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vinvantae · 2 years

Note

requesting a driver!reader has like a terrible accident and is in a coma and we get to see the drivers’ like talking w her trying to wake her up or smthing, like sharing memories and all (maybe some angst?)

warnings - mentions of death, explicit language, description of injury and a crash, angst angst and more angst (especially with Charles). This one hurt to write besties. It’s long and painful so buckle up.

I didn’t write the whole grid but it’s implied that they all go and see the reader.

**************************************************

It had been nearly 6 years since they lost one of their own, six years since Jules’ life had been cut short and almost every single one of them could remember the day as clear as crystal. So when they all heard the radio message ‘red flag, big big crash, red flag’ they couldn’t help but feel the pit in their stomach grow.

Sure, the halo had made many a driver survive what should’ve been fatal crashes but as they all slowly made their way back to the pits and saw the damage to the car this was different. The side of the car wasn’t built for impact in the same way the front and the rear were - so when a fellow car going 200 kmph+ made contact with the side of you, the damage was done.

No one felt it like him. It was his home Grand Prix. The cursed track - and now he feared that it was your cursed track too. He’d not wanted to come, he never did, and the fact the rain was torrential made it all the more terrifying. It was a fight enough to get out of his own car - the front of it was practically inside of yours but his halo had done its job - but seeing you, unmoving, made him panic.

“Y/n!” He called out. “Y/n! Are you okay?”

He made it over to you before the Marshalls did, dropping to his knees beside the car and pulling his gloves off to reach inside and find even an ounce of proof that he hadn’t just killed his best friend. As his fingers found your wrist, he found the faintest trace of a pulse and started screaming for medics. There was no way he was going to let you go without a fight.

All of the garages were sat in silence as they waited on news - the drivers all huddled together in the briefing room with heads held low, bouncing knees and skin chewed raw around the edges of fingers. They’d all been so excited for you to get your seat at Alfa Romeo but now the crisp white and red car was barely recognisable. When Charles had practically been peeled off the side of the wreck, he was ushered into the room with the rest of the drivers - expecting nothing but rage to be thrown his way.

But when Pierre’s arms immediately pulled him into a hug, he broke down - his cries of anguish breaking the hearts of his fellow drivers. They’d all been in a crash before, but nothing quite like this. And when the race was called off in its entirety, they knew it was bad.

It was a week before any of them were allowed to see you - no news except ‘she’s alive, but not stable.’ Your family, thankfully, were already in Monaco as it was your home Grand Prix, but the drivers found it very hard to stay away. So when your Mum gave them the all clear, they should’ve felt relieved - but the look on her face was one of a woman who thought she was going to lose her child and decided to let your friends say goodbye.

Sebastian went first. No one had fought him on it, he was the only one brave enough to see you at first. The German driver stepped into the room and had to hold back the sick feeling he felt in his stomach at the sight that was a little too familiar to him. He didn’t want to compare you to Michael but in that moment you were a spitting image. He cautiously approached the bed and sat beside you, his warm hand finding your cold one. Nothing but the soft beeping of your heart monitor filled his ears, he knew too well that a simple touch of a hand wasn’t going to be enough to wake you. But, he hoped you could at least hear him.

“I remember how nervous you were your first race this year, scared you’d mess up or make a fool of yourself.” He hummed quietly. “But you were absolutely fantastic. A point in your very first race in F1? Absolutely wonderful, I remember the smile on your face when you took off your helmet. You didn’t even care that Valtteri had beaten you.”

He took a pause to let out a shaky breath. “…I’m so proud of you. This isn’t the end of your career, I know you’re going to wake up. You’re gonna get your first podium and make a name for yourself.”

Valtteri’s visit was short and sweet, he’d immediately taken you under his wing when you’d joined Alfa Romeo even though he was fresh to the team himself. You’d brought out the soft side of the Finn that most didn’t get to see - he saw himself in you. He wasn’t really a man of words, but he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t see you, at least once.

“So Uhm, when I said break a leg…” He chuckled sadly. “You know I didn’t mean it right?”

He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t expecting a response but he couldn’t help but want to hear your voice.

“You better wake up soon.” He continued, placing the flowers he got you beside your bed. “I know the car hasn’t been fantastic this year and you’ve had one too many DNFs that weren’t your fault but… I’ve not had a teammate like you in a while and… I just want you there with me.”

Charles knew that he should’ve been the first to see you, that he should’ve been by your bedside this whole time - but the gnawing guilt that it was him who did this to you made even the thought of him going, made him want to throw up. So when he heard Lewis say he was going, it gave him another excuse to put it off.

Lewis was the first one to take purchase on the side of your bed, his tattooed hands taking your limp one in his. He was always one for inspirational words but in that moment he struggled to find any. He never lied to you and he didn’t want to start now, so that idea of saying ‘you’ll make it through this’ just didn’t feel right.

“I…” He hesitated and let out a deep sigh. “I really miss you. You bring such energy to the paddock and your optimism despite all the shit that’s been thrown at you is really admirable. Do you remember our fight in Saudi? I was so impressed, you weren’t willing to just let me by without a struggle. Not scared that you had a champion in your mirrors and I admire that…”

His eyes flickered across your face, hoping you’d crack a smile but when nothing happened he simple gave your hand a soft squeeze. “Just, don’t give up on us, okay?”

Over the next couple of days, your room began to flood with flowers and gifts from the grid. The drivers you were closest too struggled to visit, but with some reassurance from those who had been that you just looked like you were resting, they began to slowly come in.

Daniel lost track of time when he came to visit, just sat back in the chair beside your bed, rattling off stories of the pranks you’d played on the other drivers together. Sure, his bond with you was still fresh - you’d only properly met this year - but the two of you had matching energy and found each other pretty quickly. He’d lost Jules and he certainly wasn’t going to lose you too.

“I’m just one half an idiot… need you back.” He whispered, his hand finally coming to rest on top of yours. “It’s… I’ve just not felt like me. Which is weird because before we met I was already an absolute moron but now I just don’t feel right, knowing that you’re in here instead of hiding Pierre’s underwear in the freezer… so, if you could wake up, I’d… I’d appreciate it. I miss you.”

When Lando came, he was surprised to see Charles asleep in the waiting room outside - his legs tucked up onto the sofa and his face squashed against the side. The Brit asked the nurse at the desk if he’d gone in yet and she simply shook her head. “He has walked to the door 3 or 4 times but hasn’t gone in. He’s been here for 2 days now… he won’t leave but he won’t visit y/n.”

