#menace and rage and defiance

[soulmates-for-real-tranquility]

Abandon All Hope

Tortured by the Devil himself!

[dilf-docs]

Darlin', Can I Be Your Favorite?

dbf!boxer pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: it should be simple. helping your dad's best friend to train for his upcoming match in his hometown, chile. but turns out, world-renowned boxer the viper isn't just a menace in the ring.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (girthy), smut, p. in v., oral (m. receiving), rough sex, public sex, praise kink, humilliation kink, daddy kink (she's got daddy issues; idc if this is mischaracterizing you, you'll live), dom!pedro, use of pet names (doll/baby), some angst because that's my staple, idk shit about boxing my bad (i'm more of a ufc girlie kinda) so let's focus on the filth!!

word count: 5,874 words

side note: this very different albeit genius request got me a small hit tweet. song of choice for this piece i sped up because of my ovulation is favorite, by isabel larosa. there are several paragraphs in this that could be used against me and are proof i'm loosing my mind during this midterm/fertile week had to use a clint gif because freaky tales clint is so sexy might watch the movie on theatres with my legs open

You weren't new to this.

The small walls, dim light, the sweat, the blood... you were shoved into it. By your father, since you were a baby. Long before you could even walk, grabby hands trying to reach for a ring that seemed so far, the violence and the rage contained inside the quadrilateral.

So you grew up wanting it. The desire. The ichor. Rough and brutal.

You'd never step in, but always stood by your father's side. Until the age of boys, over-coated glossy lips and blooming girlhood arrived. Long gone where the days were you'd be next to your dad inside the dim-light place, now filled with car rides and girly laughter about all and nothing. You changed the sweat scent of the place for vainilla, and the oversized t-shirts for skirts that showed your laced panties if you bent.

The fights started then, but the ring became your home. Slut, he'd call you, saying this wasn't the girl he raised. Your mother would cry, tired of trying to stop the fighting that extended sometimes until late at dawn, when you'd show up on the doorstep, skirt torn apart and panties wet despite the dry summer.

The beast laid dormant inside you. That primal raw hunger; it never ceased to exist.

Now it was on your roaring voice, refusing to shut up and take the harsh language spoken by your own blood. It was on the defiance, cutting your clothes even smaller, pushing the wearable limit. On the way your makeup and manners got more scandalous, and how you'd throw your door louder each time another confrontation took place, the once lively home now a wrestle between two forces refusing to back down. But when you weren't with a bottle in your mouth or a guy in between your legs, you'd think of his hands grabbing yours as he showed you the gym around, introducing you to regulars. My little girl, he'd said proudly, and you would smile like he did. You'd grab the broken frame you once threw against the wall in a fit of rage, crimson imprinted over the photograph below the broken shards you tried to miserably put together again. Fucking failure. But it's impossible to piece what's already broken back together.

But you were still a believer, despite it all: the same girl who saw the magic in the beasts trapped within the cage, thunderous brutality in the place you once called your second home.

Maybe that's why you agreed to help your dad on this. To see a bit of that smile that had faded in time like the colors of the rust painted lockers. To hear a good girl praise. Not slut. To see a glimpse of the man who said he'd pass this place to you, useless now on his mouth as the gym crumbled just like your relationship. In the end, you were his daughter, begging to be seen.

And you were seen. Not by him. But by him.

The Viper. Pronounced in a whisper, because out loud sounded like a curse, bound to risk too much.

He had been a casual before, remembering his days when no facial hair adorned his face and he'd talk with your dad while laughing in a boasting sound, like he knew he'd break out in the scene. He did. And then he stopped coming, because he was too busy winning and living life than to return to a place that was falling apart.

But then your dad came rushing home, like he was to bear bad news. And boy, wasn't he? The leather, the greys now starting to take over his hair like the bad choices in the form of women and alcohol, ones that had once carried a bad boy charm which now had ripen into a sour taste, a lifestyle that belonged to the golden years left in a past long left behind. He didn't belong anymore, but refused to quit. The violence was a vice, and despite loosing everything, he had never lost a match.

"He wants to train" your dad panted out to your worried mother, who thought worst. "For a match, in Chile, his hometown. He talks about coming back"

Your dad may have been the first to know such, but not the last. No, because what started with a call late at night on your dad's old office (He had said Remember me, old friend? oscilating between nostalgia and teasing, and when your dad called his name, a soft incredulous Pedro? he had let out one of his victorious golden laughs, like coins falling down, as to let him know it was still him, despite it all), ended up on the news.

He's coming. He's coming. He's coming. Like a warning before the big bad wolf struck again.

In a way, you think, as he stands before you, he is one: the sharp eyes and bearing teeth. A fighter never backs down, and he seemed to be always in guard.

Hadn't recognized you at first, blinking a few times before a lazy and easy sleazy smile appeared on his face.

"This the same girl that asked me to carry her on my shoulders?" and a chuckle. "I think I still could"

A low, dangerous rich rumble. A dare. Challenging. Pedro didn't know you too had changed in many ways, and he certainly didn't know either you had touched yourself at night to the sound of his velvety voice, wrapping you up like the sweat that set your skin ablaze, a fist in your mouth to stop his name from slithering past your lips, image set on the way his eyes roamed over your woman body like an all too well trap he always falls in like a vice, trying to think if it was real or just another one of the troubles you loved to cause yourself.

But once you're deep, you can only go deeper.

Your dad left for Chile a day earlier, to set preparations you could care less, which is why you're here.

You promised not to fuck it up, seeing a peek of that man who swore to protect you from the cruel world outside. You needed this. Wanted this. When his lips parted but closed, many words hanging on the air coated with burnt cigars and sweat (I'm sorry. I'm proud of you. Don't dissapoint me. Don't break my heart. Don't fuck this up. I love you), you decided you'd do everything in your power to get your dad back.

The task was rather easy: help The Viper train before his big match in Chile.

Easy, if said man wasn't your dad's best friend, Pedro Pascal.

You feel like a voyeuristic freak watching from a corner as he pounds into the boxing bag repeatedly. Drops of salty sweat begin to run through his back, the white cloth now near transparent with how it sticks to his tan skin.

Pedro is big. All boxers were, seeing them coming and going from your dad's gym. But he was beefy. Not the slender and compact, but the huge thick type. The one were just his hands alone looked like he could snap your neck in two if he wanted.

You're supposed to be out there, helping him, but after your dirty little session two nights ago, and yesterday's dinner at your home, you're just not capable to meet him in the eye, despite promises to your dad and the fire to get his affection back.

(He had come over for dinner. Your mom made lasagna, your favorite dish of hers, but the plate went cold as you took in his words like an oil, spreading the grave tone that coated your panties like a second skin. You pressed your legs together, a shaky breath escaping past your treacherous lips when he said how much you'd grown, blaming the sauce when he licked his lips. Your parents stood up to collect the dishes, and then he leaned down and whispered: Ain't you become a doll?)

(It was nothing. It was just a man who knew your father and no better. But you didn't, either)

Last night, to erase the spell he seemed to have cast upon you, you went to one of your old friends while he beat himself up on the gym, where you were supposed to be. But when your orgasm washed over, you said his name instead; no cold shower could scrub away the humilliation.

(And the house still smelled like him. Bitter coffee, leather and sweat. It was salty and citric, up in your nostrils with an invasion that was, if not, fitting. You were obssesed, with the champion and the legend, and he was an old man looking for a fresh doe-eyed girl who could take it)

You gawk like a man would, but, how not? Dude too appeared to be hung. What is it they say about men with big noses, big hands and big thighs? Big. Big. Big. Fucking hell, you needed to be locked up.

"I know you're in there, baby" his voice cuts through the silence. It's night, and you should be locking up already, scarce customers long gone. "Was never good at hiding"

You emerge from the shadows, sporting only a small black short and a white tank top. He chuckles. With you, nothing is a coincidence.

"Some things never change"

He snickers, "but glad some do"

You breath in, getting closer to him. Again, his scent intrudes your senses, making you dizzy like a drug. Your circuits are busy, and his high.

"You were supposed to help me 'round here" he motions the place. But you're stuck on his hands, wrapped in tape. Those hands, brief peek of his tattoo hidden between the white. "What would your dad say, huh?"

His tone is devoid of malice and full of teasing, but your stomach churns.

"He'd say what he always says" he shots up an eyebrow, as if daring you to speak. "That I'm a fucking failure"

Pedro seems taken back by the sudden change in the atmosphere, nonetheless, still charged with unspoken uncertainty.

"Your dad?" like he couldn't connect the man he knew to the one he is now.

"How would you know?" comes out harsher than you intended, a shameful bitter taste in your mouth. "A lot has changed since you left"

A quiet rage settles in his eyes, the beast caged behind the enclosure begging to be let out.

"Why you throwing it on my face? I ain't your daddy"

It shouldn't hurt. This is ridiculous. But, hell, it does; you're nobody's daughter.

"Good you aren't my fucking daddy"

The silence washes over you at the same time the embarrassment does. You realize too late the words that left your mouth, and if you're quick to try to run, he's faster, your back pressed to the material of the hanging punching bag.

"Say it" he demands, "again"

Your face grows hotter by the minute. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"First a terrible discreet and now a bad liar" his spit spurts in your face, each word with punctuation and a seethe. "Anything else?"

Yes. So much. You're drowning at this point, still not deciding if it's because of the smell his body is emanating or your heavy heart's fault. But he's the last person you'll tell all of this to.

"Not that it matters to you, anyway"

Yet, to an extent, it seems like he knows. As if he's able to see past the forced sweetness, the sarcasm and the layers of makeup and numbingly intoxicating vainilla. Pedro thinks at least he does.

So if you're on fire, he'll let you keep burning.

"I could be him, you know?" your ears start ringing at some point, and you're sure your heart stops. "I could be your daddy"

There's no going deeper than this.

"Thank God you aren't"

And it's like a slap to his face. The oh-mighty undisputed champion steps back. There is always a first, and maybe this is what loss feels like.

"Baby-"

Your ears keep on ringing as you move far from him, your heart dangerously close to leaping from your throat to the cold hard ground. Who does he think he is? He hasn't even been back for a day and has already found a way to break you from inside. To ruin you. As if he never left and has known every secret hidden between your ribs, his memory nestled since forever. But he's too picked apart your bones, in just a matter of seconds, biting down on the marrow of your deepest insecurities.

You hate him. You hate Pedro. You hope he looses, and you accept you've already lost your dad.

But then, as you realize your sat at the end of the gym, the worn out lockers on display, you have an idea.

With you, it was always about revenge, wasn't it?

The beast is awake, howling upon you. Ichor. Rage. This rotten girlhood that started with Malibu dreams and has ended on beds that reek of cheap whiskey and a quick fix in the name of forgetting.

"Pedro"

His head almost snaps looking in your direction. Not like he wanted to search for you to ask for your forgiveness. A match to mark his comeback and change his life will happen in just a couple of hours; he's got bigger problems than a girl who can't see things the way they are. He isn't an apostle of acceptance, but his wicked selfish nature finds pleasure in punishing you for his same sins.

But to play a game, you need two.

"In here" he answers, as if he hasn't moved since your little altercation.

"You need to shower" he catches in time the towel you throw at him. He chuckles dryly at your childish behavior. "You stink"

"You sure? 'Cause just a minute ago, it seemed you were into it" he's quick to quip, matching your energy.

That cocky motherfucker. So full of himself. You hate the sleazy smile of a winner. Does he think you're going down as easy as that?

Of course, you aren't blind. He's attractive, but is this worth it? You see his damp shirt and sweat drenched thighs. No. You look away, flustered.

"I think you need a break, old man. You're not who you used to be" you turn your back to him, so he doesn't see your red hot face, "seeing things that aren't real"

You start to walk to the changing room, and even if not spoken, there's an implication to follow you. So Pedro does, because it's night and Friday and he's got nowhere else to go.

He follows you into the locker room, but this isn't you.

Not the little girl who looked up to him like he could beat the whole world, hand in hand. Not the broken woman, who tried so hard to keep up a mask he could easily see through, maybe because it was akin to his own.

No. This is a fucking temptress. A siren call to drown.

"Sit"

He decided to be a boxer the day he knew he wasn't meant to be bent. The day he realized he hated being weak and wanted to always lead his own path. If it was through violence and punches, so be it.

But he's obeying your command, like a lap dog. If the change isn't noticeable enough, your wicked grin gives it away. He takes his place on the bench, sitting down with aching joints.

"What were you thinking?" you whisper.

A vein on his neck pops out aggressively at the remark.

"I can still handle it"

The way his voice drops to a lower octave, the scowl on his face prominent, like he's both offended and peaked in interest by your remark.

"Is that a challenge?" you tease, playfully. "I'm not your opponent, Pascal. Save it for tomorrow night"

Your fingers itch, and before you think about it twice, they're digging across the soft flesh of his broad back.

"What-"

You hush him almost instantly. "Let me"

You trace patters across the expanse of his hard planes, arousal pooling at the rough of his edges, the dry and scarred of his skin. It's also the sturdy built, what makes it harder to not... appreciate. You happen to be into appreciating the small things, that's all.

(But small, he definitely isn't)

"You're tired" you trace his worn muscles, lost in the way he seems to equally tense and relax under your fluttering touch. "Let me help you"

"What's this?" equally soft. A tattoo. But not the one's you've seen; you wonder if it is for your bad memory or because it's new. "Vae victis"

"Woe to the defeated" he's quick to answer. Taking your silence as a signal to continue, he adds. "It's a way to remember the ones I fight are people, not numbers"

If his voice carries a tinge of vulnerability, you must've imagined it.

"Never took you as the empath type" and your fingers leave his skin, as if it burns.

He lets out a soft humorless laugh.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, baby"

You don't let him have the last word, and to punctuate your final blow, you press a short kiss to the tattoo. He didn't see it coming-- your mint breath ghosting over his shoulder onto his face. Pedro forgets how to breath.

"I've always loved a good mystery"

Knockout.

He looks up from the bench, breathing still panting as he sees your retreating figure, until all that's left in the room is him and his worn-out body. Then, the soft pit-pat of the water hitting the tiles jolts him awake.

"It's ready" your voice says, but you're still there, and not back to the lockers.

Why were you preparing him a shower? It's not like he couldn't turn on the switch.

Pedro removes the towel from his neck and walks over to the showers, only to find you still there, white blouse as damp as his.

"What-"

"Get in"

He's about to repeat it, this time harsher and louder (Have you gone insane, woman?), but then your sweet persistent voice digs on his mulish character like a knife to a wound, and his reasoning has flown out of the window.

"You're gonna wet yourself" is all Pedro can manage to say.

The (possible) double meaning makes his belly rumble.

"I know" you repeat, answering for both. And then get inside.

The water starts to make your clothes hug your body, and he's lost in the curves of your ass and tits. Your muscles, while albeit not worked out, are both soft and strong, plush skin inviting for a bite. You've got both the firm and the soft that comes with age and womanhood, and his cock is itching to have his invite to your warm walls.

"What are you waiting for? Are you going to bath with clothes on?"

He rolls his eyes. "Look who's talking"

The cold water hits him when you too have taken off your clothes.

Couldn't get challenged because your too stubborn ass fell right into the bait.

His breath gets caught in his throat as your soapy hands explore his body. His adam's apple bobs as he gulps, enthralled by your firm yet gentle scrubbing, washing away remnants of sweat and dirt. All words are lost at the devotion, worship and reverance that seems to pour from your digits as you sweep his body.

"How?" your voice drowns out with the drops of water.

"Bad move" he whispers, seeing it across his arm. It's runs across almost all of his inner bicep, big. It didn't heal as good as he'd liked, but chicks seemed to dig it. "Had to go to the hospital"

You, however, seem more into the... understanding side of it. Not on the thrill and the danger, but on the damage that's healed in time but never left. More on the pain, and not the punch.

"And this?"

"Gloves"

"What?"

"Gloves" he repeats, still not that loud, as if he's ashamed. "They can create cuts when the skin is pulled during a strike"

"I don't get it"

And instead of mocking you, Pedro finds himself trying to explain it.

"It's because of the friction of the gloves against the skin" he sighs. "Was too dumb and too full of myself to understand it. Then it happened and I got this"

"What has changed?" you tease him, but it's as tender as a lingering touch. "Don't worry, Pedro. Everyone makes mistakes, even the greats"

It's a rather sweet moment, only broken by your teeth sinking into the scarred tissue, yet you're quick to soothe it with a wet kiss.

He groans, head falling back as your greedy little hands now slide through the hard of his chest, his nipples perked under the cold of the water and the warm of your touch; body electric.

"Fuck, baby. You're going to be the death of me" he groans, shivering at your insistence on making him break. "Keep tryin', but you won't make me beg, muñeca" (doll)

Still hellbent on denying you of himself, the hotheaded stubborn prideful bastard. Not even with your tits in the air, bare cunt aching.

"No?" you feign innocence, batting those wet eyelashes of yours. Then your lips find his scars, licking and pressing sweet warm kisses across the expanse of his chest and body, ending on the one across his face. For a moment, he falters at the intensity of your gaze, almost slipping on the tiles. "Still no?"

You fucking minx. "Fighters don't beg" he says, but every contact of your lips and tongue against his wet body send bolts of electricity to his aching semi-hard cock.

"But real men do"

Without further ado, you descend until your knees hit the tiles, water running through your legs like a river. You don't wait for an answer, all you need to know in his parted lips and his deep stare at you through dark hooded eyes.

A low, guttural moan tears from Pedro's throat as your tongue flicks a quick lick at his sensitive head. He's grabbing your hair with rough hands, tangling into your damp curls, his hips jerking involuntarily as your lips wrap around the tip, tongue swirling and teasing the most sensitive parts.

"Fuck" he groans, "aren't you trouble, doll? Really gonna make me beg for that release, ain't you? With that tongue of yours"

You give another proud lick at his throbbing angry red flesh, head already leaking with precum.

"What'd your daddy think about his daughter sucking his best friend's cock in the showers?"

You ignore him, too busy lost in the way his cock throbs and pulses in your mouth, his balls tightening with a pressure that built more each passing second.

"Not a talker, huh? Were that loud mouth of yours go?" he teases, his grip not faltering on your hair. "That's what y'r daddy said. Or maybe he was talking of another daughter. Not this little obedient slut who devours my cock like she's starved" his voice is strained. "Such a good girl, though, taking care of an old man like this. You like how it tastes?"

You pull out, making him groan.

"Why'd stop?" his voice is strained, rough with desire. His pupils are blown wide, circling with desbelief and something more primal. But he'll never say that, will he?

Too bad for him, you don't know when to shut up. Or quit.

"I want to hear you say it"

He chuckles darkly, his grip on your hair tighter now. "What'd say?"

"Me? Nothing" your lips part, words slurring before you think better. "You is I wanna hear"

"Fucking cunt" his eyes darken, "think you can tease me and get away with it? No, you'll be a good little cocksleeve and take it all"

You moan at his lewd words, thighs clasping together in search for some relief for the pressure building on your bare cunt.

"That's right, you dirty cocksucker. Look at you, thinking you can bend a fucking champion like me"

He knew his power over you. Frankly, he had to thank your old man for fucking you up so bad. Pedro loved how all your resolute seemed to vanish in the air, looking so eager and willing, desperate to please him. Be it for praise or for how much you wanted this like him, but it is this what makes him feel like a true winner.

"Don't you wanna suck this dick so bad?" his thumb tugs down your lip, "Be a good girl and I might give it to you"

Just like that, you're done.

