Okay, hear me out... I know this phrase has sexual implications, but I would actually love to hear this from my partner if I was having a bad day. Like, I come home from work and I'm too tired to take care of myself, you know? Do you see the vision??
A/N: Yes, seeing Larissa in that nurse outfit actually sparked some things in me. As usual, this is a tad bit angsty, but—rare occurrence on this blog—it comes with a happy ending! This is all I’ve been thinking about for the last three days. Enjoy!
When you were dreaming, it was all light and water. No—light in water. Ripples of brightness moved when you tried to look straight at them, drifting away with a bored grace, like they knew you would follow. Sometimes there was a voice, one you couldn’t name, measured and warm as the sun through bathwater. When it spoke, the light steadied. The world remembered how to be soft.
The day you surfaced, you thought you were breaking a window.
The first thing you knew was the panic of breath. Your lungs remembered before your eyes did, pulling against an invisible weight. Then the ache resolved into shapes, into the drawn lines of a room. You blinked and the ceiling wasn’t sky after all—it was tile, humming with fluorescent light. A half-drawn curtain, a vase with stubborn green on the sill. Your mouth tasted like metal. Your hands didn’t know where to live.
“Hey,” the voice said, like it had always said it. “You’re all right. Look at me.”
You dragged your gaze sideways and met a pair of blue eyes startling in their clarity. They made things still. The rest of her followed. Silver-blonde hair in a neat twist, pale pink lipstick, creased, pleasant lines at the corners of her eyes. White scrubs that should have been severe, but gentled in the way her hand hovered near your shoulder instead of claiming it.
“There you are,” she said, and you thought—there I am. “You’re safe.”
The word tangled in your throat. You tried to say hi, to ask how long. What came out was a raw scrape, and then the embarrassment of the oxygen cannula tugging as you moved.
“Easy.” Her hand settled on your shoulder, cool and deliberate. You knew the way someone touched when they were used to touching people: not hesitantly, not possessively. Like gravity.
You saw the badge then. Weems, Larissa.
“Wa—” You failed again.
“Don’t strain,” Larissa said. “You’ve been asleep. Your throat will be sore. Blink once for yes. Do you understand me?”
You blinked. One slow time. You discovered you had tears, and they rolled down into your ears.
“Good.” She smiled—only a little, like a secret. “Welcome back.”
The story of waking is not the story they tell you. There was no triumphant music, no sudden clarity. It was slow, a process measured in increments of care. You were a sandbar the tide kept trying to take back; Larissa stood there with patience, coaxing you into a shape you recognized.
It turned out you had been asleep for three months. A car, rain, someone else’s brakes. They told you the facts you could handle on day five. Day one, you received water on a pink sponge and a smile as steady as an IV drip. Day two, a physical therapist visited, all cheer and rubber soles, and Larissa moved your limbs in a rhythm like a lullaby made visible. Day three, you dreamed of an ocean whose tide knew your name. Day four, you cried because your hands trembled so much you kept spilling the spoon, and Larissa sat beside you and said, “It’s all right to grieve what’s hard,” in that quiet voice that made even the machines hush.
You learned the room in pieces, the way you learned your own body again. The clock’s short cough of a tick. Sun arriving on the floor like a visiting friend. The corridor’s symphony—wheels, laughter, low voices rising and falling like bedtime stories.
And Larissa.
She learned you first. She learned your chart, the numbers that tried to flatten you, the line of bites on your lip when you were frustrated, the way you went still before pain. She learned what music helped you sleep, that you preferred lemon ice to cherry, that you watched hands when listening. If you woke in the unkind hours, Larissa would be there, a hand with water, a whispered joke, the light dimmed to gold.
“You don’t have to stay,” you said once, the clock at a time you didn’t want to know. “I’m not your only patient.”
“No,” she agreed. “But I am your nurse.”
“Seems like semantics.”
“Semantics are where feelings live.” She capped your water and turned the cup so the straw laid just so. “Rest.”
You did.
There were boundaries. You knew that. Every touch had a reason, every kindness a script. Yet the human heart didn’t speak in laminated policies.
Larissa kept finding true things to say. She learned your rhythm and you hers. Your days folded into shapes that remembered the night’s corners.
When the speech therapist made you repeat phrases—My name is—, I feel—, I need—Larissa said, “Their job is to rebuild the parts of speech. Mine is to hold the scaffolding while you climb.”
“Do you talk like that to all your patients?” you teased.
She almost said yes, then changed her mind.
“No.”
“Lucky me.”
“That would imply luck exists,” she said. You wanted to ask what had taught her to be so precise with consolation. Instead, you nodded and held your blanket like a railing.
She never touched you without telling you first. I’m going to adjust this. May I look at your incision? This will be cold.The consent threaded through the routine made you dizzy with gratitude.
You didn’t talk about the accident on purpose. It came in flashes. Glass. Headlights. The prayer of a stranger dragging you out. You once asked for the clothes you’d been wearing. To prove to yourself you were more than a disaster’s aftermath. You wanted to say to a torn blouse: you had a life once. Larissa looked at you for a long second and said, “I don’t think that would serve you today.” You believed her.
She had a laugh she didn’t use often. The first time you made her laugh, you were distracting yourself from the burn of staples. She’d been describing the ward’s rotation schedule and you said, “You sound like you’re plotting a heist but the loot is morphine.” Her laugh came so unexpected your eyes stung. Look what you could still do: pull delight out of the air, like sugar out of caramel, like mercy out of a routine.
It would be more comfortable to pretend it didn’t change something in you.
It wasn’t that Larissa flirted. She didn’t. There were no lingering touches. But the way she listened wasn’t professional. Not only professional. You wondered if, in another life, she had been a headmistress or something equally exacting. Weems sounded like the name on the door of an office with books in it and a stained glass window.
You told her the story of your grandmother’s kitchen—the low windows, flour like winter, ceramic geese lined up on the sill as if waiting for the bus. Larissa listened like the geese mattered, like you would not lose this if she had her say.
You practiced standing. Then walking, the slow shuffle of your feet like you were learning the floor. You learned the corridor, the left turn that led to sun and the right that led to a window with a tree.
Larissa brought you a cheap little notebook with a fox on the cover. “For the words you don’t want to lose again.” You wrote down lemon, fox, Larissa. You almost crossed it out. You didn’t. You closed the cover and pressed your palm to it like a promise.
“I can’t—“ you started one morning when it was all too much. The way your muscles trembled with two steps, the indignity of needing help to brush your hair. You didn’t know what the rest of the sentence was and hated that, too.
“You can,” Larissa said, not unkind. “And when you can’t, I will.”
Something hooked behind your sternum. You wanted to say, You can’t keep me, you know. You wanted to say, I’m not yours. You wanted to say, You feel like a shore I will spend my life trying to find again.
Instead, because language was still a skittish thing, you said, “Stay?”
And she said, “Yes,” like a vow.
The thunderclap came in a day that looked like any other.
You were sitting with a blanket tucked over your lap, the war with your knees producing a ceasefire for the afternoon. Larissa was charting at the little table by the window, her posture elegant, the angle of her wrist making even a ballpoint pen look like a long-stemmed glass. The cheapest flowers in the vase looked expensive because they were near her.
A knock came at the door, then the body that goes with the knock: a small man with the face that comes from not sleeping enough. Dr. Reddy, the badge announced. He smiled at you in that thin, practiced way of physicians, all kindness and quarter-hours. Then he turned the smile off and looked at Larissa.
“Ms. Weems,” he said. “My office.”
The two words pulled like gravity. Larissa rose immediately. Her hand found your shoulder without thinking and then, visibly thinking, removed itself. “I’ll be right back,” she said, even though she didn’t know it.
She didn’t look back at you when she left. That should have been your first warning.
Seconds are very long when you count them. You counted sixty of them twice, and then you stopped because the room was too small for numbers.
When she returned, she was more Larissa than you had ever seen her. Not because she was warm, but because she was composed. She walked to the bed and checked your IV and your vitals, and asked you the questions like each was a stone placed carefully across a river.
“Larissa,” you said, her name tasting like a prayer again. “What did—”
“I’m being reassigned,” she said, and there it was—the cliff you didn’t see, the fall you didn’t feel until you were midair. She kept her voice clinical, the way people do when feelings are a hazard sign. “It’s been determined that a change would be in your best interest and in compliance with policy. Nurse Herrera will be taking over your care. She’s excellent.”
You said the first honest thing you could think of. “I don’t want Nurse Herrera.”
Larissa’s mouth trembled like a fault line you weren’t supposed to notice. “I know.”
“Is this—did I—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, quick, firm. It was the first unprofessional sentence she had said all day. That meant something. So did the way she didn’t touch you.
You understood then, the part of the story you hadn’t wanted to look at. You, adrift after an accident that changed the geography of your insides, had reached for the closest thing that made sense. Larissa had been that thing. And she—human, careful, relentless with herself—had reached back before she could stop herself. Not with a touch. Not with anything that could be found inside a book. But with the kind of presence that was dangerous because it taught you the taste of ease.
“Please,” you said, and you hated the word, hated how child-small you sounded. “Please don’t—” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence, either.
She didn’t say anything for a heartbeat. In that echo, you heard everything she wanted to say and would not. Then she shook out the blanket two insultingly casual inches and tucked the corner by your hip like she had done a hundred times and said, “You’re going to be all right.”
“I was all right,” you said, and that was true, and also it wasn’t.
Larissa took a step back like it cost her something. Something open in her face closed. You recognized it because you were working on it yourself: the careful shutting of the door behind which you kept all the things you weren’t ready to grieve.
You said, “Larissa,” like the syllables might bring her back from wherever she’d gone.
“Ms. Herrera will be in later,” she responded, as if the word Larissa had slid right off her, as if it didn’t belong to her anymore. As if you were already someone else’s responsibility.
She left before you could ask her to stay again.
The days after were punitively ordinary.
Nurse Herrera was, as promised, excellent. She had a laugh that shook the bed rail and she swore like hand sanitizer wasn’t listening. She wore bright compression socks with pastry designs and called everyone honey without distinction. You liked her. It didn’t matter in the way you wanted it to.
All at once, the ward felt like a place where you had only imagined being seen. You understood that wasn’t true. You understood that memory attached itself to routine like burrs to a sweater, and if you’d been forever cared for by Nurse Herrera, you would have found a way to be cared for in that shape. But it was hard not to watch the corridor and hold your breath when you heard a familiar footfall. It was hard not to catch a glimpse of silver hair in the frosted reflection of the medicine cabinet and pretend for a second the world would return to the shape you had learned to survive in.
You saw Larissa three times.