Lando wanted to offer Charles his company when he went in but he knew your fellow Monagasque would want to be alone. So he quietly stepped into the room, adding his gift to the flowers that practically lined the walls.

“I know you don’t actually like flowers that much, well, cut ones anyway… cus they die so… I got you something else.” He explained, sitting down beside the bed. “You’ll have to wake up to see what it is though…”

The young Brit studied you intently, they’d taken off your neck brace that morning and your skin was pale and littered with bruises. “P-please wake up. I… fuck… I-“

He wiped away his tears with his sleeve. “They want us to carry on racing, they’re expecting us all to go to Azerbaijan tomorrow and act like nothing is wrong… it’s fucking unfair. Fucking ‘we race as one’ my fucking ass… only three drivers have actually gone already. The rest of us are still here. Our teams are practically begging us so they don’t get fined but… fuck them. Honestly fuck them. It’s barely been two weeks and we’re supposed to race knowing one of our best friends isn’t in a fucking coma?”

He groaned and rest his head against the sheets. “I won’t do it. I just… I just won’t.”

“…please just wake up, y/n. I promise I’ll stop stealing your snacks and I promise I’ll-I’ll…” he sighed softly. “I don’t even know if you can hear us, but… I feel like I want to tell you that Charles is here. I know he wants to see you but he can’t stop blaming himself. He wants to be with you, he’ll come around eventually… just… just try and wake up okay?”

Pierre sat cautiously beside Charles in the waiting room, the driver now awake but the heavy bags underneath showing his sleep was anything but pleasant. “I’m going in again this afternoon, do you want to come in with me? You don’t have to say anything just… maybe seeing y/n will help you think about what you want to say.”

Charles chewed at the skin around his finger. “I don’t think I deserve to go in there. Fuck, it was me who did that…”

“It was the rain, Charles. It could’ve been any of us, the fact it was you doesn’t-“

“So you’re saying that it’s just a coincidence that at my home Grand Prix where I’m famous for having the worst luck it’s me who nearly killed y/n?” He snapped, covering his face with his hands.

Pierre sighed. “She’s going to be okay, Charles. That’s y/n in there, not someone who’s going down without a fight. The doctors say they’re seeing signs of improvement every day, and I know you’ll regret it if y/n wakes up and knows you didn’t visit.”

Charles watched as his childhood friend disappeared into your room. He was being a coward and he knew it, coming to visit you was the absolute bare minimum he owed you. He could’ve ruined your entire career before it truly started and he was too much of a scaredy-cat to even go in there and apologise.

Pierre linked his fingers with yours and have your hand a gentle squeeze. “Hey, me again… sorry, can’t seem to stay away long can I?”

Unlike your other childhood friend, Pierre had been more times than anyone else. Scared that you’d wake up alone, he didn’t want there to be even a second that you were by yourself. So if your family weren’t there or another driver then he’d be by your side, it should be Charles but until he pulled his act together Pierre was going to stay here.

“Hey, do you remember the time that me, you and Charles went tomb-stoning?” He said, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Both of us were absolutely shitting our pants but you? You jumped into the ocean like it was nothing. And the absolute grin on your face when you resurfaced was enough to get both of us in. You’ve always been our little leader, the two of us are absolutely lost without you…”

He fiddled with your fingers as he spoke. “They said you’re making improvements, but I just… I miss the sound of your voice and… your smile… your laugh… I didn’t realise just how much you improved my life until you weren’t there.”

A stray tear rolled down his cheek but he let it fall, he wasn’t ashamed of how seeing you like this made him feel. “And I’m not racing this weekend. I’ve told my team I’ll pay the fine. I know some people want to race but you’ve had such an impact that a lot of us just don’t feel ready. I… I don’t feel ready. I think it’s dangerous, a lot of will make stupid mistakes because we’re being over cautious and I’m just… god, I’m scared. We need our leader, our voice of reason. You were never afraid to get behind the wheel of the car and fuck, you’re the bravest person I know…”

He brought your hand up and held it close to him. “I… please wake up, y/n. We need you. I need you. I feel like that little kid who was too scared to do things, I need my best friend to come back and tell me everything is gonna be okay… please, tell me everything will be okay.”

The tears were flowing freely at this point, he was absolutely terrified that he’d never hear the sound of your voice again. Sure, they said you were improving but he just couldn’t see the signs - you still looked so frail and broken. His head lifted when heard the door open, Charles slowly stepping into the room.

“Hey…” Pierre said, his voice cracking a little. “She’ll be glad you’re here.”

“…I…” the Monagasque took a shaky breath, stepping into the room and coming over to you. “…can I be alone with her? If that’s okay?”

Pierre rose and gave his friend a quick hug before leaving the two of you alone. Charles stood over your bed, assessing the damaged he’d done - your arm was in a cast, your nose and eyes looked bruised and your skin was just littered with damage. He cautiously sat beside you and linked his fingers with yours, something he’d done many times in the past but this time was different, your hand was so cold.

“…hey, I’m… I’m sorry it took me so long.” He whispered. “I’m a coward, I did this to you and I couldn’t face the consequences… I know it was raining and we couldn’t see but I’m still so fucking sorry. I… I tried everything to steer the car away but I lost it a-and… there’s no excuse, I hurt you so bad y/n… I’m sorry.”

The tears were streaming down his cheeks as he looked at you. You looked so small, broken. “I… you can’t stay like this anyway… how am I supposed to make it up to you if you stay asleep huh?”

“Gonna take you to all the movies you like… take you to all your favourite dinner spots… buy you lots of snacks and you remember those… remember those little sweets you like? Gonna buy you a bathtub full.”

He smiled softly. “I know you’ve never been one for apology with presents. Actions. Gonna show you every day for the rest of our lives just how sorry I am… just need you to wake up first. How are you gonna win races when you’re asleep.”

As stupid as it was, he thought the sound of his voice would be enough to wake you - but it wasn’t a movie. He’d broken you and your body needed to heal… or so he thought.

“I don’t know if you can hear me or not, feels a little weird talking at you, usually you’re the chatterbox… but I just want you to know that I’m here. I’m not going anywhere…” He smiled softly, looking away from your face to look at your small hand in his. “Stuck with me I’m afraid.”

“…damn, could really do with a juice box.”

His head snapped up to see you looking at him with tired eyes and a tiny smile.