"Please, I want to be a good girl. Use me, fuck me with your mouth"

He lets out a growl, voice low and rough. "Oh, t's alright, muñeca. I'll use this dirty little mouth of yours, all right" he fists your hair again, pulling you closer. "Gonna fuck you so good, you'll be feeling me all week: every time you taste, swallow and speak. Fill your dirty mouth so good with so much cum, you'll be tasting it for hours, for days, 'n for the rest of your fucking life"

Pedro thrusts his hips forward, pushing more and more of his thick, hard cock past your lips. He sets a steady pace, eyes locked on your face as he fucks your mouth with deep strokes.

"Just like that" he praises, breaths sharp as he looses himself in how his girth is nestled in your mouth. "Take it all, like a good little girl. So show me, baby, show me how much you love the taste of my cock. How much you need it-- crave it"

Your moan gets lost in your constricted throat, struggling to take him deeper, breathing and swallowing almost impossible with his girth taking up all of the space inside of your mouth. If Pedro felt like a king before, now he feels like a god.

"Such a perfect little cock sleeve for me to use, to fill, to fuck" he groans, his hips picking up speed, thrusts growing harder and more urgent.

His orgasm starts building, and he knows it by the way his balls tighten and his cock pulses inside the heat of your throat. Pedro knows he's close to coming, that he's seconds away from it.

Even if he's lost completely in the act, he's foremost a gentleman, but when he's about to pull out, your hands grip tightly to this thighs, and hold him in place as he tries to move. A rush of lust washes him over the cold water, a dark desire coursing through him at your pathetic display of eagerness and desperation.

"Fuck, baby" Pedro's voice reduced to a low, guttural rumble as he gazes down at you. You swear you can see a brief glint of admiration on his eyes. "You want my cum that badly, muñeca? Do you want to swallow it all down like a good little slut?"

He's rocking his hips forward, burying himself balls-deep in your warm throat, his swollen cock pulsing and throbbing against your tonsils as his orgasm crashes over him. Pedro throws his head back as so do his eyes, body shuddering and convulsing as thick ropes of hot cum shoot from his cock.

"You're doin' great, baby" he pants, his grip on your hair tight as he grounds his hips against your face, pushing himself deep into your mouth as he physically could. "Show me what a good little cumslut you are and don't waste a fuckin' drop. Swallow it all"

Aren't you perfect? Gulping and swallowing, trying your best good girl shtick as you take everything he has to give you, his musky sweat filled scent up your nostrils, despite the soap still covering some of his body.

"Fuck, y/n" he groans, body going limp. He falls back against one of the shower's walls, chest up and down with uneven breaths. "Greedy little girl with a greedy little throat"

He slowly pulls out of your mouth, his softening cock slipping from your lips.

"Get up, baby. Your father's bill will be brutal if we don't hurry up" he hauls you up and into his arms. "But truth is, I'ont give a fuck. I'm still thinking 'bout your lips 'round my cock"

Before you say anything, he's dragging your body again like you weight nothing, but this time, it's to crush his hot desperate mouth into yours with a rough kiss. Pedro can taste himself mixed with your sweet and drool. He groans at that, the sound painfully animal.

"Hey" he gently tugs you, a mannerism you would never associate with him. "Where you think you're going?"

You blink once. Twice. Then again, slower.

"What are you talking about?"

Your back meets the wall, Pedro brutally slamming your body until the tiles dig into your skin.

"Ow- wait" you hiss, "the fuck's gotten into you?"

"Think I'll let you go after this?" he growls. Then, chuckles, darkly so. "No, baby. I gotta try first" his fingers grab the supple skin of your ass until you feel them melt into it. He then spanks it, creating a weird sound with the combined water droplets. "Need to see if the pussy is as sweet as your mouth. So be a good girl and let me handle this, alright? As I said, I still can"

And for a reason, that feels like a threat.

His calloused digits venture dangerously close to your entrance, fingers going in. He coats it with your slick, making him laugh that laugh uniquely his.

"Fuck, muñeca. You're as wet as this shower head" Pedro presses himself into you, his cock touching your stomach. "Don't ever try to lie to me again, I ain't no fool"

Traitorous body. But his seething voice, the way his dominance slithers into jolts through your slick folds. You whine, pressing your tighs together. Pedro's quick to see this, and before you get to say anything else, he parts them roughly.

"I said I ain't no fool" he grunts while rubbing the tip of his cock over your folds, applying pressure on your clit. "Bad girl"

No warning, just his cock slipping past your wet dripping folds. Your hands fly to reach his neck for support.

"S'fucking grabby" he teases, slipping his pulsating dick between your folds once more, pressing and then pushing in slowly.

He swallows your whimper in a kiss, your poor pussy stretching to accommodate his thick girth. His big hands pull your body closer to his.

"But I'm the grabby one"

He growls. "Quit talking"

With one brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, balls pressed against the flesh of your ass. You grip his hair, chocolate curls tangled between your fingers. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. The pain carries waves of pleasure laced within, despite his aggressive thrusting and quick pace. You roll your hips upwards, eliciting a faint whimper out of your lips.

"No, doll" his fingers dig in your waist, a purple soon to follow. "You do what I say, clear?"

His cock grinds forward, stretching you out.

"Fuck-!" you choke out, "Pedro!"

He growls when he hears his name on your lips, an all consuming desire to make you his washing over him.

He then grabs you by your legs, hooking them around his waist.

You mewl out his name in a cry.

"See?" Pedro blurts out. "Told ya' I still had it on me, baby"

Your hands scramble to grab him by his shoulders, the pain and pleasure making your head spin. He can feel your tits jump with each bounce provoked by his thrusts, the rosy skin pressed against his chest.

"Gonna fill you up so bad, you won't ever doubt me again"

Pedro pulls back and uses his arms to push himself up and hover over you. He began to drive his hips faster, loud clapping noises mixing with the falling water.

"I'm- I'm gonna"

"Ask, baby. Remember what I told you?"

"Yes. Sorry, daddy" you whimper. "Please, let me-"

"Let you what?" Pedro chuckles.

"Cum. Let me cum. Please, daddy, please" the words slurred as you feel yourself on edge.

"Very well" grinning satisfied, "but don't you dare keep any of those pretty noises just for yourself"

A high-pitched wails falls past your lips as you throw your head and eyes back, your legs shaking.

"Pedro-!"

He grunts at the sensation of your juices on his cock, coating it. In the way your walls flutter around his length, pussy tight making him groan against your neck, where he has now buried his face.

"Stay there, baby. It's my turn" his hips snap and his thrusts turn sloppy. "Gonna paint all of your tight folds with my cum"

His grip tightens as he fucks himself silly into you, chasing his high.

"S'fucking tight" he groans loudly. "Such a good girl for me"

He comes undone, salty hot ropes of thick white cum spurting inside of you, his cock deeply nestled inside of your welcoming warm walls.

"Fuck. Need to fill you up, doll. Until you're so stuffed you can't move without making a mess"

The water keeps falling, as you whimper softly, burying your face in his neck. Pedro keeps rocking into you while riding his orgasm out, soft breathless groans leaving him. He places you down, some of his cum on your thighs. He uses his finger to push it all inside.

"We have been to wasteful to keep on being, right?" Pedro jokes before closing the valve.

"Be honest. You don't give a damn about the planet"

He lets out a hearty laugh.

"Guilty as charged"

There's some silence before he's helping you get back on your shorts.

(He smacks your ass, saying you did it on purpose. You agree. After all, he's quick to know when you lie)

"Good girl" he praises with a small kiss. "Did so well for me"

You kiss him back, fiercely, your mouth practically sucking his lips.

"For good luck, daddy"

Pedro chuckles at your antics. "You fucking minx"

He leaves you after that, going for his stuff. But you stand still in the middle, lost like a little deer. Your ragged breaths fill the room, and he feels a little guilty about having fucked his best friend's daughter on his gym before leaving first thing in the morning to his home country.

"C'mere" you turn your head. "What? C'mon, don't leave me hanging"

You carefully make way to where he is, back in the same bench.

"Sit" he orders.

Oh, the irony of it all.

Once you take place next to him, he makes sure to remove a strand of wet hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"When I win, which I will" you chuckle at his ego, "I'll be sure to remember you, doll"

So when your dad sends you a video of Pedro's match in Chile a day later and The Viper winks to the camera as the referee raises his fist in the air, you like to think it's for you.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

[hisfavegirl]

Dangerous Affairs - Mafia!Aemond Targaryen x Girlfriend!Reader.

Summary : You had become his obsession, his everything, even in the chaotic, blood-soaked world they all lived in. Aemond had always been the cold, calculating son of the Targaryen family, but when it came to you, the mask he had worn so carefully began to crack. You, the only person who saw past the facades, the only one who loved him without asking for anything in return. And now, someone had dared to take you from him.

Aemond Masterlist.

Aemond paced back and forth in his lavish office, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the walls. His eyes burned with rage, and his sharp features were twisted into a menacing scowl. The video on his screen looped endlessly: you, bound to a chair in some dimly lit room, your face bruised and bloodied.

"Who did this?" he snarled, his voice cold as steel. "Who dares touch what is mine?"

His men stood silently, heads bowed, knowing better than to meet his gaze when he was in this state. Aemond's fury was a storm, and they were in its direct path.

One of his lieutenants, a man named Rykker, stepped forward hesitantly. "We're working on tracking the location, boss. The video was sent anonymously, but we've identified-"

"Not fast enough!" Aemond roared, sweeping his arm across the table and sending papers, a lamp, and a glass of whiskey crashing to the floor. He turned back to the video, fists clenching at his sides.

Your eyes in the video were filled with fear but also defiance, even as blood trickled down your temple. The sight of your pain made his chest tighten.

"Find them," Aemond hissed, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I don't care what it takes. I want names, locations, and every single one of them brought to me alive. They'll wish for death before l'm done." Rykker nodded, retreating quickly to relay the orders.

Aemond leaned against the desk, taking a deep breath to compose himself. He couldn't lose control now. You needed him. Whoever had taken you would pay dearly for their mistake.

He stared at the frozen frame of your face on the screen, his jaw tightening. "Hold on," he muttered. "I'm coming for you."

Without another word, he grabbed his coat, his gun strapped to his side, and marched out of the office. If his men weren't fast enough, he'd hunt them down himself.

The sharp sting on your cheek forced you back into the harsh reality of your situation. Your head throbbed, and your wrists burned where the ropes bit into your skin. Slowly opening your eyes, you were met with darkness once again, the dim light in the room barely illuminating the outline of the cold, damp walls.

You whimpered softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you pleaded, “Please… whoever you are… let me go…”

But your words were met with the same suffocating silence as before. The only sounds in the room were your uneven breathing and the faint dripping of water in the distance.

You tried to move, but every shift of your body sent sharp pain through your limbs. Your captors had been rough, leaving bruises and cuts that now throbbed with every heartbeat.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Whoever had done this to you wanted to see you break, to see you crumble. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

The sound of footsteps suddenly echoed in the distance, growing louder as they approached the room where you were held. Your heart raced, fear and hope warring within you.

The door creaked open, and a shadowy figure stepped inside. “You’re awake,” they said coldly, their voice devoid of any emotion.

You turned your head toward the sound, your voice trembling as you asked, “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”

The figure chuckled darkly, stepping closer until you could see the glint of a knife in their hand. “It’s not about what I want,” they said, their tone mocking. “It’s about sending a message. To him.”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t need to ask who “him” was. You knew they were talking about Aemond.

“You think he’ll just let this go?” you whispered, anger mixing with your fear. “You’ve made a mistake.”

The figure smirked, crouching down to meet your gaze. “That’s the point,” they said, their grin cruel. “Let him come. We’re counting on it.”

Aegon leaned against the doorframe, watching as Aemond unleashed his fury on the room. Glass shattered as the goblet struck the wall, narrowly missing one of Aemond's trembling subordinates. His younger brother's icy composure had melted into a blaze of rage, the usually sharp, calculating man now consumed by raw emotion.

"You're all useless!" Aemond roared, his voice echoing through the room. "How could you let this happen? How could she be taken right under your noses?"

The men cowered, their heads bowed in silence, none daring to speak or defend themselves.

"Aemond," Aegon called, stepping into the room with his arms crossed. "That's enough." Aemond turned to him, his eye ablaze.

"Don't you dare tell me what's enough, Aegon," he snapped. "They lost her! She's out there-alone, scared-because of their incompetence!"

"And yelling at them, throwing things, and losing your mind isn't going to bring her back!" Aegon shot back, his voice firm but not without understanding.

Aemond's chest heaved, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Aegon stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I get it, brother. You're angry. You're scared. But losing your temper won't help us find her. What we need is a plan, not chaos."

Aemond ran a trembling hand through his hair, his jaw clenched as he tried to rein in his emotions. "They're using her to get to me," he said, his voice quieter but laced with venom.

"They want me to come for her. And I will."

Aegon nodded. "And you will," he agreed. "But not like this. If you let your anger cloud your judgment, you'll be walking straight into their trap. You know that."

Aemond turned his back to the room, staring out the window. The city sprawled before him, but his mind was consumed by thoughts of you-your face, your voice, the way you always seemed to calm the storm inside him.

"I'll kill them," he said quietly, his voice a promise. "Every last one of them. But first, I'll bring her back."

Aegon placed a hand on his shoulder. "And you will," he repeated. "But let's do this right. For her."

Your sobs echoed in the dimly lit room as the woman's fingers tightened in your hair, pulling your head back sharply. Tears blurred your vision, but you forced yourself to look at her.

Her cold green eyes bore into yours, a sharp contrast to the dim glow of the single lamp hanging above.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" she said, her voice calm but laced with venom.

You shook your head weakly, your breathing uneven. There was something unsettlingly familiar about those eyes, but you couldn't place them.

"Please," you whispered, your voice cracking.

"Let me go... I don't know who you are or what you want."

The woman scoffed, tilting her head as she studied your tear-streaked face. "Oh, you know me," she replied, her tone dripping with bitterness. "You just don't remember."

Her grip on your hair tightened, making you wince. The pain was sharp, but it wasn't as terrifying as the realization dawning in your mind. Those eyes-they reminded you of someone. Someone from Aemond's past, someone with a grudge, someone dangerous.

"You're his weakness," she hissed, leaning closer. "The reason he's untouchable. But now, I have you."

Your heart sank. She wasn't here for you; she was here for him.

"I don't care about your fight with him," you pleaded, trying to remain calm despite the panic surging within you. "Please, don't hurt me. Whatever he's done to you, I-"

Her sharp laugh cut you off. "Oh, it's not about what he's done. It's about what l've lost because of him."

Her grip loosened slightly, but her gaze didn't soften. Instead, it grew colder, more calculating.

"You're going to help me send him a message," she said. "And if you don't..." Her hand moved to your chin, forcing you to look directly at her.

"Well, let's just say I have no problem making him suffer by breaking you, piece by piece."

A chill ran down your spine, but you steeled yourself. Even through your fear, a small spark of defiance flickered within you. You wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

You hit the cold, hard floor with a thud, a sharp pain radiating through your side. The woman stood over you, her cruel smirk illuminated by the dim light. Her presence filled the room with a suffocating sense of dread.

“Keep her here,” she ordered the shadowy figures behind her. “No food, no water. Let her feel just a fraction of the suffering I’ve endured.”

Her green eyes flicked back to you, glinting with malice. She crouched down, her face close enough for you to feel her breath.

“You think you’re strong because he loves you,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous. “But love is a weakness, and I will make sure he regrets ever letting you into his heart.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“You won’t win,” you whispered, your voice trembling but defiant.

She laughed—a cold, heartless sound that sent chills down your spine. “Oh, sweet girl, I already have.”

Standing, she brushed off her hands as if touching you had tainted her. With a flick of her wrist, she signaled to her men before stepping out of the room.

“Let her rot,” she said over her shoulder. “Until he comes crawling.”

The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the room. You were left alone in the suffocating silence, your body aching and your heart pounding. For a moment, despair threatened to overwhelm you, but then you thought of Aemond—his determination, his fury.

You knew he would come for you. You just had to hold on.

Aemond paced the room, his jaw clenched, and his fists balled tightly at his sides. The idea of a party while you were missing was incomprehensible to him. His anger simmered just below the surface, threatening to erupt.

“You can’t be serious,” he growled, fixing Alicent with a glare that could cut steel. “She’s out there—alone, terrified—and you want to throw a party?”

Alicent remained calm, her hands clasped in front of her. “This isn’t about celebrating, Aemond. It’s a strategy. A public event like this will draw out whoever’s responsible. They can’t resist the opportunity to mock us or taunt you further.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, suspicion evident in his expression. “You’re using her as bait.”

“No,” Alicent said firmly, stepping closer. “I’m using their arrogance against them. This isn’t just about finding her—it’s about ensuring no one dares to cross our family again. You know as well as I do that they’ll want to gloat, to flaunt their power. This party will bring them out of the shadows.”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair. The idea made his blood boil, but there was a cruel logic to it.

“And what happens if they don’t take the bait?” he asked, his voice tight.

Alicent placed a hand on his arm, her voice softening. “Then we continue searching. But we have to try everything, Aemond. She would want us to do whatever it takes to bring her home.”

Her words hit their mark. Aemond closed his eye, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The thought of you, somewhere out there, hurt and scared, made his chest ache.

“Fine,” he said reluctantly. “But if anything goes wrong, this is on you.”

“It won’t,” Alicent assured him. “We’ll get her back.”

Aemond’s resolve hardened. “We’d better. Because if we don’t, there won’t be a single soul left to celebrate anything.”

The grand estate sparkled with opulence, golden chandeliers casting warm light over ruby draperies and intricate floral arrangements. Servants bustled about, ensuring every detail of the so-called celebration was flawless. Guests began to trickle in, their laughter and chatter filling the vast halls, oblivious to the dark undertones of the evening.

Aemond stood near one of the towering windows, his tall frame tense, his eye fixed on the distant horizon. The finery and elegance around him were a mockery of his torment. He clenched his jaw, his hands tucked into his pockets to disguise the tremors of barely contained rage.

“Aemond,” came a soft voice behind him. He turned to see Alicent, her expression poised yet concerned. She gently placed a hand on his arm. “You need to remain composed. They’re watching you closely, hoping for a crack in your armor.”

He pulled away, his frustration evident. “Composed? Mother, she’s out there. Alone. Scared. And we’re here, pretending as though this—” He gestured to the opulence around him. “—is more important than finding her.”

“This isn’t a celebration,” Alicent reminded him firmly, her voice low but sharp. “It’s a trap. And you need to play your part.”

Aemond exhaled sharply, his fingers raking through his silver hair. He cast another glance out the window, hoping—praying—for a sign, for anything that would lead him to you.

Nearby, Aegon appeared with a drink in hand, his demeanor far too casual for the occasion. “You’ll scare the guests if you keep glaring like that, little brother,” he said with a smirk.

Aemond shot him a warning look. “You’d better hope this plan of hers works, or I’ll tear apart this city brick by brick to find her.”

Aegon’s smirk faltered slightly, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. We’ll find her.”

But Aemond couldn’t relax. Not when every passing moment meant you were still out there, trapped, and in danger. He turned back to the window, his fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to storm out and search for you himself.

Somewhere in the crowd, someone knew something. And Aemond vowed he would uncover the truth, no matter the cost.

You flinched as her cold fingers gripped your face, her nails digging into your skin. Her smile was cruel, her emerald eyes glinting with malice. “Oh, darling,” she cooed mockingly, tilting her head as if she were comforting you. “Did you hear? Your dear Aemond is hosting a party tonight. Such a grand affair—gold and red everywhere. He’s moved on quite splendidly without you.”