The first, she was talking to a doctor and didn’t look up when you passed, your walker a contraption you resented for being so honest about your fragility. The second, you were in the common room icing your knees and she was at the desk laughing—the rare laugh—and there was a coffee in her hand she did not sip. The third time, you were almost strong enough to go outside and she was coming in, the automatic doors sighing around her like the hospital itself bowed to her passage. She did not turn her head, but the muscles around her mouth tightened like keeping it pleasant had cost her something.
On the morning you left, you watched the window for a long time and tried to feel grateful for the sun the way you had when you were stuck in bed. You tried to write thank you in the fox notebook without attaching it to a person you were not allowed to thank. You wrote lemon. You wrote fox.
Herrera hugged you in a way that should have been against some rule and whispered, “You do not owe this place your bravery forever. Go be messy.” You almost cried. You didn’t.
Larissa didn’t come to the door when you were wheeled past. You thought about asking, then didn’t. It felt like picking at a healing seam. It felt like a dare the universe would win.
Recovery at home is louder than recovery in the hospital. The refrigerator hums, the neighbor’s child learns a recorder, the pipes remember they’re a chorus.
You discovered whole categories of tired waiting underneath the others: the tired that comes from passing your couch on the way to the bathroom and wanting to collapse with your shoes still on; the tired that comes from stairs.
Worst of all was the absence of the particular silence between you and Larissa. It had been an ecosystem, delicate and precise. You caught yourself arranging cutlery as if she’d approve, calling objects by their medical names—gown instead of shirt—because it made you feel like you’d graduated from the last three months with a certificate stamped Allowed to Proceed.
You learned to walk, then to walk without the hiss of your breath announcing the effort. A month passed. Then another. Your scars learned the weather. The world came back in fragments. You woke after sleeping through the night and weren’t afraid.
What you didn’t do was go back to the ward. Except, you did, in your sleep—always in the moment before the knock on the door, Dr. Reddy’s summons, Larissa’s face closing like a window against rain. When you dreamt of it, you woke with the word you hadn’t said lodged under your tongue: Stay. You brushed your teeth around it like it was sweetness you refused to dissolve.
You thought you were doing well. You were doing well. Until you turned a corner into a café one late afternoon, and everything you’d contained recognized what it had been holding back.
It was raining. Not dramatic rain, just the steady, apologetic kind that slicked the streets and made the city smell like pennies. You’d walked farther than since the accident, a little daring, a little defiant, and every muscle in your pelvis voiced its opinion. You were proud of yourself, minus ten percent, because pride still felt like currency you shouldn’t spend freely. You stepped inside for coffee you didn’t need and warmth you did. The bell rung as you pushed the door open.
The café wasn’t busy. Two students argued about a poem, their hands doing the work. A man in a cap read a newspaper. A woman with a neat blonde twist and a coat that made navy look expensive stood at the counter considering the pastry case as if negotiating a treaty.
You almost turned around. It would have been easy: a pivot, a step back into rain, a story you could tell yourself about coincidence and fate and how you didn’t believe in either. You almost did it, out of mercy for your slowly mending heart. Then she half-turned and, perhaps rudely, you did not save yourself.
“Larissa,” you said, and thought—I have given away that name too many times and still I am not empty of it.
She looked up. There’s a kind of surprise that looks like fear you don’t want seen. For a second—which you felt was a gift—you saw Larissa forget how to make her face the thing that kept her safe. Then she remembered, and a hundred small muscles settled. She became once more the woman who could hold a thousand emergencies and still speak to you like it was only you she saw.
“Hello,” she said. That was all the word meant, and somehow it meant everything else you were both too careful to say. “You look well.”
“I brought all my ambition to the act of walking here,” you said, because humor had always been the rope you threw out without looking at how deep the drop was. “So if I sit down and never get up, it’s not personal.”
Her mouth did that secret thing, the not-quite smile. “Let me get your coffee.”
“I can—”
“Let me,” she said, and the word was not a command, not a request—but exactly what you needed.
You picked a small table by the window, absurdly proud of accomplishing the act of sitting. Rain performed its melancholy on the glass. Larissa brought over a coffee and a tea for herself, saucers and sugar placed with the exactness you remembered.
“You like lemon,” she said, setting down a slice in a tiny dish like a private joke. You laughed, and that was worse, somehow, for the way it rose in your throat like a miracle.
“I hated that you knew me,” you said, quickly, because if you didn’t, the air would fill with what you were refusing to say. “After they moved you. It made me—” You pushed the lemon with your spoon. “Lonely in a new key.”
Larissa stared past your shoulder toward the window, then back at you like she’d found something and left it there.
“I thought if I did not exist for you,” she said, “it would be easier for you to exist without me.”
It was a cruelty that felt like mercy. “It wasn’t easier.”
“I know that now,” she said, hands neat around her cup as if keeping them from making promises. “I am sorry.”
“Were you…in trouble?” The question felt childish and necessary.
“I was reminded boundaries exist to keep both parties safe,” she said. “And that there is a power differential that cannot be ignored. I know these things. I enforce these things. I had to be reminded anyway.”
“You never—” You flushed, embarrassed, then braver. “You never crossed the line.”
Larissa tilted her head, the smallest concession to humor. “No. But I leaned against it and warmed it with my hands.”
“I thought you hated me,” you confessed.
“I never hated you,” Larissa said, quiet vehemence in the never. “I thought of you every time it rained the week you left.”
“Why?”
“You liked the sound.”
“I like the closeness of it,” you said, surprised by your own honesty. “Like the world is narrow enough to cross.”
“I like that, too.” Her gaze rested on your face like a hand. Not demanding, not idle. Present. “How are you?”
The question had been waiting since the door with the bell. The answer arrived with the ache of being known enough that patter wouldn’t satisfy.
“Better,” you said. “Not good all the time. I get tired of being proud of myself. It feels like a full-time job.”
“It is,” she said. “And you are allowed to resent it.”
A kindness so exact it hurt.
“I missed you,” you said, courage doing its reps.
Larissa closed her eyes half a second. “I missed you.”
The air clarified, like mist taken by sun. You had thought the thing between you would gallop the instant you were out from under rules. Instead, it was still. A lake in the morning.
“I’m not your patient anymore,” you said.
“No,” she agreed. “You’re not.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” she said, “that if I’m close to you, it will be because we both chose it, not because you are frightened and I hold the key to the morphine.”
You laughed, helpless. “Romance is alive and well.”
“Inconveniently,” she said, and the nearly-smile flickered again.
She set her hand palm up. You placed yours in it.
“I wanted to kiss you every day after you woke,” Larissa said. “I imagined I could do the right thing and not feel what it cost. I am not that kind. It cost me anyway.”
“I would have let you,” you said. “Even if it broke me later. Maybe because it would have made something simple.”
“Nothing is simple,” she said. “That’s how I know it’s real.”
“Come home with me,” you said, reckless.
“Not tonight,” and the refusal wasn’t an ending. It was an adult decision. “Walk with me. Tomorrow, if you want, we’ll do it again.”
“I hate that you’re right about everything.”
“I am frequently wrong about breakfast,” she said, grave. “And easily convinced to eat pastries for dinner.”
“I’ve always wanted someone to call that a virtue.”
“It’s a practice,” she said. “Like recovery. Like hope.”
The rain had gentled while you weren’t watching. You finished your coffee and stood, your body announcing itself with complaint. Larissa didn’t fuss. She gathered your coat, helped you with the sleeve, handed it to you like a promise.
At the door, you paused. “Can I—”
“Yes,” she said, and this time when you leaned in, she came to meet you.
The kiss wasn’t dramatic or cinematic. It was honest. Warm and careful, then fierce in a way that didn’t take, only gave. Your scars didn’t vanish, your knees didn’t stop their argument with standing. The rain didn’t pause. The world didn’t notice. That felt right.
You pulled back with the smallest regret, the kind that promised return. Larissa’s eyes were bright like the early mornings in the ward when light came sideways across the floor like a secret.
You stepped out into the rain. Larissa fell into stride, not rushing, not guiding, the distance between you a decision. At the corner, she reached for your hand without looking. You offered it. It felt less like rescue, more like rhythm. The city breathed. You breathed back.
“Tell me about the geese,” she said, and the request was so specific you laughed, and did. You told her again about the ceramic birds lined on a sill, how love can look like small things lined up so they don’t run away. When you ran out of breath, she held the silence until you had more.
“Tomorrow,” she said, when your street appeared in sight, “we can buy lemons. And a plant that will thrive even with neglect.”
“I won’t neglect it,” you said. “I’ll teach it boundaries.”
She laughed—really laughed—and you thought you might get addicted to making her do that.
You reached your building. She kissed your temple, you closed your eyes and let your scalp remember the careful way her fingers had once combed your hair. You were not that person in the bed anymore. You were also still that person. Both things could be true.
“Call me,” she said, quiet, normal.
“I will,” you answered, and the words felt like a future you’d relearned how to want.
Upstairs, your apartment was exactly as you’d left it. You leaned your forehead against the door and smiled like someone who knew where the shore was. The rain spoke its soft language on the window. It sounded like a continuation.
On the table, your fox notebook waited. You opened it. The last word written there looked up at you like a dare. Larissa.
Under it, you wrote lemon. Then home. Then, because you’d earned it, one more word.
somewhat gentle, but condescending!ambessa. sweetheart!reader. reader is a bit shy.. slight body worship. double stimulation.
⏾ It was a late, warm evening in the luxurious residence of the Medarda’s home—surrounded with power, money, and glory in every way. Both you and Ambessa had a nice bath together, soaking into each other with the innocent touches and kisses. It was a quite rare thing for Ambessa to be completely gentle with you, but there were moments where she’d be as gentle as she could and it was heavenly. Yes, it was nice with the rough manhandling, but being held gently while being whispered sweet nothings to was even better. You craved one of those nights today.
Especially since Ambessa introduced additional in the bedroom.
You didn’t say anything though. You never did. But Ambessa could always read when you’re itching to ask her for something, but she’ll never give it if you didn’t tell her in full honesty. No beating around the bush bullshit. As you two laid intertwined in the satin sheets, Ambessa could practically feel the warmth radiate from your body as she could hear the thoughts swirl in your head. A large, warm hand splayed over the curve of your waist, moving up and down, before stopping on your stomach. “What’s troubling my love?” You froze as her voice wrung you out your thoughts, eyes flicking over at her before looking away with a mumbled ‘it’s nothing, bessa.’
“You know, I never thought I married a liar, dearest.” Yeah, you knew you couldn’t get out of this, even if you tried. A small sigh fell from your lips as if you finally turned your body to face her, looking in those beautiful almond eyes of hers as she stared right through you. Not only did you admire her eyes, but the way her brown walnut skin glowed from the smell good oil she applied, the way her face lines were becoming more prominent, and the way her lips plumped up into a sharp smirk. “I…You know that thing you got not too long ago? The machine?”