“Hey…” you whispered. “Pretty bad crash then, huh?”

Charles was speechless. “I-I… oh my god, y/n… I-I should get the nurse-“

“N-no wait.” You protested weakly, groaning a little as you grappled at his hand as he tried to leave. “I-I want time with you… I-I want to tell you we’re okay, Charles.”

“We are?” He said, sitting down beside you. “I did this to you, y/n…”

“Mon amour… it was an accident.” You whispered, giving his hand a weak squeeze. “We’re more than okay, I promise.”

You winced a little. “…maybe get the nurse now though.”

Charles nodded and started pressing the call button. You sighed softly, and relaxed back against the sheets - although you were hurting, you knew how loved you were. You’d heard every little thing they’d said, each and every one of your fellow drivers had gushed over you and you felt so special.

Now all you wanted was to get back in the car.

******************************************************

Yay happy ending 🧡 hope you enjoyed x

There is now a part two! You can find it here

@itsmycorneroftheinternet @laura-naruto-fan1998 @marianadj99 @tall-tanned-tattoo @wonderlandofsu @monodreme @theplobnrgone @witchy-whore @gipsyd @feminismisaflawlessbitch @pukklv @walkonthewiidside @reallydeadpoet @shes-unwell-babe @eniram-du @eitak-t @itsbwoken @adiaz-25 @sraholland @readerselegance @danielricciardo3f1 @ujisworld @withyoutilltheendofthismess @alternativemadchen @sad-fridge2323 @haterpenny @awaterfalls @miahelen @heyitskay-21 @f1thirsttraps @jamieolivia27 @spngi @mpolarisblack @cringe-kats @dudde-44

@letsthedogpackandthecats @stampiej @whatssupeef @lightsoutpierre @cam-blog98 @manuosorioh @sugardontbesweet @lovingroscoee @skyslowalking @samsationalwilson @dr3lover @fic-for-readers @guardians-ofthe-lastyoungkilljoy

#f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #x reader #charles Leclerc #Lewis Hamilton #Daniel Ricciardo #Lando Norris #sebastian vettel #Pierre Gasly #valtteri bottas

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avatrice-week · 11 months

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Avatrice Week 2023 Masterpost

Day 1 - Fake Dating or Undercover

Title: Tell Me You Don't Know Me Author: quietblueriver Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Ava and Beatrice run into Beatrice's parents.

Title: Always a pleasure Author: orphan_account Rating: General Audiences Summary: “And this is the, uhm, wife, I presume?”

Title: Serenading in the Trenches Author: spaceosshy Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Beatrice and Ava are reunited after almost a year apart. They're immediately tasked with going undercover, posing as a married couple of prolific assassins in the hopes of putting a stop to Adriel's criminal activies.

Title: Missions and Love Author: Creativityx Rating: General Audiences Summary: Ava has been assigned to work with the OCS' top agent, Beatrice. It was a simple mission, pretend to be girlfriends, capture one of Adriel's followers and return to the OCS. What Ava wasn't planning for was her fake girlfriend being so beautiful.

Title: when dividin' up the universe (you could have mine) Author: organicdonut Rating: General Audiences Summary: “Okay, so. I have, uh, some updates,” Beatrice does not like the way Ava said updates, “About last night.” “Will the updates explain why everyone in the bar is looking at me like I’ve forbidden alcohol?”

Title: Will you be my fake girlfriend? Author: jessnope Rating: Not Rated Summary: “Wouldn’t people think it weird?” Ava asked, looking genuinely thoughtful. Somehow, Beatrice could sense it was a trap even through the state of tiredness she found herself, Ava had a spark in her eyes.

Title: Philanthropy for the Heart Author: SharonSharpe Rating: Explicit Summary: The Areala General Hospital is hosting its annual charity gala and everyone is excited for the social event of the season. That is everyone except Dr. Beatrice Young. When she makes the mistake of saying Ava is her date for the gala the two are forced to address their flourishing feelings for the other.

Day 2 - Injured or Sick

Title: Life is About More Than Just Fighting Author: strongwomenunited Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: At the end of 2x06, you can see that Beatrice clearly had an injured side, yet in 2x07, it's magically healed. In this story, Ava finds Beatrice after Mother Superior has been brought back to life trying to get her armor off, but her side is in pain. So we will see some hurt/comfort, but you know emotions come out and their relationship changes...

Title: A Sick Day Author: strongwomenunited Rating: General Audiences Summary: During the two month period, Beatrice gets a cold after a busy night at the Bar, do they end up training or does Ava make her rest?

Title: That Lilith Voice Inside My Head Author: quietblueriver Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: AU - Lawyer!Bea tries to bring Ava soup. Lilith helps. Sort of.

Title: I'll Hold You (Blood, Bruises and All) Author: spaceosshy Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: The Halo pulses as Ava roars with rage, knocking Beatrice’s assailant backwards into the stone wall. He falls, limp and unmoving. Ava can distantly hear all the times Mother Superion has told her to check the body but she doesn't care. She's already halfway to Beatrice’s side.

Day 3 - Jealousy

Title: What Love Feels Like Author: strongwomenunited Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: In 2x02, what if Miguel didn't walk into Bar La Vasseur while that woman was flirting with Beatrice? What if Ava took things into her own hands to end that conversation...? This story explores the idea of Ava spilling some drinks on a certain woman flirting with Beatrice. How will she react?

Day 4 - Soulmates

Title: Soulmarked Author: Creativityx Rating: General Audiences Summary: That fateful day when she was seven, saw her soulmark left incomplete with only the letter 'B' on her wrist. Ava learns to wear long sleeves that day. With little hope of finding her soulmate, she puts herself to work as a mechanic fixing cars to stop anyone else from experiencing the same as her.

Her life is ordinary until one client walks through the door with a need for repairs.

Day 5 - Hear Each Other’s Thoughts

[None}

Day 6 - Smut or Creator’s Choice

Title: I Can Taste You In My Rage Author: spaceosshy Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Lilith returns to the Cat's Cradle in the hopes of making amends. Beatrice has some things to say.

Title: The One Time She Knew Author: JetpackingPenguin Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Five times Beatrice didn't think Ava returned her feelings and the one time she did

Day 7 - Domesticity

Title: The Teddy Bea-r Author: Lapincobra Rating: Not Rated Summary: Fanart and a little draft for Day 7 Of Avatrice week - Domesticity

#avatrice #avatrice week #ava x beatrice #beatrice x ava #ava silva #sister beatrice #warrior nun #masterpost

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alumort · 5 months

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for @lotusfartstwice ^3^

ao3

She wasn’t too fond of Winter, and that wouldn’t change no matter how much time passed. Things around her seemed to be still, unmoving, as if the entire world fell into a deep slumber for a couple of months.