Your tears spilled over, silent sobs shaking your body as her words cut deep. You shook your head weakly, trying to hold onto your faith in Aemond. He wouldn’t forget you. He couldn’t.

“Ah, look at you,” she sneered, her grip tightening. “So pathetic. Crying for a man who probably isn’t even thinking about you anymore. But don’t worry, love. I’ll be there tonight.” Her voice turned venomous, her lips curling into a sinister grin. “I’ll make sure he forgets all about you. Permanently.”

She let go of your face, and you collapsed forward, gasping for air. The sound of her laughter echoed in the cold, empty room as she stood and straightened her dress.

“Don’t wait up,” she added, her tone dripping with mockery as she sauntered toward the door. “Oh, and if you’re wondering—no one’s coming for you. You’ll rot here, alone, while I take everything that was yours.”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving you in suffocating silence. Your heart ached, not just from the physical pain but from the cruel possibility she had planted in your mind. Could it be true?

But deep down, you knew Aemond. His love for you burned like wildfire, unyielding and all-consuming. If he was hosting a party, it wasn’t to move on—it was to draw her out.

You closed your eyes, clutching the faint hope that he was still searching for you, still fighting to bring you back.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his single eye narrowing as he locked onto Alys Rivers across the room. She stood there with an air of confidence, a delicate goblet in her hand and a coy smile playing on her lips. Her emerald-green gown shimmered under the golden light, its color mocking the Targaryen black and red he so often adorned.

She raised her glass ever so slightly in a silent toast, her eyes meeting his with a spark of challenge. Aemond’s fists clenched at his sides. The audacity. To show her face here—at his family’s estate—after what she had done.

Aegon approached him from the side, a goblet in hand. “Little brother,” he muttered, his tone low and cautious. “What is it?”

Aemond didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on Alys. Aegon followed his line of sight and cursed under his breath. “You think she—”

“She knows something,” Aemond hissed, cutting him off. He began to move toward her, his long strides purposeful and threatening.

As he approached, the crowd seemed to sense his simmering rage, parting instinctively to let him through. Alys’s smile widened, and she tilted her head, feigning innocence.

“Aemond,” she greeted, her voice smooth and melodic. “You look troubled. I hope the festivities haven’t been too dull for you.”

Aemond stopped just a breath away from her, his towering presence overshadowing her dainty form. “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice low and venomous.

Alys took a slow sip from her goblet, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t know what you mean, love,” she replied, her tone dripping with feigned ignorance.

“Don’t play games with me,” he snapped, his voice rising enough to draw the attention of nearby guests. His eye burned with fury, and his fingers itched to draw his blade.

Alys leaned in closer, her voice a whisper meant only for him. “Careful, Aemond. We wouldn’t want to ruin your lovely party, would we?”

Aemond’s patience was razor-thin, and he grabbed her wrist, his grip firm. “Tell me where she is,” he growled.

Alys’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, but then she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. “You’re so predictable, Aemond,” she murmured. “She’s waiting for you. If you can find her in time.”

Before he could react, she slipped free of his grasp, melting into the crowd as if she had never been there. Aemond stood frozen, his fury boiling over. He turned to Aegon, his voice like thunder.

“Seal the exits,” he ordered. “No one leaves until I have answers.”

Aemond stormed toward the estate’s gates, his long strides purposeful as his sharp gaze locked onto the taillights of Alys’ car disappearing into the distance. His frustration mounted, the realization sinking in that she had eluded him once again.

“Follow her!” he barked at his men, his voice cutting through the cold night air. Several black vehicles screeched to life, tires spinning as they sped after Alys.

Aegon caught up to him, slightly out of breath. “She’s playing you,” he warned, his tone laced with concern. “We don’t know what she’s planning—”

“I don’t care what she’s planning,” Aemond snapped, his jaw clenched. “She has her hands in this, Aegon. I can feel it. If she knows where she is, I’ll make her talk.”

Aegon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to lose your head over this, brother.”

“I already lost something far more precious,” Aemond growled, his voice low but heavy with meaning.

The cars sped out of sight, but Aemond didn’t retreat to the safety of the estate. Instead, he lingered at the gate, his mind racing. Alys had made it personal, and her actions were no longer just a game to him. She was the key to finding you, and he wasn’t going to let her slip through his grasp again.

“Aemond,” Aegon said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find her. But you need to stay sharp. You rushing in blind won’t help her or you.”

Aemond shook off his brother’s hand, his eye narrowing. “You’re either with me or in my way,” he spat, turning on his heel. “She doesn’t have time for us to play it safe.”

As the night stretched on, Aemond prepared for the confrontation he knew was coming. Alys wouldn’t give up your location easily, but he was willing to do whatever it took to bring you home—even if it meant unleashing the darkest parts of himself.

Aemond paced the length of the room like a caged predator, his fists clenched and jaw tight. The air around him felt suffocating, heavy with his barely contained rage. His men stood at the edges of the room, heads bowed, too afraid to meet his piercing gaze.

“You lost her?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the tense silence like a blade. He grabbed the nearest table and flipped it, sending papers and glasses crashing to the floor. “She was right there! And you lost her!”

“Aemond,” Aegon called, stepping into the room cautiously. “This isn’t helping. Losing control won’t bring her back.”

Aemond whipped around, his lone eye blazing with fury. “You think I don’t know that?” he hissed, his voice trembling with uncharacteristic emotion. “Alys isn’t just anyone. She’s calculating, manipulative, and she always stays three steps ahead. If we don’t catch her soon—” He stopped, his voice breaking slightly. “If we don’t find her, I don’t know what she’ll do to her.”

Aegon’s face softened at his brother’s rare display of vulnerability. He had never seen Aemond like this before—so undone, so human.

“She’s strong, Aemond,” Aegon said, his tone steady. “Stronger than you give her credit for. And you’re going to find her. But you need to focus. Letting Alys get into your head won’t help her.”

Aemond ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. He had always prided himself on being composed, always in control. But now, the fear gnawed at him, an unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation. Alys Rivers wasn’t a typical adversary—she knew how to exploit weaknesses, and Aemond was terrified she’d use you against him in ways he couldn’t anticipate.

“I can’t lose her, Aegon,” Aemond finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not her.”

Aegon nodded, placing a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Then let’s make sure you don’t.”

With a renewed sense of determination, Aemond turned to his men. “Double the search efforts. Sweep every safe house, every hidden route Alys has ever used. If she so much as breathes near this city, I want to know about it.”

His men nodded and hurried out, leaving Aemond standing in the wreckage of his rage. For the first time, he felt the weight of helplessness. But beneath it, there was a spark of resolve—he would find you, no matter what it took.

You winced as her sharp nails dug into your cheeks, her voice dripping with venom as she leaned closer. “What does he see in you?” Alys hissed, her emerald eyes blazing with fury. “You’re nothing but a frail little thing. Aemond could’ve had me—should’ve had me. But no, he chose you.”

Her grip tightened, forcing your head to the side as you tried to avoid her piercing gaze. You felt the car jolt as it hit a bump in the road, your bound wrists aching from the tight restraints.

“I gave him everything,” Alys continued, her voice trembling with anger. “Power, knowledge, loyalty. And he discarded me like I was nothing. All for you.” She leaned back, her laugh sharp and bitter. “It’s pathetic, really.”

You swallowed hard, trying to push back the tears threatening to fall. You knew showing weakness would only fuel her anger further. Instead, you whispered hoarsely, “If he chose me, then maybe it’s because you never truly meant anything to him.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and her hand shot out, striking you across the face. The sting was sharp, and your head snapped to the side. “You dare?” she snarled. “You think you’re better than me? You think you’ll survive me?”

Your breathing grew ragged, but you refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you met her gaze with as much defiance as you could muster.

Alys smirked, clearly enjoying the game of dominance. “Oh, don’t worry, darling,” she said, her tone almost sing-song. “We’re going to have so much fun together. I’ll make sure Aemond gets to see just how fragile his little treasure really is.”

The car came to a sudden stop, and the door on your side was flung open. Alys gestured for her men to pull you out, and you were dragged onto your feet. The cool night air hit your skin, and you glanced around, trying to make sense of your surroundings.

You were in the middle of nowhere—a secluded area surrounded by dense trees and darkness. The only light came from the car’s headlights, casting eerie shadows across the gravel road.

Alys approached you slowly, her heels clicking against the ground. “This is where your little fairy tale ends,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “Let’s see if Aemond will still love you when you’re broken beyond repair.”

Fear gripped your heart as you realized just how far she was willing to go.

Aemond’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he sped through the dark streets. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with every possible scenario. He couldn’t lose you—not to Alys, not to anyone.

The memory of your face, bruised and frightened in that cursed video, haunted him. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, the engine roaring as he pushed the car to its limits.

Behind him, the headlights of Aegon’s car appeared in the rearview mirror. Aegon was bringing reinforcements, but Aemond wasn’t about to wait. He was done waiting.

The coordinates from his men led him down a winding road surrounded by thick trees. His sharp eyes caught sight of tire tracks leading off into a secluded path. Without hesitation, he veered off the main road, the gravel crunching under his tires as he followed the trail.

As he neared a clearing, he saw the faint glow of headlights in the distance. His heart sank at the sight of figures moving near the car. One of them was unmistakably Alys, standing tall and commanding as her men dragged your limp form toward the shadows.

Aemond slammed the brakes, throwing the car into park before stepping out with a gun in hand. His one good eye was blazing with fury, his jaw clenched as he stalked toward the scene.

“Alys!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the night like a blade.

The woman turned, a slow, malicious smile spreading across her face. “Ah, there he is,” she purred. “The mighty Aemond Targaryen, coming to save his damsel in distress.”

Aemond ignored her words, his gaze fixed on you. “Let her go,” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Alys chuckled, gesturing for her men to stop. “And what will you give me in return, my love? You left me for her—betrayed me. Do you think I’ll let that go so easily?”

Aemond’s grip on the gun tightened. “You’re already a dead woman, Alys. The only choice you have is how painful it’ll be.”

Alys raised an eyebrow, her amusement fading. “You wouldn’t,” she said, though her voice wavered slightly.

“Try me,” Aemond growled, taking a step closer.

Before she could respond, the sound of approaching vehicles echoed through the woods. Aegon’s reinforcements had arrived, their headlights flooding the clearing.

Alys cursed under her breath, realizing her advantage was slipping away. With a snap of her fingers, her men raised their weapons, pointing them at Aemond and the approaching cars.

“Stop them!” she barked, but her voice was edged with desperation.

In the chaos that followed, Aemond saw his opening. He lunged forward, dodging a bullet as he fired at the man holding you. The shot was precise, and the man fell, releasing you from his grip.

You crumpled to the ground, weak and terrified, but relief flooded you as Aemond dropped his gun and scooped you into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered fiercely, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re safe now. I swear it.”

Alys screamed in rage as Aegon’s men closed in, overwhelming her forces. But Aemond didn’t spare her another glance. His only concern was you, holding you tightly as he carried you toward his car, desperate to get you as far away from this nightmare as possible.

Aemond froze, his arms still securely wrapped around you. He could feel your trembling body against his chest, and the sound of your shallow, frightened breaths only fueled his rage. His sharp gaze locked onto Alys, who now had a pistol aimed directly at you.

"Aemond," Alys drawled, her voice venomous yet steady, "put her down and step back. Or I swear, I'll put a bullet in her before you can blink."

"Alys," Aemond growled, his voice low and deadly, "don't do this."

Alys tilted her head, her green eyes glinting with malice. "You've already chosen her over me, haven't you? Well then, let's see how much she's worth to you."

Aegon, standing a few feet behind Aemond, gestured subtly to his men to prepare for a move, but they hesitated, knowing one wrong move could end with you dead.

"I'm not letting her go," Aemond said, his voice unwavering despite the situation. "If you want to hurt her, you'll have to go through me first."

Alys let out a bitter laugh. "How noble. But your gallantry means nothing to me, Aemond." Her grip on the pistol tightened. "Last chance. Put her down and walk away, or I'll paint the ground with her blood."

Your weak voice broke through the tension.

"Aemond... please," you whispered, barely audible, your tears soaking into his shirt.

Aemond's jaw clenched, his mind racing. He couldn't let you get hurt, but surrendering you to Alys wasn't an option.

He took a deep breath, his one good eye blazing with determination. "Alys," he said, his tone calmer but no less threatening, "you're not walking out of here alive. Let her go, and I might make it quick for you."

Alys's smile faltered, just for a moment. It was enough.

Suddenly, a single gunshot rang out, shattering the tense silence. Alys stumbled, her expression one of shock as she dropped her pistol, clutching her shoulder where blood began to bloom.

Aemond turned to see Aegon lowering his gun, his expression grim. "Didn't think l'd let her get the upper hand, did you?" Aegon muttered, stepping forward with his men to secure the scene.

Alys fell to her knees, her face twisted in pain and rage. "This isn't over," she spat, glaring at Aemond.

Aemond didn't respond. Instead, he tightened his hold on you and carried you to the car, his every step deliberate and resolute. "It's over for you," he muttered under his breath, his voice cold.

As Aegon's men subdued Alys and her remaining lackeys, Aemond focused only on you, placing you gently in the passenger seat of his car. His hand brushed your tear-streaked face, his expression softening as he whispered, "You're safe now. I've got you."

But deep inside, Aemond's fury burned hotter than ever. This wasn't just about saving you-it was about making sure no one would ever dare to take you from him again.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @zaldritzosrose @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[newobsessionweekly]

No way out

part 1

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: When you finally find the courage to take action against your abusive boyfriend, Tim is there to save you. And something happens inside the two of you.

Angst

Warnings: Domestic abuse, emotional distress, violence, protective behavior, slow-burn romance, language.

A/N: As I promised, I will be more active around here. I got a request and decided to turn it into a mini series, I hope you'll like it. Feedback is always appreciated!! Take care of yourselves, bubs! Lots of love! 🫶🏻✨

Words: -

You were gasping for air before you even hit the floor.

The impact of your body slamming into the hardwood rattled your bones, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating terror gripping your chest. The room was spinning, but you forced yourself to look up—his shadow loomed over you, sharp and menacing under the dim light.

"You're always making me do this," he seethed, his voice thick with anger. "Why do you have to push me?"

You curled into yourself, the familiar sting of his words cutting just as deep as the bruises that would form later. Your body ached, but it was the emotional toll that shattered you the most. Because you knew him. You knew the boy he used to be—the high school sweetheart who held your hand in the hallways, who kissed you under the bleachers, who swore he’d never hurt you.

But that version of him was long gone.

A sob choked in your throat as you turned your head, eyeing your phone on the couch just a few feet away. He was pacing now, running a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath about how sorry he was, how it wasn’t his fault.

It was now or never.

With all the strength left in you, you lunged for the phone, snatching it into your trembling hands as you scrambled backward. He spun around, rage twisting his face.

"Don't you dare—"

You pressed 911.

"911, what’s your emergency?"

Your voice cracked. "Please, I—I need help. My boyfriend—he—"

A hand yanked your wrist so hard you thought it might break. The phone clattered to the floor, but the call was still connected.

"You think they can help you?" he sneered, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. "You're nothing without me."

But he was wrong. For the first time in years, you felt something shift inside you. A quiet, burning defiance.

And then, in the distance—sirens.

Tim Bradford had answered countless domestic calls. Some ended peacefully, some turned violent, but every single one had the same thread of despair woven through them.

Tonight felt different.

Lucy kept checking the address, her expression tight. “Tim,” she said suddenly. “I know her.”

He flicked a glance at her, hands steady on the wheel. “Who?”

“The victim. Y/N. She’s my friend.”

His jaw flexed. He didn’t like that. “You knew she was in trouble?”

Lucy hesitated. “I—suspected. I asked her before, but she never admitted it.”

Tim exhaled sharply through his nose.

They pulled up to the house—lights off, curtains drawn. The kind of place where bad things happened in silence.

He stepped out first, scanning the surroundings. He didn’t like this either. The neighborhood was quiet, too quiet. He unholstered his weapon, nodding at Lucy to follow.

They approached the door. Tim knocked, hard. “LAPD! Open up!”

Nothing.

He could hear muffled yelling inside, a crash, then a choked cry.

Tim's patience snapped. He stepped back and kicked the door open in one powerful motion, the wood splintering under his boot.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

You were on the floor, bruised, tears streaking down your face. And your boyfriend—your attacker—stood over you, his face twisted in fury.

"Get your hands where I can see them!" Tim barked, stepping between you and the man without a second thought.

"She’s my girlfriend!" the guy snapped. "This is none of your business!"

Tim had him pinned against the wall in two steps. He twisted the guy’s arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees. “You like hurting people?” Tim growled. “Try me.”

Your boyfriend grunted in pain, but Tim didn’t care. He snapped the cuffs on, yanking him upright.

Lucy immediately rushed to you. “Hey, hey, are you okay?”

Your eyes were still locked on Tim. He wasn’t sure what you were looking at—the gun, the badge, or something else entirely.

“Y/N.” Lucy touched your arm, voice soft. “You’re safe.”

Your breath came out in a shudder, and your knees nearly buckled. Tim watched as Lucy steadied you, gently guiding you toward the couch.

For the first time since they arrived, you exhaled.

The paramedics checked you over, but Tim never left your side. He told himself he was just being thorough, but deep down, he knew better.

Lucy knelt beside you, guilt written all over her face. "I’m so sorry. I should have seen the signs. I should have helped—"

You shook your head. "You couldn’t have known."

Tim watched the way your hand trembled against the blanket draped over your shoulders. Without thinking, he reached out, gripping your fingers lightly.

Your breath hitched. His touch was warm, grounding, and for the first time in years, you felt safe.

It was wrong. You had just gotten out of hell, and here you were, noticing the strength in his hands, the way his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

But when he squeezed your hand back—just a little—you knew he felt it too. Something dangerous simmers in his gaze, something fierce and protective and angry—not at you, but for you.

The night ends in a blur. Statements. Paperwork. More questions than you have answers for. But through it all, Tim is there.

He stands close—not too close, but enough that you feel his presence like a shield. Whenever someone else talks to you, his eyes never leave you.

It's overwhelming. And yet... comforting. You don't even realize how exhausted you are until it’s over.

"You have somewhere to stay?" Tim asks.

Lucy speaks before you can. "She’s staying with me."

Tim nods, but something about his expression stays tight, unreadable. His eyes flick to yours once more, and for a split second, you swear you see something there—something you shouldn’t.

And then he turns away.

When Tim gets back in the shop, he doesn’t start the engine.

Instead, he turns to Lucy. And snaps.

"What the hell, Lucy?" His voice is sharp, cutting. "You’re a cop. How did you not see what was happening to your own friend?"

Lucy’s eyes widen. "Tim, I—"

"You should have known," he growls, slamming his hands against the wheel. "You should have done something."

"I didn’t know!"

"That’s the problem!"

The car falls silent.

Lucy swallows hard, guilt written all over her face. "Why do you care so much?"

Tim opens his mouth—then closes it. He doesn’t know.

But something about the way you looked at him—something about the way he felt when he saw you on that floor—unsettles him.

And for the first time in a long time, Tim Bradford doesn’t know what to do with himself.

[crisiscutie]

punishment. (rebirth)

pairing: 🐍Yandere Sephiroth/Fem!Reader🕊️

You thought you could get away from your Yandere lover? Think again...

