take on such a role. But you had no intention of following the rules laid out for you. You worked hard, proving your capability on the battlefield, earning respect not only for your strategic mind but also for your courage.

Eventually, you were knighted—a Dame of the kingdom, an honor that would have seemed impossible not long ago. It was followed by an offer to serve as a general. You accepted, knowing that with power came the opportunity to change your fate and secure a future free from the shackles of the tragic story you had once read.

The war that came next was brutal. You spent months on the frontlines, leading your soldiers through grueling battles. The weight of command was heavy; lives depended on you, and the decisions you made could mean the difference between victory and death. But you faced it all with a determination forged from your past life, a refusal to be anything less than victorious. You strategized, fought alongside your troops, and inspired them to fight harder.

In the end, you won. The kingdom's enemies were driven back, and you returned home not as the villainess destined for tragedy but as a war hero. The people cheered as you passed through the streets, and for the first time since you arrived in this world, you felt something other than fear and despair. You had fought, you had survived, and you had won.

The nobles who had once looked down on you were forced to recognize your accomplishments, and the people who once whispered about your family’s disgrace now spoke of your triumphs. You had rewritten the story, taken a character destined for misery and given her a new path—one forged by your own hands.

But even in victory, you knew the dangers of complacency. The story was far from over, and though you had managed to change your fate thus far, there were still challenges ahead. The heroine of the original story had yet to make her appearance, and the narrative that had once doomed you was still a threat.

But for now, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe, to take in the sight of the city you had fought to protect. You had climbed higher than anyone had expected, and you were determined not to fall. You had built something new—something that was yours. And you would fight to keep it, no matter what came next.

But along the way, you’d lost something essential. The joy, the ambition, the passion that had once driven you was gone. You’d become cold, hardened by the betrayals you’d faced. Even the people closest to you turned out to be disloyal.

The most painful betrayal was from a soldier you had trusted with your life—someone you had fought beside in war. He had been leaking information to the enemy, and you were forced to execute him with your own hand. His treachery cut deeper than any wound you had suffered in battle.

Your butler, a kind old man who had become something of a father figure to you, noticed the change. He often tried to cheer you up, suggesting suitors and hosting lavish events, but none of it worked. The eligible bachelors and bachelorettes who came your way were only interested in your title and wealth, not you. You became cynical, distrustful, and your butler could only watch in sadness as the vibrant person you once were faded away.

It didn’t help that you had made powerful enemies. The first prince, who you had fought beside during the war, had proposed to you.

The grand hall of the imperial palace was buzzing with the energy of the noble elite, all gathered to witness the unprecedented moment. You stood at the forefront of the room, the golden imperial crest behind you shimmering in the light of hundreds of candles.

The emperor himself had just awarded you the title of Grand Duchess, a feat no woman had ever achieved before. The applause was thunderous, the murmurs of awe and envy swirling through the crowd like a current.

You stood tall, your posture regal, even though the weight of the moment pressed down on you like a heavy crown. You’d worked for years to get here, fighting both on the battlefield and in the political arena, your every victory hard-earned.

It should’ve been a moment of triumph. And yet, the expression on the emperor’s face, tight and thin-lipped, warned you that this celebration wasn’t going to end on a pleasant note.

Sure enough, the moment the formalities ended, the first prince took a step forward. His crimson military uniform was pristine, medals gleaming on his chest, but the shine didn’t reach his eyes. You’d fought beside him during the war, seen his cowardice firsthand, and his presence already had your stomach turning.

He cleared his throat, and the hall fell into silence. The crowd’s attention shifted to him, eyes wide with anticipation. A royal prince proposing to the empire’s new Grand Duchess? It was the kind of spectacle they lived for.

“Grand Duchess,” he began, his voice booming with the kind of arrogance that only a man born into power could possess, “your bravery and accomplishments have brought great honor to this empire. You have achieved more than any woman before you, and it would be my honor to have you by my side.”

You felt your blood run cold. Oh, you knew this was coming. It had been whispered through the halls of the palace since the day you returned from the front lines—the cowardly prince, had been seeking to marry you and elevate his own standing. You’d avoided it until now, but it seemed the time for subtlety was over. He had chosen this moment, in front of the entire nobility, to make his move.

The prince knelt before you, reaching into his pocket to produce a ring—a garish thing, oversized and glittering with a ridiculous number of diamonds. The kind of ring that screamed, look at me, I’m important, but utterly lacked any true beauty. He held it up to you, the crowd around you gasping in unison.

“I ask for your hand in marriage, Grand Duchess,” he declared, his voice filled with artificial charm. “Together, we will rule this empire as the most powerful couple in history.”

You stared down at him, your jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder you didn’t break a tooth. Your mind raced as you felt the weight of every eye in the room on you. They were waiting for you to swoon, to accept, to submit to the prince’s advances like some simpering debutante.

But you? You were no ordinary noblewoman, no pawn in the empire’s political games. You had fought for this title, bled for it, earned it in ways he could never understand. And there was no way in hell you were going to let yourself be reduced to a mere accessory to this man’s weak, cowardly ambition.

Taking a deep breath, you looked down at the prince—this spoiled, useless man who thought his status alone could make up for his lack of character—and something inside you snapped.

“Marry you?” you repeated, your voice clear and cold, echoing through the hall. The prince’s smile wavered, and murmurs began to ripple through the audience.

You stepped forward, your voice rising with a sharp edge. “You think I would ever marry someone like you? A man who cowered behind his soldiers in battle, who fled at the first sign of danger? A man who abandoned his comrades, left them to die while he ran to save his own skin?”

The crowd gasped, the sound a collective intake of shock. his face flushed with embarrassment, but you weren’t done.

“I would rather marry a toad,” you continued, your voice dripping with scorn, “than be tied to a man as spineless and pathetic as you.”

The hall fell into a stunned silence. the prince's face went from red to ashen, his hand still frozen in place, holding that absurd ring. He opened his mouth, sputtering, but no words came out. He hadn’t expected this—no one had.

You could feel the weight of the empire’s gaze on you, but it didn’t matter. You were no longer just the Grand Duchess. You were something far more dangerous: a woman who had the power to defy the expectations of an entire empire.

“You would do well,” you said, your voice dropping to a deadly calm, “to remember that I earned this title. Not by birthright. Not by marriage. But by merit. And I’ll be damned if I ever let someone like you take that from me.”

With that, you turned your back on him, the prince still kneeling, humiliated in front of the empire’s most powerful. The nobles around you stood in stunned silence, some daring to whisper amongst themselves, while others watched in awe, as if witnessing a force of nature in human form.

As you walked away from the proposal, your eyes met the emperor’s. His face was unreadable, but there was a glint in his eyes—a silent acknowledgment that you had just done something no one else would have dared. You had broken the rules of this world, and the repercussions would be felt for years to come.

But you didn’t care. You were done playing their games.

Let them try and tame you. You had made it this far on your own, and you weren’t about to let anyone—least of all a toad in princely clothing—stand in your way.

The day had started like any other—a grey, somber morning draped in the quiet monotony you had come to know. The Grand Duchess’s estate was immaculate, polished to perfection, reflecting the cold and unyielding nature of its owner.

You moved through the day with the same precision as ever, going through endless meetings, signing off on reports, handling political maneuvers with the finesse of a seasoned war general. Yet, beneath it all, the hollowness remained.

Until that afternoon.

A delegation from the Scalding Sands had arrived, their colorful caravans contrasting sharply with the muted grandeur of your estate. You had heard they were coming—a diplomatic mission of sorts—and while you didn’t expect much from it, the formalities had to be observed. It was part of your role now, after all.

You stood at the grand entrance, waiting as the doors swung open to reveal the visiting party. A small group of advisors and servants stepped in first, but then your eyes fell on the young man leading them.

Kalim Al-Asim, heir to the most prominent merchant family in the Scalding Sands.

Dressed in vibrant silks, Kalim practically radiated joy. His bright eyes shone with unfiltered excitement, and his smile was wide, carefree, as if he was about to greet an old friend instead of a war-hardened Duchess. His enthusiasm was…disarming, to say the least.

“Grand Duchess!” Kalim called out the moment he spotted you, practically bouncing as he approached. “It’s an honor to finally meet you! Your reputation precedes you—everyone’s been talking about how amazing you are!”