Everything seemed so bare, and the hospital was always busier than usual during the colder season. Still, Sakura never got tired of helping people, but the low temperatures always made her mood fall down.

Though, there was an excuse to remain inside after her hospital shifts, warm and accompanied by her boyfriend whenever he wasn’t on a mission– Lee and her had been sharing an apartment for a couple of months, and it had been the best time of her life.

Her parents would be too nitpicky whenever the two were together back at their home, and his mom… there was a reason he didn’t talk about her at all. It was like an unspoken agreement between them.

Both of them were happy with a space to call their own at last, just big enough for them. And it was perfect.

It was one of those afternoons where they would just snuggle together on the couch, a heavy blanket covering them in order to avoid the coldness. Lee had already finished his training for the day and had changed into more comfortable clothes, so they could just enjoy each other’s warmth without a worry in the world.

Sakura leaned into him and he hugged her silently, closing his eyes to rest at last– she always thought the amount of training he did was too much, but that was the only way her partner had to get stronger. That was something she loved in him; his perseverance had no end, and Lee had become a splendid Jounin in the end.

And she couldn’t be prouder of him. Sakura turned to give her partner a gentle kiss on the lips, which was returned with the same amount of love, though something unexpected surprised her; Lee's bangs tickled her, when that had never been a problem at all.

His last mission had lasted over a month, and he had probably forgotten to take care of his hair between everything that had to be done.

“Your hair has gotten really long. Are you going to ask Gai to cut it again?” she commented, noticing a smile appearing on Lee’s face before he replied.

“Ah– not really. I want to try a new style for a while,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck while talking. “But I am not too sure of what to do with it…”

That was unusual, to say the least. Sakura couldn't remember a time where Lee didn't use his characteristic bowlcut, never changing it at all– but well, that year had brought many new things in their lives. Maybe that's why he was willing to try.

“I could do it for you, if you'd let me,” Sakura suggested, and she could see her boyfriend's eyes sparkle with excitement over the idea, his reply being accompanied by an enthusiastic nod.

“Of course! I am sure you would do an excellent job, my dearest!”

It wasn’t strange he was so excited over the idea, yet the woman found herself feeling joy in her chest with his response. Only then did she leave the warmth of his embrace, making sure to kiss his cheek before going towards the bathroom to look for some things.

With an objective in mind, Sakura went to pick up some hair ties, a comb and her scissors, smiling as she saw Lee had started to prepare some tea for them to drink in the meanwhile. He had even grabbed a towel to put on himself, to make sure the falling hair wouldn’t bother either of them too much.

“Do you have something in mind?” she asked as Lee poured tea on two cups, offering her one without saying anything.

“Well, I am not sure if I told you, but I used to have a big braid when I was in the academy!” he replied with a smile, taking a sip of his beverage before continuing. “I think that might be nice.”

Sakura grabbed her comb and began brushing his hair, making sure it was in a good state before carefully cutting the edges and his fringe, not wanting to cut too much– Lee seemed worried for a moment, though her reassuring smile helped him calm down.

“Shorter?” she asked, staying still until her boyfriend denied with his head, and so the last part of the process began.

Sakura grabbed some hair ties and carefully began braiding part of Lee's hair, always gentle enough as to not make him feel any pain at all– a long time had passed since she had last made braids, so it took her a couple of attempts.

Lee waited patiently, stealing a quick kiss from her when she stood in front of him, making her chuckle in surprise. Sakura kissed his forehead before focusing on her last attempt, which she deemed better than the last four.

“And… it’s done! It looks really good now, let me get you a mirror so you can see yourself!” Sakura said, going to find the item quickly and then extending it towards her boyfriend with a huge smile on her face, proud of her work.

Lee grabbed the mirror and observed his own reflection with curious eyes, while moving his head to see his small braid and the new shape of his hair. For a moment, Sakura felt nervous, instinctively waiting for a negative reaction– until a huge grin appeared on his face, and then he turned to look at his girlfriend again.

“It is awesome, love!” was the first thing he said, leaning towards Sakura for a kiss, which she returned while chuckling. “What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just… for a moment, I thought you weren’t going to like it,” she admitted, her eyes falling on the ground for a moment before she felt a pair of strong arms wrapping her unexpectedly, though she didn't complain at all.

“Why would you think that, my dearest? You did an excellent job! And you did it with love.”

He was right, yet there still had been some doubt in herself– after all, it was her first time styling someone else's hair, but Lee did seem content with his new look. She couldn’t help it but hug him wordlessly, happy for the results and his eagerness, not really wanting to interrupt the small moment between the two.

From then on, Lee always asked her for help with styling his hair, and he even began helping Sakura whenever she asked him to– they liked to try new styles they saw on magazines and, later on, cellphones and social media. It was like a small ritual the two had developed over the years, something they shared with their kids years in the future, and everyone usually ended up content with the new looks.

(Though, at first, the only haircut Lee knew how to do well was Gai’s characteristic bowlcut… Sakura ended up just shaving it all for a while.)

#sakulee #leesaku #sakura haruno #rock lee #naruto #naruto fanfic #naruto shippuden

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maracujatangerine · 1 year

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I posted 565 times in 2022

That's 134 more posts than 2021!

86 posts created (15%)

479 posts reblogged (85%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@whumpzone

@maracujatangerine

@squishablesunbeam

@peachy-panic

@just-horrible-things

I tagged 562 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#reblog - 353 posts

#others - 346 posts

#thank you - 89 posts

#lydia and coriander - 69 posts

#linden and colton - 49 posts

#this is good - 48 posts

#dracula daily - 48 posts

#lydia and linden - 44 posts

#pet whump - 41 posts

#thank you for the tag - 38 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#we have suburbs too but there’s public transport and you can walk and ride a bike and definitely have a garden and there are often shops

My Top Posts in 2022:

9. Lost Property

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

Previous - Next

As soon as the plane touched the ground, even before the seatbelt sign was turned off, Lydia tried to start her phone. Nothing. It was a slab of blank, mute, unmoving metal in her hands. In a flash, she remembered plugging in her charger next to her side of the bed in the hotel room the night before and that the socket was yet another thing that didn’t work as expected in the room. Crucially, she didn’t remember taking the charger with her in the morning.