Content warning: NSFW. Noncon. Yandere Sephiroth. Physical/Emotional Abuse. Fear/Primal Play. Size Difference (yass)

A part of you knew that you wouldn't win. But you tried anyway. Maybe when you can finally be at peace with yourself if you actually fought this time. Whatever happens, you need to make sure that you won't go "home" with Sephiroth.

As soon as you saw him waiting in the dark woods behind the inn, you knew you had to act quickly. The one area that used to be your haven is now tainted with his presence. You just left him, but now it's time to show yourself that you've really moved past him...

You summoned your blade as you rushed at him. For a good moment, he played along, effortlessly parring your strikes. He felt an influx of new strength from you, but it was still not enough to overcome him. Your cute defiance only made his raging cock eager to take you. You're his precious darling, and you need a reminder of who you belong to.

Eventually, he grew weary of this "mock" fight. He closed his eyes and coolly jabbed his blade through your lower arms, thighs, and leg all at once, causing you to yelp and then crash to the ground. You tried to keep your tears at bay as the coppery taste of blood lingered in your mouth.

Don't worry. You still got spirit. You thought. But as Sephiroth's slit eyes flickered open like a snake, the doubt set in. He stared you down, studying the best ways to play with his food. His tall and menacing stature cast a shadow over your smaller frame. He just couldn't wait to have you. Your womb will be his.

The next few moments happened so quick you couldn't keep up with him. He lifted and shifted your body, straddling your legs to his hips. Wooziness washed over you, no doubt from the blood loss. Your vision had a slight blur to it from the throbbing pain that overwhelmed your senses and your arms hung limply at your sides. You just now registered that your panties were brushed to the side, his cock slowly pushing in and out of you. He was just barely inside you, and already your cunt was struggling to take him. His gloved hand cupped your cheek, relishing in your broken, submissive beauty.

As your unprepared cunt constricted around him, his thrusting quickened. He wanted to keep teasing you, but his primal need to claim your womb overrode it. Your body quivered with an odd yearning for his seed. If only your clit and cunt revulsed from him as your mind did.

You were full of love for him at one point. But when his temper and mind games became too much to bear, you had no choice but to flee. But of course, he found you here, at the very inn you both first met. He always said you're so easy to predict. You clenched your teeth when your abused cunt stretched further around him as he descended further. He was just too big for you to take. Not that he cared though. But as if something within him possessed him, he sent you crashing to the ground, almost crushing you under his weight afterward, while a cruel smirk formed on his lips.

Tears cascaded down your face. Your beaten body squirmed from the impact aftermath. He threw your legs over his shoulders as his cock battered your cervix without mercy, as his own satisfaction is paramount, not yours.

No. No. NO!

A sharp, stabbing pain radiated in your stomach as your cervix struggled to resist his brutal mating press. You could only pray to whatever fucked up higher power out there to end this. You didn't even recognize Sephiroth at this point. His heavy, lusty grunts and the savage rutting of your cunt felt more fitting for a rabid, feral animal than the suave mastermind he believed himself to be.

Your mouth opened and closed, but the only sound that escaped were pitiful whimpers. You don't have the means to take care of a child, especially not his. And you don't even want to think about what Sephiroth even is now ever since he became one with JENOVA. You don't want any trace of them in you. The very thought of them cumming inside of you was revulsive. Unfortunately, the sadistic bastard was more than capable of sensing your thoughts and emotions. Your revulsion only fueled his drive to make your cervix yield.

After enduring more and more of this intense mating press, your prayer seemed to be answered as you lost all sense of thought when your cunt juices sprayed and slathered his cock. Not too long after, He let out a soft groan, one that was finally appropriate for his suave persona when his sticky, JENOVA-corrupted spunk flooded your defenseless womb. But he didn't want to pull out of you yet. He was determined to have every single drop of that "repulsive" alien cum in you. His lips drew nearer to yours, just savoring the sight of your tearful eyes rolling back with a sickening smirk he had never worn before. The essence made from him and his goddess mother, whom you dared to reject, will now defile every part of you, and he couldn't be happier about it. He reached out for your stomach bulge, stroking his large cock through it.

His domination didn't even stop there. Even his seeds in your body relentlessly hunted and ravaged your lone egg for as long as they could, coiling around it like a snake until the last seed penetrated it. Twisted, happy delusions flickered in Sephiroth's mind afterwards, the future visions of how this seed of life will blossom into a beautiful product of love that he and you created together.

When he had finally come down from his orgasm and the rush of power, his touch became surprisingly gentle and affectionate toward you, but there was still a mocking air to his actions, of course. He cradled your petite body and healed it using his dark magic.

"Good girl~," he said and gently patted your head. You lost the privilege of becoming his true equal, so now, the special role of his pet is what you'd have to resign to. You're his property now. Though it's something you can't be ungrateful about. It was a special mercy that he would only extend to you.

As his dark magic slowly mended your wounds, you felt a brief sharp sting of pain, a reminder of the despair to come, resulting from your disobedience. From now on, as Sephiroth's pet, you will no longer be addressed by your name. Your identity will be completely under his control, tailored to his cruel likings. After the mending was complete, he set a course for "home". The environment around you two distorted as he summoned a dark purple portal. He princess carried you into it and glowered at your small, broken form one last time.

He can't wait to begin your training.

While in the process of posting old and new stuff to my AO3, I ended up rewriting most of an old fic. Hope you guys enjoyed this!

[candy69gurl]

POV: You are Sukuna's Vessel 5

Warnings- smut

wc- 2.3k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7

You awaken, free from pain and aches, but find yourself in unfamiliar surroundings. Everything is bathed in a deep red hue, and a sense of unease washes over you. As you sit up, confusion clouds your thoughts. In the distance, you notice something immense—a Tower of Skulls—with Sukuna perched atop it.

Your heart quickens, and adrenaline surges through your veins. With determination, you rise and begin to advance towards the tower, driven by urgency.

"You fucker," you call out, your voice trembling with anger upon seeing him.

As you draw closer to the tower, you see Sukuna seated on a throne, his head propped on his hand. His gaze meets yours, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

"Don't look at me without my permission, brat. I hate it," he growls, his voice filled with  menace. "Bow down before me,"  he orders.

Disobeying him, you inquire, "Where am I?"

"In my domain," Sukuna says, his voice sending chills through your body. "Malevolent Shrine. So you better be obedient and do what I say."

"How did I end up here?" you demand, glaring at him.

"Because you attempted to end your own life, brat," he retorts, a smirk dancing on his lips. "I couldn't allow you to perish, not yet," he continues, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Not until you learn the consequences of your actions."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you gaze at him. Summoning your courage, you take a deep breath, your voice quivering with anger. "Come down here, asshole," you command firmly. "I refuse to serve you, now or ever," you declare, your eyes flashing with defiance.

Sukuna chuckles, a cruel sound resonating through the shrine."You think you are brave enough to insult me?" he says, his voice laced with amusement. "Moreover, you broke the deal that we made."

In a surge of fury, you snatch up a skull, your rage propelling your actions. With all your might, you hurl it towards Sukuna. Swiftly, he leaps from his perch, landing atop you with a mocking laugh.

"Ouch!" you cry out, the impact stealing your breath.

"You don't get to disobey me, vessel," Sukuna snarls, pinning you to the ground and pressing your face into the bloody puddle.

Within a few seconds, he lets go of your head, letting you breathe again. "Get off me!" you yell, struggling beneath him.

"You will listen to me, vessel," he says, his voice cold. "Or I will make sure you regret it," he adds, his eyes gleaming with malice.

You struggle, but he is too strong; your efforts are futile.

"As I was saying, this is my innate domain. In other words, you are not dead yet. You missed your vital spot, so I was able to take over your unconscious body and heal it," he says, looking down at you.

"You're heavy," you remark, trying to deflect.

Sukuna releases you, grasping your neck to force eye contact. "You broke our deal by not allowing me to take over your body whenever I want,"  he says, staring daggers at you.

You study him intently, noting his imposing presence: the pink spikes of his hair standing tall, tattoos and markings adorning his forehead, nose, cheeks, and torso. He's wearing a white robe, the cloth flowing around him.

"Do you like what you see?" Sukuna asks, his voice mocking, "I look like a god, don't I?" he adds, a silly smirk playing on his lips.

"You're still an asshole," you retort, your voice shaking with anger.

"And I'm still the owner of your body, and do you know what happens to those who break the rules?"

You roll your eyes, your anger growing again.

Suddenly, Sukuna's hold on your neck tightens, cutting off your air supply. You fight against him, your chest burning for oxygen. Gasping desperately, your vision blurs.

Summoning your last reserves of strength, you manage to land a kick on his jaw, momentarily loosening his grip.

His eyes blaze with rage as he growls, "You insolent wretch," his voice seething with fury.

In a whirlwind of movement, you find yourself seated upon the throne, Sukuna's hands firmly gripping your waist, his eyes narrowed with unbridled anger.

"Remember, this is my domain," he growls.

Your heart races; panic is surging through you. "Release me," you demand, your voice trembling with fear.

Sukuna's smirk widens, malice glinting in his eyes. "Not so easily," he retorts, his tone chillingly indifferent.

You are now stuck with Sukuna, as he keeps you pinned against him, his hand tightly wrapping around your waist.

With a low growl, Sukuna's hands reach down to your pants. His fingers are brushing against your skin, your breath hitches, and your body is tense with anticipation. You try to push him away, your heart racing.

Sukuna smirks, his eyes gleaming with malice. "I've been waiting for this moment, Sama." His voice is low and seductive, sending chills down your spine. He chuckles darkly, his hands tightening their grip on your waist, before he pulls you closer, devouring your lips in a passionate yet rough kiss. His tongue dances with yours, dominating you completely as he takes control of your body, moving it according to his will.

"I know all your sweet spots," he whispers against your lips, letting you catch your breath for a moment before he yanks your pants off you.

You gasp as he slides his finger over your clit. "I am also aware of your virginity and how quickly you get wet,"  he chuckles, striding his tongue against your neck. Your mind keeps on wondering how he knows all this.

He leans down, yanking off your top and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it, causing you to arch your back in pleasure.

Sukuna grins, pushing a finger inside of you gently, watching as you twitch and moan softly. "Oh, look how you are so wet for me." He coos against your ear, thrusting his finger deeper into you. You squirm in his grip, but he holds you firmly.

"Ah, I am hitting the right spot, am I not?" he asks, intentionally wanting to get a reply from you.

"N-no, not at all. Your nails.. They-," you lie.

"Quit lying, you like the sensation of my sharp nails gazing at your walls; I can read your mind; don't forget that you are in my domain,"  he thrusts another finger, making you whimper. He chuckles darkly, increasing the pace of his fingers.

"Trust me, I can see through your mind right now." He murmurs, his eyes gleaming with lust. His hands then move to your nipple, twisting and pulling, causing you to whimper into his shoulder. "Hmm. Gotta ruin your tough personality," he whispers as he thrusts his fingers faster, making you writhe in his grip.

You moan loudly, your hips buckling against him, desperate for release. "Nah, uh, you need to beg for it,"  Sukuna smirks, his finger sliding out of you, his eyes never leaving yours.

You try to think of something else, but your mind keeps on reminding your body about the pleasure it was feeling from his fingers.

He chuckles darkly, his eyes gleaming with lust. "Say it aloud; I want to hear it, though I already know what you want by reading this filthy mind of yours." He says, sliding his fingers back into you, twisting and pulling them, making you moan loudly.

"Please let me, Cum,"  you gasp, your eyes wide with a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Hmm? Already started begging? You are not as tough as I thought you would be. Guess, I am hitting your right spots," he mocks, bruising your sweet spot again and again.

Suddenly, his fingers leave you abruptly, making you whine in protest. You were so close, but he stopped. He laughs, still holding you firmly against him. "This is a punishment; I can't give you pleasure. Can I?"

He turns you so that he can see your face clearly, and your hands unconsciously wrap around his neck. "If you really want to cum so badly, then do it on cock," he said, his voice low and seductive, causing shivers to run down your spine.

"I don't need it from you," you lie, trying to sound tough but failing miserably as you can feel his laughter resonating in your ears.

"Oh, come on, I know you want it; your body is begging for it," he laughs, his lips trailing down your neck. "Your body is so slutty, you know that?" he asks, his hands roaming your back and your hips.

You shake his hold on you, trying to break free, but he grips you tighter. "Quit lying, I told you I can read your mind," Sukuna chuckles, his lips against your ear. "You really look good with that short hair," he whispers, his fingers tangling around your hair. "I apologise; if you truly care about your hair, it will grow back."

"Shut up, I hate you so much," you try to say.

"Kiss me then; let me fix us," he smirked.

You glare at him, but he doesn't seem to care. Instead, he pulls you closer, your lips brushing against his. His lips are soft against yours, and his tongue darts out to trace the line of your lips. You groan softly, your defenses crumbling. His lips press harder against yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth, claiming it as his own. This time he kisses you thoroughly, his hands roaming your body and touching your every sensitive spot.

"Don't you want to feel the king of curses's cock inside you?" he whispers against your lips, his hands cupping your breasts. You moan softly, feeling his hands on your breasts, causing you to shiver in pleasure.

"I-I don't need that," you stutter, your body betraying you as it moves against him.

"Don't lie; you know you do," Sukuna murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. "You are already imagining me fucking your little pussy, mhm." He chuckles darkly, his hands roaming your back, causing you to feel embarrassed.

"Stop reading my mind." Your hands travel to close his eyes. "I don't want your dirty cock inside me," you resist.

"Then why are you grinding against it? Why do you envision me fucking you?" he gently moves your hands from his face to his cock. "Can you feel it throbbing?"

You jolt at its thickness and say, "I-impossible."

He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest that vibrates against you. "Is it?" His hands slide down your body, pulling your pants off. "Don't worry, you are loose enough," he murmurs, guiding your hands against his hard shaft. "Are you telling me you don't want this?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You bite your lip, your body betraying you as your hips rub against him. He chuckles evilly and says, "I want to hear you. Tell me you want this inside you."

You hesitate for a second, your eyes wide with confusion and desire. "I think, I do," you stutter, your hands gripping his robe tightly. Sukuna chuckles, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Is that so, little slut? Fine, let's see how you react," he says, his hands pulling your legs apart. His cock slides against your clit, causing you to gasp and moan.

"Please…" you whisper, your eyes pleading. "Please, what?" he asks, and he continues teasing your clit. "P-put it inside,"  your eyes pleading with him.

Sukuna's smirk never leaves, his eyes gleaming with victory as he positions himself at your entrance. He thrusts inside you, making you gasp and arch your back.

"Yes, that's it; take it," he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips. You moan loudly, your hands tugging on his robe. "Good vessel, take it all," he praises you, thrusting in and out of you.

You moan loudly, your hips buckling against him. "Hmm, nice and tight," he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with lust. "Tight as I thought you would be." You whimper, your eyes wide with pleasure and pain.

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his thrusts becoming faster and harder. "Where is the fierce girl you used to be?" he mocks, his nails digging into your hips. You moan softly, your body writhing under his touch.

He kisses your neck and, with his fingers, your hair. "I'll make sure you never forget this," he growls, his hips thrusting faster. You moan loudly, your hips buckling against him. His thrusts become faster and harder, and your body shudders under his touch. He bites your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. "Do you know, get it, who's the owner of this body?" he growls, his eyes gleaming with lust.

"Yeah," your voice quivering with every demonic thrust.

"You look so good, taking my cock, so submissive," he murmurs, thrusting harder. His words send shivers down your spine, his cock sliding in and out of you, making you whimper. "I can feel your walls trembling around me," he growls, his hands wrapping around your neck.

You whimper, your body shaking terribly, your toes curling.

"Cumming already?" he asks mockingly, his hips thrusting harder.

"A-ah, I-I," you gasp, your body betraying you. You arch your back, your body quivering as you reach your climax. Sukuna groans loudly, his hands gripping your hips tighter.

"This body, these breasts, this pussycat—every inch of your body belongs to me," his low growl echoing through your ears, his cock pulsing inside you. He thrusts deeper, his orgasm coming hard, filling you up. He gives you a peck, and your body is still quivering from the experience.

"Now you know who owns this body," he mocks, his hands running down your body. "Next time, don't dare to deny me." You nod weakly, your body still under the effect of the intense climax. He smirks, slowly pulling himself out of you, his cock sliding out of your body.

You pass out, slumping against him. Sukuna chuckles ominously, his eyes bright with triumph.

TAGLIST: @moonlightazriel @unholiiness @nyxlai @cocoaxbunny @persephone-lilly @iraa567 @rabbidbunwy @sweetchildcloud @lotus-n-l0ve @smashhed @imhellakawai @loveoreos @selfloverrrrrr @matchainthemorning @freckledmuffin @palegardenrebel @hellomeow12 @rowrowrowyourboat13

Dividers from @cafekitsune

[blakeswritingimagines]

Hell's Coming With Me

Summary: There's only one way to stop the war now.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Word count: 8.3k

You find yourself in the Red Keep, where Aemond Targaryen, the younger son of King Viserys I, and the younger brother of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, is standing tall and imposing. His face hardened with anger as he spots you. "You dare to come here after what you've done? After you betrayed my family?" He snarls, his dragon-like features becoming more pronounced as his rage builds. "I should kill you where you stand for your treachery! But instead…" Aemond's eyes gleam dangerously, "…you will earn your keep by telling me everything that has transpired since we last met. And if you lie or withhold information, so help me, I'll have your tongue. Now speak!" Your gaze does not falter at Aemond's threats. Instead, you lift your chin and meet his blazing eyes with an icy composure. As he demands answers, you respond with a voice laced with cold conviction. You stare back into Aemond's eye with your unwavering gaze, you do not back down nor shame away from his threat. "Do not think I fear you or your threats, kinslayer. I will speak, but only if you promise to listen and hear my words without blind rage and anger. A skill you don't seem to have mastered yet. You speak of betrayal, Aemond as if your own actions have not been those of a turncoat. But very well, I will indulge your curiosity. Since our last meeting, I have done what I must, to protect my claim and my loved ones."

His nostrils flare as he takes in your defiant stance, the audacity of your words stoking the fire of his anger. He clenches his fists, the knuckles whitening under the strain of holding himself back from leaping across the room to strangle the life out of this woman who dared to call him a kinslayer. "Your words are bold, but they're empty," he growls, his teeth grinding together in frustration. "You've betrayed us all for your own selfish ambitions. But know this, I won't let you get away with it. I'm going to make you pay for what you've done." Aemond's gaze darkens, his eyes reflecting the fury burning within him. He steps closer, looming over you as he continues to threaten you, promising retribution for your perceived betrayal. Your eyes blaze with defiance as you match Aemond's gaze. You refuse to be intimidated by his towering figure or his threats. Your voice remains calm and firm as you meet his gaze with unwavering determination. "You speak of ambition, Aemond, but it was you and your family who were willing to put my family and me in danger in order to secure the throne. Are you so blind to your own actions that you cannot see? You speak of betrayal, yet it was you who turned on us first." Your words cut through the air like a knife.

The corner of Aemond's mouth twitches as he fights to maintain control, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he takes. The sheer audacity of your accusations sends a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, fueling the flames of his wrath. "I didn't betray anyone!" he roars, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "It was you who started this war. You and your scheming mother!" Aemond lunges forward, grabbing hold of your arm in a vice-like grip. His other hand balls into a fist, ready to strike. As Aemond grabs your arm, your instincts kick in, and with a swift movement, you twist your body out of his grip. Your heart races with a mixture of fear and determination, you take a step back, your eyes fixed on Aemond's menacing form, ready to defend yourself. "So it all comes down to this again, Aemond? You resorting to violence when you can't win an argument. Is this the kind of ruler you aspire to be - one who can't handle dissent or differing opinions? This is why I will make a better Queen than you ever will be."