You blinked, taken aback by his unabashed warmth. No one had spoken to you like that in years—so casual, so genuine. Most nobles approached you with caution, fear even, carefully curating their words to avoid upsetting the ice-cold facade you’d been forced to build. But Kalim? He had no such hesitations.

You inclined your head, keeping your tone measured. “Lord Al-Asim, welcome to my estate. I trust your journey was smooth?”

“Oh, it was fantastic! The weather was perfect, and we got to see so many beautiful sights on the way here! Your countryside is amazing—so green! Nothing like back home.” He beamed at you, his energy practically infectious. “I brought some gifts too! We have spices, silks, and a bunch of other stuff from home that I think you’ll love.”

As he rattled off the list of things he brought, you found yourself…listening. Actually listening, instead of mechanically going through the motions. There was something about his unfiltered excitement that was strangely comforting. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to you like this, without calculation or hidden motives.

“I appreciate the thought,” you replied, a small flicker of something unfamiliar stirring in your chest. “I’ll have the servants take care of the gifts. Please, come inside.”

He entered the estate like a burst of sunlight, his presence immediately brightening the space. As the servants guided his entourage to their rooms, you walked alongside him, pointing out some of the estate’s features. Kalim seemed utterly fascinated by everything.

“Wow, this place is incredible!” Kalim exclaimed as they passed through the gallery. His eyes wandered over the portraits lining the walls, the tapestries depicting your family’s history. “It’s so different from back home. You must be so proud to live here.”

Pride? You hadn’t felt pride in anything for a long time. Your estate, your title—it was all just the result of relentless hard work, the endless climb to the top. But you had never stopped to admire it. To feel pride in what you’d built.

Still, you nodded, keeping your face composed. “It serves its purpose.”

Kalim gave you a curious glance. “You know, it sounds like you’re talking about a sword instead of your home.”

A sword. That’s what your life had been, hadn’t it? A weapon, sharp and unyielding, forged in battle, cutting down every obstacle in its path. But now, with Kalim’s innocent comment, you wondered—was that all it was?

Before you could respond, Kalim suddenly paused in front of one of the massive windows overlooking the gardens. The view was breathtaking, the autumn leaves casting the scene in warm, golden hues.

“Hey, look!” Kalim pointed excitedly. “Your garden! It’s so beautiful this time of year. Do you ever just sit out there and enjoy it?”

You blinked again. Enjoy it? The idea seemed foreign, almost absurd. But then, looking at Kalim’s wide, hopeful eyes, you found yourself saying, “No… I don’t.”

Kalim turned to you, that same sunny grin never leaving his face. “You should! I mean, you’ve worked so hard, right? You deserve to enjoy the little things too.”

His words caught you off guard. You’d forgotten what it felt like to enjoy anything.

But then, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a faint smile tugged at your lips. It was small, barely noticeable, but it was there.

The maids and butlers who had been quietly observing from the corners of the room nearly gasped. One of them—your head butler, who had served you since the day you first took over your family’s estate—actually dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, looking as though he might burst into tears.

“D-Duchess…!” one of the younger maids whispered, her voice filled with wonder. “She’s smiling…”

You caught sight of the butler’s reaction and, for a moment, you almost laughed. It was such a strange sight—your stoic, stern staff, so moved by something as simple as a smile.

Kalim noticed it too, tilting his head curiously. “Why’s everyone so emotional?”

You shook your head, a soft chuckle escaping before you could stop it. “I suppose they’re not used to seeing me… enjoy myself.”

Kalim’s grin widened, his eyes practically sparkling. “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to change that! It’s about time you had some fun, right?”

You didn’t answer right away, but for the first time in years, something inside you—something long buried under layers of responsibility, grief, and betrayal—began to stir.

Perhaps he was right.

Perhaps it was time for you to remember what it felt like to live again.

The grand ballroom was a sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits, filled with nobles and dignitaries who moved gracefully across the floor, their laughter and chatter blending with the soft music from the orchestra.

You stood at the edge of the room, as you always did during these events, keeping a careful distance from the festivities. These gatherings were necessary, of course—an unavoidable part of your role—but that didn’t mean you enjoyed them.

You took a sip of the champagne in your hand, your eyes scanning the room with practiced detachment. As always, you were observing—watching the faces, reading the subtle exchanges of power and influence happening between the guests.

The weight of your title hung heavy on your shoulders, a constant reminder of the responsibilities you bore. Even here, surrounded by laughter and music, you felt that familiar distance, the wall you had built around yourself growing ever higher.

It wasn’t until you noticed the flash of bright colors weaving through the crowd that your attention shifted. Kalim Al-Asim, as vibrant as ever, was making his way through the ballroom, greeting guests with his usual exuberance.

His silks shimmered in the soft candlelight, his wide grin impossible to miss. He moved with an ease that most nobles envied, free from the stifling formality that seemed to bind everyone else.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, his eyes found yours. His face lit up with recognition, and without hesitation, he started toward you.

“Oh, there you are!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement as he reached your side. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Isn’t this ball amazing? The music, the lights, the people—it’s all so lively!”

You gave him a polite nod, your usual reserved expression in place. “It’s certainly… lively.”

Kalim laughed, clearly not picking up on your lack of enthusiasm. “You’re always so serious! You should join in the fun, you know! This kind of thing doesn’t happen every day.”

Before you could respond, he held out his hand to you, his eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. “Dance with me!”

The request caught you off guard, and you instinctively took a step back, shaking your head. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t dance.”

Kalim tilted his head, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Come on! You can’t say no to a party like this! Everyone’s having such a good time—you should too.”

You opened your mouth to refuse again, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was no expectation, no hidden motive—just the same infectious joy he carried with him everywhere he went. And for a moment, you hesitated, feeling something stir inside you. When was the last time you’d allowed yourself to have fun? To do something as simple as dance?

Still, old habits were hard to break. “I’m not exactly one for dancing,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure.

But Kalim wasn’t deterred. “That’s okay! You don’t have to be good at it—you just have to enjoy it!” He took your hand, his grip warm and inviting. “Please? Just one dance?”

There was something so sincere in his request, so full of hope, that you found yourself nodding before you could think better of it.

Kalim’s face lit up with delight, and without wasting a moment, he led you out onto the dance floor. The room seemed to blur around you as he took your hand in his, guiding you into the rhythm of the music. His movements were far from graceful, but they were full of life, and you couldn’t help but be swept along by his energy.

At first, you were stiff, your posture as rigid as ever, but Kalim’s enthusiasm was contagious. He spun you around with such glee that you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, the sound surprising even to yourself. Kalim grinned at you, clearly thrilled that he had coaxed a smile from you.

“See? You’re already having fun!” he said brightly.

And he was right. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you weren’t thinking about the politics of the room, the weight of your title, or the endless responsibilities waiting for you. For this brief moment, you were just… dancing. Letting go. Enjoying yourself.

As the music swelled, Kalim twirled you again, his laughter mixing with the sounds of the ballroom. The two of you were out of step with the rest of the dancers, your movements more playful than elegant, but you didn’t care. Neither did Kalim. He didn’t care about appearances or expectations—he just wanted you to be happy, and for this one dance, you let him succeed.

Around you, the other guests had begun to notice. Whispers passed between them, astonished gazes following your every move. The Grand Duchess—stoic, untouchable—laughing and dancing with such abandon was something no one had ever expected to see. Your knights, stationed at the edge of the ballroom, exchanged incredulous glances, unable to believe what they were witnessing.

“She’s dancing…” one of them murmured, barely audible. “And she’s smiling.”

Your head butler, who had been hovering nearby as always, watched with misty eyes. “This… this is a day for the history books,” he whispered, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief.

You could feel their eyes on you, the shock rippling through the room, but for once, you didn’t care. In this moment, you allowed yourself to be free, to laugh, to dance, to let go of the weight that had been pressing down on you for so long.

As the song came to an end, Kalim pulled you into one final twirl, his grin as wide as ever. When the music stopped, you found yourself breathless but… lighter. For the first time in years, you felt a spark of something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Joy.

Kalim beamed at you, clearly proud of himself. “See? I told you it’d be fun!”

You shook your head, unable to stop the small smile that lingered on your lips. “You are… impossible, Kalim.”

He laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ll take that as a compliment!”