Ambessa knew what you meant, clearly, but she wanted you to take pride in your words and fully say it. “What machine, my dear?” Your brows furrowed deeply as you realized she was toying with you. You always hated when she made you use your words or you just wouldn’t get anything at all. “Ambessa, don’t do this to me.”
“Seems like you won’t be getting what you want.”
Curse her.
⏾ “A-Bessa! Please…ha—fuck—feels so good..”
Once you finally built the courage to ask for what you wanted, which is how you found yourself here: on your back, back arching, grasping at the sheets as the dildo attached to the machine repeatedly plummeted into your sopping cunt; eliciting the pornographic sounds that filled the room. Ambessa eyes watched you fondly as she saw you writhe, roaming her large hands over your body. “It was as if God himself took the most precious time with you…just to make you for me and me alone.” Her words sent a shiver down your spine, whining weakly as the machine started to pick up speed gradually. “B-Bessa! Please…—ha—f-fuck!”
You didn’t even know what you were begging for. You didn’t know if you were pleading for her to speed the toy up or slow it down. So, she decided to speed it up anyway. “Oh, I know, dearest. I can hear how wet she is…all for me, hm? Oh, sweetheart, I know—just take it. This is what you wanted, no?” You couldn’t even form a simple coherent sentence as you were practically going dumb with the way your pussy clenched around the toy, moaning at how it angled at your g-spot so deliciously.
Ambessa didn’t like talking to herself. She grabbed your chin—firmly, not roughly—as her eyes narrowed into your fluttering ones. “Am I talking to a brick wall, my sweet? I loathe being ignored or are you just that incompetent, hm?”
“N-no! I-I….ahh! Mgh—-I-I wanted this! I-I wanted it so—fuck—fucking badly!” A cruel smirk tugged at her plump lips as she watched how your lips trembled, struggling to keep in the moans. One of her hands reached between your quaking thighs as she rubbed soft circles over your clit, making you howl in pleasure and sensitivity as it sent your body it to trembled. “Ambessa! I-I can’t! Fuck…please!” SMACK! Her hand came down firmly on your pussy, making you whimper weakly. “What have I told you about that word ‘can’t’? I thought my girl could take anything I so give her, hm?”
“Y-Yes…I can—mgh!”
“Now prove it.”
Ambessa pressed another button to increase the speed of the machine, drilling the soaked dildo in and out of you with alarming speed. A silent scapula escaped your lips as your thighs trembled, but never closing as she circled over your clit so well. Your head fell back as your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open with the most pitiful moan as you gushed—drenching the sheets, Ambessa’s hand, and the machine as it slow down.
Prompt 9 werewolf with Ambessa!!!! Need to see her as a werewolf so badly
Drunken Confessions To A Werewolf - Day 9
Pairings: Werewolf Ambessa Medarda x Reader
Pairings: None
Ambessa rarely ever got drunk, well she couldn't get drunk at all since she was a werewolf. She usually took her dates back to their homes when they got drunk. Never one to take advantaged of someone who wasn't thinking clearly. She never really felt a connection with them and only went on one or two dates with them before telling them it wouldn't work out.
That was until she met Y/N. Y/N was different from the other women she had dated. Never asked for money or anything. She just wanted someone to love and someone who would love her back.
On their third date Y/N and Ambessa had gone to a bar and sat at the bar.
Y/N had gotten drunk and Ambessa felt protective over her.
"You know Bessa... You look like a goddess" Y/N slurred out and Ambessa raised an eyebrow.
"Let's get you home yeah" Ambessa said as she pulled out a couple 10 dollar bills and placed them on the bar top. Y/N didn't have time to respond until Ambessa lifted her up in her arms.
"Hey I can walk" Y/N slurred out and Ambessa chuckled. Ambessa carried Y/N out of the bar and towards her car before setting her down gently to open the passenger door for her. She helped Y/N into the passenger seat before leaning over her and buckling her in.
"You're such a gentlewoman" Y/N giggled out and Ambessa smiled before shutting the door and rounded the car before getting in the driver's seat.
Ambessa decided to take Y/N back to watch over her instead of her just dropping Y/N off at her house.
When they got to Ambessa's house Ambessa had lead Y/N in. She carried Y/N to her bed before setting her down on the edge.
"You know Bessa you're really really pretty" Y/N said as she watched Ambessa walk around the bedroom and head towards double doors.
"I wish I could kiss those lips that look like chocolate" Y/N continued to mumble out and Ambessa froze before shaking her head as she opened the doors that lead into a huge walk in closet.
Y/N stared in amazement before she stood up and walked over to the walk in closet. Ambessa heard footsteps behind her and looked over her shoulder before quickly catching Y/N as she stumbled forward.
"Why are you up dear, you need to be sitting" Ambessa said and Y/N huffed.
"I want to be close to you, you're really warm and comfy" Y/N mumbled out and Ambessa sighed before shaking her head.
Ambessa had helped Y/N into her bed after Y/N changed and tucked her in.
"Rest now Y/N" Ambessa said as she was about to pull away but Y/N grabbed her wrist.
"Stay wolfie" Y/N mumbled out and Ambessa froze before turning around to look down at her.
"Wolfie" Ambessa questioned as she looked down at Y/N.
"You're too warm to be a normal person so you have to be a werewolf" Y/N mumbled out again as she tugged on Ambessa's wrist. Ambessa hesitated before getting into bed with her. Ambessa knew Y/N might not remember this conversation but she had to ask.
"You're not afraid" she said as she cupped Y/N's face. She watched Y/N lean into the touch.
"Why would I be afraid of a woman who looks like a goddess" Y/N said as she looked up at Ambessa. Ambessa's expression softened as she leaned in. She shouldn't be doing this but something kept pulling on her and telling her to do it.
Ambessa shook her head before pulling away as she went to get up.
"Don't, stay with me Bessa please" Y/N said and Ambessa clenched her jaw.
Ambessa's wolf ears had come out and her tail as well. She couldn't look at Y/N.
"Bessa please" Y/N muttered out and the older woman finally looked over at Y/N who was looking up at her with pleading eyes.
"Don't give me that look Y/N" Ambessa huffed out as her ears twitched.
"Then lay back down and cuddle me you giant wolf" Y/N said and Ambessa cracked a smile before shaking her head. She sighed before laying back down and pulling Y/N close. Y/N wrapped her arm around Ambessa as Ambessa's bushy tail draped over Y/N's body.
"You're probably not gonna remember any of this when you wake up" Ambessa said and she waited for a reply but there was none. She looked down to see Y/N already passed out cold cuddled up to her.
Ambessa raised her hand and gently stroked her hand through Y/N's hair as she closed her eyes as well slowly drifting off as her tail flicked slightly under the blankets.
What would you think predator Ambessa or Sevika would do to a prey reader once they're finally caught? Or, if the reader isn't caught, how badly would the rage? 😈
bunny!reader with predator!sevika and predator!ambessa [seperate parings] smut ;; eighteen plu(g)s onlyyyyy ;; crazy filth ;; little bit of cnc???
★ SEVIKA ★
you thought you were smart. slipping through the brush, ears twitching at every sound, heart racing so fast it hurt. you told yourself you could outpace her if you just kept running. sevika wasn’t human, not really — she was made for this. the weight of her footsteps behind you was a reminder you couldn’t outrun a predator, only delay the inevitable.
your thighs burned, lungs aching, but still you kept going. branches whipped your arms, your dress snagged, but fear was louder than pain. and then—
her hand caught the back of your neck. one brutal yank, and you hit the dirt. your squeak cut off when her weight crashed down over you, a knee in your spine, her palm flattening you into the ground. your legs kicked, useless.
“mm that’s enough running,” her voice rumbled low, breath hot against the curve of your ear. “did you really think i’d let a little rabbit get away from me?”
she flipped you like you weighed nothing, pressing you into the earth. her thigh shoved between yours, spreading you, pinning you down even as you struggled. your wrists were caught in one massive hand, held above your head. sevika grinned wide, teeth glinting.
“look at you. trembling. fuck, you’re too perfect.”
her mouth found your throat, sharp teeth dragging against your racing pulse. you whimpered, squirming, but she bit down — not enough to break skin, but enough to bruise, enough to claim. her free hand slid down, groping your thigh, your hip, until she was pushing your dress up and baring you.
“soft little thing,” she growled. “you were made for me to tear apart.”
her fingers teased first, rough calloused tips tracing your slit. you bucked, shameful sounds spilling out, and sevika’s laugh was cruel. “so wet already? fuckin pathetic prey. runnin from me just to get caught drippin.” she shoved two fingers inside, not gentle, ooh no not gentle, she fucks you open with a pace that had you gasping and thrashing.
she loved it. loved the way your nails clawed at the dirt, the way your back arched despite yourself. her thumb rubbed cruel circles on your clit until you cried out, thighs shaking.
“cum for me, bunn,” she ordered, grinding her thigh harder against you. “let me feel you break.”
when you did, when you shattered around her fingers, sobbing into the dirt, she only smirked, shoving them deeper to make it last.
and then she wasn’t done. oh no. predators didn’t just catch prey once…they devoured. sevika yanked her belt open, dragging her strap out, thick as fuck and intimidating. she slicked it with your mess, lined it up, and pressed into your swollen cunt without waiting.
you screamed, back bowing, tears streaking your cheeks, “n-no!!”
“ah ah ah. little girls like you are meant to just shut up and take it.” she slicked it with your mess, lined it up, and pressed into your swollen cunt without waiting.
her pace was brutal from the start. each thrust slammed you into the dirt, her grip on your wrists are iron tight. she pressed her forehead to yours, growling, “you’re mine now. no more running. say it.”
you choked on a sob, babbling, “yours!” and sevika rewarded you with a sharp slap to your ass before driving in even harder.
her hips pounded into you until your legs gave out, until you were nothing but shaking, clawing at her arm, begging incoherently. sevika kissed your throat, teeth dragging, voice wrecked: “that’s right. i’ll fuck you until you can’t even think about escaping.”
and she did. over and over, until dawn painted the trees, until you were covered in sweat, dirt, and her bruises. prey didn’t get second chances. you’d been caught, and sevika made sure you’d never want to run again.
★ AMBESSA ★
the forest was too quiet. no birdsong, no rustle of leaves — just the sound of your frantic breathing and the hammer of your heart. you knew she was near. ambessa didn’t stalk like a common beast, she hunted with purpose. she was silent until she chose not to be, letting the weight of her presence curl around you like smoke.
your long ears twitched, your legs ached, but you ran anyway. prey always runs.
and then her shadow swallowed yours.
her hand wrapped around your middle, lifting you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing. you kicked, claws scraping, a helpless little squeal bursting from your lips. ambessa only laughed, deep and booming, chest pressed against your back.