Rhaenyra and Alicent burst into the room, their eyes widening in shock as they see Aemond attempting to strike you. Rhaenyra immediately steps forward, placing herself between you and Aemond. "Stop this nonsense at once, Aemond," Rhaenyra demands firmly, her eyes locked on her half-brother. His other hand uncurls from its fist, but only to point an accusing finger at his sister. "Don't interfere, Rhaenyra," he spits out, his voice dripping with venom. "This is none of your concern anymore. You chose sides long ago." He turns his attention back to you, ignoring Rhaenyra and his mother completely. "Admit it. Admit that you're working with them. That you're just another one of their puppets." Aemond's eyes flash dangerously as he waits for your response, completely oblivious to the tension building in the room. Despite the precarious situation, you hold your head up high, your gaze locked on Aemond's intense stare. You refuse to back down, your voice steady and determined. "I serve no one's agenda but my own, Aemond. Unlike you, I don't blindly follow the whims of my parents and the council. I am my own person, with my own ambitions and desires. I do not answer to them, and I sure as hell don't answer to you either."

Rhaenyra and Alicent glance at each other, a silent understanding passing between them as they step closer to you and Aemond. With a mixture of frustration and resignation, Rhaenyra speaks calmly, trying to diffuse the situation. "It was decided that both of you will marry," she says, her voice firm yet measured. "It is not a matter of discussion or choice. You will both be tied together by matrimony." Aemond's eyes narrow suspiciously as he looks at Rhaenyra, then his mother, and finally back to you. Stepping back slightly as he contemplates Rhaenyra's words. "So that's your plan, is it?" he sneers, a dangerous edge to his voice. "Force me into marriage with this traitor?" He glares at you, suspicion evident in his gaze. "Why should I trust any of you? You've all lied and schemed to get what you want. Don't think I'm going to fall for your tricks now." Aemond crosses his arms over his chest, his posture rigid with hostility.

Alicent places a hand on her son's shoulder, her touch gentle but firm. She meets Aemond's gaze with a calm yet authoritative expression. "This is not about trust, Aemond," Alicent replies quietly, her voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion. "This is about family. This marriage will strengthen our alliance and ensure the stability of our house. It's our duty to the realm, and to our families, to make this sacrifice." Rhaenyra nods in agreement with Alicent, her expression softening for a moment as she adds her own thoughts. "This marriage is not just a political union, Aemond. It's an opportunity for us all to put aside our differences and come together as a family. The war has caused enough suffering and division. We can end it now, by making this sacrifice." She looks between you two, her eyes pleading for understanding. Aemond's gaze flickers between Alicent and Rhaenyra, his face unreadable. After a moment of silence, he gives a curt nod, conceding defeat for now. "Fine," he grumbles, his tone begrudging. "I'll do it…for the sake of the realm." But despite his outward acceptance, there's a simmering resentment in his eyes. He may have agreed to the marriage, but he certainly hasn't forgotten - or forgiven - any of the wrongdoings committed against him.

As the wedding day draws near, the mood within the castle is a strange combination of excitement and anticipation. The halls buzz with talks of the royal wedding, which will unite two powerful families in an unlikely union. The bride and groom-to-be, you and Aemond, have spent weeks getting ready for the special event. The castle has been adorned with colorful banners and fresh flowers. The air is filled with the scent of blossoming roses, and the distant sound of minstrels practicing their instruments fills the air. As the months pass, preparations for the royal wedding begin in earnest. The Red Keep buzzes with activity as servants and courtiers scurry back and forth, ensuring that everything is in place for the grand event. You, meanwhile, find yourself caught up in the whirlwind of preparations, torn between the anticipation of your upcoming nuptials and the weight of the responsibilities that will come with your new role. As the day of the wedding approaches, Aemond can't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. There's excitement, yes, but also unease. He knows this union isn't one born of love or even mutual respect. It's a political necessity, a pragmatic solution to a complicated problem.

Despite his reservations, he does his best to play the part of the dutiful groom-to-be. He attends countless meetings and rehearsals, tolerating the endless discussions about seating arrangements and flower arrangements. But beneath his composed exterior, a storm of feelings brews, churning up memories of past betrayals and present uncertainties. Aemond stands outside the Septon's Hall, staring off into the distance as he prepares to enter the room where his fate - and yours - will be sealed. Despite his outward appearance of calm indifference, inside he is seething with rage and disgust. He had never wanted this, never wanted you, and yet here he was, about to become your husband. With a heavy sigh, he pushes open the door and steps inside, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you. There you stood, looking more beautiful than ever in your white silk gown, your hair coiffed into intricate braids adorned with fresh flowers. For a moment, he almost forgets why he hates you. But then he remembers your betrayal and the hatred resurfaces.

You stood in a simple yet elegant white dress, the fabric flowing around your figure like water. A small crown of flowers rests atop your head, their vibrant colors adding a touch of warmth to your cool demeanor. As Aemond enters the room, your eyes meet him, and a mixture of emotions flickers across your face. Despite the tension between you, there is a sense of resignation in your eyes, a feeling that you have reluctantly accepted your fate. But your gaze remains steady as you stand tall, facing him without an ounce of fear. As the ceremony begins, Aemond can't help but feel a mixture of revulsion and resignation. He repeats the traditional vows in a flat, monotone voice, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of hatred and resentment towards you. Your voice, on the other hand, is soft and clear, your words spoken with earnestness and determination. When it's time to say the seven sacred pledges, Aemond glares at you with venom in his eyes, his lips curling into a sneer. But you hold your gaze, refusing to show any sign of weakness or hesitation.

As the vows are exchanged, Aemond's heart feels like lead in his chest. Each word that leaves his lips tastes like ash in his mouth. But he forces himself to continue, knowing that this is what must be done. His gaze remains fixed on you, watching as you speak your vows with sincerity and conviction. The sight makes him sick to his stomach. Yet, he knows that he too must give his all, if only to save face in front of all loved ones. So, he swallows down his hatred and bitterness, replacing it with a mask of compliance. And when the final vow is made, he feels nothing but relief. Aemond grits his teeth as he utters the final vow, his voice barely above a whisper. The very thought of being bound to you in this way fills him with loathing. As the High Septon declares them wed, Aemond can't suppress the bitter laugh that escapes his throat. 'So this is how it ends,' he thinks to himself, a twisted sense of irony tainting his dark humor. You stood next to Aemond, your palms sweating and your heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Despite the uncertainty of the situation, you force yourself to hold your head high and maintain a façade of composure. Inside, however, your mind is racing with thoughts and feelings that you can't quite untangle. As the high Septon declares you both man and wife, you gaze up at Aemond, your eyes searching for any hint of warmth or affection, but all you find is his cold, indifferent gaze.

After the ceremony, the reception begins. Aemond finds himself in the crowded ballroom, surrounded by nobles and courtiers congratulating him on his new union. He forces a fake smile onto his face, nodding stiffly in response to their well-wishes. All the while, his eyes dart around the room, searching for you. He needs to get away from all these people, to find a moment of peace before he has to pretend for the rest of the night. Meanwhile, you were stuck talking to a group of ladies-in-waiting, exchanging hollow pleasantries, and discussing the latest court gossip. However, you can't help but feel suffocated by the small talk and false smiles. After making your excuses, you slip away from the group and disappear into the crowd. Aemond watches as you slip away from the group, a grim smile playing on his lips. He knew exactly where you'd go; after all, it was one of the few places he avoided himself. Quietly, he makes his way through the crowd, heading towards the same secluded garden where he knew he would find you alone. When he reaches the arched trellis covered in vines of climbing roses, he stops, his gaze trained on your silhouette bathed in moonlight. "Well, look who decided to join me," he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting his piercing gaze. A jolt of surprise courses through you, but you quickly regain your composure and straighten your shoulders, refusing to show any hint of emotion. "I didn't come here for you," you reply coolly, your voice steady and determined. "I came here because I needed a moment of peace from all the insufferable chatter in there." Aemond narrows his eyes, studying you closely. He can see the tension in your body, the stubborn resolve in your eyes. But he also notices something else, something softer beneath the surface. "You're doing a good job pretending you don't care," he says, his tone laced with sarcasm. "But don't fool yourself. You might hate me too, but we are married now…and we will have to learn to live with each other….."Run all you like, my lady. But you are mine now, and there's no escape."

You bite your lip hard, the sharpness of his words cutting deep. You wanted to retort, to spit back a scathing response, but the weight of his words sinks in. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "I am not yours," you retort, your voice firm and resolute. "And I never will be. We might be married, but our hearts and minds will always remain our own. I will tolerate you because I have to, but do not mistake tolerance for affection." Aemond laughs a harsh, bitter sound that echoes through the quiet garden. His eyes flash dangerously as he steps closer to you, his tall frame looming over yours. "Oh, how delightful," he spits out, his voice dripping with scorn. "You expect me to believe that you've consented to this marriage solely for the sake of the realm? That you don't feel even a shred of fear or dread at the prospect of sharing my bed?" His gaze drops down to your lips, lingering there for a moment before he continues, "Do you think I'm so easily fooled?" You stiffen, goosebumps pricking at your skin as he draws closer. You refuse to let him see your fear, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and defiance. "Is it not enough that I've agreed to tie myself to you for the sake of our families? Do you expect me to be giddy with excitement at the prospect of bearing your children?" You hold his gaze firmly, refusing to back down. "I am not your property, Aemond. And I never will be."

Aemond grinds his teeth together, a muscle ticking in his jaw. The sight of you standing defiantly before him only serves to fuel his anger. 'How dare you speak to him in such a manner? Who did you think you were?' "Do not presume to dictate the terms of our relationship," he growls, stepping even closer until you are mere inches apart. "We are wed now, whether you like it or not. And if you refuse to cooperate, I assure you, things will be far more unpleasant for you." His hands clench into fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white under the strain. You lift your chin defiantly, refusing to be intimidated. "I am not a child, Aemond. I may be forced to suffer your touch and endure your company, but do not mistake that for submission or acceptance. I will never be your faithful little wife."

Aemond's eyes narrow, his face contorting into a snarl. The raw hatred in his gaze is palpable, his fury barely contained. "So be it," he seethes, taking another step forward until you are practically touching. "If you insist on playing the defiant maiden, then know that I will make your life a living hell. Your days of freedom are numbered." Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest. His words send a shiver down your spine, the venom in his voice making your stomach churn. "Is that a threat? Or a promise?" You ask, your voice trembling slightly. "Because I assure you, Aemond, that I will not be cowed by your petty threats. I am not some damsel in distress, waiting to be rescued. I am a dragonrider, and I am not afraid of you." Aemond's expression hardens, his icy lilac eye reflecting the cold, unyielding stone of the castle walls. He studies your face, taking in every flinch, every tremble, every flicker of fear in your eyes. "So be it," he finally murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "We shall see who breaks first."

The days pass with a tedious routine. Aemond and you have an unspoken agreement: you keep out of each other's way, each avoiding the other whenever possible. Aemond spends his days training and strategizing, while you engross yourself in your books or spend time with your friends. The only moments you do speak to each other are brief and polite, both of you keeping up appearances in public but keeping a respectful distance in private. Aemond strides into the Great Hall, his boots clicking against the marble floor. He scans the room, his gaze landing on you seated at the high table. Your beauty catches him off guard, and a sudden rush of heat surges through him. It's been weeks since the wedding day and yet he still finds himself unable to shake the image of you from his mind. He approaches you, his strides confident and purposeful. His hand gently grasps your wrist, pulling you close. "Tonight, you're to accompany me to the feast," he whispers into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

You stiffen at his touch, your skin hot under his fingers. "I assume that's not a request," you mutter through gritted teeth, your voice laced with irritation. You glance up at him, your expression impassive, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his touch affects you. A smirk tugs at the corner of Aemond's mouth, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He pulls away, crossing his arms over his chest. "Correct," he replies, his voice low and firm. "It would be wise for you to remember that." You scoff, rolling your eyes at his arrogant demeanor. "Of course, My Lord," you reply, your tone dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm. "Because heaven forbid I refuse to be at your beck and call." You let out an audible sigh, your patience already wearing thin. "Very well," you respond, your tone laced with resignation. You adjust the loose braid over your shoulder and meet his gaze with a defiant lift of your chin. "But don't expect me to pretend to be happy about it."

Aemond smirks, amused by your feistiness. Despite your protests, he can't help but find your spirit alluring. You were unlike any woman he'd ever met, and he found himself strangely drawn to you. "As long as you understand that I won't tolerate any more of your insolence," he warns, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Tonight, you will behave like the royal you are, or face the consequences." You raise an eyebrow at his warning, your expression defiant as ever. "In case you've forgotten, I'm not some common wench to be ordered around," you retort, your voice laced with sarcasm. "And I will not bow to your every command like some mindless sycophant. So, if you expect me to behave like a 'royal,' you can forget it." Aemond's lips curl into a frown, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He steps closer, invading your personal space. His voice drops to a whisper, his words carrying the weight of a deadly threat. "You forget yourself," he growls, his eyes burning with a cold, fiery intensity. "You are my wife now, and I will not tolerate any further insubordination. You will learn to respect me, or you will regret it."

You hold his gaze, your own eyes flashing with defiance and fear. You try to mask the flicker of anxiety that flits through your expression, refusing to let him see how his nearness affects you. "Is that a threat, Your Grace?" you reply, your voice steady, though your heart hammers in your chest. You lift your chin defiantly, refusing to back down. "Because let me assure you, the only thing I regret is agreeing to this miserable union." Aemond's eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he fights to maintain control. His voice lowers even further, becoming a chilling whisper. "It most certainly is a threat," he seethes, his grip tightening around your wrist. "And one you would be wise to heed, my dear wife." His eyes flicker towards the nearest window, the moonlight casting eerie shadows across his face. He leans in closer, his hot breath washing over you. "I hope you're prepared for what comes next because once I'm done with you, there'll be no turning back."

The Great Hall is packed from wall to wall with guests celebrating yet another lavish feast. Servants weave through the crowd, bearing trays of food and wine. You sit beside Aemond, dressed in a deep red gown, your hair loose and free, flowing down your back. You remain silent, your eyes scanning the room blankly as you sip your wine. Aemond observes you quietly, taking in the way you hold yourself and the defiant expression on your face. Aemond watches you from the corner of his eye, studying your reactions. His gaze lingers on your delicate profile, the soft curve of your cheek, the fullness of your lips. He can feel the tension between you, a palpable energy that hums beneath the surface. He reaches out, his hand brushing against yours, causing you to jump slightly. He withdraws his hand quickly, not wanting to draw attention to the interaction. "Are you enjoying the feast?" he asks casually, trying to engage you in conversation. Your eyes flicker to his hand, then back up to his face. Your heart skips a beat at the brief contact, but you immediately push the feeling away, replacing it with your usual defiant expression. "As much as I can, considering I'd rather be anywhere else," you reply, your voice cold and distant as you take another sip of your wine.

Aemond watches you closely, his gaze intense and probing. He feels a pang of frustration at your aloofness, your refusal to bend to his will. He knows he must tread carefully. "Regardless, I am glad you decided to join me tonight," he says, his voice holding a hint of sincerity. "You look… lovely." Your eyes narrow at his compliment, your guard immediately going up at the unexpected compliment. You glance down at yourself, then back up at him, your expression skeptical. "Spare me the sweet talk, Aemond," you respond with a roll of your eyes. You take another sip of your wine, your gaze fixed on the crowded hall. "We both know this is nothing more than a forced performance for the sake of appearances." Aemond clenches his jaw, his gaze hardening. He can't deny your accusation; the marriage is indeed a political arrangement. But despite that, he can't shake off the desire to make you his. "If that is how you wish to perceive our situation, so be it," he replies, his voice icy and controlled. "However, do not mistake my efforts to keep you safe and respected as mere pretense."

You meet his gaze, your eyes narrowing slightly at his words. "Keeping me safe and respected?" you repeat, your voice filled with disbelief. You set your wine goblet down on the table with a thud, your hand trembling slightly. "You dare to speak of safety and respect after everything you've done to me? You've forced me into this marriage, held me captive in this castle, and now you expect me to believe you're some kind of benevolent protector?" Aemond grits his teeth, his hands clenching into fists under the table. He knows he should have anticipated this reaction, but your words still sting. Aemond stares at you, his eyes darkening with anger. The room seems to close in around him, the laughter and chatter of the guests fading into insignificance. He had thought he could maintain a semblance of civility, but your constant defiance was pushing him to his limits. "Do not test my patience," he warns, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I may have agreed to protect you, but I am not without my own needs. And I warn you, if you continue to resist me, you might just find yourself facing the true extent of my power." He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. "In time, perhaps you might come to understand that I am not the monster you believe me to be."

Your heart hammers in your chest, your breaths coming in short, shallow bursts as you stare back at him. Fear dances across your face, but it is quickly replaced by defiance. "And what would that take Your Grace?" you retort, your voice trembling slightly despite your attempt to remain strong. "For me to see beyond your cruel and controlling demeanor? For me to accept your rule without question, to submit to you and bow down before you like some mindless puppet?" Aemond's nostrils flare, his eyes blazing with fury. He clenches his fists, the knuckles whitening under the strain. He wants to lash out, to show you who is truly in charge here. But he knows he must maintain some level of restraint, at least for now. "I did not ask for your opinion, nor do I require your acceptance," he snarls, his voice echoing menacingly throughout the room. "But know this. If you continue to defy me, I will ensure that you come to understand exactly who holds the power in this castle." You swallow heavily, your own temper flaring as you straighten up in your seat to look him directly in the eye. "And what, pray tell, would you have me do? Shall I follow you like a docile little lamb, fawning over your every command? You may hold the power in these halls, Aemond Targaryen, but you will not break me. I will not be your puppet, nor your obedient little wife."

Aemond's eyes flash dangerously, his temper barely contained. He rises abruptly from his seat, towering over you. His hand tightens into a fist, the veins in his neck pulsating with the force of his rage. "You are treading on very thin ice," he growls, his voice low and threatening. "Your defiance will only lead to your downfall." Aemond's face twists into a scowl, his eyes burning with barely restrained rage. He can hardly believe your audacity, your blatant disrespect for his authority. But he reminds himself that you are young, inexperienced, and easily manipulated. "You are correct," he seethes, his voice dripping with venom. "I will not break you. Instead, I shall teach you your place, and remind you that disobedience comes with consequences." With that, he turns on his heel and strides away from the table, leaving you alone amidst the crowd of feasting guests. You watch him go, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. Your heart races in your chest, a mixture of fear and anger coursing through you. "Arrogant bastard," you mutter under your breath, gripping your hands tightly in your lap. "And an overly dramatic one, too." You sit quietly for a few moments, trying to calm your racing heart. Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for your goblet of wine. You take a large mouthful, swallowing it down quickly and wishing it was something stronger.

Aemond stalks away from the table, his long strides carrying him swiftly toward the entrance of the great hall. His blood boils with anger, his heart pounding in his chest. He can still feel the heat of your defiant gaze seared into his skin, and it only fuels his fury further. Reaching the entrance, he steps outside onto the balcony overlooking the castle grounds. The cool night air does little to soothe his raging emotions, but he stands there nonetheless, staring out into the darkness, lost in his thoughts. You having regained your composure, decide to slip away from the festivities and seek solace in the gardens. You quietly make your exit from the feast, the noise and laughter fading as you venture into the quiet of the gardens. The cool night air and the stillness bring a sense of peace, helping to calm your rattled nerves. You walk along the cobblestone path, your footsteps cushioned by the grass, your thoughts consumed by the events of the evening. The image of Aemond, his expression twisted with anger and rage, lingers in your mind, causing your stomach to churn uncomfortably.