As you returned to your spot at the edge of the room, the music starting up again for the next dance, you realized that something had changed. Kalim had reminded you of something you had long forgotten—that it was okay to enjoy yourself. That even someone like you, burdened with the weight of leadership, could allow herself a moment of happiness.

And maybe, just maybe, you could allow yourself more moments like this.

The night after the ball had been long and arduous, and you were ready to retreat into the sanctuary of your chambers. The walls of your estate, which had once felt like a fortress, now felt suffocating as you tried to quiet the noise in your mind.

The forced smiles, the veiled threats, the insidious whispers among the nobility—they were all routine by now, but they weighed heavier tonight.

As you reached for the door to your private quarters, a sharp knock echoed through the hallway. One of your servants stepped forward, their face pale, eyes lowered in deference.

"The Emperor has summoned you, Grand Duchess."

Your fingers froze on the door handle. The Emperor? At this hour?

Though dread prickled at your skin, you squared your shoulders and strode down the hall toward the imperial throne room. The Emperor wasn’t one for idle conversation; this was bound to be more than a simple debrief after the ball.

The grand doors to the throne room loomed before you, and with a nod from the guards, they creaked open to reveal the Emperor seated on his throne. He was draped in the finest clothes, his presence radiating authority, but there was something sharper in his gaze tonight. The first prince, stood off to the side, arms crossed, a triumphant smirk barely hidden behind his princely facade.

You stepped into the room, head held high. You wouldn’t show weakness, not here. Not in front of them.

"Your Majesty," you greeted, voice steady.

The Emperor wasted no time. “Grand Duchess, tonight’s events have caused quite a stir.” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes hard as stone. “Your rejection of the First Prince in such a public manner has… complicated things.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a suffocating blanket. You clenched your fists but remained silent, waiting for him to reveal his true intention.

He sighed, a sound heavy with pretense. “The nobility is divided, and the Empire cannot afford instability. You have two choices before you.”

Your eyes flickered towards the first prince, who was barely containing his glee. You already knew what was coming.

“Marry the first prince and strengthen your position within the royal family.” The Emperor's voice was calm, deliberate. “Or, if that does not suit you…” He paused for effect, his gaze hardening as if daring you to defy him. “Marry Kalim Al-Asim and solidify our diplomatic alliance with the Scalding Sands.”

The room felt as though it had tilted. You knew this was coming, yet hearing the words spoken aloud felt like a slap across the face. “And if I refuse both?” you asked, voice colder than ice.

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. “Then I will have no choice but to imprison you for defying royal decree.” He leaned back into his throne, fingers tapping on the armrest. “You’ve served this empire well, but even you are not above the law.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, fury bubbling just beneath your skin. You, who had rebuilt "your" family’s estate, who had served the empire with every drop of blood and sweat you had to give—this was your reward? An ultimatum. Marry a prince who disgusted you, or chain yourself to Kalim, someone who was the antithesis of everything you had become.

You felt your lips curl into a grim smile. “So those are my choices. A cowardly prince or shackling Kalim to someone like me—a shell of a person who’s long forgotten how to live.” The bitterness in your voice was unmistakable.

Kalim, who had been standing nearby, watching the exchange, finally stepped forward. His face was still lit with that ever-present smile, though softer now, and he didn’t seem rattled in the slightest by the gravity of the situation. “I mean… I wouldn’t mind.”

You turned to him, incredulous. What?

Kalim laughed lightly, scratching the back of his head, his tone still as carefree as ever. “I’d be happy if it’s you. Really. Out of anyone in this empire, I’d rather be with someone strong and capable like you than some stranger who doesn’t even care.” His eyes were warm, completely sincere. There wasn’t a trace of fear or doubt in his words. “Plus, you’re pretty amazing! You’ve done so much for your estate, your people... I think you’re really cool!”

For a moment, just a brief moment, your raging heart stilled.

Kalim had no idea what kind of burden this marriage would be for him. You weren’t the person you once were. The years had hardened you, chipped away at the softness, leaving only the cold, sharp edges behind. Yet here he was, smiling, accepting the situation with an ease that made you wonder how he could be so unaffected.

You swallowed hard, your anger at the Emperor still simmering, but Kalim’s words had softened the blow. This wasn’t about him. He wasn’t the one forcing you into this corner. If anything, he was as much a pawn as you were.

But that didn’t mean you would accept this quietly.

You turned back to the Emperor, the cold fire in your eyes unmistakable. “Very well,” you said, voice calm but laced with venom. “I’ll marry Kalim if that is what you demand.” You took a step forward, your gaze piercing through the Emperor. “But rest assured, Your Majesty, this humiliation will not go unanswered. I may be bound by your decree, but you will regret underestimating me.”

The Emperor raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but unimpressed. “Is that a threat, Grand Duchess?”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “A promise.”

With that, you turned on your heel, your decision made. Kalim followed you without hesitation, his steps light and unburdened.

And as you left the imperial throne room, you couldn’t help but glance at him from the corner of your eye. Kalim was smiling still, bright and carefree, as if nothing had changed.

Maybe—just maybe—you would survive this ordeal with a little less bitterness than you’d expected.

But the Emperor? He wouldn’t escape unscathed. You would make sure of that.

The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of your manor, casting a warm, golden light across the room as you stood in the foyer. Kalim’s people from the Scalding Sands were preparing to depart, their vibrant, colorful robes a stark contrast to the colder tones of your estate.

You watched as they bustled about, gathering their things, saying their goodbyes, and it was a strange feeling—this sudden departure of the warmth they had brought with them.

Kalim was chatting excitedly with his entourage, gesturing wildly as he recounted some tale or another. His boundless energy had not dulled, despite the situation. You wondered how someone could remain so cheerful even in the face of such an uncertain future.

One of the senior members of Kalim’s delegation approached you, bowing deeply. “Grand Duchess, we are honored by your hospitality and your graciousness in this… unexpected engagement.” He glanced at Kalim with a fond, yet slightly exasperated look. “But our duties call us back to the Scalding Sands. We regret we cannot stay longer.”

You nodded, your expression softening slightly. “You are always welcome to stay in my manor for as long as you like. Consider it an apology for the empire’s… difficult circumstances.” The words didn’t come easily, but you meant them. You hadn’t missed how awkward the situation was for them—dragged into imperial politics without much say in the matter.

The advisor looked touched, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he bowed even deeper. “Your kindness is greatly appreciated, Grand Duchess. But, alas, we must return. We have duties to fulfill back home. Our people rely on us.”

You nodded in understanding, casting a glance at Kalim, who was still busy waving goodbye to his people. “I understand. Do what you must.”

The group finished their farewells and began filing out of the estate, leaving only one person behind—Jamil, Kalim’s loyal aide, who stood with his arms crossed, looking as calm and composed as ever.

Kalim turned to you with his usual bright smile, waving at his departing entourage. “Looks like it’s just us now!”

“And Jamil,” you added dryly.

Jamil gave a polite nod. “Of course, Grand Duchess. I will remain at Kalim’s side as always.”

You offered Jamil a brief nod before turning your attention back to Kalim. “I hope the manor is to your liking. It will likely feel different without your people around.”

Kalim beamed, completely unfazed. “Are you kidding? This place is amazing! Plus, I’ve made some new friends already.”

You raised an eyebrow. “New friends?”

At that moment, the door to the kitchen swung open, and a trio of your staff—two maids and your head butler—rushed into the room, their arms filled with notepads. They hovered around Kalim, their expressions a mix of admiration and excitement.

“Lord Al-Asim,” one of the maids began eagerly, “could you tell us again how you made the Grand Duchess laugh yesterday? We’d like to take notes.”

Kalim’s face lit up even more, if that was possible. “Oh, sure! So, I was just talking about how much I love riding on magic carpets and how one time, I almost flew straight into a flock of flamingos. You should’ve seen the feathers everywhere!” He burst into laughter, and the staff furiously scribbled in their notepads.

You stood there, blinking, utterly dumbfounded. You knew Kalim had a way of getting people to like him, but this? This was something else. You caught sight of your head butler, who was listening intently, nodding along as if Kalim were revealing some great secret to unlocking your happiness.

Kalim, noticing your expression, turned toward you with a huge grin. “See? I told you! They’re really interested in learning how to make you smile more!”