Lydia hadn’t been speaking much to Colton on the flight. Even reassurances seemed to stress the pet out. As they made their way through arrivals, though, it was necessary to make sure he knew what was going on. She told him where they were, and where to go. She asked him to help carry some of her luggage and he obeyed instantly. She told him to wait, and he waited. She told him to go somewhere, and he went. Coriander might have dared to ask a question or two, by now. He would have been so excited by the view from the airport and the new languages being spoken all around them. Colton was clearly interested, but every time he saw Lydia looking in his direction he dropped his eyes to the floor. He was stiff with tension, and stayed very close to her.

She spent an unproductive forty-five minutes at a help desk talking to airport staff who all were varying degrees of helpful to unhelpful and most just simply confused at how to tackle this unusual problem. Lydia struggled to first find out whether pets were allowed to fly unaccompanied or not. When the answer, as she had feared, was negative, she tried unsuccessfully to negotiate a way around it. Finally, with a deep sigh, she thanked the last staff member and turned away, resigned.

“I’m sorry, Colton.” She forced a smile, despite the hard, cold knot of worry in her stomach. “I’m afraid we are stuck with each other for the time being.” The pet nodded quickly, eyes downcast.

“Do you need anything, Colton? Any food, or water?”

Col looked at her in surprise. “I’m fine, Ma’am. Thank you,” he mumbled.

“You’re not hungry?” Then, after a few seconds of silence, she prompted, “Col?”

“I’m f-fine, I swear,” Col pleaded, not making eye contact. Every word he was forced to speak made his heart pound even harder. He wasn’t supposed to be talking, he wasn’t supposed to be asked questions. He was only going to make this woman angry. “Please don’t trouble yourself with me, Ma’am.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. The pet looked terribly uncomfortable. “Well, I need to buy a new phone charger and then I’ll see if we can find a cafe or something to stop in for a second. We can eat at the hotel, too. Is that all right with you?”

“Y-Yes, Ma’am.”

Clearly a lot of work had gone into making him so broken and pliable. Her stomach twisted with nerves when she thought about Cory, stuck in Linden’s house. At least, she assumed that was where he was. Surely Linden wouldn’t abandon him?

When he was sure Lydia wasn’t looking, Col glanced up at her. Her face was taut, her lips pressed together tightly; she was deep in thought. Was she worrying about her own pet, or wondering what to do with this one? Or was she constantly in a state of moderate stress, only needing the smallest push for her to snap and take it all out on the sorry slave by her side? Even if it hadn’t been Colton’s fault that he ended up here, that changed nothing. He could still be punished for it. That was how it worked.

He missed Master so much. Lydia was asking him so many questions, and he didn’t know the answer to any of them. He was going to make a mistake and then she’d realise that he was just a stupid, useless pet, so much worse than her pretty and graceful Coriander. Colton couldn’t live up to that, he just couldn’t! Lydia was used to owning a high standard of pet, and she was going to be so, so annoyed with Col. She was going to see that it wasn’t worth the hassle of keeping him. If he was at least allowed to stay silent, he might be able to obey well enough for just a little while longer.

Col couldn’t read any of the signs. The people walking by him, drowning him, they were all speaking in another language. If Lydia abandoned him now he would be truly lost. He had to try and keep her favour. But what did she want?

“Cory?” Linden called softly, just loud enough for the pet to hear. “It’s time for dinner.”

Linden had reached for a simple dahl, warm, filling comfort food. Nothing too spicy, just straightforward flavours of rice and lentils, tomatoes and onions, with some carrots and red peppers for a pop of colour.

He had set the table, just as he would for a dinner with Col. A spoon next to the pet’s plate, easy to grip and hold for trembling hands. A tumbler half-filled with water, the sturdy glass also easy for the pet to lift with both hands. Failing that, a stainless steel straw. A safe distance from both plates, Linden had lit a couple of tea lights in glass holders, casting a warm, gentle glow over the table - he had assumed Cory wouldn’t react badly to the fire.

Coriander had been coaxed into kneeling on the soft rug in the living room, and it was from there that it elegantly stood up. It made its way into the kitchen and promptly sank to its knees once more. It looked around, but couldn’t see a dog bowl, or anything like that. How did Colton get fed? Was it from his owner’s hand, or was it just dumped on the floor for him to lick up? Cory was surprised that it was being fed at all. It had mostly assumed that Linden would forget, or not bother.

Linden was turned away, and Cory watched him fill two bowls up with something colourful and gently steaming. “I don’t have much in the cupboards right now,” Linden said, even though it wasn’t any of the pet’s business. “So it’s dahl for tea.”

A pause. “Th...thank you, Sir. But this pet really doesn’t deserve any.”

That was what he wanted, right? Patheticness? But to its confusion, Linden just looked at it and shook his head.

“Nonsense, you have to eat. Do you wa- are you able to sit at the table?”

From his place on the floor, Cory shook its head vehemently. “If… if you please, Sir. Pets belong on the floor. T-this pet knows its place.”

Linden studied the pet for a moment. He guessed that Coriander was of a similar age to himself. What would his own life have been like, Linden thought suddenly, if he had ended up a pet? What sort of experiences was this man’s life filled with?

Those grey eyes watched him fearfully, reminding him that the pet probably expected a reply.

“It’s alright.” Linden tried. “You are welcome to eat at the table here.”

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161 notes - Posted February 26, 2022

17. Lost Property

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

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Linden’s house was a bit smaller than Miss Lydia’s, particularly without a garden to walk around in. He had a balcony, but Cory wouldn’t dare cross Linden’s room to reach it. The pet settled for kneeling by any open windows, trying to enjoy the fresh air as best it could.

The other thing Cory couldn’t help but notice was the silence. It would have hardly said that Miss Lydia talked to herself, but she did always somehow manage to fill the quiet. She was often on the phone, or listening to the radio, or even engaging her pet in a conversation.

Linden must like silence, Cory concluded. So it had better not aggravate him by being noisy. All morning, it had endeavoured to only nod or shake its head, and never raise its voice when it did have to reply. If that was what it took to please the man, Cory would do it.

Did Col speak? He definitely wasn’t forthcoming with it in the hotel, was he? Perhaps speaking wasn’t a privilege he was often afforded. Cory’s thoughts were interrupted when Jaffa rolled into view, stretching across her back with her tufty belly fur on full display. Cats were quiet too- except when they were hungry. Cory could be like that.