Aemond remains on the balcony, his thoughts consumed by the encounter with you. His initial intention was to let you stew in your anger, to teach you a lesson about crossing him. But as he stood there, alone in the night, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret. He knew he had been harsh, perhaps too harsh. But damn it all, you tested his patience like no other. He had never met anyone quite like you - stubborn, headstrong, and defiant. Yet, he found himself inexplicably drawn to you. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and turned back towards the great hall, ready to return and face whatever challenges awaited him. You had found a quiet spot in the gardens, away from the noise and hustle of the castle. You sat on a stone bench, the chill of the night air nipping at your skin. Your heart had finally slowed to a normal rhythm, and the anger and fear faded into a dull throb. You looked up at the sky, the stars sparkling like diamonds in the inky blackness. A feeling of peace washes over you, the garden providing a peaceful escape from the tumultuous emotions of the evening.

Aemond reenters the great hall, and his earlier anger somewhat subsides. He moves through the crowd with a practiced ease, exchanging pleasantries and maintaining the facade of a gracious host. Despite his efforts, his mind keeps wandering back to you, and the defiance in your eyes. His curiosity gets the better of him, and he finds himself making his way towards the gardens. He has no clear plan or purpose, merely a desire to see you again, to gauge your reaction to the earlier confrontation. You continue to sit in the garden, your thoughts a tangled mess of emotions. The quiet ambiance of the gardens helps to soothe your frayed nerves, the sounds of crickets and soft rustling leaves providing calming background music. As you sit there, deep in thought, you sense someone approaching. Your heart rate quickens, wondering if it's Aemond. You turn to look, your eyes widening slightly as you see him walking towards you. Aemond walks into the gardens, his movements silent and stealthy. As he approaches the bench where you sit, he stops suddenly, taken aback by your beauty. The moonlight casts a silvery glow on your face, accentuating the delicate curves of your features. "Forgive me for disturbing your solitude," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I could not help but notice your absence from the feast. It seemed…unusual." He takes a step closer, his gaze fixed on you.

Your heart skips a beat as he approaches, his voice breaking the quiet serenity of the garden. You turn your gaze up to him, his presence so close that you can nearly feel the heat radiating from his body. Your guard goes up immediately, your shoulders tensing involuntarily. You force yourself to stay calm, to not let him see how his presence affects you. "I needed some time away from the noise and commotion of the feast," you replied, your voice betraying none of the emotions swirling inside you. Aemond studies you closely, taking note of the subtle changes in your demeanor. There is a certain tension in the air between you, a palpable energy that he finds both intriguing and intoxicating. "It seems we share a similar sentiment," he murmurs, stepping closer until you're mere inches apart. "The noise of the feast can become tiresome after a while." He gazes deeply into your eyes, his own dark and intense. You can feel the intensity of his gaze, the proximity of your bodies causing a shiver to run down your spine. You tilt your head up to look at him, refusing to back down despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. Your pulse quickens under his scrutiny, but you force yourself to remain calm and composed. "Yes, it can be quite overwhelming," you agree, your voice steady despite the fluttering of your heart. "Sometimes, a little solitude is necessary to clear one's head."

Aemond notices the flicker of defiance in your eyes, the stubborn set of your jaw. He admires your strength, your refusal to bow down to his authority. It was refreshing, unlike most of the women he encountered who were either fawning or fearful. "You are unlike any woman I have ever met," he admits, his voice low and gruff. "Your spirit is fierce, your determination unyielding." His gaze drops to your lips, then returns to meet your eyes. Your breath catches in your chest as he speaks, his words sending a jolt of electricity through you. You feel a surge of pride at his praise, but quickly stomp it down, reminding yourself not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how his words affect you. You lift your chin, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. You can feel the heat of his gaze as he looks at your lips, but stubbornly refuses to allow it to show on your face. You keep your expression neutral, despite the rapid thrumming of your heart. "Is that a compliment or a complaint?"

Aemond smirks, amused by your feistiness. He leans in even closer, his face just inches from yours. The heat emanating from his body is almost unbearable, yet you don't move away. "A compliment, always a compliment," he whispers, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. "It would do you well to remember that." You resist the urge to close the gap between you two, your body betraying your will. The sound of his voice, so close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You swallow hard, your throat suddenly parched. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself, forcing your voice to remain steady as you respond. "And what if I choose not to remember?" A wicked grin spreads across Aemond's face, his smirk revealing a hint of danger. He enjoys this game, the dance of power and dominance between you. It excites him and stirs something within him that he hadn't felt before. "If you choose not to remember, my lady, I will simply have to remind you," he purrs, his tone laced with a dangerous promise. Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound echoing loudly in your ears. Your body is hyper-aware of his proximity, the heat from his body seeping into your own. Despite your best efforts to remain calm and collected, you can't help but shiver involuntarily at his words. Taking a deep breath, you lift your chin defiantly, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "Oh, I dare you to try."

Aemond chuckles softly, finding amusement in your daring challenge. His eyes gleam with an unholy light, a predator recognizing another predator. This was more fun than he had anticipated, more thrilling than anything he'd experienced in a long time. "Very well, my lady," he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. "Consider yourself reminded." Your heart races, your pulse thrumming in your veins. Your body is a jumble of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, intrigue. You bite your lip, your mind warring between the desire to push him away and the inexplicable attraction you feel towards him. "And what exactly are you going to remind me of, Your Grace?" you say, your voice coming out a little too breathless to sound as defiant as you would like. A devilish smile curls the corners of Aemond's lips as he hears the slight hitch in your voice. He steps even closer, his body almost touching yours. He can smell your scent, sweet and alluring. It sends a wave of desire coursing through him. "That you belong to me," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "That every inch of you is mine to claim."

Your breath hitched in your chest, your heartbeat quickening at his words. The intensity in his eyes and the possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. But despite the powerful attraction you feel towards him, you're also intensely irritated by his blatant disregard for your autonomy. "I don't belong to anyone," you say, your voice trembling slightly, despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "And you don't own me." Aemond scoffs, his eyes flashing with irritation at your defiance. Yet, there is a spark of admiration in his gaze as well. He respects your spirit, your unwillingness to bend to his will without a fight. "Do you really believe that my lady?" he asks, his voice a soft rumble. "You may think you're strong enough to resist me, but I assure you, resistance is futile." Your frustration mounts, your temper flaring at his arrogant confidence. The fact that he sees you as a mere object to be claimed, despite your protests, drives you to snap. "You're such an arrogant prick," you hissed, your voice laced with anger and frustration. "You think just because you're the Prince, you have the right to possess anything and anyone you desire, regardless of their desires or feelings."

Aemond narrows his eyes at your harsh words, a dark scowl crossing his face. He doesn't like being challenged, especially not by someone he considers beneath him. But he also can't deny the thrill that runs through him when you stand up to him, the spark of defiance in your eyes igniting a fire within him. "Watch your tongue, my lady," he growls, his voice a low, threatening rumble. "Or I might just decide to teach you a lesson you'll never forget." Your eyes flash defiantly, the anger coursing through your veins making you bold. You step closer to him, your bodies almost touching now. "You think threats will make me submit to you? You think I'll bow down and give in because of your status and authority?" you hiss, your voice trembling with rage. "I'll sooner die than submit to someone like you." A flicker of surprise crosses Aemond's face at your boldness. Most people cower under his intense gaze and commanding presence, but you seemed unaffected. If anything, you appeared more determined, more defiant. "Well then," he says, his voice low and deadly, "perhaps we should see just how far you're willing to go." Your heart races, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You stand your ground, refusing to back down despite the danger in his voice. "Bring it on, Your Grace," you challenge, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your insides. "I'm not afraid of you."

Aemond studies you closely, his eyes scanning your face, taking in your defiant expression. There's a certain allure to your bravery, your refusal to bow down to him. It's intoxicating, and it makes him want to explore further. "So be it," he murmurs, his voice a low purr. "Let the games begin." A shiver runs through your body at the sound of his words. You can feel the danger in the air, the electricity between you crackling with tension. But you refuse to back down, no matter how your heart may be pounding in your chest. "You won't win," you retort, your voice a defiant whisper. "I won't let you." A wicked grin spreads across Aemond's face, his smirk revealing a hint of danger. He enjoys this game, the dance of power and dominance between you both. It excites him and makes him feel something within him that he hadn't felt before. "If you choose not to remember, my lady, I will simply have to remind you," he purrs, his tone laced with a dangerous promise. You clench your fists, your heart racing with adrenaline and fear. you are caught in a storm of emotions, the tension between you thick enough to be cut with a knife. Aemond's predatory gleam makes you shiver, but you refuse to let him see your fear. "Maybe it's time for you to learn the meaning of losing," you replied, your voice surprisingly defiant despite the tremors that were coursing through you.

Aemond's laughter echoes around the air, a chilling sound that sends a shudder down your spine. His eyes, full of untamed lust and dominance, never leave you. "Oh, I don't lose, my lady," he drawls, his voice filled with arrogance and confidence. "Remember that." Aemond's hand snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body. He lets out a low growl, his other hand tangling in your hair as he pulls your head back, exposing your neck. His teeth graze against your skin, teasing you, the sensation causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Just remember, my lady," he whispers into your ear, his voice dripping with dominance, "you started this game." A gasp escapes your lips as his hand encircles your waist, pulling you closer to him. His grip on your hair is firm but not painful. The way his teeth graze your neck, just barely touching your skin, makes your heart race with a mixture of fear and excitement. You swallow hard, your body responding to his touch despite your determination to resist him. You try to calm your rapid breathing, but it's difficult with him so close to you. "I don't lose either," you whisper fiercely.

A low chuckle rumbles from Aemond's chest, vibrating against your body. He tightens his hold on you, pulling you even closer until there's no space left between you. "Oh, I believe you, my lady," he murmurs into your ear, his voice a seductive purr. "But we shall see who truly comes out on top." Your breath hitches in your throat as he pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours. You can feel the heat radiating off him, and you fight the urge to lean into him, a combination of fear and anticipation. "Bring it on, Your Grace," you retort, your voice shaking slightly. "You might be powerful now, but you haven't seen my strength." Aemond's laughter echoes around them, a dark, menacing sound that sends chills down your spine. He tightens his grip on you, pulling you closer still. His other hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over your jawline. "Oh, I've seen your strength, my lady," he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. "And I can't wait to break you."

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand cups your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline. The feeling of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, making your heart pound in your chest. You looked up at him, defiance burning in your eyes. "And I can't wait to watch you try," your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. Aemond's eyes flash with a dangerous light, his grip on you tightening. He leans in, his lips hovering just inches away from yours, his hot breath mingling with yours. "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness, my lady," he warns, his voice a husky whisper. "Because when I'm done with you, you'll be begging for mercy." You stare up at him, a mix of fear and anticipation. You can feel his hot breath on your face, the intensity of his gaze making your stomach flip. "Save your threats, Your Grace," you say. "They won't scare me." Aemond's hand slides down from your cheek, tracing a path along your neck before moving lower. His fingers dipped beneath the neckline of your dress, his touch scorching against your skin. His other hand moves to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back further to expose your neck.

Aemond's lips crash down onto yours, his hand cradling the side of your face. His tongue invades your mouth, tasting you, asserting his dominance. His other hand travels down your body, tracing along the curve of your hip before squeezing your ass firmly. He breaks the kiss only to trail hot kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. His hands continue their exploration, pushing under your dress to find bare skin. Caught off guard by his sudden assertiveness, you stiffen in his arms. But as his tongue explores your mouth, you find yourself melting into him, returning his kiss with a passion you didn't know you had. His touch on your body ignites a fire within you, and you can't help but press yourself closer to him. Despite your growing desire for him, you know you can't give in completely. You pull away from his kiss, panting heavily, your body trembling with need. Aemond's eyes darken with desire as he watches you, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each heavy breath you take. He trails his fingers up your thigh, inching dangerously close to your center. "Running away so soon, my lady?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips. "I thought you were braver than that." You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan threatening to escape your lips. You know you should pull away, and put an end to this madness, but your body betrays you, yearning for his touch. "I'm not running," you admit, your voice shaky. "Just… reminding myself of who's actually in charge here." You spoke before taking a deep breath and sat him down on the bench which didn't do much for the height difference other than how much closer you were face to face now.

A low chuckle rumbles from Aemond's chest as he watches you, his eyes filled with a predatory hunger. He slides closer to you on the bench, his body almost touching yours. "Oh, I think it's quite clear who's in charge here, my lady," he purrs, his hand moving to rest on your thigh under your dress, his fingers slowly edging towards your panties. You swallow hard as you feel his hand on your thigh, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of your panties. Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through your veins. "Well then, Your Grace," you say, forcing a smirk onto your face, "I suppose it's time we find out just how submissive you can be…" A devilish grin spreads across Aemond's face as he hears your words. He leans in, pressing his hard cock against your entrance. With one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you. "That I did, my lady…" he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "And now you're going to get exactly what you deserve…"

Feeling Aemond thrust into you, you let out a sharp gasp. The sensation of being filled by him is overwhelming, both painful and pleasurable at the same time. You arch your back, your nails digging into the fabric of the bench as you try to adjust to his size. "Aemond…" you manage to whimper, "it hurts…" Aemond grunts as he feels you tighten around him, your tight walls clenching against his invading cock. He withdraws slowly, only to thrust back in deeper, filling you completely. "It's supposed to hurt, my lady," he groans, "that's how you know it's real…" Feeling Aemond's thrusts, you can't help but let out a series of soft moans. As much as you hate to admit it, there's a part of you that's starting to enjoy this. You look up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of tears and desire. "Please… slow down…" she begs, her voice shaking. Aemond grins down at you, his thrusts slowing slightly as he relishes in the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around his cock. He leans down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as he continues to fuck you senselessly.

"Don't worry, my lady," he murmurs against your lips, "we've only just begun…"

[estellan0vella]

Fraying Ties Older Brother Sukuna AU HFBU

The buzz of the tattoo parlour hums in the background as you sketch the final touches on a client's custom design. It's a calming routine that helps you focus, a necessary reprieve from the unpredictable nature of your epilepsy.

As you admire the intricate patterns forming on the paper, the door chime jingles. You look up, expecting a potential client or one of the regulars. Instead, your heart sinks as you see your parents storming in.

Their faces twist in disgust as they take in the sight of the parlour. The scorn in their eyes immediately focuses on you, and you brace yourself for the onslaught.

"Well, look who it is," your mother sneers, her voice dripping with condescension. "Still wasting your life away in this dump?"

You open your mouth to respond, but your father cuts you off with a derisive laugh. "And look at that," he points to the large tattoo on your arm. "Making yourself even more of a freak than you already are."

Heat flushes your cheeks, anger bubbling up inside you. But before you can retort, Gojo saunters over from his piercing station, his casual demeanour a stark contrast to the rising tension. "Hey there, Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N," he says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Can I help you with something?"

"Stay out of this, Gojo," your father snaps. "We're here to talk some sense into our daughter."

"Yeah, I don't think that's gonna happen," Gojo replies, his tone light but his eyes hardening. "Maybe you should leave before things get out of hand."

"Out of hand?" Your mother scoffs. "The only thing out of hand is our daughter throwing her life away and associating with people like you."

"People like me?" Gojo's eyebrows shoot up, amusement flickering across his face. "You mean successful, independent, and happy? Yeah, terrible influences."

Your parents' faces darken, but before they can retort, Toji and Geto join the fray. Toji crosses his arms, a menacing glint in his eyes, while Geto stands tall and imposing beside him.

"Is there a problem here?" Toji asks, his voice low and dangerous.

"Yes," your father barks. "Our daughter is the problem. She needs to come home and stop this nonsense."

"Nonsense?" Geto echoes, a smirk playing on his lips. "You mean her job that she's amazing at? The career she's passionate about?"

Your mother's eyes narrow, her gaze flicking to your tattoo again. "And look at her, covered in those hideous tattoos. It's disgraceful."

"Disgraceful?" you finally find your voice, your hands trembling with rage. "The only disgrace here is how you treat me. You've never accepted me for who I am, and you never will."

"Watch your mouth, young lady," your father growls, stepping towards you menacingly.

"I'm done watching my mouth," you snap back. "You're a miserable old bastard, and you," you point at your mother, "are a condescending bitch."

The room goes silent for a moment, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Your father's face turns red with fury, and he raises his hand as if to strike you. But before he can make contact, Toji steps forward, grabbing his wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Touch her," Toji warns, his voice a deadly whisper, "and you'll regret it."

Yuji and Megumi, who had been quietly observing the chaos, rush to your side. Yuji clings to your leg, his eyes blazing with defiance. "I'll kick you again!" he shouts at your father, his small frame trembling with anger.

Megumi nods, his own expression fierce. "Yeah, and I'll help!"

You smile down at them, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. "It's okay, boys," you say softly. "I've got this."

But your father isn't done. "This is exactly why you need to come home," he snarls. "Look at what kind of people you're surrounding yourself with."

You laugh, a bitter sound that echoes in the tense room. "These people," you say, gesturing to Gojo, Toji, Geto, and the kids, "are more family to me than you ever were. So why don't you just fuck off?"

"Fuck off!" Yuji and Megumi echo in unison, their voices filled with innocent ferocity.

Gojo bursts into laughter, clapping a hand on your shoulder. "You heard the lady. Time for you to leave."

Your parents stand there, stunned and humiliated. Finally, with one last glare, they turn and storm out of the parlour, slamming the door behind them.

The tension in the room dissipates, replaced by a collective sigh of relief. You sink into a chair, your hands still shaking, but a weight lifted from your shoulders.

"Those are the only people you can tell to fuck off," Toji says, ruffling Yuji's hair affectionately.

"Yeah," Geto adds, crouching down to Megumi's level. "But you did good, sticking up for Y/N."

Yuji grins up at you. "Did we do good, Y/N/N?"

"So good," You say. 

As you pull Yuji and Megumi into a hug, the door chime jingles again. This time, it's Sukuna, back from his errands. He steps inside, immediately sensing the residual tension in the air. His sharp eyes scan the room, taking in your pale face and the relieved expressions of your friends.

Before he can ask what happened, Yuji rushes over to him, eyes wide with excitement. "Suku! Me and Megumi told Y/N/N's parents to fuck off! And I threatened to kick her dad again!"

Sukuna's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and then a slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face. "Did you now?" he says, his voice low and amused. He ruffles Yuji's hair, pride glinting in his eyes.

Toji steps forward, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, her parents showed up, causing trouble. We had to step in. Y/N handled it like a champ, though."

Gojo appears beside you, pressing a sugary soda into your hand. "Here, drink this," he says softly as he guides you to a chair. "You need to get your blood sugar up."

You take the soda gratefully, sipping it slowly as the room starts to feel more grounded. Sukuna walks over, his eyes softening as they meet yours. He crouches down beside your chair, one hand gently cupping your face. "You okay, baby?"

You nod, feeling the weight of his concern. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just...a lot to deal with."

Sukuna's thumb strokes your cheekbone as you sip on the drink. "Did they touch you?"

"No," Toji interjects. "But her dad was about to. I made sure he didn't."