You couldn’t help it—a soft laugh escaped your lips. It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Your estate, so accustomed to the stoic and rigid demeanor you carried, was now filled with your maids and butlers eagerly taking tips from a young merchant heir about how to bring joy into your life.

Your head butler gasped at the sound of your laugh, immediately dabbing at his eyes with his handkerchief. “The Grand Duchess… she laughed again!” His voice quivered with emotion, and the younger maid next to him looked ready to burst into tears as well.

This time, you couldn’t stop yourself. You laughed—genuinely, fully, for the first time in what felt like years. The absurdity of it all, the sight of your normally stone-faced butler shedding tears of joy over something so simple, was too much.

Kalim, of course, laughed along with you, completely at ease. “See? It’s not so hard!”

You shook your head, still chuckling as you looked at him. “You’re impossible, Kalim.”

He grinned, clearly proud of himself. “Hey, as long as you’re smiling, I’m doing something right!”

You glanced over at your butler, who was now openly weeping into his handkerchief. “Please, calm down. You’re making a scene.”

But the butler only waved a hand dramatically, unable to compose himself. “It is… a joy to witness such a thing, Grand Duchess. A joy I never thought I would see in my lifetime.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile lingered on your lips. “Honestly…”

Kalim, still grinning from ear to ear, looked at you with a warmth that, for just a moment, eased the tension that had been building in your chest since the engagement was announced. Though the situation was far from ideal, and though you still had plans to make the Emperor regret his actions, Kalim’s presence—his boundless energy and optimism—was like a ray of sunlight breaking through the storm clouds that had surrounded you for so long.

And maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

<hr>

The bustling market was alive with the sights and sounds of your people going about their day—vendors calling out their wares, children running between the stalls, the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meats filling the air. It had been years since you last visited the market like this, blending in with the common folk, and you were struck by how much had changed since you were younger. The town had grown, thriving under your rule, and though you were always kept informed of the state of your territory, seeing it firsthand was a different experience altogether.

Beside you, Kalim was practically vibrating with excitement. His eyes sparkled as he took in the vibrant displays of food, crafts, and goods, his smile as wide as ever. “Wow! This place is amazing! Look at all these stalls!” He dashed ahead, marveling at the colorful array of goods, his enthusiasm as infectious as ever.

You couldn’t help but smile at his energy, though you maintained your usual composed demeanor. “This market is one of the oldest in the region. It’s a center of trade, and many of the local families have been running their stalls for generations.”

Kalim turned to you, eyes bright with admiration. “Your people look so happy! I knew you were an amazing ruler, but seeing this with my own eyes? It’s incredible! You’ve built something really special here.”

There was a warmth in his words that caught you off guard, and for a moment, you found yourself lost in thought. You had always worked hard for your people, but you rarely took the time to reflect on how much you had accomplished. Hearing it from someone like Kalim—someone who was so honest and open in his praise—made it feel different, more personal.

He suddenly grabbed your hand, pulling you toward a food stall where a vendor was grilling skewers of seasoned meat. “Hey, we’ve gotta try some of this!” Kalim exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. “It smells so good!”

The vendor, a stout older man with a friendly smile, bowed as he recognized you. “Grand Duchess! It is an honor to serve you today. Would you like to try one of our specialties?”

You nodded, taking in the scent of the sizzling food. “I’ll have two, please.”

The vendor handed you two skewers, and you turned to Kalim, offering him one. “Here, try this.”

Without a second thought, Kalim leaned in and took a bite right from the skewer you were holding, grinning up at you as he chewed. “Mmm! This is delicious!” His face lit up in delight, and he barely waited to swallow before he added, “You have to try some too!”

Before you could react, Kalim held his own skewer up to you, expecting you to do the same. The casualness of the gesture—the ease with which he shared his food—made you pause. It had been so long since anyone had treated you like this, without the usual formality or hesitation. Almost on instinct, you leaned in and took a small bite.

The flavor was rich, the spices perfectly balanced, but it wasn’t the food that had your attention. No, it was the way Kalim was watching you, his expression full of warmth and joy, as if this simple moment meant the world to him.

Your face warmed slightly, and before you could stop yourself, you realized you were blushing.

Behind you, you heard a sharp intake of breath from one of your knights, who had been quietly trailing after you. “Did… did the Grand Duchess just blush?” one of them whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with astonishment.

Another knight, equally stunned, gasped. “She did! I saw it! She actually blushed!”

You turned to glare at your knights, trying to regain your composure. “Enough,” you said sharply, though your flustered tone betrayed you. “Focus on your duties.”

But your knights were having none of it. One of them, a young woman with a mischievous glint in her eye, exchanged glances with her comrades before whispering, “Did you see how casual she was with him? They’re feeding each other like a couple!”

Another knight, eyes wide with excitement, chimed in. “I can’t believe this! The Grand Duchess… flustered by her fiancé? It’s like we’re in a romance novel!”

You shot them another look, but Kalim, completely oblivious to the whispers and side glances, just laughed, offering you more of his skewer. “Here, have some more! You look like you liked it!”

Your heart raced at the simple, kind gesture, and though you wanted to maintain your icy composure, something about Kalim’s sincerity made it impossible to stay guarded. You took another bite, feeling your face grow even warmer as your knights barely contained their squeals of excitement.

One of the senior knights, trying to remain composed but failing miserably, muttered, “This is the happiest I’ve ever seen her. Lord Al-Asim is working miracles.”

“I know!” another knight whispered excitedly. “We should take notes! Maybe we can keep her in a good mood if we learn from him.”

The absurdity of it all—the idea of your battle-hardened knights taking pointers from Kalim on how to make you smile—was too much. You couldn’t help it; a soft, genuine laugh escaped your lips.

You sighed, shaking your head as Kalim smiled up at you, completely unaware of the chaos he had just caused. “You really are impossible, Kalim.”

Kalim grinned, completely at ease. “Hey, as long as you’re happy, I’m doing something right!”

For the first time in a long while, surrounded by the people you’d worked so hard to protect and with Kalim at your side, you felt a genuine lightness in your heart. Maybe this wasn’t the life you had planned, but for now, in this moment, it didn’t seem so bad.

From the moment Kalim Al-Asim first stepped into your estate, he could feel the weight of the world pressing down on you. It wasn’t something you said or did—if anything, you were composed, graceful, carrying yourself with the kind of authority that made people hesitate before speaking to you.

No, it was something deeper, something in the way your shoulders were always so tense, the way your eyes seemed to hold a kind of tiredness that went beyond just physical exhaustion.

Kalim wasn’t blind to his own shortcomings. He wasn’t the smartest guy—he knew that. He’d been told as much more times than he could count. People often saw him as naive, too happy-go-lucky for the responsibilities placed on his shoulders.

That’s what Jamil was for, after all, to cover for his inadequacies and ensure that things went smoothly. Kalim didn’t mind. He trusted Jamil more than anyone, and he knew his limits.

But when he met you, something shifted inside him.

At first, it was just awe. You were the Grand Duchess, after all—the person everyone talked about. A ruler who had risen to power not by birthright but through sheer will and skill.

You had this aura of strength around you, like a shield. But Kalim could see the cracks in that armor, the way the weight of your responsibilities was crushing you, little by little. And it hurt to see.

He’d expected you to be cold, maybe even harsh, like so many nobles who carried the weight of authority. But when you greeted him, your voice wasn’t harsh—it was gentle. There was pressure behind it, sure, but you didn’t snap at him or dismiss his excitement, even though he knew people often found him a bit too much.

Instead, you listened to him. You smiled—a small, almost invisible one—but it was there, and it lit something inside him. A flutter he didn’t quite know how to describe.

It was when you smiled for him for the first time that he really felt it. That small, faint curve of your lips after he’d gotten a little too excited about something as simple as a window view of your garden. The flutter in his chest was unfamiliar, but he didn’t dislike it. No, in fact, it felt… nice. Special.

Kalim couldn’t help but want to make you smile again.

He’d seen so many people forced into roles that didn’t let them be happy, and he hated that you seemed to be one of them. You were strong, yeah, but you were suffering, too. And that was something Kalim couldn’t stand. So, from that moment on, he made it a personal goal to lighten the weight on your shoulders, even if just a little.