The pet stretched a hand out and placed it on Jaffa’s chest, scratching up and down, to the end of her chin and down to her tummy. Getting no negative reaction, and hearing no movement from Linden, Cory lay down next to her, and continued to stroke her gently. She purred, slowly melting into a puddle of grey fur. Her purring filled the whole room, and it suddenly didn’t seem so crushingly quiet anymore. Cory thought it might understand Linden’s ways after all. There was something about the peace that it liked.

Even though it knew its opinion wasn’t relevant.

Upstairs, Linden was sat in his balcony chair, hands folded, eyes closed. This pet doesn’t want to speak to me either, he mused. Is it me? Do I have this effect on pets?

He missed Col. He missed him really badly.

Linden missed his presence. His home was different without Colton in it. It was quiet in a different way now- heavy, and thick with tension. The quietness that he and Col enjoyed was normal life, and even as he sat on the balcony Linden could feel the difference. Col’s footsteps were heavy, irregular, and he had got used to listening to him walk. Cory was so elegant and controlled that he was silent. Linden didn’t know where he was in the house, or what he was doing.

He thought, briefly, about how he still didn’t really know Col. And he knew that Col didn’t know him. But it didn’t mean he hadn’t grown hugely fond of him, and protective too. When he looked at Col, he saw all his potential, stored in those strong shoulders and his friendly, open face. He could tell when he wanted to speak, to give an opinion, and he was learning when Col needed some time to himself. He was learning what scared him and what made him feel safe. He was learning that he liked cereal over toast, and tea over coffee.

Looking at Cory was completely different. Linden saw a pet. He hated himself, but it was the truth. Cory was a damn good actor, and to top it off, he was on his best behaviour. He was unflinchingly polite, and quite clearly terrified that any misstep would bring Linden’s hand flying across his face.

And why wouldn’t he think that? Linden thought grimly. He’s seen Col. I could swear until I’m blue in the face that I’ve never touched him, but why would he believe me?

He shifted in his seat, turning his face away from the sun before it made his eyes sear.

. . .

Linden poured out the dregs of his tea and washed the cup. Glancing out the window, his attention was momentarily snagged by the monochrome fluttering of two magpies settling in a nearby aspen tree. After pouring hot water from the kettle to make another cup for himself and Coriander, he reached over to turn on the radio.

A familiar waterfall of brittle, clear violin notes poured out into the room, half cheerful, half sad. Each part of the piece perfect and shiny like a new coin. Linden smiled to himself on his way to the living room.

He halted just past the threshold. His guest was kneeling on Colton’s white carpet, just like Linden had expected. He hadn’t expected to see Coriander crying. Tears silently streaming down the blonde man’s face. He was swaying slightly to the music, pale, his hands clasped to his chest. His expression, like the music, was a strange mixture of being half elated, half devastated.

Linden watched him in silence, stunned at the seemingly candid moment he’d walked in on. He’d never seen Cory reach this level of emotional display before, at least not outside of blind fear. He looked more human than ever.

He realised that he shouldn’t be here, not right now. Cory was experiencing something that Linden had no business interfering with. But as he made to turn around and give him some space, Cory noticed him.

It was awful, the way the complexities of feeling written across his face were quickly replaced with guilty horror.

“S-S-Sir, this pet is sorry, it d-didn’t hear you come in…”

His gentle swaying had stopped, leaving him frozen in place, a deer waiting for the hunter’s next move. Linden held up his free hand. “That’s okay, I can give you some space, Cory. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

This only made him panic more. “No, n-no Sir it is sorry, please, it- it can explain, it didn’t mean to be so rude, it shouldn’t…. It shouldn’t… please-”

“It is okay. You don’t have to apologise.” Linden slowly sank down on his haunches, making sure to telegraph every move. “Can… would you like to tell me why you are crying?”

“It is so beautiful, Sir.” The pet took a shivering breath, grey eyes huge and shining with tears. “I-I had forgotten how beautiful it is…” Coriander stared out the window, into the distance, for a moment lost in his reverie. Then, his whole body started. He looked sideways at Linden, his mouth twisting in a grimace of sudden fear. “B-but t-this pet wouldn’t try to play, Sir. It wouldn’t. It would never…” He shook his head rapidly, blonde hair dancing around his face. “T-though it is all right to listen, isn’t it, Sir?” He swallowed dryly. “P-please, Sir. They said… They said it is all right to listen. They said you can’t have a pet that goes into bloody hysterics when you put on the TV, Sir.”

Cory shrunk in on himself, clutching his hands to his chest, shivering so hard that his teeth chattered. Linden had to stop himself recoiling at Cory’s recitations. Colton said things that were clearly not his own words from time to time, but there was something so much more unsettling about the way Cory had spoken. He sounded like he wasn’t fully present, like he was back there, reliving the lesson he’d been taught. Linden didn’t move, but made sure to keep his voice firm and clear. If he’d learned anything, he’d learned that pets latched onto that pretty well.

“Cory. It is absolutely okay to listen. If something isn’t okay, I’ll tell you, alright? I’m a fair person.”

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166 notes - Posted April 14, 2022

7. Lost Property

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

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When the alarm rang out Lydia blearily fumbled for her phone. She tried to make it shut up before waking their unfamiliar roommates. As quietly as possible, she rolled out of bed. Lydia had slept fitfully and way too few hours. She could feel the tiredness lurking like a pressure behind her eyes.

Coriander, of course, already sat up in his bed. She went to sit down next to him and gave him a quick hug.

“Good Morning.” She smiled. “Remember what we talked about?”

He nodded, his eyes bright and awake. “T-the hotel staff will escort this pet to the check-in for human pets. We will meet on the plane.”

Lydia quickly got dressed and nodded affirmatively.

“Yes. You should get some more sleep. I will have to go now to leave the car at the rental firm, we’ll go through check-in separately, and be seated next to each other on the plane.” She put her hand on his cheek, feeling him lean into the touch. As always, she wondered if it was compulsion or volition that made him do it, but his grey eyes on her face were wide and trusting. “Are you sure you are okay with this? I tried to make them let us go through together, but they said that it is against security protocols.”

“This pet w-will be all right, Miss Lydia.” He smiled, bravely. “It will see you in a few hours.”