“you think you can escape me? foolish little rabbit.”
she slammed you against a tree, your wrists pinned above your head in one massive fist. her eyes glowed in the dark, sharp teeth bared in a grin that promised ruin. her knee shoved between your thighs, forcing them apart. you trembled, ears drooping, but the heat between your legs betrayed you.
ambessa noticed immediately. she inhaled, dragging her nose along your throat, tongue flicking over your pulse. “already wet. gods, you prey are so easy. you want to be taken.”
her free hand ripped at your dress, tearing them like paper. she cupped your cunt, palm heavy, thumb pressing against your clit until you yelped. “soft,” she growled, shoving two thick fingers inside without hesitation. your body clenched tight, tears pricking your eyes as she stretched you open.
“so small,” ambessa purred, working you brutally, fucking her fingers into you with each curl. “and yet you’ll take everything i give you.”
her pace was merciless, each thrust of her fingers forcing you higher until you broke with a cry, soaking her hand. she snarled in satisfaction, pulling her fingers free and shoving them past your lips. “taste what you’ve made, little rabbit.”
and then she dropped you to your knees.
the strap she pulled from her belt was monstrous, carved from leather, thick and long enough that you whimpered just looking at it. ambessa gripped the back of your head, voice low and commanding. “open.”
you obeyed. you always would. she shoved it between your lips, fucking your throat with ruthless control until drool spilled down your chin. your nails dug into her thighs, tears streaming, and ambessa only groaned, hips grinding deeper.
“that’s it. choke on your predator.”
when she finally pulled out, strands of spit clinging, she lifted you easily and bent you over the tree. her strap slid against your soaked slit, teasing only long enough for you to whimper before she thrust in, splitting you open.
you sobbed loudly, clawing at the bark, but ambessa only grabbed your hips and slammed harder, fucking you into the wood. her thrusts were devastating, every inch claimed with savage precision.
“mine,” she growled into your ear. “this cunt. this body. this trembling little prey. mine.”
each word was punctuated by a brutal thrust, her pace unrelenting until you came again, sobbing, dripping down your thighs. ambessa didn’t stop — she chased her own release, rutting into you like she meant to breed you, to fill you until you couldn’t walk.
when she finally groaned and ground deep, biting your shoulder until blood welled, you collapsed in her hold. ambessa licked the wound clean, humming.
“run again if you want,” she murmured, lifting your limp body as though you weighed nothing. “it only makes the hunt sweeter. but remember, i always catch what’s mine.”
tags/warnings: nsfw / smut, dom ambessa, sub reader, inexperienced reader, age gap, boss/employee power dynamic, SIZE DIFFERENCE, shy + fem reader, overstimulation, slight dacryphilia, toy usage, fingering, oral, vaginal and anal penetration, nipple clamps, buttplugs, large dildos, just like... kinky shit. LOLLLL. pretty sure i use she/her for reader in here, + afab anatomy (cunt, pussy, tits, clit) + feminine pet names for reader.
summary: ambessa has all of your firsts. tonight, she wants to add your first time being overstimulated to her list of conquests.
wc: 3.4k
a/n: i loved this request,,, drools.... i hope this is what you were after, lovely!
---------- this work is 18 + nsfw ! minors please do not interact :) ----------
being ambessa’s maid is as rewarding as it is demanding. the same can be said about being her lover.
you’d worked for general medarda for a year now. most people would be off put by being in her home at all, let alone as someone responsible for the upkeep. it was intimidating to be sure. ambessa’s a thorough woman, dragging her fingertip across surfaces to check for dust.
you’d nearly died when the first of these inspections had turned up a thick layer of grime on the pad of her index finger. between being brand new and unable to reach the helmet of a ceremonial display of armour, you’d foolishly completely forgotten to ask a taller staff member to help with cleaning the dome. ambessa had raised an eyebrow, and turned her piercing gaze onto you.
“explain.”
that tone. the type ambessa used when she was mad. you’d heard it directed at other staff, like the chef when he burns something or the guards when they slouch. it’s not loud. not yelling. just a gravitas that makes the recipient feel like they would prefer a fight with a pack of murk wolves rather than be reprimanded by her.
you swallow thickly, feeling like your throat has closed. you meekly speak up, trying not to let your voice crack.
“i can’t… i’m too short to reach up there, ms. medarda.”
whether it was your stuttering, the way your hands shook, or the fact that you were radiating an aura similar to that of a cornered rabbit, ambessa took pity. she simply flicked the dust away, eyes no less piercing but voice less stern.
“i’lll have someone fetch you a stool. do not let this happen again.”
then, she’s gone, and you feel like you can breathe again. you’d survived an encounter with ambessa after fucking up, and not many people came out of that alive and with their job intact. this felt like a win, and you’ve thrown yourself one hundred percent into your work since, passing every one of the general’s random checks.
in reality, while you were good at your job, you weren’t perfect. there were times where you missed a spot, forgot something small. ambessa, however, had found herself more focused on just how cute you were though. she was thoroughly amused by this pretty little maid, so hellbent on impressing her, enough so that she was willing to look the other way at a tiny mess.
ambessa had liked the way you’d trembled on that first day. normally, she enjoys being able to strike fear into the hearts of others. when you’d shyly explained your shortcomings to her though, she decided her ultimate goal was to make you tremble in completely different ways.
what a medarda wants, a medarda gets.
it starts small. a hand on your shoulder after you do an admittedly stellar job cleaning her luxurious marble tub.
“you’ve done well, maid.”
the praise goes right to your head. you have to dampen your smile lest you look like an idiot in front of the general. you can’t keep the excitement out of your voice when you respond though, a tad overeager.
“thank you so much, ma’am!”
then it progresses to ambessa finding excuses to give you gifts, despite how unorthodox it is.
“that lotion on the vanity is not to my tastes. do me a favour and take it with you.”
you nearly go white. ambessa’s imported goods are of the highest quality, not cheap in any regard. you pick up the bottle, recognising it as some fancy brand from piltover.
“are you sure, ms. medarda?”
“it’s some candied scent rather than my favoured citrus. it’s yours. don’t make me repeat myself.”
you don’t say anything more, but you clasp the bottle tightly in your hands, eyes bright, like she’s given you a gold bar.
it’s too easy, ambessa thinks, because she bought that cute pink bottle specifically because she knows how fond you are of sweet scents and foods.
eventually, she pushes harder, more obviously, on an evening where you're topping up her glass of wine.
“here you go, ma'am.”
“ma'am makes me feel old. just call me ambessa.”
your eyes widen, your mouth opens slightly, you feel your hands shake as you fight to maintain your grip on the bottle of red.
“that’s not allowed.”
you finally manage to get out, and ambessa laughs in response. it's not cruel, she's just thoroughly amused.
“i’m your employer, aren't i? i make the rules. i am allowing you to call me by name.”
“...as you wish, ambessa.”
and her resulting smile is near predatory, eyes glinting with something you can't name as she hears the way you whisper her name with quiet submission.
this little game continues for a few months. ambessa is patient, but she also does not beat around the bush.
on a warm summer's evening, she demands you in particular to bring her the towel she ‘accidentally’ forgot. you do ask she asks, fine linen in hand, eyes averted as to not gaze upon her brazen nakedness.
ambessa is gazing at the mosaic on the wall, bare skin shiny with the water droplets still rolling down her form. she turns to look at you, eyes near gold in the light of the setting sun filtering through the windows.
your face is red, you're shifting side to side, holding out the towel for her to take. you peek, and she immediately catches you. when you look away, ambessa has enough.
her hand darts from her side to grip your jaw. her calloused palm holds your chin steady, lifting your face so you're forced to meet ambessa eye to eye.
“surely you notice my advances, dear one. why then, do you still look away?”
“it's just - it's not appropriate! i’m just a maid and you're the ambessa medarda, and-”
in the middle of your rambling, you see ambessa’s eyes close, the way her nostrils flare as she exhales a deep breath. you think she's about to yell at you. instead, she mutters under her breath.
“hunters, grant me patience.”
and then ambessa is crushing her mouth to yours, large hand dragging your face to meet hers. you're forced onto your tippy toes, her stature just so massive compared to yours.
ambessa can feel your inexperience in your kiss. she doesn't care that you obviously have no clue how to use your tongue or that you nearly bump your teeth into hers. she's captivated instead by your eagerness, the way you're so clearly trying to impress her, the soft ghost of your breath on her face as you try not to hyperventilate over kissing your boss.
when she pulls away, she huffs in amusement. your eyes are practically starry, lips swollen from how hard she kissed you, and your hands are drawn to your chest. your fingers flex, hands shaking, like you want to hold onto something but don't know what to grab.
ambessa takes pity on you, her hands reaching out, fingers wrapping around your wrists. she guides your hands up, placing them on her chest, encouraging you to cup her full, heavy tits. all the air escapes your lungs, your eyes flicking between her chest and her eyes.
your shaking hands. your lip, worried between your teeth as you bite it. your reverent gaze. all of it pleases ambessa greatly.
“you would be wise to remember that i am in command. i decide what is appropriate. don't make me say it again, dove.”
you suck in a deep breath, trying to steady your trembling body. your thumbs gently brush over ambessa's dark nipples, pebbled as her damp skin cools. your eyes lock onto the way goosebumps arise on her skin and the steady rise and fall of her chest.
all the while, ambessa is staring at you, like she's appraising something expensive. she must like what she sees, if the soft chuckle that escapes her is any indicator.
“good. come.”
her hand rests on your hip, and then she's turning you around, guiding you through the connecting door back to her private chambers.
the towel lays forgotten on the tile next to the tub.
ambessa takes your virginity half an hour later.
you're not clueless. noxus isn't exactly a nation of prudes. sex, war, the gladiatorial area; all of these are expressions of passion. you'd just never had the time to experience intimacy, working hard to cement a place in a city that demands power and usefulness.
to ambessa's credit, she's almost gentle that first time. she prepares you thoroughly, scissoring you open on her rough fingers and fucking you with her tongue until you can't tell if you're wetter from her spit or your own arousal. then, she splits you open on a strap that's far more modest than you would expect from such a woman.
she makes it abundantly clear though, that she's being merciful this one time. in future, she would not hesitate to get more rough, more mean, more selfish.
when you cry as you cum on her cock, your first orgasm at the hands of another, ambessa decides that she wants to see this time and time again.
slowly, she stops seeking out the other staff she fools around with. you've become ambessa's favourite, and while that doesn't stop you from having to work hard, it means you're rewarded with a more handsome paycheck and pleasure you previously couldn't comprehend.
ambessa is a conqueror. sex with you is no different. rather than crossing towns and strongholds off a map, it's like she's ticking off a checklist of sexual experiences to give you.
she trains you to eat her pussy just how she likes. ambessa gets off on the fact that on your first attempt, you have zero technique. it means you've never done this for another person, and she can teach you how to best pleasure her alone.
it becomes one of ambessa's favourite activities, having you drop to your knees while she reads, your pretty face absolutely dwarfed by her muscular thighs as you service her cunt.
she gives you your first anal experience too, another time she's been kinder. she spent hours easing you open slowly, helping you to relax as she coos praise in your ear until she's able to get her strap inside.
then, there comes ambessa's insatiable need to see you stuffed as full as humanly possible. you were correct on that first night; she much prefers a grander strap on. her favourite is an intimidatingly large cock made of dark red silicone, thick, veined, and the perfect size that it looks correct when she fits it into the harness. it stretches you out to the point you have a bulge in your stomach. ambessa gets a similar kick out of seeing you try to suck it, the toy bulging your throat as your eyes water around it.
the list goes on. bondage. edging. roleplay. ambessa gives you everything you didn't even know you wanted.
so when she strides into her chamber, a familiar gleam in her eye, you know you're in for a treat. you'd been waiting for ambessa on her gigantic bed, knowing she wanted you by the fact that your chore list was mysteriously cleared out for the evening.