He didn’t have Jamil’s cleverness, didn’t understand the nuances of the political games you were constantly playing, but maybe—just maybe—he could give you something simple. A reminder that life wasn’t just about duty and responsibility, that there could be joy, too. If anyone deserved to smile more, it was you.

And when you did, that tiny flutter in his chest bloomed into something more. He didn’t have the words for it, but whatever it was, it made him even more determined to stick by your side.

Because in the end, Kalim Al-Asim wasn’t the smartest, but he knew one thing for sure: he liked making you happy. And if he could do that, even in the smallest ways, then maybe that was enough.

The wedding had been a grand affair—briefly mentioned in conversations, a formality that had swept through the palace in a whirlwind of silks, flowers, and the astonished murmurs of nobles. Now, life had settled into its new rhythm. The days moved forward, filled with work and the familiar weight of duty, yet something had shifted. Something brighter.

You sat at your desk, papers spread out in front of you, quill in hand. The room was quiet, save for the soft scratching of pen on parchment. But then, a familiar burst of energy entered the room.

Kalim.

He bounded over to you, practically glowing with life, as always. His smile was wide, his eyes gleaming as he plopped down beside you, legs crossed, hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

“Hey, what’re you working on? Anything exciting? You should take a break—you’ve been at it for hours!” His words bubbled up, his excitement palpable.

You glanced up from your work, unable to suppress the smallest of smiles. Kalim had that effect—an infectious lightness that made everything around him feel… easier. As he leaned closer to peer at your papers, you felt the warmth of his presence, the joy that radiated from him in every small movement.

And then, it hit you.

The past few months, since you had arrived in this world, had been the best you could remember. Despite everything—despite the weight of your responsibilities, the confusion of your new life—there had been him. Kalim, always there with his endless enthusiasm, his unwavering kindness. He was the reason those months had been so full of life, so unexpectedly joyful.

Without thinking, you reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling him down onto your lap. His laughter bubbled up in surprise as you tugged him into your space, but before he could say anything, you leaned in and kissed him.

For a moment, the world stilled. His lips were soft, warm against yours, and you could feel the surprised smile lingering there, slowly deepening as he kissed you back, his hands resting gently on your shoulders.

When you pulled back, his eyes sparkled, his grin wider than ever.

“Well, that was unexpected!” he laughed, his cheeks flushed. “I should interrupt your work more often!”

The chaos hit you the moment you opened the door.

Papers were scattered everywhere, an overturned chair lay dramatically in the corner, and somehow, somehow, Kalim had managed to knock over an entire shelf of books, which now covered the floor in what could only be described as a literary avalanche.

In the center of it all was Kalim himself, spinning wildly in circles as he tried to catch a parrot—yes, a parrot—that was squawking and flapping around the room like it had a personal vendetta against order.

"Oh! You're back!" Kalim shouted, not missing a beat as he stumbled over a pile of papers, arms flailing as the parrot swooped low above his head. "You wouldn’t believe it—Jamil said not to bring the bird in, but I thought, 'Hey, it’ll liven things up!' And now it’s really livening things up!"

The parrot screeched in agreement, swooping low again as Kalim tried (and failed) to dodge it, knocking into another pile of books in the process.

You just stood there, blinking, trying to comprehend the sheer absurdity of what you were seeing. Your instinct—your usual instinct—would have been to explode, to demand why Kalim had brought a parrot into your office and created a scene worthy of a disaster movie.

But then Kalim turned toward you, still laughing despite the madness, his eyes bright with excitement and joy. He looked so happy, so full of life, and that grin—oh, that ridiculous, infectious grin—just melted away any irritation you might’ve felt.

You sighed, half-amused, half-exasperated, but completely smitten.

"Why did you bring a parrot in here, Kalim?" you asked, not really expecting a logical answer.

"I thought it could help!" he said earnestly, ducking again as the parrot flapped by. "You know, for moral support! But I think it’s mad about the crackers I gave it—they weren’t the fancy ones."

Despite yourself, you snorted a laugh. Fancy crackers for a parrot. Of course.

Shaking your head, you rolled up your sleeves and waded into the chaos. "Alright," you said with a sigh, "how do we calm this thing down?"

"I knew you'd help!" Kalim beamed, his grin wider than ever as he accidentally knocked over another stack of books while trying to reach for the bird. "You’re the best!"

And just like that, any frustration you might’ve felt disappeared. It was impossible to stay mad when Kalim was around, when he looked at you like that, his smile brighter than the chaos surrounding you.

Sure, you should’ve been irritated—you definitely should’ve scolded him—but the truth was, you didn’t care. Not when you liked seeing him happy like this.

The parrot screeched again, now perched on top of the chandelier, and you looked at Kalim, who was already planning his next attempt to capture it, enthusiasm never wavering.

"Alright," you muttered with a smirk, "let’s catch a parrot."

Because really, with Kalim, how could you say no?

The council chamber was as dull as ever. Endless discussions, arguments over treaties and trade, and the first prince droning on with his overinflated sense of importance. Once, you would have gritted your teeth and endured it, forcing yourself to care because you had to—because that was what duty demanded.

But now, with Kalim beside you, the air felt lighter. His presence added a quiet warmth, even in this room filled with scheming nobles and stifling protocol.

You caught Kalim sneaking glances at you, barely containing his grin, and he leaned in, whispering, “Do you think they’d notice if we snuck out? I saw this really nice restaurant on the way.”

You smothered a laugh, turning your gaze downward. You’d never dreamed you could feel such joy during these dreary meetings, but here you were, caught in this bubble with him, like the two of you were the only people in the room. His happiness became your own, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

The first prince’s voice faltered, his expression darkening as he noticed the soft smile you were trying to hide. Anger sparked in his eyes, a sharp glint of resentment as he realized his plans to manipulate you had come to nothing. He looked at you and Kalim as if he were staring at an infuriating puzzle—one that needed to be destroyed.

That night, after a grueling day of meetings, you made your way to your chambers. The hallways were quiet, and the familiar comforts of your estate filled you with calm, but something felt off. Shadows stretched where they shouldn’t, moving unnaturally, as if they had a life of their own. Your instincts kicked in, and you quickened your pace.

You reached your shared bedroom, a flicker of movement catching your eye. There, in the corner, figures clad in dark robes converged around Kalim. His eyes widened, but before he could react, you lunged forward, fury blazing in your veins.

You fought them off with nothing but raw strength and sheer will, each blow desperate and ferocious. They struck at you, blades glinting, and you felt pain slice across your skin, but you refused to yield, refusing to let them get anywhere near him.

At last, the final attacker crumpled to the floor. You staggered, blood staining your clothes, the pain seeping into every limb, but Kalim’s arms were already there, catching you before you could fall.

His expression was uncharacteristically serious, his cheerful demeanor replaced by something sharp, regal—a reminder that he was no mere boy in love but the heir of a powerful family.

The doctor arrived, working quickly, and once you were settled in bed, Kalim took a seat beside you. His gaze was steady, intense, and for the first time, you saw the weight of responsibility in his eyes, the silent authority he usually kept hidden beneath layers of laughter and joy.

“Why did you fight them alone?” he asked quietly, his hand reaching to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You didn’t have to—”

You shook your head, a faint smile pulling at your lips. “Because no one hurts you. Not while I’m here.”

His hand stilled, and a flicker of pain crossed his face. “I didn’t have to stay, you know.” His voice was soft but firm, carrying the weight of a decision made long ago. “I’m not tied to this empire. My family’s influence is vast; we don’t need anyone’s approval. But I stayed… because I like being here with you. Because I…” His voice faltered, but his gaze held yours. “Because I love you.”

Kalim’s hand clasped yours, his fingers warm and steady. “The Scalding Sands will manage without this empire. And this place… it doesn’t deserve you. Not when it has hurt you like this.” His voice grew colder, a tone you’d never heard from him before. “Let it fall apart, for all I care. I’m done watching it drain the life out of you.”

For a long moment, you lay there, absorbing the enormity of his words. A world without the burden of duty, free from the endless cycles of treachery and expectation. And Kalim beside you, offering not just escape, but freedom, and a life filled with joy.

A soft laugh escaped you, surprising even yourself. “I don’t care if the empire crashes and burns,” you murmured, your hand tightening around his. “I don’t care about any of it. I just want you.”