She gave him another hug and stood up to go. Glancing back when she closed the door, he had laid back down but was still watching her. She blew him a kiss, closed the door and walked away.

Coriander tried to take deep breaths and force its muscles to relax, but the deep shivering that had started as soon as the pet was led into the room was impossible to control.

This isn’t the clinic. The pet reminded itself. This isn’t the clinic. But the walls were white tiles, the overhead lights were hash and there was a drain in the floor.

The middle-aged, curly haired woman holding the pet’s leash led it over to a padded chair that, with the restraints, looked too much like something that could have belonged in the facility.

This pet has to be good, Cory thought to itself, like a mantra. This pet has to be good for Miss Lydia. It hadn’t expected the check-in process to start already at the hotel. It thought that it would be transferred to the airport first. But as far as it could remember, it had never flown anywhere before. Who knew what transporting a pet by air would entail?

It forced its unwilling body down into the chair and allowed the woman to lock the cuffs around its wrists and ankles and clip the short leash on the headrest to its collar, rendering it effectively immobile.

Coriander could feel its heart race with fear, but tried to distract itself by looking around. The scents were different, equally artificial, but more like perfume than antiseptics. The table held bottles, hair brushes, and a fan. A stand on the wall held gleaming metal scissors and combs.

Suddenly, the backrest of the chair fell away behind the pet, forcing it into a prone position. Its breath hitching, it couldn’t stop itself from struggling at the restraints, but it was pinned like a bug in place. ‘You are a bad pet’, Coriander scolded itself, ‘good pets do not try to resist. Behave!’ But it needed a couple of deep breaths before it could force its tense muscles to relax.

“Did I scare you?” The woman’s voice behind it. “Sorry, I am just going to wash your hair now.”

This was strange and unexpected. Did they want to deflea it before it got to travel?

The woman’s touch was professional. Not exactly kind, but gentle and painless. The water was warm and the scents of the shampoo and conditioner chemically floral, and reassuringly not antiseptic. Coriander could feel itself starting to relax under her hands.

The woman talked while she worked, but she didn’t seem to expect much in terms of replies. She mostly talked about the awful weather, things on the news, and a small trip she was planning for the weekend. It was soothing and Coriander found it easy to be still and obedient.

The process involved trimming and blow-drying its hair, cleaning and trimming its nails and giving the pet a shave. She was using a safety razor rather than a blade, but Cory could still feel every muscle tense at the sharp tool near its throat.

“That’s it.” The woman said. “You’re done. Liam here will take you to your owner.”

Following behind the young man holding its leash, still confused about the whole process, Cory could hear the commotion all the way down the corridor.

“I’m sorry, but I just returned to find my room empty. Where is my pet?” The man- Linden- sounded upset.

“Sir, as the night staff told you yesterday, pet grooming services were offered as compensation for the trouble with your room. The staff has just taken your pet to be groomed. It will be brought right back to your room as soon as they are finished. Oh, look!” The relief was palpable in the receptionist’s voice. “Here’s your pet now, safe and sound.”

The staff member leading Coriander stepped aside, revealing the complaining customer to be the man from last night, the owner with whom Miss Lydia and Coriander had shared a room. They just stared mutely at each other for a moment, dark brown eyes meeting grey.

The man shook his head quickly, his mane of dark hair flowing around his face.

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174 notes - Posted February 20, 2022

19. Lost Property

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

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Lydia’s heart was racing, the palms of her hands sweaty where she gripped the leather knot of the leash, a million ‘what if’ scenarios crowding her mind. Meeting Colton’s green eyes, she could see him reeling with it, too.

That brought her back to the situation at hand. She could deal with her own shock later. Whatever had been done to turn Col into the pet he was now surely made him ill-equipped to handle… this.

He was breathing uncomfortably, seemingly fighting for each gulp of air. Fixing that was high up on a list of potential priorities.

“Hey Col,” she said, hearing the shake of fear and adrenaline in her own voice. “I’m just going to take your collar off for a bit, all right?” She dropped the leash and held up her hands in what she hoped was a calming gesture. “You are still good. You are not in any trouble and you can wear it again later, if you want to. Is that okay with you?” His green eyes focused slowly on her face, and he managed a tiny nod. “All right, then. That’s good. Thank you for communicating so clearly with me. It’s all good.” Lydia stopped paying attention to what she said, just focused on keeping her tone of voice calm and friendly as she reached up… and up, he was quite a bit taller than Coriander… and unbuckled the collar, letting it fall to the floor.

He took a deep breath, like a person on the verge of drowning. She could feel him swaying a bit on his feet. Slowly, and gently, she put a hand on his arm. The pet started, but did not pull away.

“Here, come on. Have a seat.” She led him towards his bed, and he obediently sank down on it. “That’s good, that’s good.”

She looked around the room, casting about for what to do. Her gaze fell on the little fridge in the corner and she took the few steps over to rummage around in it. The small freezer compartment held ice cubes wrapped in blue plastic. Perfect.

Lydia grabbed the ice and closed the freezer. Inside the fridge itself were tiny bottles of wine and spirits, rum, vodka, whiskey, tequila. Let’s not give strong liquor to unfamiliar pets in shock. That’s probably a good rule to live by. She laughed to herself, feeling the tinge of hysteria in her own mood. Colton turned his head to stare at her, she guessed he didn’t see much humour in the situation.

Instead of the alcohol, she chose a blue-green can of Sprite. The silver metal shine of the top of the can forcefully reminded her of the glint of a knife in the shadows. What if Col hadn’t been there? If she had been alone on that dark street? Would he just have made off with her purse, or… Just don’t think about it. She told herself sternly. You can worry about that later.

Lydia suddenly remembered something Carla had told her, while she was going to a dog training class with Cassie, ‘Dogs can’t eat and be afraid at the same time,’ she’d said. Perhaps that worked the same on people? She grabbed the chocolate bars, too, as well as the two upside-down glasses from the shelf next to the desk. Filling her arms with her looted treasure, she dumped it all unceremoniously on top of her own bed.

“Now, let’s see…” She grabbed one of Cory’s t-shirts and wrapped it around the bag of ice. “Here…�� When she handed it to Col, he just blinked up at her, uncomprehending. “For your hand.” She clarified. When he didn’t move, she sat down next to him on the bed, making sure to still keep some distance between them. She reached out and took his large hand in hers. Even though she was prepared for Col to flinch, the sharp start he gave made her flinch too. He stared at her, mutely. She just realised that she hadn’t heard him utter a single word since the incident.