“pet, i’d like to try something new.”
“what are we doing?”
“patience. you'll see.”
ambessa's already reaching under the bed, withdrawing the large black case that you'd come to associate with new experiences. she had a seemingly endless supply of toys and gadgets and… things, and you have zero clue where she's procuring all of it.
out comes the familiar dark red silicone cock, and the harness custom made for ambessa's thick hips. this is followed by a bottle of lubricant, then a red rope, a golden anal plug, and finally, nipple clamps, each adorned with a ruby, and connected by a delicate golden chain.
none of these were new. what was new was the fact that all this gear was making an appearance at once. you tilt your head at ambessa as she closes the case and puts it away.
“i intend to push you to your limits tonight. do not be afraid to use the safeword. do you remember it?”
“wolf.”
“good girl.”
ambessa descends on you, deft hands pulling away the layers of your uniform, letting your apron, skirt, and top become a pile next to the bed. the little heap ends up decorated with your bra and panties like a cherry on top.
then, comes her methodical preparation for the session. your wrists are bound together with rope, held behind your back, tight enough to keep you still but keeping full circulation. ambessa slides the harness up her powerful legs- one of your favourite visuals, and attaches the dildo. the plug and clamps are left on the bedside table.
ambessa is calculated. she always starts the same, drizzling lube onto your already wet slit, and easing a thick finger into you, letting another join once you loosen slightly. today though, you're surprised when she begins with two, her ring and middle fingers pushing the slick gel and your own wetness back into your cunt.
you adjust quickly, ambessa's fingers are familiar by now. you're stretched properly when her index joins, breathing shallow as you adjust to the slight burn and the feeling of fullness.
ambessa pumps her fingers in and out, driving you close to an orgasm. the second you begin to clench around her however, she withdraws. you instinctively whine, and ambessa silences you with a sharp slap to your cunt.
“don't be insolent, dove. you'll get your orgasms. suck.”
the new command comes as she holds her glistening fingers up to your mouth, and you eagerly lick yourself off her digits.
ambessa hums, pleased, and retrieves the buttplug. it, and your asshole, are generously coated with more lubricant, and then she eases it gently inside.
it's not a large plug, but it's enough that you're very aware of it. it's enough that when ambessa's fingers plunge back inside your hole, you feel the sensations multiplied. every time your walls squeeze her, you squeeze the plug too.
you're brought to orgasm much faster this time between the previous denial and the plug. ambessa doesn't stop you this time though, grinding the heel of her palm into your clit.
“cum.”
you do, soaking ambessa's fingers, hole tightening around her like you don't want her to ever pull out.
once your arched hips are back on the bed, she does withdraw. she sucks her own fingers clean herself this time, and is almost immediately on the move again while you catch your breath.
she slicks her strap, and quickly maneuvers your legs so she can fuck you in missionary. ambessa doesn't take her pace slow either, bottoming out in one fell swoop. then, she's thrusting, her skin meeting yours as she pumps every inch of the massive strap into you.
the air is forced from your lungs. you try to grip the sheets to ground you, but that proves difficult with your hands still bound under your back. you still feel beyond full, stuffed with plastic and metal, stretched around ambessa's will.
“look at you, pet. you're a vision when you're full of me.”
ambessa's hand presses to your stomach, fingertips feeling for where she can feel her strap as it moves in and out of your insides.
“ambessa, your cock feels… ah, so good…”
“oh, you like how it feels? let me help you feel it more, then. you make such a pretty slut.”
ambessa presses down on your stomach. not enough to hurt, but the pressure makes you feel everything that much more. every thrust makes you feel her strap, her hand, her plug.
your words fall apart as you get close to cumming again, having never had the time to fully come down from your first high.
ambessa knows this. your body is an instrument, and she is the maestro.
her pace quickens. her free hand comes to rub slow, gentle circles on your clit with her calloused thumbpad. then, with a harsh pinch to the sensitive bud and an order that ambessa nearly snarls, your second orgasm crashes into you.
“let go.”
“i’m cumming! oh, fuck- ambessaaa…”
she strokes your clit slowly as you ride out the pleasure, prolonging your orgasm. your eyes screw shut, and you pant for breath, mistakenly thinking the session over.
normally, ambessa wrings an orgasm or two from you, and instructs you to help her climax as many times as she wishes though.
but she wasn't joking about pushing you to your limits today, and your eyes snap open as you hear the gentle clink of chains.
“huh?”
“don’t look so surprised, dove. i know you can give me another.”
ambessa doesn’t pull out to grab the clamps. she instead just cranes over your body, pushing the strap impossibly deep, making you groan. her dark chuckle tells you she’s doing it on purpose.
the clamps settle around your nipples, pinching them somewhere between pleasure and pain. you squirm, the sensations only heightening everything else going on. ambessa tugs on the delicate chain joining the clamps, smirking at the whimper pulled from you as she does so.
you’re not given much other chance to prepare. ambessa begins thrusting again, this time with deep, slow strokes that make the tip of her cock kiss your cervix. once again, you haven’t been allowed to fully recover from your orgasm, so everything feels intense beyond what you can handle.
“‘bessa, i can’t-”
“you can. use your safeword if you really can’t take it.”
you don’t utter the word. regardless of how overwhelmed you are, you’re enjoying this too much to back down.
sensing your submission, ambessa’s fingers return to your clit, rubbing harsh, tight circles. she’s almost cruel, and your hips buck, back arching, trying to get away and closer to the sensation all at once. your clit aches with overstimulation, but at the same time, it feels so good.
it hurts. your arms are slowly going numb, your nipples are pinched painfully tight, your clit aches, your cervix is definitely going to be bruised, and your eyes burn with the sting of tears.
it’s heaven. ambessa is so deep inside you, you’re so full of her, surrounded by her. every sensation hangs on the precipice of pain and pleasure. you feel something building, you think it’s an orgasm, but it feels different.
your first climax was a slow build. your second was hard and fast. this one was overstimulating, nearly painful, a build up that’s more tense, more out of control. you feel your muscles spasming, and you panic.
“stop, stop! i’m gonna piss, you gotta stop, ambessa!”
it’s like she doesn’t hear you, until you see the wicked curve of her grin, and you realise she’d heard you just fine. she didn’t care. in fact, this only seemed to spur her on more. her fingers press harder, her hips press even deeper somehow. there isn’t a single thing that you can focus on that isn’t ambessa.
you sniffle, tears rolling down your cheeks. your muscles spasm again, and then you’re gushing, leaking, squirting.
and ambessa’s eyes light up.
“that’s my girl. sweet thing, what a mess you've made.”
ambessa gestures to the sheets and you whimper, utterly embarrassed. she clicks her tongue.
“what’s the matter?”
“i peed on your fancy bed!”
“you squirted, pet. it’s different. it means i did my job correctly.”
you don’t really see how, but ambessa seems happy. she slowly pulls out, removes the plug, the clamps, the rope. she fetches the towel, and uses it to carefully wipe between your legs. the way she carefully avoids your overstimulated clit is almost tender. the blanket your release made wet is also thrown to the side, for someone else to deal with later. she handles all the cleanup while you lie boneless.
once finished, she settles into the bed beside you, drawing you to her chest, large arms wrapped tightly around you. you’d normally offer to service her, but you’re exhausted. ambessa doesn’t seem keen on letting you leave either.
so instead, you let yourself drift off, sweet nothings and endearments of ‘dear one’ and ‘dove’ echoing in your ear as sleep takes your tired but satisfied body.
WHEW i loved writing this .. the graphics r kinda lazy but im so tired snore mimimi ... i hope you all enjoyed reading ty cherubs ! also thanks for 300 followers ? wild . giving you all a smoochie on the forehead !
Ambessa letting sevika use you after you embaress her in a meeting by questioning her authority.
Overstim cuz sevika is tribbing you for her own pleasure. Your head in Ambessas lap while she mutters to you patronisingly.
Ily <3
AUTHOR: I love you too 💞
TAGS: slapping, cunt slaps, brat!reader, threesome with Sevika and Ambessa, degradation, condescending!Ambessa, brat tamer!Sevika, tribbing, overstimulation and slight dacryphilia
Now that you have your head in Ambessa's lap as your slap-redenned cunt laid fully on display for Sevika to ruin, being a brat didn't seem so fun. You ran your mouth off again but this time you chose Ambessa's meeting room to be the place to do that. Big mistake. Ambessa takes her work very seriously and she doesn't tolerate backtalk. The General, quite literally, had your ass dragged out of the meeting room by Sevika who whispered “You're fucked,” when she came to take you.
“I’m not gonna apologise for having opinions.” You said firmly.
Smack!
A slap across your cheek. It wasn't hard, but it was firm. It was tight. Tight enough for you to realise you didn't hold the cards anymore and your fate was completely in the hands of these two big women. Your head was turned to the side from impact, you turned to face Ambessa and she took her chance, her hand gripping your jaw so hard you'd think it'd crack.
“You don't talk to me like that, little girl.” Your panties dampened and pussy clenched around nothing. “You embarrassed me out there. Do you have the faintest idea what it looks like being a General with a little bimbo for a wife who can't see the importance of authority?”
Ambessa's hand pulled back, thumb pushing into your mouth as she pressed your tongue down forcing your mouth to open.
“You better not misbehave now.”
Ambessa gestured to Sevika and walked to the bed herself, sitting down and getting comfortable. You quirked an eyebrow, rubbing the side of your face where the slap still stung on your skin. You saw Sevika easily haul you up and throw you onto the bed.
“Hey! Be careful,” you huffed, causing her to chuckle.