Kalim’s eyes softened, and he leaned down, his lips brushing gently against yours. The kiss was slow, tender, and filled with a promise of a new beginning. It was a moment that felt like the closing of one life and the opening of another, a vow sealed with warmth and certainty.

You both pulled back, breathless but smiling, a new, shared future blooming between you. And when you finally closed your eyes, your hand still in his, you knew you’d face whatever came next together, no matter where it led.

The final ball was as grand as ever, the ballroom filled with nobles dressed in the finest silks and jewels, their laughter and chatter a thin veil over the ever-present tension in the room.

You entered with Kalim by your side, the weight of what you were about to do settling over you like armor. The empire had always been a battlefield for you, but tonight… tonight, you were walking away from it all.

At the far end of the ballroom, the Emperor sat on his gilded throne, the golden imperial crest looming behind him. His eyes scanned the room lazily, but you could see the calculation in his gaze. Beside him stood the First Prince, his eyes narrowing at you the moment you entered. His jaw clenched, the flicker of rage barely contained beneath the surface.

You weren’t here to dance, though. No, tonight was about setting yourself free.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped into the center of the ballroom, Kalim’s presence a comforting warmth beside you. The chatter died down almost instantly, and all eyes turned toward you. Whispers spread like wildfire through the crowd—what was the Grand Duchess planning now?

You gave them no time to speculate.

“Your Majesty,” you called out, your voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs. “I stand before you one last time to say this: I will no longer serve this Empire.”

The room fell into stunned silence, gasps echoing off the walls. The Emperor’s eyes darkened, his hand gripping the armrest of his throne tightly, but you didn’t stop.

“Your empire,” you continued, your voice rising, “is built on the backs of people far better than you. You are a rotten king. You speak of honor and glory, but all you do is send others to die for your own ambition. I bled for this empire, fought your wars, won your battles, and for what? So you could sit on your throne, pretending to be a ruler when you’re nothing but a coward hiding behind false titles?”

The nobles gasped again, their shock palpable. No one had ever spoken to the Emperor like this.

“And you,” you snapped, turning toward the First Prince, your eyes blazing. “You—who ordered the assassination of my husband because I rejected you—are even worse. A spineless coward with nothing to back your ego. You hide behind your father’s power, hoping that killing the man I love will somehow make me regret not choosing you. But I could never love someone as weak as you. You are pathetic.”

His face turned an ugly shade of red, his hand twitching toward the sword at his side, but you weren’t afraid. You had seen what he was capable of—nothing.

The Emperor finally spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “You dare insult your emperor, the man who gave you your title?”

“I earned my title,” you snapped, stepping forward. “I didn’t need your permission or your favor to become who I am. You gave me nothing that I didn’t take for myself. And I’ll tell you this—I will never fight another war for someone as revolting as you.”

The Emperor’s mask of indifference cracked, his eyes blazing with fury, but behind it, you could see the desperation. He needed you. The Empire needed you. They couldn’t afford to lose you.

He leaned forward, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. “What do you want? Wealth? Power? I’ll give you anything. Just don’t walk away.”

You almost laughed at the irony of it—this man who had always acted like you were disposable, now begging you to stay.

But you didn’t need his power. You didn’t need his wealth. You glanced at Kalim, who stood beside you with that same warmth, that same unshakable love in his eyes. And in that moment, you knew exactly what you wanted.

“Kalim is enough,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “I don’t need anything from you.”

With that, you turned on your heel, not sparing the Emperor or his pathetic son another glance. Kalim followed without question, his hand finding yours as you walked out of the ballroom, your loyal knights, butler, and maids falling in step behind you.

You could hear the stunned whispers of the nobles behind you, their shock hanging in the air like a tangible thing, but you didn’t care. You had walked away from the Empire, from its corruption, from its endless, soul-sucking games.

And now? Now, you were free.

As the cool night air hit your face, Kalim squeezed your hand, his bright smile lighting up the darkness. “So,” he said, his voice filled with excitement, “where should we go first on our adventure?”

You laughed softly, feeling lighter than you had in years. “Anywhere. Everywhere. As long as it’s with you.”

And with that, you ran. Away from the Empire, away from the pain of your past, toward a future filled with love, adventure, and endless possibilities.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you were truly happy.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

[fernandopiastri28]

lick it up ~ lando norris x reader

warnings: drinking, smut, pwp, angst 😬 mdni!

Lando Norris- known manwhore. When he's not in his car going 350 km/h, he chases that thrill in other things in life. Designer items, drinks, parties- women. But there's only one thing that he really wants, he craves her love- his bestfriend.

She felt a pair of sturdy arms wrap around her waist, almost suffocatingly tight. It made it hard to breathe, the paining sensation only increased by the already constricted airflow inside the crowded club. “Lan?” She murmured, her head turning each way in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her best friend. She felt woozy due to the alcohol seeping through her system and she really didn’t need to deal with an over insistent man who believed he had the privilege to her body in her current state.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Lando’s chin rested against her shoulder, his hot breath tickling her neck. Those were his arms around her, holding her body closer to him then anything surrounding the pair. “I’m here,” One of his hands travelled up to her hair, his fingers gliding through her frizzing hair. “Don’t worry,”

Sure, Lando was a naturally affectionate person, often insisting on hugging as a greeting and goodbye, or resting his head on the shoulder of absolutely anyone who was near him. He liked touch, saw it as the easiest way he could express his caring and love for others. But drunk him was another level- hands anywhere he could get them, face buried into their shoulder or neck. 

“Lan, you’re really drunk,” She giggled, pushing her slight anxiety down to her stomach as his lips started moving aimlessly against her neck. He wasn’t quite kissing there, but only because he was moving too quickly to be able to actually press his lips to a single spot. 

He grumbled, dissatisfied with her comment. “So? You are too,” Lando was sounding pissy already which only usually happened later into the night. By this point, he was usually going to go seek off some other girl to spend the night with who would fawn over his every move and beg for more.

Her head tilted back, resting against his chest slightly, “I am,” A grin played across her lips, forcing his grimace to transition into a smirk, his eyes full of pure adrenaline without a single thought behind them. “Not as much as you though,”

A nod of agreeance came from him, his hands idly moving up and down on her waist, settling on her hips for a few seconds as her body continued to aimlessly sway along with the music. “It’s difficult to be more drunk than I am- especially since you’re such a heavy weight,”

It was true, and something that Lando was incredibly envious of. He wanted her ability to pour endless drinks down her mouth, consuming absolutely anything she wanted at once and manage to feel perfectly fine the next morning, while he would find himself with a throbbing headache, next to a girl he couldn’t remember the name of. Maybe he’d never asked her though.

“Or maybe you’ve just drunk more,” She dragged a finger along his cheek. Even if she didn’t show it as much, she was certainly feeling very drunk. For once, she wanted to be like Lando, feel like him. She craved his complete confidence and how he would feel as if he was on top of the world each time a drop of alcohol entered his system.

Maybe tonight she’d finally score a man to bring home, be the one to tell Lando all about her most recent hookup instead of always being on the receiving end of hearing it from him.

But at least for right now, all of his attention was on her. He looked at her like she was one of the girls he’d want for even just a night, instead of the one he left behind each time they’d planned to go out together.

She knew full well that the way Lando treated his one night stands was far from something that she should be dreaming about almost nightly, to be the girl that woke up to the sight of Lando’s peaceful sleepy face, his dark lashes fluttering over his cheeks and his unruly curls- but she knew a different side of him. The one that was loving, that cared. The side of him that would talk in the highest of praise about the girls he did really like, and how he never once spoke ill of someone to her.  

He was different then how he came across, she knew that.

He held a bottle of some blue liquid, the spout of it resting against his bottom lip. She ogled up at him, her eyes wide and pupils huge. “Hello,” He grinned, laughing at her dopey upside down expression as she leaned against him. “You’re smiley tonight,” He teased, his hand wrapping tighter around her stomach to keep her up.

“I am smiley,” A deep sigh left her chest, her cheeks beginning to hurt from how wide her smile was stretching out. “I like your face,” She mumbled out, each syllable oozing into the next. “It’s a good face- a true one at that,” Her body wasn’t used to this much alcohol, and she was feeling any kind of shame melting away and just a desperate need to be completely honest. 