Sukuna's jaw clenches, his anger barely contained. "They're lucky they didn't." He looks back at you, his expression softening again. "I'm proud of you. You stood up to them."

You manage a small smile, the support from everyone around you filling you with a sense of belonging. "Thanks. It was time."

Megumi tugs at Sukuna's sleeve, his serious little face looking up at him. "We helped too, Suku. We protected Y/N/N."

Sukuna's expression softens even further as he looks down at Megumi. "You both did great," he says, ruffling the boy's hair. "I'm proud of you, too."

Gojo chuckles, the tension fully melting away now. "Well, looks like we've got the best team here. No one messes with our family."

Your heart swells at his words. Family. That's what this was. Not the toxic relationship with your parents, but this—a group of people who truly cared for you.

You take another sip of the soda, feeling the lightheadedness start to fade. "Thank you, all of you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Sukuna stands up, pulling you to your feet and wrapping an arm around your waist. "You'll never have to find out," he promises, his voice a low growl. "We're here for you, always."

Yuji and Megumi cheer, their youthful exuberance a balm to your weary soul. You laugh, the sound light and genuine. Surrounded by your chosen family, you know that no matter what comes your way, you'll be able to face it together.

taglist - @sad-darksoul @thejujvtsupost @kyo-kyo1 @kalulakunundrum @ryomku

[killa-cookie]

Okay so uhm can you pretty please please make a fanfiction about Espresso cookie and temperance reader like reader wants to saved their beloved normal cookie so they find a way they sacrificed themselves to Mystic flour in exchange for everyone to be back on their cookie and not become a flour we sacrificed ourselves and got corrupted instead of course we said our final goodbye to our beloved Espresso

goodness how much times have you gave me ideas for fics, I've just been feeding off your requests tbh HELPP

SACRIFICE

Anngsysty

You watched as he dissolved before your eyes, fading into nothingness, turning back into the flour from which he was born. Your love, your everything, crumbled before you, disintegrating in the cruel, unfeeling wind.

Espresso’s voice echoed faintly, his final words dripping with bitterness: “Apathy”... “A perfect world.” You caught the fleeting glance he spared you, a mixture of sorrow and resignation, before he vanished entirely.

And it was her. All of this—every ounce of your anguish—was because of her. Mystic Flour Cookie. Once a comrade, but no longer. She was a beast, a creature like everyone else. Yet you knew she wouldn’t let go of her grand apathy plans so easily.

You had no choice. No other path lay before you. You had to give yourself to her.

The Ivory Pagoda loomed ahead, an imposing structure bathed in a cold, lifeless light. It had taken an eternity to reach this place, but here it was, your end. The gates swung open at your approach. Cloud Haetea, guardian of this wretched place, didn’t so much as lift a finger to stop you. Perhaps it was your expression—a gaze so menacing, so filled with rage—that held them back.

You burst through the grand doors, their ancient wood groaning under your force. Mystic Flour sat at the center, her silhouette bathed in the ethereal glow of the pagoda’s light. She was meditating, but her eyes opened as you entered. Calm yet piercing, her gaze met yours.

“...Temperance?” she murmured, her voice betraying her surprise.

When you traveled with Dark Cacao, she had suspected something about you, but here, in this place where foresight ruled supreme, she hadn’t foreseen this—a raw, unguarded confrontation.

“Stop your plans at once, Mystic Flour,” you demanded, your voice trembling with defiance.

Her expression darkened. Her eyes, once pools of serene wisdom, turned black as night, unrelenting in their scrutiny of you.

“This... This is unusual for you,” she mused, her tone soft but layered with menace. “Why are you interfering with my plans, Temperance?”

Her voice was alluring, yet it chilled you to your core.

"Your plans are too hostile, mystic flour—

“Hostile?” she replied, your words cutting through the still air. “I would say... the opposite.”

“This conversation has ended—”

“WAIT!”

Your cry rang out, desperate and unyielding. The silence that followed was deafening. Mystic Flour rose, her movements graceful yet deliberate. She approached you, her gaze intent, unreadable.

“...I have an offer,” you whispered, the weight of your words crushing you.

Her brows arched slightly, curiosity flickering across her face. “And what, pray tell, do you have to offer me?”

You swallowed hard, your voice breaking as you spoke. “I offer you everything. My devotion, my soul—everything I am. Just... stop your plans. Return the world to what it was. Please.” Tears streaked your face as you fell to your knees. You knew you’d never see Espresso again. But if sacrificing yourself meant he could live, you would do it without hesitation.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, Mystic Flour spoke, her tone cold but resolute.

“...Very well. But do not mourn when I turn you into a beast such as myself.”

With a single, sweeping motion of her hand, life began to bloom once more. The world stirred from its apathy, the souls she had consumed were restored, and hope began to creep back into the corners of existence.

The gates of the Ivory Pagoda slammed shut behind you, sealing you away for eternity. No one would ever see you again.

Espresso Cookie’s POV:

“W-what?! Where am I?” I stumbled to my feet, disoriented. The last thing I remembered was a haze—a comforting, endless white. And then... them. My love. They were staring at me, horrified.

But now... they were gone.

Frantically, I ran through the house, checking every room, every corner, every shadow. No sign of them. Not a trace. Not even their scent lingered.

“Where are you?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

I stumbled into our shared bedroom, my heart pounding as I searched. And there, lying on the bed, was their veil—the one they wore so often, shielding their face from the world. Sometimes, if I was lucky, they would remove it, letting me see the softness beneath.

I clutched the veil to my chest as tears streamed down my face. Hours passed, each more agonizing than the last. I searched everywhere, called out their name until my voice was hoarse. And yet... nothing. They were gone.

I put up posters, plastering the town with their image. I begged anyone I came across. Days turned to weeks, and hope began to slip through my fingers like grains of sand.

Late one night, I sat in the darkness of our empty home, the veil still clutched in my trembling hands.

“They’ll come back,” I murmured, my voice trembling. “They’ll come back. They have to come back.”

But as the silence stretched on, the weight of their absence pressed down on me, suffocating.

“They’ll come back… right?”

The words hung in the air, fragile as glass, before shattering into sobs.

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

Tablet Time

This story is inspired by and starring @pinkducttape and their partner Midnight! Go check out their awesome blog!

Sunset, the 24-year-old college drop out, lazily twisted the cord to their pastel pink kitten headphones as they stared down blankly at the Kid Edition Fire Tablet in their hand. They sucked their pacifier as the bright colors of Cocomelon danced in front of their eyes. The cartoon characters sang the same nursery rhymes they had heard hundreds, if not thousands of times.

Sunset hated Cocomelon. They hated their tablet. They hated their headphones. They hated their pacifier. And, they definitely hated the damp pull-up strapped to their bottom. But they didn't dare turn off their tablet, spit out their pacifier, or even look away from the screen. They couldn't risk it. This is how Midnight, their Daddy, wanted them: As their dumb, useless, tablet-addicted, little toddler. A kid so dumb, so distracted by their childish television shows that they couldn't even be bothered to care about being properly potty trained.

"Excuse me? Excuse me? Can I take your order? What would you like to eat?" The waitress said as she tried to get their attention, but Sunset couldn't look away from their screen. As much as the flashing colors and inane music bothered them, they knew that if they looked away for a moment, the eye tracking software their Daddy had downloaded onto their tablet would recognize it, and they would be at risk of not meeting their minimum 14 hours of screentime for the day.

Sunset just couldn't risk their Daddy's punishment for not meeting their screentime requirements. Last time they hadn't met Daddy's expectations, Daddy decided that Sunset must be too little for even toddler entertainment, and forced them to spend 2 days as an infant, complete with diapers, onesies, bottles, pacifier gags, and no entertainment--toys, music, or books--that was meant for anyone older than 6 months in age. While their time as a tablet-addicted toddler was horrible, being treated as an infant who wasn't even trusted to support the weight of their own head with their neck, was far, far worse.

Daddy's voice interrupted Sunset's train of thought. "Sunsie! Turn off that tablet and answer the nice waitress. What do you want for dinner? Chicken nuggies and milk? Or how about a kid's cheeseburger and a glass of juice?"

Sunset groaned internally. Were they really going to make them put on his favorite performance? Here, in a public restaurant? In front of all these people?

Sunset never looked up from their screen as they chirped out their defiance from behind their pacifier. "No, Daddy! I'm watching my tabby!"

Sunset never looked up, but they knew from experience that Daddy had a self-satisfied grin plastered on their face.

"What was that, puppy? Are you telling Daddy no?" Daddy asked with a playfully menacing tone.

"Yeth, Daddy! I'm watching my tabby! Weave me awone!" Sunset lisped out in defiance, pulling their tablet out of Midnight's reach.

Per Daddy's rules, the only reprieve Sunset got from their daily screentime quota was when Daddy took their tablet away from them. They got double credit for each minute Daddy refused to let them watch their babyish shows. However, that exception only applied when they threw a temper tantrum before Midnight took the tablet away.

"Sunsie, you aren't defying Daddy, are you? Give me that tablet right now!" They bellowed as they reached over and grabbed it in one hand.

"No! Daddy! It's my tabby! No takies! No takies!" Sunset screamed, tears flowing down their cheeks as their Daddy unceremoniously plucked the child's tablet out of their hands and pulled their headphones off of their head.

"No! Daddy! I want my tabby! I want my tabby!" Sunset spit their pacifier out and slammed their fists on the table has they let their fake rage overwhelm them and devolved into a full-blown tantruming toddler

Now able to see Midnight's face with their tablet removed, Sunset could see their Daddy's self-satisfied grin as Sunset made a fool of themselves in front of the entire restaurant. Other patrons were staring at the adult, dressed like a toddler, throwing a fit over their tablet being taken away. The waitress looked both amused and befuddled by the whole situation. Sunset would have blushed, but their face was already red from their fake tantrum.

"Baby, do not make me take you over my lap in front of all of these people!" Midnight said, warningly.

Being in public, Sunset recognized the true meaning in their Daddy's words. They had made a big enough scene. They could stop their tantrum now.

"Okay, Daddy," Sunset huffed like a defeated toddler as they leaned back in their seat and pouted indignantly.

"Now, tell the nice waitress what you want, Sunsie," Daddy instructed Sunset. Now was the time that Sunset could really blush. After throwing such a childish tantrum in front of the woman, they were now forced to make a decision on which item off the kids menu they wanted to eat.

Without making eye contact, Sunset gave the waitress her order. "Um... Chicken nuggies and milk, please." Heat radiated up Sunset's cheeks as she spoke those words.

"Good job, baby," Midnight said as they handed the waitress their menus, "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Sunset risked a glance at the waitress only to catch her smirking at the whole situation.

"I'll be right back with those drinks," the waitress said before winking at Sunset, "so, don't you go anywhere sweetie."

Sunset felt like they could die from embarrassment. They felt a little pee trickle into their already damp pull-up as they tried to melt into the seat of the booth they were sitting in. It only took moments for their Daddy to reproduce Sunset's tablet and headphones.

"Does my puppy want their tabbie back?"

Sunset immediately reached out with grabby hands. As much as they hated the tablet, they wanted nothing more than to plop their headphones back on, turn on some ridiculous show for infants, and pretend they were anywhere but in the busy restaurant they had just humiliated themselves in.

Sunset ignored Midnight's knowing grin as they ripped their tablet out of their Daddy's hands, threw on their kitty-themed headphones, and let themselves become absorbed in an episode of Miss Rachel that their Daddy had downloaded for them earlier in the day.

Sunset barely noticed the waive of calm that washed over them as they let themselves become one with their tablet again. They also barely noticed when the waitress brought their milk in a sippy cup. Or when Midnight warned them to be careful not to get ketchup on their tablet. Or even when they leaned forward in their booth and pushed out a giant mess into their pull-up.

As Sunset laid on the changing table in the family restroom of the restaurant, distracted from the shame and humiliation of being changed by Midnight by the soft voice of Miss Rachel singing directly to her, they thought to themselves that, despite it all, maybe a little bit of tablet time wasn't such a bad thing.

[elryuse]

Yandere mafia rose x male reader who likes to make her jealous

Mafia's Lover

Yandere Mafia Rosé X Male Reader

The world was a blur of red and pain. I remember the cold metal biting into my flesh, the acrid tang of blood filling my senses. A lifetime ago, it seemed. I was a ghost in my own body, a hollow shell drifting through a crimson haze. Then, he appeared. Y/n. An oasis in the desert, a beacon in the storm. His hands, gentle as a summer rain, tended to my wounds. His eyes, filled with a compassion I’d never known, held me together.

In that vulnerability, I found a strength I never knew existed. I clung to him, to the warmth of his touch, the steady rhythm of his breath. In those stolen moments, love bloomed in my heart, a defiant flower pushing through the concrete of my world. But my world was a harsh mistress. A world of shadows, where loyalty was a chain, and betrayal a death sentence. I couldn’t drag him into that darkness. I had to let him go, even as it tore me apart.

Months turned into an endless winter. The world was a monochrome canvas of gray, devoid of color, devoid of hope. But then, a flicker of life, a spark of defiance ignited within me. I needed to see him, to feel the warmth of his presence once more.

And there he was, my heart aching at the sight. Surrounded by a flock of giggling girls, he was a sun radiating warmth. A sun that should have been mine alone. Rage, a venomous serpent, coiled in my gut. How dare they? How dare they infiltrate my world, my Y/n?

I watched him through the binoculars, a silent voyeur to a scene that was both beautiful and agonizing. His laughter, once a melody reserved for me, was now shared with others. A bitter taste rose in my mouth, a cocktail of jealousy and longing.

I had to have him back. Not just for the love I felt, but for the control, the power it gave me. I was a queen in a kingdom of shadows, and he was my crown jewel.

The next day, I stood at his door, my heart a drumbeat of anticipation and fear. The moment he opened the door, my world shifted. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a raw pain that mirrored my own. It was intoxicating.

“I missed you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. But my hands, they spoke a different language. They wrapped around his, a possessive claim. His wince was music to my ears.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, my voice low, a purr of menace.

His eyes, wide with fear, were exactly what I wanted. He was trapped, a bird caught in my web.

“Those girls don’t deserve you,” I hissed, my voice laced with venom. “All you need is me. And only me.”

With a decisive pull, I dragged him inside, closing the door on the world. We were alone, two souls caught in a tempestuous dance of love, obsession, and control.

His fear was a sweet nectar, fueling my desire. He was mine now, completely and utterly. I would mold him, shape him into the perfect reflection of my desires. The world outside could wait. This was our moment, our world. A world of two.

I ran my fingers through his hair, the softness a stark contrast to the storm raging within me. His eyes held a mixture of fear and something else, something I couldn’t quite decipher. It intrigued me.

"Remember when I was weak, and you were my strength?" I asked, my voice soft, almost seductive. His eyes flickered, a silent acknowledgement. "I gave you everything, Y/n. My trust, my love, even a part of myself."

I paused, letting the words sink in. "And what did I get in return? Betrayal."

His lips parted to speak, but I silenced him with a gesture.

"Don't," I warned. "Your words are meaningless now."

I leaned in close, my breath warm against his skin. "Now, it's my turn to shape our destiny."

I could feel his fear, a delicious tremor running through him. It was intoxicating. I wanted to break him, to rebuild him in my image. And then, I would possess him completely. Body and soul.

I smiled, a predator's grin. The game had just begun.

A week had passed since I dragged him into this gilded cage I called home. In those seven days, I had transformed from the predator to the caretaker. I cooked, I cleaned, I tended to his every need. I had become the woman I had always pretended to be, the one I thought he wanted. And to my surprise, he seemed to be thawing.

The fear in his eyes had gradually been replaced by a hesitant trust. His body, once tense and rigid, now relaxed under my touch. It was a slow, insidious process, but I was patient. He was mine to keep, and I would ensure it.

I watched him sleep, his face serene in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. There was a vulnerability in his slumber that made my heart ache with a strange tenderness. This was the man who had saved me, the man who had ignited a fire within my soul. And now, he was mine.

Morning brought with it a new routine. I would wake him with soft kisses, the scent of coffee and toast filling the air. His sleepy smile was a reward I craved. We would spend the mornings together, lazy and intimate. I would read to him, my voice a soothing melody that seemed to calm his spirit.

In the afternoons, I would teach him about the world beyond his sheltered existence. He was fascinated by the stories of my life, the danger, the thrill. I painted a picture of a world that was both terrifying and exhilarating, and he listened with rapt attention.

As the days turned into a week, I began to see a change in him. The fear was fading, replaced by a quiet strength. He was learning to rely on me, to trust me. And in that trust, I found a love I never knew existed.

One evening, as we sat by the fireplace, I took his hand in mine. "You are safe here, Y/n," I whispered, my voice soft as velvet. "No one can hurt you."

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion I couldn't fathom. "I know," he replied, his voice barely a whisper.

I leaned in, our lips brushing together. It was a tentative kiss, filled with unspoken promises. When we pulled apart, I could feel the shift, a seismic change in the dynamics between us. He was no longer the terrified victim. He was becoming my equal.

My world, once a monochromatic canvas of black and white, was now painted with a thousand hues. There was still the darkness, the undercurrent of my past, but it was no longer the dominant force. Love, a foreign concept, was now a vibrant part of my life.

Time passed, and I managed to extricate myself from the underworld. The life of a mafia boss was not one I wanted anymore. I wanted a quiet life, a simple life, with Y/n by my side.

We opened a small cafe, a sanctuary away from the chaos of the world. It was a world away from the life I had once known. But in this new reality, I found a happiness I never thought possible.

Y/n thrived in his new role. He was a natural with people, his smile a beacon of warmth. And as always, he attracted attention. Young girls would flock to the cafe, their eyes sparkling with admiration. I watched him interact with them, the same warmth and kindness he had shown me.

A pang of jealousy would sometimes strike, a ghost of my past self. But then he would catch my eye, and with a playful wink, he would send the jealousy packing. I would smile, a mixture of love and amusement.

One evening, as the sun began its descent, casting long shadows over the cafe, I found myself watching him. He was laughing with a group of young customers, his eyes sparkling with mirth. I felt a surge of protectiveness, a remnant of my past life.

I walked over to him, my arms wrapping around his waist from behind. He turned, his smile widening. "Jealous, my love?" he teased.

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Maybe a little," I admitted.

He chuckled, pulling me closer. "You're mine, remember?" he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear.

I turned in his arms, our lips meeting in a passionate kiss. As we pulled apart, I looked into his eyes, seeing the love and adoration reflected there. I was home.

Days turned into weeks, months, and years. Our love deepened, a rich tapestry woven with threads of passion, trust, and companionship. The cafe became more than just a place of business; it was our sanctuary, a testament to our love story.

And as I watched the world change around us, one thing remained constant: my love for Y/n. He was my everything, my beginning and my end. And in the quiet moments, as we sat together in the warmth of our cafe, I knew I had found my happily ever after.

The end.

[barrenclan]

Obsessed with elderly cat Nightberry so crushed by grief and rage she kills a fox that is bigger, stronger and has more battle experience than her! Also Pinepaw ripping Hacksaw's wing~ Pine & Night rage!!!

Ranger finding the way to have his little revenge is so fun, too!

And in contrast, Cormorant choosing to chase off his murderous semi-friend rabbit because he's tired of killing...

Our no-good uncle reveal is amazing, and I love how menacing he looks in the last frame, despite (or perhaps because!) he hid himself from his family and was dissociating in the back of Defiance's army.

Also R.I.P. his raccoon friend?

Slugpelt being attacked by Cupid and killing him was also so good - but I wonder if Rainhaze will even notice or care, with how far gone he seems.