Sevika moved between your legs, each of her hands spreading out your knees and she smirked down at the sight of your wet panties. “Look who seems to be getting off at getting slapped by the General.”
“Shut up.” You mumbled, burying your face in Ambessa's lap and trying to hide your face away. Ambessa ran her fingers through your hair as if you both were out on a flimsy picnic date.
“You're a nasty slut for impact, aren't you?” Sevika pulled your panties down with haste, spreading your pussy lips out just to see the way your wetness dripped down your centre. “Look, so fucking drenched.” She scooped up your discharge on her finger and smeared it on your face. “What a fucking slut.”
Your eyes squeezed shut and cheeks flared a shade of red as Ambessa caressed your cheek. “Is that right, dollface? You've been acting like a little desperate, sexually frustrated bitch in heat in my meeting room just because your panties were in a bunch?”
Your stomach pooled with shame, you couldn't. You opened your mouth as if you'd deny everything but you didn't. You knew it was true. It was true and they knew it too.
“Fucking slut.” Sevika pulled her hand back and— SMACK!
You almost howled out in pain, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay!?”
“You don't mean that.” Sevika said in the deadest tone ever.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
“Oh my, Sevika's cruel.” Ambessa kissed your forehead, dragging down her thumb over your tears that fell past your temple.
“It hurts, make her stop, please…”
“Oh, my apologies, I don't control what she does to ensure you behave.” Ambessa said in a condescendingly, pity laced tone making your pussy clench around absolutely nothing— seeking more.
SMACK! SMACK!
“Bessa, please…” You sobbed, squirming and trying to get out of Sevika's grip but her mechanical hand held you down with a tight grip. So tight it could bruise.
SMACK! SMACK!
Sevika pulled her hand back, “Look at you, dripping because I smacked your filthy little cunt.”
“I'm sorry…” you whispered.
“Too bad, you seem to be liking this,” Sevika rubbed your clit agonisingly slow, “You're getting wetter and wetter as I continue smacking your pussy raw.”
“I need you, I'm sorry, I was being a dumbass.” You said, grinding up in desperate need for more friction, “I needed you both, so I was being bratty hoping I'd get fucked…”
“Is that right?” Ambessa chuckled, amused.
“In that case,” Sevika moved back, unbuttoning her own shirt and pants. Your eyes widened and you gawked at her naked figure. She was as gorgeous as ever— a fucking visionary. Sevika moved between your legs, your sore pussy touching hers and your eyes rolled back.
“P-please…”
“Please, what?” Sevika teased and grinded her pussy into yours making you see stars.
Her pussy was meaty and covered in thick hair that provided that delicious texture that rubbed against your clit and made your toes curl from the sheer sensation. Your hands tugged at Ambessa desperately as she cooed at you.
“Oh, sweet little one, it feels good, doesn't it? Getting your slut hole pleasured after an excruciating punishment?”
Sevika's thumb found your swollen clit and she started rubbing quick, tight circles around the sensitive nub making your hips buck off the bed needily.
“‘Vika, more, ‘Vika, please, please!”
You cried out in pleasure as you felt your tummy coil, readying for an orgasm. Sweat trickled down Sevika's breasts as she bounced subtly with every little one of her movements. She pulled back and ground harder on your pussy making your head press harder into Ambessa's lap as your hands fumbled with the sheets.
“I'm cumming, please, baby, I'm cumming…” you sniffled and came undone against her pussy, covering her and yourself with your filthy pussy juices.
Sevika didn't stop after you came, she continued moving and your legs were already starting to twitch around her as your back arched. Your lips fell apart and formed an ‘O’.
“Oh, dearest,” Ambessa cupped your face.
“M-make her stop, please, I'm— I'm— t-too much,” you choked on your sobs as you begged Ambessa.
Hoping and praying that she'd have some control over Sevika but she only chuckled in that same amused tone before she said, “Well, I think Sevika deserves her treat after taking her time putting a brat like you in her place.”
You whimpered and trembled under Sevika's weight as she pressed her pussy against yours, your brain was turning into mindless mush and all you could do was moan her name. Sevika's body locked, her abs flexing as she came against your overstimulated pussy. You could only moan weakly and groan.
“Please…”
You just laid there for the rest of the night and let Sevika use you however she wished while you sobbed in Ambessa's lap.
Pairing: Ambessa Medarda x Targaryen-coded Princess Reader
Words: 3786
Synopsis: Weeks pass after your birth, and you continue to struggle
Warnings: ANGST (the dark times are officially here)!! Postpartum recovery, catatonia (non-responsiveness), postpartum psychosis, medication use, postpartum depression
The following morning, the air in the rooms felt heavy with waiting.
Siya was sitting near the window, shelling nuts for you, trying to coax you into eating something. A small plate of soft bread and honey sat untouched on the table beside her. She was able to get you to drink the tea which contained your pain medicine, but you had barely had anything else. The doctor had said you were losing too much weight, and your dehydration would only be aggravating your disorientation. He said it was getting close to you needing to be force fed.
You hadn’t spoken all morning. You’d taken small, mechanical sips of water or tea when prompted. Let Siya help you sit up against the pillows. Nothing more.
Siya was mid-shelling when she heard it – soft, hoarse, and unexpected.
“Where’s Baelon?” you asked.
The knife slipped slightly in Siya’s hand, nearly nicking her thumb.
She blinked hard, glancing quickly to you. Your gaze was clearer today, slightly more aware. Your voice cracked from disuse, but it was unmistakable: a real question.
Siya set the nut down carefully.
“He’s in the nursery,” she said softly, crossing the room to sit at the edge of the bed. “With the baby. With your daughter.”
You didn’t react to that last part. Your expression didn’t shift. The mention of the baby might as well have passed over you like air.
Instead, you swallowed thickly, your eyes unfocused again.
For a long few seconds, you just stared down at the bedclothes, fisting one hand against the blanket.
Siya reached out, placing her palm lightly on your knee. “Would you like to see him?” she asked carefully. “Baelon? We could bring him here.”
You didn’t answer. Your lips parted, then closed again.
Your brows drew tight together. Then, after another long pause:
“Where are we?”
Your tone wasn’t panicked this time, but it wasn’t casual either. There was a slow, unsettled weight behind the words.
Siya blinked. “We’re in Noxus,” she answered automatically, gentle but matter-of-fact, as she had done every time you'd asked. “In the capital’s stronghold. In your rooms.”
But even as she said it, something inside her twisted. You asked her the same question multiple times a day, like you couldn’t comprehend her response.
It somehow felt like you weren’t asking about the city or the building.
Siya watched the way your eyes moved – restless, slow, dragging across the room like you were seeing it for the first time, despite occupying the rooms for a year. The walls, the high windows, the carved wall.
Like you were waiting for some curtain to lift. For something to change.
Siya’s chest tightened.
For a moment, she just sat there, hand still resting lightly on your leg, unsure what to say.
“We’re here,” Siya said at last, very softly. “You’re here. You’re safe.”
You didn’t respond.
Ambessa sat at the desk in your rooms, the baby curled up in one arm as she held a pen in her other. They were starting to bring the baby into your rooms more, hoping you would become accustomed to her presence quicker, so you wouldn’t be so distressed. So far, it seemed to be working – to an extent. You seemed relatively at ease with her being in the room whilst she slept or nursed from Zenn, but instantly became distressed when she cried or fussed. Any noticeable noise from her seemed to trigger a panic in you, that would only stop when someone took her out of the room. You only settled back down when her cries could no longer be heard.
Your Wife watched you as you sat at your vanity, Siya brushing through your hair after they helped you wash. You weren’t allowed to bathe, due to your incision, so they helped you wash standing up, Siya gently cleaning and rinsing your body as Ambessa helped you stay on your feet. When it was time to dress your cut, she took over, having more experience and confidence with wounds and scars.
Siya gently combed through your hair, ran an oil through its length, then combed it again. All the while, she spoke soothing Valyrian to you. They’d picked up that you responded more when spoken to in your native language, as if your mind still struggled with speaking a foreign tongue.
The whole time Siya redressed you and went through your nighttime routine, Ambessa had been attempting to write a letter to Mel, but struggled to find the words to describe your state. She didn’t want to panic her daughter, but she also didn’t want to lie about your condition. Absently tapping the pen on the paper, she eventually decided on her words.
Baby girl born a fortnight ago. Y/N is not doing well but is recovering physically. Come now. She needs you.
Ambessa and Siya waited for Mel to deboard Piltover’s ship, the maid eyeing the blimp’s structure curiously. She was so used to Noxian airships and their harsh design, this ship seemed almost sweet by comparison.
They watched as the General’s daughter disembarked, worry clear on her face.
“Mel. Welcome home.”
The younger Medarda gave a tight smile. “Mother.” Her smile grew when she looked to Siya. “Hello again.”
Siya curtsied. “Councillor. How was your journey?”
“Troubled.” She looked back up at Ambessa. “Your letter was… Worrisome, Mother. How is Y/N?”
Ambessa gestured for the three of them to make their way into the stronghold. Making their way through the corridors, several people stopped and watched Mel walk beside her mother, a mix of emotions and opinions clear on their faces.
The three women ignored them all, carrying on to your rooms. They stopped outside, Mel putting her hand on Ambessa’s bracer.
“What am I going to find in here, Mother?”
Ambessa shifted uncomfortably. “Y/N is… She…”
Mel turned her gaze to Siya.
“She’s not herself. Physically, she’s recovering; she’s up and about, she’s walking around, the doctor says she’s doing well in that regard…”
“But?”
Siya clenched her hands together in front of her. “The doctor had to cut her-”
“It was a planned surgical birth,” Ambessa clarified quickly, before Mel could look too horrified. “She had a complication with the placenta that we had known about for months. The plan was made weeks in advance; it wasn’t an emergency, nor a life-threatening situation.” She glared at Siya.
Mel paused, looking between both women. “Did she know about this surgery when you visited?”
Ambessa nodded. “Yes. We found out just before we made the visit to Valyria, and then to Piltover.”
Mel’s eyes closed as she shook her head in realisation. “She thought she was going to be killed. That’s why she wanted to visit; to say goodbye.”
Siya nodded. “We understand that now.”
The Councillor squeezed her own hands together. “How is she coping? Now that she has survived?”
Ambessa and Siya glanced at each other, neither truly wanting to speak, to say the words they both knew to be true.
Mel stopped waiting for them. She pushed open the door, stepping into your rooms.
As you had been for days, you stood by the open balcony door, staring off into the distance. She took in your appearance; clean and well-kept – Ambessa and Siya were clearly caring for you well; your lightly bumped stomach visible under a soft loose robe; hair braided in your favourite Valyrian style – Siya was obviously trying any small thing to make you happy, or to feel like yourself again. But it wasn’t working – your face was blank as you looked out across the city, your eyes barely blinking.