A rosy flush was almost definitely covering her face at this point, given how hot it felt to the touch. “I like your face too,” He smiled, his nose nudging against her forehead. It felt unexplainable, like a thousand bolts of lightning crashing into her all at once. “It’s pretty cute,” His thumb swiped along her chin, nudging it open so he could place the finish of his bottle inside her mouth, the glass heavy on her bottom teeth.

He tilted it up, letting it run over her tongue and pool up inside her mouth. It was near sickening sweet, likely what his mouth tasted like given how much he’d already drunk the majority of it. “Good,” Two of his fingers tapped her chin again, his other fingers clasping the neck of the bottle so it didn’t drop. She shut her mouth, swallowing awkwardly due to the angle her head was at. 

Once her mouth was empty again, her lips parted, her eyes moving up further to where the whites underneath her iris’ were even more visible. “More?’ She mumbled, her back shifting back unconsciously to steady herself against him. He granted her wish, keeping her mouth open as he hooked his two fingers over her bottom teeth as more alcohol spilt into her mouth.

“Fucking hell,” He hissed, his pink tongue darting out between his teeth in concentration. Their eyes refused to move and break contact, tension just building the longer the moment lasted. “You’re so fucking hot doing that,”

Her body got hotter at the praise, her mind short circuiting and essentially spilling out of her ears. “You’re sexy,” Her lips wrapped around the bottle, suckling on it gently as the final few drops spilt onto her tongue. 

He went silent, his eyes darting across her face as a way to memorise each curvature and feature complete. He wanted to engrave this moment into his mind for the rest of time. The bottle slid down her mouth further, her lips pursing and stretching thinner around the thickness. His mouth dropped open ever so slightly, his eyes near bulging out of his head at the erotic sight.

He was hard, undoubtedly. His arousal pressed against her ass where her dress clung tightly around. He grinded against her, desperate for some sense of contact and pressure against his ache. “ Baby ,” He whined into her neck, pulling the bottle away from her mouth to rest it against some table.  

Her heart pounded harder in her chest, feeling like it could explode at any given moment. The mix of the nickname, the desperation in his voice, the way his crotch was rubbing straight against her. “ Lan ,” She moaned, turning around so her chest was pressed against his, the silk fabric of his button up gliding against her exposed skin. “Please,” Her voice cracked with straight need.

“Please what ?” His hand settled into place against her jawline, his palm flush with the front of her neck, the slightest pressure against it. He knew what she wanted, both of their intentions so crystal clear, but he wanted to hear her say it- needed it.

“Kiss me,” Her voice was so fucking weak at that point, her expression completely wanton and eager for him. His eyes went straight to her lips where a glossy whine of the remaining alcohol coated them, making them even more red and wetter. The grip his hand had on her jaw tightened, putting her head into the perfect position for him.

His mouth moved against hers quickly, her bottom lip slotting in between hers in an almost practised manner. Her mouth parted, his tongue slipping inside the warm emptiness within seconds. Moans from her spilt into his mouth, the vibrating sensation going straight to his dick, somehow getting even harder with each movement she made against him.

One of her hands trailed up to his hair, tugging on his curls. They were so delicate in between her fingers, perfect coils wrapping around each digit. Her other hand snuck up under his shirt, the back of her hand brushing against the soft silk while her palm and finger tips explored his hardened abs. 

“More,” She begged, her nose nudging against his as their lips finally broke away. His breathing was heavy, laboured almost. Their bodies were still resting flush against each other as his left hand sat heavily on her ass, squeezing it, while his other remained cupping her face. 

“What do you want, gorgeous?” His voice was lower, breathless from making out for so long. He’d tipped his head down, his mouth close to her ear. There were so many things she wanted- she wanted to kiss more, she wanted to feel his tongue all around her mouth, she wanted to taste him, she really wanted to fix the ache in between her legs.

So with not even half her brain working to put together a proper cohesive sentence, she mumbled out the first thing that came to mind, “ Hotel ,”. Whether it was her hotel or his wasn’t important, all that mattered was for them to have a private room to stay up all night together in private. Because despite how at this point she could probably be convinced to drop down onto her knees and suck his cock right then and there without much effort from the brit- it wouldn’t look too good for an f1 driver to be receiving a blowjob in a random club in Singapore. 

Maybe his one would be nicer on the other hand, a Formula one driver would likely have been supplied a higher star hotel then some girl in law school using her own money to pay.

With one swift move, each of her legs were on either side of his waist, her thighs bracketing his hips to keep herself up. One of his arms snaked around her waist for stability as he navigated his way out of the club, avoiding anyone who was clearly trying to approach him for either a photo or an autograph. 

She buried her face in the collar of his shirt, one of her hands trying to cover her face in a last chance attempt to conceal her identity in case anyone had been filming. It was something she should’ve considered before they started making out, but she couldn’t change the past now.

The humid Singaporean air struck them the second they pushed past the entrance doors. A thin sheen of sweat collected on the back of Lando’s neck, but she was unaffected. Singapore was a consistent visit of hers so she’d become accustomed to the near unbearable heat. 

A taxi rolled up right to where they were standing and before she even had the chance to ask when he managed to book one, Lando’s mouth was on hers again. She didn’t even notice the taxi door being opened until he was arranging her on his lap in the backseat, his eyes going directly down to her breasts. He placed a soft kiss to one where some cleavage was exposed from the dress’s style, while his hand worked at kneading the flesh.

A whimper of satisfaction passed by her lips, earning a shit-eating grin from the man. He continued his ministrations, tugging down some of the fabric over her breast to kiss further down her chest. Her head tipped back, hitting against the headrest of the passenger seat. As she ground her hips harder into his, each bump of the road that the car hit just pushed his boner further against her drenched cunt through her panties, a wet patch forming on his trousers.

“Pretty thing,” He trailed his lips up her neck, her jaw, then suckling on just her bottom lip. “So fucking wet for me,” He growled, pulling her body impossibly closer to him. Part of her wished she’d been sober for this- to be able to enjoy this moment with complete clarity and be sure to remember each and every event the next morning.

The drive seemed excruciatingly long, but had only been a mere few minutes in reality. Her body had essentially moulded into his by the end of it, her legs unable to work to take her to the elevator up to his room. They didn’t need to work though, he was more than excited at the opportunity to carry her as long as he could.

And she sure as hell wouldn’t be able to walk by the end of the evening. 

The second the elevator doors drew to a close, Lando’s hand was tugging her panties to the side, allowing a finger to slide along her clit, “Good?” He nuzzled his head into her neck, kissing the smooth skin there over and over. The touch was met with a string of pleasured moans, all more beautiful than the last.

He got prepared before the doors reopened, grabbing his phone out with his keycard secured in the back of it, ready to open the door the second they arrived so he could be on top of her as quickly as possible. The grazing of his finger stopped long enough for him to unlock the door, and resumed as soon as it clicked shut.

“Lando, fuck, please,” She begged, overstimulated by all the drawn out teasing of the night. “Just finger me already,” She was at her wits end, completely ready to just touch herself if he wouldn’t take it a step further right then.

She didn’t have to do that though as he answered her prayers, sliding a thick finger into her aching cunt. A sigh of relief left her lips, her hole clenched around his finger in reflex. He carried her into the bedroom, settling her down on the bed as he hovered over her, his knees on either side of her hips as he covered her face in chaste open mouthed kisses.

The pleasure turned to a quick flash of dull pain when he removed his finger, pulling her underwear down and tossing them across the room in a drunken hurry. His green eyes widened as he stared directly at her pussy, his pupils shooting wide in lust. “Fuckk,” He sighed, “Can I.. taste?” He wasn’t sure exactly how to word the request but she granted him permission regardless. 

He shuffled down, his massive hands grasping her thighs to position them over his shoulders. She lifted her hips off the mattress so as to allow him to push the bottom of her dress higher up before his head dipped down, his nose nudging at her clit. The sensation sends a rush of slick straight to where his mouth was readily waiting.

Tentatively, the tip of his tongue licked alongside her hole to her clit, emitting a shudder and a groan from the girl. He squeezed down on her thighs, rubbing the right one with his thumb to help her calm down. “What colour?” He murmured, looking up at her from between her legs. 

“Green,” Her head tilted back, hitting against the pillow as she moaned into it. With the go ahead, his tongue repeated the motion, pulling more noises out of her throat. He began to eagerly lap at her wetness, the taste coating over his tongue as he grew more desperate to make her cum.