I can see why Nightberry is Like That in one of your human AUs drabbles!

In the goblin fridge, I've been putting up little descriptions for each issue, and Issue 36's was:

So I'm glad that theme was picked up on!

Nightberry is a vicious old lady and no one should ever underestimate her.

[soireegurl]

can you write bully heeseung (or any other member if you want) with reader? like he is always nice to everyone and no one believes that someone as sweet as him would bully someone. but he bullies reader a lot and actually likes her. can you also make him like REALLY mean if you can

Thanks for requesting!!!!

In the bustling halls of Gwangyang High, Heeseung was adored by all. His smile was as radiant as the sun itself, his charm captivating. To everyone else, he was the epitome of kindness, but to you, he was a venomous presence, a yandere masked in sweetness.

Despite the facade, his affection for you was twisted, expressed through cruel taunts and relentless bullying. You were the only one who saw through his façade, the only one to witness his true nature.

Every day was a new torment orchestrated by Heeseung, his words cutting deeper than any blade. Yet, amidst the pain, you refused to see his actions as anything but cruel and unjustifiable. You saw no affection in his twisted behaviors, only malice.

"Why do you do this to me?" you demanded one day, your voice trembling with anger and frustration as you confronted him after another round of humiliation.

Heeseung's smile remained unnervingly calm as he looked at you, his eyes gleaming with a possessive fervor. "Because, darling, you belong to me. And I won't let anyone else have you."

His words sent a chill down your spine, the implications of his possessiveness filling you with disgust. You refused to be anyone's property, least of all his.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the torment only seemed to intensify. Heeseung's jealousy grew into a consuming obsession, his actions becoming increasingly erratic and dangerous.

One day, after catching you talking to another boy, Heeseung's jealousy erupted into violence. He cornered you in a deserted hallway, his fists clenched with rage as he advanced towards you.

"You think you can talk to other guys behind my back?" he spat, his voice dripping with venom as he grabbed you roughly by the collar. "I'll make sure they never look at you again."

With a sickening sense of dread, you realized the depth of Heeseung's obsession. His love was not sweet, but poisonous, a dangerous obsession that threatened to consume everything in its path.

"Please, Heeseung, stop," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled against his grip.

But Heeseung's rage knew no bounds. With a vicious snarl, he delivered blow after blow, each one landing with the force of a sledgehammer.

As you lay bruised and broken on the cold tile floor, Heeseung leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Remember this," he whispered, his voice low and menacing. "If you ever so much as look at another guy again, I'll kill them. And then I'll kill you."

Tears stung your eyes as you watched him walk away, his footsteps echoing ominously in the empty hallway. You were trapped, caught in the tangled web of his twisted love, with no hope of escape.

But deep down, beneath the fear and despair, a spark of defiance flickered to life. You refused to be a victim, refused to let Heeseung's cruelty define you.

And so, with each passing day, you vowed to fight back against the darkness that threatened to consume you, to break free from the shackles of Heeseung's toxic love, and reclaim your life from the sweet venom that had poisoned it.

[johaerys-writes]

can you bless my soul with a Snippet Sunday of baby born blue?

*pleading puppy eyes*

Also i love your work so much and it has became a slightly unhealthy obsession 👀

Hello!! I'm so glad you like my work that's so wonderful to hear 🥰 Here’s a little snippet from the next chapter of baby born blue where Achilles is being a menace as usual:

Patroclus jolts just a little when Achilles leans over him, his arms coming around his shoulders from behind.

“Why don’t you come and take a shower with me, hm?” he whispers, lips caressing his ear. “Continue where we left off.”

A flash of rage blinds Patroclus momentarily. He shrugs Achilles off, staring resolutely at his laptop screen.

“Get away from me,” he growls warningly. “I’m busy.”

“Well, you don’t have to be,” Achilles tells him, a little miffed. “We won’t be going back to Greece for another week, at least.”

“A week?” Patroclus turns around to pin him with a glare. “We’re leaving, Achilles. Tomorrow.”

Achilles purses his lips in a pout. “Five days.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Fine, four days. And three quarters.”

“I’m not bargaining with you. We’re leaving tomorrow and that’s final. I’m booking the tickets right now.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Watch me,” Patroclus says, turning back to his laptop and pulling up a flight booking page.

Achilles’ hand shoots over his shoulder, but Patroclus catches his wrist on reflex; there’s a brief struggle where they both try to get their hands on Patroclus’ laptop, and Patroclus seems to be winning until Achilles basically climbs over his lap and onto the desk, slapping the laptop screen shut and sitting half-way on top of it.

“Get off, you’ll ruin it!” Patroclus shouts in a panic, trying to catch Achilles’ legs and pull him away, while Achilles kicks at him and clings onto the desk for dear life. It is all so comical and ridiculous that Patroclus is glad no one is around to see them. He throws his hands up with an angry huff.

“Achilles, you fucking asshole—” He takes a step back and glares at him, sweating beneath his suit. He tries not to worry about Achilles’ weight that’s currently probably crushing his poor laptop as he says, “You’re like a child. You know that? A stubborn, arrogant, spoiled brat. Things always have to go your way, otherwise you’ll throw a fit and make it everyone's problem. I’m done with you, you hear me? I’m done with your bullshit. Done.”

“You weren’t done with me when you were doing me this morning,” Achilles retorts haughtily, tilting his chin up in defiance, and Patroclus has to use every ounce of his willpower not to walk over to the desk and strangle him.

[cyberneticfallout]

Chapter Ten: Radstorm Beast

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: An intense radstorm appears in the night leading to a battle and a revelation. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventually more smut, language, canon-typical violence, chem/alcohol use, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 2.8k

The feeling of raindrops gently tapping against your skin startles you awake in the dead of night. It's a sensation you haven't experienced in this region for what feels like an eternity. Wiping the cool water from your face, you sit up slowly, taking in the sight of the camp. The Ghoul lies peacefully nearby, undisturbed by the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain.

As you watch the fluttering embers of the campfire, a sudden green flash of lightning illuminates the sky, followed by a deep, rumbling thunder. The unexpected storm spooks you, a sense of foreboding creeping in as you realize a radstorm is fast approaching. In all your years across the wasteland, you've never witnessed one this far west. Back east, you encountered them far too frequently.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you anxiously mutter under your breath as panic sets in. Desperately scanning the surroundings for any form of shelter, a flash of lightning briefly illuminates the darkness, revealing a dilapidated Slocum’s Joe in the distance. Without hesitation, you crawl over to the sleeping ghoul and shake him awake.

"Heh?" he groans, barely stirring from his slumber. "What's the deal, Smoothie?"

"Radstorm!" you urgently exclaim, your voice filled with concern.

He looks at you with a hint of indifference in his sleepy eyes. "And?"

"Come on, we need to find shelter," you implore, gesturing towards the looming storm outside.

The Ghoul lets out a nonchalant grunt. "Doesn't affect me, remember?"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake!" Frustration boils over within you as the urgency of the situation amplifies. Without hesitation, you grab the Ghoul's cowboy hat and bolt towards the donut shop, hoping he'll follow. Despite his yelling obscenities at you, you push forward, each step bringing the looming storm closer.

The sound of thunder reverberates through the air, a chilling reminder of the imminent danger. Your heart races as you push yourself to run faster, the limited supply of rad-x in your bag serving as a stark reminder that you can't afford to risk radiation sickness at the moment. The rain intensifies, pouring down in heavy sheets, soaking you to the bone.

Finally reaching the building, you muster the last of your energy to slam open the door and collapse onto the ground, your chest heaving as you gasp for precious air. As you struggle to catch your breath, you turn to shut the door behind you and that's when you notice The Ghoul standing in the doorway, his dead eyes staring back at you with an unsettling calmness.

“Hat. Now,” he snarls, his tone commanding. Despite the exhaustion coursing through your body, a spark of defiance ignites within you. With a stubborn glare, you reach for the cowboy hat and place it atop your head. The Ghoul's eyes narrow as he watches you defiantly wear his cowboy hat. His patience begins wearing thin as he demands in a low, threatening growl, "Give me the hat, now."

"Maybe," you pant, still struggling to catch your breath, "I feel like being a cowboy right now."

The Ghoul's expression darkens, his jaw clenching in a silent display of seething anger. His hand twitches, as if he's on the verge of taking action, but he ultimately restrains himself. The storm outside rages on as you both stand locked in a silent standoff.

"You don't get to play games with me, sweetheart," he snaps, his voice dripping with menace. The underlying threat, coupled with the disturbingly affectionate nickname, instills a queasy feeling deep in your gut. This standstill begins transforming the donut shop into a pressure cooker of defiance and intimidation.

"It's truly confusing," you begin, your voice steady, "the way you seem to constantly switch between wanting me and hating me."

A sudden flash of lightning illuminates the room, casting a stark light on his face and revealing a conflicting mix of emotions. His features contort, caught in a moment of indecision, as if battling an internal struggle that threatens to consume him. You catch a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes, a glint of something deeper beneath the tough exterior. He clenches his fists, the muscles in his arms tensing with a raw, primal energy. The room seems to vibrate with his pent-up frustration and simmering rage.

“I don’t hate you, I-“ The Ghoul's words are abruptly cut off by a loud roar that shakes the building, the sound reverberating through the air and drowning out whatever confession he was about to make. In an instant, the atmosphere shifts from tense to downright terrifying.

Realization dawns as heavy footsteps draw closer, the unmistakable sound of a yao guai echoing through the walls of the shop. Panic sets in as you both understand the gravity of the situation - there's no way the two of you can take it on, especially in the midst of a raging radstorm.

Without exchanging a word, he swiftly ducks down beside you, his presence offering a sense of fleeting protection. The storm outside intensifies, the howling winds and crashing thunder serving as an ominous backdrop to the situation. Your eyes widen in surprise as you notice The Ghoul loading a weapon that looks like a hand cannon, unlike anything you've ever seen before. Is he seriously thinking of fighting that right now?

He glances over at you, his gaze meeting yours with a silent intensity. In a swift and subtle gesture, he lifts a finger to his lips, a universal sign for silence. But you can't help but shake your head in protest, silently urging him not to go through with whatever dangerous plan he has in mind. Ignoring your protests, he quietly gets up and heads toward the door, each step deliberate and filled with purpose.

“Cooper…. Don’t do this,” you whisper, the sound of his true name cutting through the silence like a knife. It seems to startle him, making him pause in his tracks as he turns to face you. The look of utter confusion in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent question as to how you could possibly know his real identity.

He pushes forward, his hand reaching for the doorknob. You watch in silence as he steps outside, the heavy door closing with a muted thud behind him. Alone in the dimly lit donut shop, you are left to anxiously peer through the large window in front of you, the glass reflecting the eerie glow of the radstorm outside.

In the darkness outside, the glowing silhouette of the yao guai stands out starkly, its massive form a menacing shadow against the backdrop of the swirling rain and debris. Through the large window of the shop, you watch in tense silence as Cooper moves with quiet determination, carefully maneuvering around the deadly creature.

The sight of it sends a shiver down your spine, its sheer size and ferocity a chilling reminder of one you faced years ago. You realize that this is the same yao guai from the other night. It must have been stalking the two of you.

As Cooper steps closer to the yao guai, you hold your breath, fear gripping your heart in a vice-like grip. The rain pelts against the window, creating a distorted view of the unfolding confrontation. Despite the chaotic storm raging outside, an eerie calm settles within you as you observe his movements with bated breath. The yao guai lets out a guttural growl, its glowing eyes fixed on the ghoul’s silhouette.

A flash of lightning illuminates the scene for a split second, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. In that brief moment, you catch a glimpse of Cooper's face, a mask of determination etched with a cocky smirk. As another rumble of thunder reverberates through the air, the yao guai lunges forward, its massive form hurtling towards him with frightening speed.

But just before the creature reaches him, Cooper moves with astonishing agility, sidestepping the attack with a grace that belies his rugged appearance. In one swift motion, he raises his weapon and takes aim, the deafening roar of the gun echoing through the storm-ridden night. The shot reverberates through the building, shaking the very foundation as a bright flash of light illuminates the room. The yao guai lets out a deafening roar, a mixture of pain and fury filling the air. It stumbles back, wounded but not defeated, its glowing eyes fixed on Cooper with a fierce intensity.

Against all odds, Cooper stands his ground, his jaw clenched in unwavering determination. With a steady hand and fierce focus, he raises his weapon once more, the fire of resolve blazing in his eyes. Another shot shatters the stillness, the creature's glowing eyes fixed on him as it charges forward with deadly intent. But as the gun roars, the bullet misses its mark, and the behemoth's momentum proves too great. With a sickening crash, Cooper is flung through the window - a shower of glass fragments scattering in his wake. The deafening sound of breaking glass fills the air as you shield your face from it and he tumbles to the ground beside you.

You glance between your hands, shooting him a pointed look. “If this is your idea of being a hero, you're not doing great.”

He groans, pushing himself up from the floor. “Shut the fuck up, Smoothie. You ain’t doin’ any bet-“

Before he can retort, a deafening crash shatters the moment as the massive form of the yao guai jumps through the broken window, its glowing eyes fixated on the two of you with a predatory intensity. The creature roars, its sheer ferocity filling the cramped space of the donut shop with a bone-chilling sound. The yao guai charges forward, its massive claws raking the air as it closes the distance between you. You attempt to make a run for cover as it lunges towards you but the glass covered floor proves difficult.

Cooper's finger tightens on the trigger, the gun's barrel aimed with lethal precision. A resounding gunshot echoes through the room, shattering the tension like the glass surrounding you. But before the bullet can find its mark, the yao guai's massive form crashes into you from the side, its claws slashing through the air and striking your back with a searing pain. The force of the impact sends you sprawling, the breath knocked out of your lungs as you slam into the debris-strewn floor. The world swims before your eyes, a haze of agony and disorientation clouding your senses as you struggle to regain your bearings.

As you attempt to push yourself up from the shattered floor, the yao guai looms over you, its hot breath washing over your face in a putrid wave. With a primal growl, the creature raises its massive paw, claws poised to strike a fatal blow. Panic grips your heart as you desperately search for an escape, the pain in your back lancing through you with each labored breath.

You manage to wrestle the gun from your holster, your fingers wrapping around the cold metal weapon. With a quick and precise movement, you aim at the yao guai's looming eye and pull the trigger. The yao guai stumbles back, a deafening roar of agony escaping its maw as it flounders in pain, its one good eye now filled with raw anguish. With a final, desperate cry, the monstrous creature collapses to the ground, its massive form shaking the very foundation of the donut shop. The once-glowing eyes now dim into lifeless orbs, the threat extinguished in a single, decisive moment.

The room falls eerily silent, the only sounds breaking the stillness being the rain drumming against the shattered windows and the ragged, uneven sounds of your breaths as you struggle to regain your composure. Cooper rushes to your side, his voice cutting through the haze of pain and disorientation. "Hang in there, Smoothie," he says, his tone a mixture of concern and urgency.

The initial shock begins to fade, replaced by a wave of searing pain that radiates through your body. With a raw, guttural scream, you feel the full extent of the deep claw marks on your back. The agony is overwhelming, a pulsating ache that renders you momentarily breathless. Cooper's hands are gentle yet firm as he assesses the wounds, his expression set in a mask of focused concern.

"We need to get you patched up, sweetheart," he whispers. He helps you to your feet, offering support as you wince with each movement. The world spins dizzily around you as you take a step forward. A spike of excruciating pain lances through you, causing the edges of your vision to blur and darken. Your strength gives out, and the world tilts dangerously before everything fades into a deep, dark abyss of oblivion.

As consciousness ebbs and flows like the tide, you struggle to grasp onto the fleeting moments of lucidity that come and go. In the haze of fragmented reality, you catch glimpses of Cooper's rugged features as he carries you through the wasteland, the passage of time blurred into a seamless continuum of day and night.

Snippets of words filter through the fog in your mind, fragments of his voice urging you to hold on, to fight against the tide of darkness threatening to consume you. You hear him mutter curses under his breath, his gruff tone laced with a hint of exasperation and affection as he chides you for getting hurt.

Through the haze of pain and fatigue, Cooper's presence is a constant, his unyielding strength a beacon of hope in the otherwise desolate landscape of your fractured consciousness. You recall the moment when you let slip Cooper's real name, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability in the face of danger. Does it really matter now, where death looms ever closer?

A sense of resignation settles over you, the harsh truth of your mortality looming large in the recesses of your consciousness. Despite Cooper's valiant efforts to keep you alive, you can't shake the feeling of impending doom that hovers on the edge of your fading senses. The wasteland is a merciless mistress, and you are but a speck in its vast and unforgiving expanse. Sleep overtakes you once more.

Your eyes struggle to focus as consciousness timidly returns, the relentless grip of pain still a haunting presence in your body. With a deep, shuddering breath, you manage to pry your heavy eyelids open, the dim light of the decaying hospital room casting a grim shadow over your surroundings. The stark realization sets in as you take in your surroundings – the barren walls, the layers of dust and sand coating every surface – a far cry from any functional medical center.

The afternoon sun filters through a cracked window, casting dusty rays of light across the dilapidated room. The muted sounds of the wasteland drift in through the broken walls, creating an eerie backdrop to the scene. Lying on the ancient hospital bed, you feel a sense of disorientation wash over you, the memories of the yao guai still a jumbled mess in your mind.

As you turn your gaze to the right, your eyes fall upon the ghoul posted against the wall, his weathered features softened in sleep. Despite the desolation of the room, there is a strange sense of peace in the quiet of the moment. Your throat protests with a raspy cough, a harsh reminder of the parched dryness that plagues you. When was the last time you drank water?

The sound of your cough reverberates through the room, rousing Cooper from his slumber. "Shit, Smoothie. You still hangin' in there," he croaks, his voice rough with concern.

You try to form a question, to ask where you are or what happened, but the overwhelming pain clutches at your words, silencing your inquiry.

"Now shut that pretty little mouth of yours, darlin'," Cooper interjects, his tone firm yet filled with a hint of warmth. "Save your strength. I found us a doctor. Or at least a fella who claims to be one."

A man enters the room, a palpable stench of sweat and decay trailing in his wake. Dressed in a tattered, weather-worn suit that hangs loosely on his emaciated frame, his hair a tangled mess, he exudes a dubious air of confidence. A crooked smile twists his lips as his bloodshot eyes fixate on you. Recognition sparks in your mind - this man is the infamous salesman from Filly with a reputation for his indecent liberties with chickens.

"I have concocted an elixir that heals all! But I must warn you: the taste, not great," the snake oil salesman declares with a dubious grin, his eyes alight with a deceptive spark of promise.

Your gaze slowly shifts to lock with Cooper's, a silent exchange passing between you. He sees the storm of rage building within you, the distrust and disdain simmering just beneath the surface.

"What's the problem?"

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[sweetartsstudio]

"The fear in your eyes. I've seen it before" In a dim, shadowed alley of Zaun, the tension between predator and prey reaches a breaking point. Warwick, the feral, towering beast infused with the cruelty of alchemy, stands motionless yet menacing, his piercing gaze locked onto Vi. His claws drip with the threat of violence, yet he watches her not with rage, but with a chilling, almost knowing calm. Across from him, Vi unleashes a scream—her fists clenched, defiance crackling through her posture, but her eyes betray a flicker of something primal: fear. The haunting line hangs heavy between them, "The fear in your eyes. I've seen it before." It is more than a taunt; it’s an echo from Warwick's past life and a reminder of how the streets have broken both of them in different ways.