Mel walked over to you slowly, carefully; you didn’t react.
She stroked your arm gently; you didn’t react.
“Y/N?”
You turned your head, a slow, jerking movement that looked like it took a great amount of effort from you.
You didn’t speak, just looked back at her.
“Y/N, it’s Mel,” she said in a soft voice, still rubbing your arm.
Your eyes moved across her face, assessing her features. “Mel…?”
She smiled back kindly. “How are you, darling?”
It took you a few seconds to speak. “How did you get here?”
“I took a ship. I just arrived.” She brushed a curl of your hair behind your ear.
“What happened?”
Mel tried to hide her frown. “My Mother wrote to me, she said I should come to see you. And my new baby sister.”
She cupped and stroked your cheek, but you gave no reaction, just blinked slowly back at her.
“Speaking of, does she have a name? The baby?”
You didn’t react.
Mel tried something else. Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out some folded fabric. “I made this, for the baby. When you visited, you said that it’s Valyrian tradition to make a prayer blanket for a baby when it’s born. I made this with Noxian prayers, so she can have a Valyrian blanket and a Noxian one, too. I left space in the middle for her name.”
You just looked down at the olive-green fabric Mel held out to you, but you didn’t take it.
“Y/N… Do you know where you are?”
You didn’t respond for a few seconds. “No. But you shouldn’t be here.”
She pulled you into a tight hug, being careful of your stomach. “Oh, what’s happened to you?” she whispered to herself in Noxian.
“She’s been like this since she woke up from the surgery,” Ambessa explained, standing a few feet away.
Mel still held onto you, rubbing your back gently even as you stood motionless in her embrace, arms just hanging by your sides. She switched back to the common tongue, for Siya’s sake. “Is it a reaction to the sleeping medicine she was given?”
“No; the doctor said if she was having a reaction, it would only have lasted a few hours. It’s been two weeks.”
She kissed your forehead gently. “You had better be giving her pain medicine…”
Siya nodded. “Every four hours.”
“Could it be a reaction to that? Or too high a dose?”
“No,” Ambessa shook her head. “We give her only what the doctor said she should have.”
“So, what is this?” she asked desperately.
“We don’t know, Mel!” your Wife snapped.
Mel sighed, rubbing your back softly, even as you continued to stand motionless in her embrace. “How is she with the baby?”
Siya shook her head sadly. “She won’t engage with her at all. We’ve tried a few times to get her to hold her, but Y/N just refuses every time. She just screams and tell us to…” her throat tightened, “To ‘get it away’ from her.”
Mel’s eyes closed in heartbreak, holding the back of your head. Eyes opening again, she fixed her Mother with a hard stare. “Was it worth it, Mother?”
Ambessa’s jaw clenched. “It will be. When Y/N is well again and is more herself-”
“What if she never gets better?” Mel challenged, releasing you and moving away, looking back at you as you just resumed staring out across the balcony. “What if she doesn’t recover? What if her mind is forever trapped in this state?”
“That will not happen,” Ambessa growled. “The doctor is coming to see her in the morning; we will see how to progress then.”
Ambessa stood near the doors to your rooms, arms folded tightly across her chest as the doctor entered. Siya was a few feet away from you, as you stood in your usual spot by the balcony doors. Mel sat with the baby – her new little sister – at your desk, watching the scene tensely.
You didn’t acknowledge the doctor’s arrival at first. Your gaze remained fixed on the horizon – vacant but restless – like you were still waiting for something to shift, for reality to reassemble itself into something you could recognise.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” the doctor said gently, keeping his tone low and unthreatening as he got closer to you. “How do you feel today?”
You didn’t answer.
He studied you for a moment, then began softly, “Do you know who I am?”
Your head turned to him at last, your first real look at him since he walked in. You studied his face, your lips parting as if you might answer. Your gaze dragged over the lines of his jaw, the shape of his nose, his dark physician’s robes.
Your voice came, dry and cracked from days of near-silence. Barely louder than a whisper.
“You killed me.”
The air in the room stopped.
Ambessa’s head jerked up from where she stood, her brows furrowing in disbelief. Siya’s and Mel’s breaths caught in their throats. None of them spoke. None of them could.
The doctor, to his credit, didn’t react with shock. He only tilted his head a little, blinking slowly. “I see,” he said softly.
Siya opened her mouth to speak, to reassure you, to say ‘no, of course not, no one killed you!’, but the doctor lifted a subtle hand to quiet her.
“Can you tell me,” the doctor continued, voice like warm wool, “Where you think you are now?”
Your lips trembled. You hesitated.
“…I don’t know,” you whispered. Your fingers curled in the arms of your robe. “After?”
After life.
The doctor asked gently, “And why do you think that?”
Your voice came haltingly, like it cost you something to drag each word out. “Because… You cut me…And I died.”
Siya’s throat worked. “You didn’t die, Y/N,” she said, her voice trembling.
But the doctor stayed focused, careful not to flood you with denials too quickly. “Do you remember why we did the surgery?” he asked softly.
You blinked slowly. “Baby.” Your voice faltered on the word, like it tasted foreign in your mouth.
Mel patted the baby’s back gently, more to soothe herself than the newborn that was already sleeping peacefully in her arms.
“And do you remember what we told you?” the doctor prompted. “That it was planned? That you would be safe, and healthy?”
“Cutting kills women.”
“Not here,” Ambessa denied firmly.
The doctor took a softer approach. “I know your Mother died when she was cut. But you didn’t.”
Your head twitched in the smallest shake, your expression unmoving from that hollow, frightened disbelief.
The doctor gave a long, slow breath, thinking. “Do you know where the baby is now?” He didn’t mean ‘in the room’.
“Out,” you rasped, touching your still lightly bumped abdomen. “You killed me to take it out.”
Ambessa stepped forward finally, unable to stay silent. “You did not die, Y/N,” she said, voice low but rough with emotion. “We did not kill you. You are here, in Noxus. You are alive. With me. With all of us.”
You turned your face toward Ambessa, eyes wide and haunted, but you didn’t argue. You didn’t agree either.
The doctor smiled faintly at Ambessa’s outburst but kept his focus on you. “Sometimes,” he said gently, “When people go through something so terrifying, the mind tries to protect itself by making things feel distant. Or unreal.”
Your stare flickered toward him, something like faint confusion knitting your brow.
“You had a surgery that scared you, at the end of a pregnancy that scared you. But you lived through it. You’re alive, and so is your child.” The doctor’s tone softened further, almost like he was speaking to a frightened child. “Ambessa is real; Siya is real; Mel is real; your baby is real. All of this is real.”
You didn’t answer.
But you swallowed again. Blinked hard. Let out one shaking breath like you were trying to wake yourself up, but still couldn’t quite believe.
Ambessa’s hands clenched at her sides as she watched her Wife stand there like a ghost.
But for the first time in two weeks, they finally understood what was keeping your mind trapped: you had been ready to die… You hadn’t prepared to live.
The next few days passed in a kind of muted blur. The doctor started you on a medication, something to help lift the fog that clung stubbornly to your mind. Not sedating you; nudging you awake. To bring you back from wherever your mind had fled.
The change was subtle at first. You blinked more often, stayed awake longer during the day. You started eating small things when Siya or Ambessa held them to your mouth: a few bites of fruit, half a piece of jam-covered bread, a few mouthfuls of broth. Your eyes still drifted often, haunted and absent, but they stayed open.
One afternoon, Siya sat reading aloud to you – some Valyrian poetry she’d pulled from the shelves, hoping the familiar words would stir something in you. You sat on the chaise, blanket over your legs.
Siya was halfway through a line when your voice interrupted: soft, scratchy, but clearer than it had been since before you gave birth.
“Where’s Baelon?”
Siya’s heart jumped. She set the book down carefully, trying to keep her expression steady so as not to startle you.
“He’s in the nursery,” Siya answered gently. “With the baby. The nurses look after them both.”
You nodded slowly, your gaze distant again.
Siya hesitated. “Would you like to go see him? Or I can bring him here-?”
“No.” You shook your head before Siya could finish. Your eyes dropped to your lap. “Not yet.”
Siya swallowed the ache in her throat and only nodded. That was progress.
Later that evening, as the sky over Noxus turned dark with summer clouds, Ambessa sat across the room, polishing her armour at the small table by the window. The soft scrape of cloth over metal filled the space between them.
You were sat on the bed, legs crossed under you. Your eyes were closed, your body swaying back and forth a little, one hand absently rubbing your forearm. You’d been doing that more often. You tended to be more lucid when you did, so they allowed it, not stopping you as your mind tried to catch up on reality.
Your voice, when it came, was almost too quiet to hear.
“What’s her name?”
Ambessa’s hands stilled. She lifted her head slowly, turning toward you. The question hung in the air like something too fragile to breathe on.
It was the first time you had asked about the baby… Your own daughter.
She stood, crossing the room with careful steps, not wanting to spook you. She touched your shoulder gently.
“She does not have one yet,” Ambessa said, softly stroking your hair away from your face.
Your brow furrowed faintly, as though the answer confused you.
“Why not?” you asked, barely louder than a breath. You knew it had been a while since you died.
Ambessa’s voice dropped low, rough, but not unkind. “Because you have not given her one.”
Your eyes opened, widening just slightly. The words seemed to hit something deep, something raw and trembling under the surface.
For the first time, you blinked rapidly like you were fighting back a sudden rush of feeling.
“Was I supposed to do that before I died?”
Ambessa’s heart clenched. So, she just stood there with you, hand rubbing up and down your back, trying to calm herself as well as you.
Siya sat near the open balcony doors, finishing off the embroidering on the prayer blanket. Like Mel, she had left a space in the middle of the blanket for the baby’s name… Whenever you would feel up to giving her one. Every so often, she would cast a careful glance toward the bed where you sat propped against a nest of pillows.
Ambessa stood nearby, cradling the baby in one strong arm. The child made a soft, mewling sound, wriggling restlessly against her chest.
Siya could sense the tension building before a word was spoken. You sat stiff, your shoulders tight, your gaze fixed somewhere outside, far away from your Wife and daughter.
Ambessa adjusted her hold on the baby and turned toward the bed. Her tone was low but coaxing. “You should hold her. You still have not held her yet.”
You didn’t answer.
Siya set the cream linen aside, rising quietly. “It would be good for you, you’re feeling more alert now,” she said softly, approaching the bedside. “Just for a minute.”
Your eyes flickered toward Siya, dull and guarded. But you didn’t say no.
Ambessa moved to the side of the bed and carefully lowered the baby toward your lap. But you sat frozen, your arms limp in your lap.