He had become increasingly more aware of the pain in his trousers, his neglected erection tenting uncomfortable in his too tight boxers. Squeezing one of her thighs tighter to make up for the loss of his hand, he reached his hand down to his crotch and began palming at the spot. He tilted his head down, his tongue fucking her while his nose buried into her bundle of nerves.

She was feeling so much. The way his tongue was buried deep inside her, how his nose was expertly rubbing her clit, his hands stroking the insides of her thighs where goosebumps prickled, and most of all- the way his deep emerald eyes remained staring into her soul. He lapped at her wetness like he’d been deprived of sex for years- in reality it couldn’t have been more than a month. 

He had a one track mind, always did. His only goal in life was win, win, win. And today’s prize was making the beautiful girl laying on his bed, his best friend, cum with his mouth. Determined to make that happen, and make it happen right then, his teeth grazed against her slit gently to overstimulate her. 

Sure enough, the action got her legs shaking and her back arching. “Fuck, Lando,” Her hand yanked on his hair, effectively pulling him away slightly. His eyes went wide in shock, it certainly hadn’t been the reaction he’d expected. 

“I’m sorry,” He kissed the inside of her left thigh, his hand idly tenderly rubbing her knee. “Did it hurt?” She shook her head, having to crane her neck to look down at him. His cheek rubbed against her leg, another kiss to the bend of her knee. That time he suckled the spot, hollowing his cheeks to leave a small red spot when he pulled away.

“No, no- just.. sensitive,” She had to take a few moments to breathe, her chest raising and dropping with forced effort. “You- you can go again,” It’s more of a request than a suggestion, and he took it seriously. 

His mouth returned to her heat, his tongue swiping up in a practised motion, each one met with more noises of delight and pleasure. A hand yanking his hair again signalled her orgasm, spilling into his mouth. He drew to a halt, going slower as she came down from her high so it wouldn’t ache from the abrupt ending.

He scooted up so his face was just mere inches above hers. He couldn’t even try to force back the smile that played on his face upon seeing how absolutely fucked out she was. Her half lidded eyes, bitten lips, sweaty skin- it was truly a sight. He kissed her, over and over, wanting nothing more than to experience the pressure of her mouth on his.

As he kept his lips on hers, he began tugging down the top of her dress to reveal her strapless bra, one of his hands moved underneath her back, his fingers toying with the clasp of her bra before snapping it open. His fingers inched the thick fabric away, the pads of his fingers grazing along her bare chest. “I’m surprised it took you so long to get that off,” She snickered, “Thought you’d wanna see my boobs first thing,” Lando felt a wave of shame rush over him, drowning in embarrassment of her comment. 

He puffed hot air up onto his top lip, a slight snarl twisting his lips. “Is that how I make you feel? Like all I want from you is your body?” His tone was harsh, piercing her skin and leaving a mark. Her expression shifted from her drunken daze to somewhat more alert. The sting behind his tone was solely just a cover for his genuine hurt, unbeknownst to her.

“No, no, Lans..” Her hand cupped his cheek, her voice softening as she said it. “I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean it like that at all,” She angled for a kiss, receiving one almost immediately as he was an absolute sucker for an apology kiss. “If anything that’s more me, I was the one begging for you earlier,” That soothed his nerves, his mood switching back to aiming for pleasure.

He sat back on his heels as she shuffled her legs closer to her, her knees bending up towards the ceiling while still straightened enough to allow them to keep their eye contact. Lando bit his bottom lip, a cheeky grin sneaking out through it. “Sex?” He finally asked, watching her expression turn to match his. 

She leaned forward, hands tangling up in the fabric of his button up. Within seconds it had joined her panties somewhere flung mindlessly across the floor. Her fingers massaged into the groves of his back muscles, relishing in how each one ripples with each sudden movement he makes.

His fingers clasped around the zip of her dress, pulling it down tantalisingly slowly. With each bit of skin that was further revealed, his lips peppered kisses down her body. Her eyes fluttered shut, lost in the pleasure and an overwhelming feeling of ‘ oh god, finally’. As she felt the last of her dress removed and likely joined the other discarded clothes, Lando let out a short breath of exhilaration.

His nose nudged her neck, lips focused on her collarbones. “Open your eyes,” He grumbled, his thumbs kneading into her waist. “Want you to see this, pretty thing,” Her eyelids were heavier than ever so opening them felt like a chore. 

A flush of wetness streamed straight to her core as she felt him rocking his hips against her cunt. With a flurry of hands and mouths on eachother, she tucked her fingers into his boxer’s waistband and shoved them down, his hardened cock smacking up to hit his stomach.

Her eyes practically turned black as her pupils grew beyond a size Lando deemed possible. “Happy?” A finger slid back inside her like it had been before, moving in and out before realising she’s definitely ready enough for a second one. 

“Horny,” His free hand tightened in place over her hips, lifting up to help his digits reach further into her. He ignored her clit, wanting her to finish for a second time when he was actually inside her.

The head of his cock was reddened and had drops of pre-cum lining all over it. He removed his fingers from inside of her, met with a groan of discomfort, and moved that hand to wrap around his aching shaft. “I needa fuck you right now,” Lando grumbled, his hand stroking his throbbing cock a few times before meeting her eyes, seeing only pure lust and want.

His hands gripped her legs, pulling them apart and locking them to wrap around his waist. One hand returned back to his dick, guiding it into her dripping hole. A gasp was punched from her throat as he got close to bottoming out. She was full, insanely full, as if he was to leave right then she wouldn’t have been a complete woman without him inside her.

Admittedly, there was definitely a fair amount of pain that accompanies the intrusion, but it doesn’t come close to the overwhelming pleasure. “Colour?” His voice was thick as he moved in and out of her with renewed energy.

“Green,” 

Lando went faster and deeper. 

“Greener,” Her expression was dazed and dopey as she looked up at him, her lips lax as she tried to express that she wanted kisses while he ruined her.

He didn’t get the hint, just pushed her legs further up and went quicker.

He finished first and she followed quickly after. He collapsed on top of her in an exhausted pile of a mess, his breathing heavy and manual. “That was so fucking good,” Her eyes trailed up to the ceiling, a sort of emptiness filling the void. She wished he would shut up as he kept rambling on about how pretty she was and how perfect tonight had been. Post sex clarity set in, and hit hard.

Because not only did she just hook up with an f1 driver in a random country, that driver was the man that had been her best friend for years and was a known manwhore. “I love you,” He mumbled, his hand playing with her hair. “Always have, for fucking years I’ve loved you” She didn’t hear him though, his mouth muffled with a blanket in front of it and her ears covered by her pillow.

He fell asleep with his body half on top of her, his arm draped across her chest. Of course he wasn’t the type to practise aftercare. She wiggled out from underneath him, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and the desperate need for sleep. As soon as her feet hit the plush cushioning of the carpet and the city lights of Singapore nightlife illuminated her face, she realised the grim mistake she’d made.

So with that, she picked her bra and underwear up off the floor, nicking a pair of his smallest shorts and an oversized McLaren hoodie, wrapped herself up in those clothes and headed downstairs to the lobby, calling a taxi to her own account despite how the receptionist said the charge could go to the room she’d stayed in- to Lando.

Even though he had plenty of money to his name and on his card, and how a fifteen dollar taxi would hardly be noticed- she didn’t want to feel an obligation to him to pay him back for this. She needed clarity and space, and feeling like she owed him wouldn’t allow that. 

With a quick text sent to him, ‘ thanks for tonight, don’t think we should do it again,’ she stepped into her taxi and headed to her own hotel, showering his touch off under scalding water.

The next morning when he woke up tangled in a heap of blankets and pillow, he noticed how cold and empty the bed was. “Love?” His voice thick with sleep, his arms aimlessly reaching for her. They hit nothing though, he was alone in his bed. 

He sat up in a panic, every single moment from the night before remembered exactly. Dancing at the club, his drink in her mouth, the look in her eyes. Back at the hotel, his hands undressing her, their mouths attached to each other’s with undoubtable passion. Him buried inside her, how she’d sounded, how gorgeous she’d looked underneath him.

He’d fucking told her he loved her. And now she was gone. 

The now cold bed sheets wound tighter around his body, the false feeling of an embrace not nearly enough to heal the hurt.

~ part 2 ~