Siya stepped in quickly, guiding you with gentle hands. “Here,” she said, adjusting your arms into place, coaxing them into a cradle as Ambessa gently placed the month-old infant in your arms. “Like this… Support her head. Do you remember when you held Baelon like this?”
You didn’t resist. But your whole body went rigid, as though every muscle was bracing for something you couldn’t name. Even your breath stopped.
The baby squirmed faintly, letting out a small, breathy sigh. Your eyes never looked at her, fixed on a point outside the balcony doors.
For a full minute, neither of them moved. Slowly, Ambessa sat on the bed, watching you carefully.
The baby shifted again, making a soft, hiccupping noise, and you flinched – just the slightest tightening of your hands. Your mouth pulled into something like a frown, your brow furrowing.
Siya watched carefully, heart in her throat, but still she chose to see it for what it was: progress.
You were holding your baby. For the very first time.
Not recoiling. Not screaming.
Just holding her.
Even though you were clearly unhappy about it.
Ambessa sat, her hands resting rigidly on her knees, watching the scene unfold with a barely-contained scowl. Her gaze tracked every tiny flicker of discomfort across your face.
After another few silent minutes, you exhaled sharply through your nose and said, flatly, “Take it.”
Siya glanced at Ambessa, but the warlord didn’t move, wanting you to hold the baby for as long as possible.
Your voice sharpened, still quiet but more desperate. “Take it. Please.”
That was enough.
Ambessa leant forward, retrieving the baby from your arms with slow, careful hands. But her jaw tightened as she did, her disappointment obvious.
You sank back against the pillows, curling your arms protectively around yourself as though the whole ordeal had drained what little strength you had.
Siya stroked your head softly, smoothing your hair gently, though her heart weighed heavy.
Later, after Ambessa had stepped out with the baby – more brusquely than necessary – Siya sat down at the foot of the bed.
She gave you a small smile.
“It’s something,” she said quietly.
You didn’t answer. But for the first time in weeks, you didn’t look entirely gone.
being ambessas maid (essentially fucktoy) who gets to like sit on her lap through meetings and drip all over her thighs I dunno
or like you were her maid but then she thought you were too pretty to do any work so you just get to lie on couches/her bed all day
𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐀 𝐱 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
WORD COUNT: 1.8k words . . .
SMUT TAGS: thigh humping, fingering
When the Noxian warlord conquered the lands of your hometown, you thought it was over. You had no other choice but to apply to do housework in the Medarda Estate. The economy was terrible. There was no other option available right now for you other than breaking your back wiping floors and walls all day long. Every corner was laced with gold in the Estate when you entered and all you could do was gawk at the wealth that you'd never have.
The head cleaner of the Estate took one look at you and asked, “Are you sure you want to apply for the position?”
You were decently pretty for a girl your age and status. You nodded dryly. “Gotta do what you gotta do to keep food on the table.”
“Ah, I see, I understand. There's an apron in the back, you should wear it, you wouldn't wanna stain your, uhh,—” she gestured at the clothes that you had on.
No matter where you went you always dressed up and dolled up well, you knew how pretty privilege could benefit girls like you and you took full advantage of it. I mean, why wouldn't you? You had nothing to lose.
You smiled brightly, “I take it that means I have the job?”
“Yeah, we're kinda short staffed here so of course, the more the merrier.” The girl laughed somewhat nervously before she walked away. You could see why she was nervous now. The General seemed to be in a really bad mood.
You didn't look at her quite, and just kept your head down as you dusted about the Estate. The artefacts that you dusted were almost all pure gold and it made you feel a twinge of jealousy but you stuffed it down and ignored it.
You reached the bed chambers a while later, knocking, “Cleaning.” You announced.
A deep voice answered “Come inside.” And you felt your panties dampen instantly. You opened the ceiling high doors and stepped inside gingerly. Ambessa Medarda. None other than the General herself. She was seated at the corner where there was a desk stacked with a pile of papers.
“Clean up, and be quick.” Ambessa said, not bothering to look up from the clipboard which was reading from.
“Yes, ma'am,” you mumbled under your breath and quickly moved about the room, dusting and cleaning.
You tried to be as fast as you could while also being efficient, as you bent down however the neck of your dress practically gave away and flashed your cleavage. You quickly grabbed at it and straightened. Ambessa raised a brow, turning to face you once she saw you move at her peripheral vision.
“You look a bit too well-dressed to be just a maid.” Ambessa said, extending an arm and featuring you to come closer.
You obliged, stepping closer. You nervously twirled a hair between your fingers— a habit you developed a while ago. Ambessa held the side of your waist, her big hand almost engulfing your waist in it as she guided you closer and closer to her until you were easily perched on one of her thick, meaty thighs.
“Oh,” you flushed bright red.
“There we go, pretty little thing,” Ambessa used her other hand to tuck back a strand of your hair as she made sure you were comfortably seated on her lap.
Your heart pounded against your ribs so hard it was almost difficult to breathe. You were so close to the Noxian warlord you could see every fine line of her face, her breath smelled faintly of wine and something a little more musky but very subtle. You loved it. You loved being on this woman's lap.
“You're too precious to be part of the cleaning staff.” Ambessa's hand squeezed your hip and your thighs pressed together instantly.
“Is that so?” You tried to respond but your brain was lagging so badly.
“Yes, dollface, I expect you to come straight to my bedchambers everyday that you're reporting for work, understood?” Ambessa held you so easily in her hands, as if you were just a doll to play with.
“Understood, General.” You breathed.
“Please, call me Ambessa,” she said before smirking, “Although, I enjoy hearing that title on your lips too.”
You giggled, a little more free this time as your shoulders relaxed. You felt Ambessa's hand slip down from your waist to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze as if testing out how you'd react if she did so.
“Do you treat all the pretty maids this way?” You asked.
“If I said yes, would you be jealous?” Ambessa leaned back, pulling you closer.
“Maybe.”
Ambessa didn't just give you luxury. She gave you power, the kind that didn’t need gold or a name, but came with every glance she threw your way and every inch of skin she claimed. She gave you silk sheets and crimson wine. She gave you a room of your own, closer to hers than any of the other servants would ever dare step. She gave you a place at her side during quiet dinners, where war generals would glance at you in confusion, some even in resentment, wondering who you were to be granted such proximity to a woman who crushed nations with her bare hands.
But above all else, Ambessa gave you attention.
Not just fleeting or indulgent, but sharp, possessive attention. She watched your every move like you were something rare, like you were hers. And you liked it. You were hers. Each morning, you’d still dress up, paint your lips, slipping into the apron that had long become a mockery. Because no one in that Estate saw you as a maid anymore. You were something else— Ambessa’s something.
While Ambessa worked, she had you on her lap, wearing her ring— the Medarda emblem— grinding down against her thighs as she kept you dressed in the finest silk of Noxus. You were a whimpering mess as you humped her thigh and leg out the filthiest little sounds right there against her ear as she worked. Her pen didn't even stutter as it glided about the page and she noted down her war strategies. She wasn't paying attention to you.
“You're so desperate.” Ambessa finally uttered after a while but she still didn't spare you even just a glance, her eyes were hyper fixated on her work and it didn't seem like your sexual frustration would distract her anytime soon.
“Please, ‘Bessa, baby,” you pouted your glossy lips out, hair slowly dishevelled and face flushed from effort as your clit grinded down, bare, against the rough material of Ambessa's pants. You needed her so badly.
Ambessa ignored you for a while and didn't bother looking up or acknowledging your pathetic attempts at getting off. She was far too drowned in her work. She didn't care. Your ass squished against her knee as you continued your rubbing, your pussy was starting to leave a damp, wet patch on her thigh and she seemed to not give a shit about it. Ambessa only moved once she’d finished signing a particularly long sheet of military logistics. Her pen clicked, echoing in the silent room, and you froze because that sound always meant one thing.
Her fingers tapped the desk once, a signal.
“Get off and bend over the desk,” she said coolly, still not looking at you.
You scrambled to obey, legs a little shaky as you stepped off her lap and stood. Your cunt throbbed with each heartbeat, lips slick and swollen. You knew what she liked, how she liked you to present yourself and so you leaned over the smooth, dark wood of her desk, pushing your hips back slightly, back arched, dress bunched up to your waist, ass bare.
A slow silence passed.
Then her chair creaked. And a moment later, Ambessa’s fingers trailed up the back of your thigh, slow and teasing, rough pads of her fingertips dragging over your skin. She dipped in between your legs and you sucked in a breath, your body jerking with anticipation.
“Soaking the desk already,” she murmured. “Haven’t even touched you properly yet.”
You whimpered. “Please…”
Ambessa finally stood fully behind you, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding through your folds. She was cruel in the way she made it last, long strokes that never quite circled your clit, fingers that dipped just inside and then pulled back out again.
“Worked yourself up just grinding on me,” she mocked gently. “What a spoiled little wife I’ve made.”
You clenched around nothing at that, toes curling in your boots.
Her fingers finally sank in, two of them, thick and unyielding. She pushed in slowly, then crooked them hard, hitting that spot inside you that made your knees buckle slightly.
“Ambessa—”
“Quiet.”
You shut up instantly, forehead resting on the cool desk. Her hand twisted and pumped, wrist moving with fluid confidence. Her thumb pressed just above your clit but didn’t rub. It was like she was teasing you just by existing in that spot. You wanted more friction. You needed more friction.
But Ambessa wasn’t going to make it that easy.
“You want to come?” she asked, voice low, calm, condescending.
You nodded desperately. “Yes, yes please—”
“Then you’ll have to earn it.”
The fingers stopped moving entirely. You groaned in frustration, hips shifting.
She leaned down close to your ear. “Sit on the edge of the desk.”
You followed, hopping up clumsily, legs trembling as you sat on the thick edge of the wood. Ambessa stepped between your thighs, her large frame towering over you. Her hands slid under your knees and pushed them apart until you were completely exposed to her. Her fingers returned, but this time she didn’t waste time teasing. She shoved them in deep, curling them ruthlessly. The heel of her palm hit your clit again and again with each pump of her hand. Your body jolted, breaths coming in hard, whiny pants as your slick dripped over her knuckles.
“You going to come all over my hand like a good little trophy?” she growled against your mouth, not kissing you yet, just letting her words vibrate through your lips.
“Yes, yes— Ambessa, I’m— !”
Your climax hit hard. Your legs shook, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your walls pulsed around her fingers, juices coating her palm and dripping onto the desk beneath you. She didn’t slow down until you were practically twitching in her grasp, sobbing from the overstimulation. Ambessa finally pulled her fingers free and wiped them on your inner thigh, smearing your cum across your skin like paint. Her other hand lifted your chin and forced you to look at her.
“Clean yourself up and be presentable,” she said, stepping back. “You’ll be dining with me tonight.”
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