“You can speak, Col,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”

“Pets shouldn’t be on the furniture, Ma’am,” he said robotically, and she realised he wasn’t staring at her, he was staring just past her into nothingness. She was used to him averting his eyes, or making unsure eye contact. She’d never seen him look so… far away, before.

“Col?”

“I’m sorry,” he tried again, with just enough emotion for his voice to wobble. His hand was shaking in her own.

Lydia slowly moved a hand in front of Colton’s eyes, but nothing changed. He didn’t even flinch. Okay, she thought, this isn’t the time to have meaningless battles.

“Let’s go onto the floor, then,” she said, and the fact it was an order must have worked its way through Col’s haze, since he moved and obeyed. She continued holding his hand as they shifted down. It seemed like the right thing to do. Like Col was a ship that needed mooring.

Lydia had braced herself for begging, but once again she had to accept the fact that this wasn’t Coriander in front of her.

The tall man slumped clumsily down on the floor, his back against the metal frame of his bed. He wasn’t looking at her. With her free hand, she took the oddly shaped, blue lump that was made of ice wrapped in t-shirt and held it against Col’s red knuckles. Holding his battered hand steadily, she could feel slow tremors running through him, like a deep undercurrent of fear.

She decided she should keep talking to him, even if she knew she wouldn’t get much of a reply. She could be an anchor, right now. Composed and unchanging and certainly not angry.

“Were you… uh-” she faltered. What was a word for guard dog that wasn’t, well, that. “Were you trained to be defensive of your owner like that?”

“No,” Col whispered.

“Wow,” she said. “I suppose it was just- just instinct. In a good way,” she quickly clarified. Col flinched almost imperceptibly, and Lydia felt as if she’d just wedged him even further down his dark hole. He didn’t move, or speak.

She ran a finger a little further up Col’s hand, to his wrist, and felt his heartbeat hammering against her fingertip. He was eerily calm on the surface, but she could tell it was just cloaking the sheer terror he felt underneath. She tried to get into his mind. Obviously attacking a human would warrant a terrible punishment. How could she convince him that he didn’t deserve it?

“Thank you for saving me,” she said, and she meant it. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there, Col. I’m so happy, and relieved. You were a really good boy. You didn’t hurt him any more than you had to.”

He just stared, but that was okay. She reached back up to the bed, twisting so as not to let go of Col’s hand, and picked up the chocolate bars. One for her and one for him.

She set it on the ground in front of him, explaining as she did so. “This is for you. You must be tired, after we ran all that way. I’m going to eat one too.”

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188 notes - Posted April 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

11. Lost Property

CW: non-con mention, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

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It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Colton had knelt on the floor next to the door, like an obedient slave would. Coriander’s mistress, Lydia, was busy going through one of her two suitcases. She had unclipped the metal carabiner from his collar as soon as they entered the hotel room, but she had left his collar on. The leather band felt chokingly tight around his neck.

His Master would have removed it the minute they were in the room, Col knew. That’s enough of that, he would have said. Col could almost feel his Master’s hands touching his neck to remove the collar. Gentle, warm, comparatively safe. He realised tears were pricking in the corners of his eyes. He had almost cried when he heard his Master’s voice on the phone. It felt like home.

This hotel room was definitely not like home. It looked… shiny, and quite large. There was a small bed in the corner and a large double bed in the middle of the room. A vast expanse of pure white satin sheets. The bedposts looked sturdy. He tried not to look that way, every time he did, it felt like the collar shrunk even tighter around his neck. Colton could only all too well imagine what could happen there. What this owner could do to him. Naked, spread-eagled, exposed…

Lost in thought, he finally became aware that Lydia was watching him, a displeased wrinkle between her eyes.

He straightened up his kneeling posture, carefully washing all traces of emotion off his face. He had to be good. Not all owners were as kind as his.

“Please take off your t-shirt.”

Col froze, his stomach dropping. The words were like an extension of his nightmarish fears, to the point that he wasn’t sure he had heard them at all.

“I’m… I’m sorry Ma’am. This worthless pet didn’t understand, please…” He could feel his heart speed up, the pulse of it beating hard in his ears. He was trying to buy time, he knew it, and she surely knew it too. She would make it hurt even more as punishment. Oh, god. Oh god, please, no. In his panic, he wished more than ever to be back with Master. He was alone and frightened and vulnerable. It was only now, after he’d been separated from his owner, that he realised how much more secure he felt with him.

“Please take off your t-shirt, Colton.” There was no anger in her voice, but the order was clear. They both knew she shouldn't have to ask twice. “You don’t have to be afraid. I just want to have a look, all right?”

I will make this feel good for you. A voice from the past, suddenly loud in his ears. He wanted to cry, to plead, but that would only make things worse. She was going to inspect him- see what she was working with. With shaking hands, he pulled his t-shirt over his head, exposing his upper body. He held his breath as she came closer. Even if he didn’t see it, he could feel her eyes roaming over his scarred back as if her gaze was hot like sunlight.

He was shaking so badly and it hadn’t even started. Master had never- he’d never done it. Just like he’d promised. It had been so long. Col was out of practice, he’d be bad, and he’d get himself hurt even worse for it.

“Could you hold still like this for a moment?”

He forced himself to stop trembling, only to hear the click of the camera on her phone. She had taken a picture, what for? What would she possibly do with it?

She walked around him and hunched down in front of him. He looked down, of course. Then, she reached out and put her hand under his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. She wanted to see his fear; he certainly wasn’t doing a good job of hiding it.

“Do you have any open wounds, or only scars?”

The question was unexpected. If she wasn’t satisfied, would she give him some new ones? It took him a moment to choke out the reply. “Only scars, Ma’am.”

“That is good, then.” She released her grip. “I’m sorry I scared you. You can put on your t-shirt now.”

Lydia closed the door to the bathroom and turned the lock. She felt that it was probably a good idea to give the young man some space. She had been watching him and his poor, burnt hand and it had forcefully reminded her of the first time she met Coriander. She could still vividly recall the shock of seeing his naked back crisscrossed with a mix of bloody and infected welts. Brutus had also had hidden wounds. It was a relief that Colton wasn’t in the same state, though his scars were even worse than those Coriander wore.

She wrote a quick text message to Indira, explaining what had happened. She enclosed the picture of Col’s scars. “What do you think of this?”

She knew she probably wouldn’t get a reply until later that night. Bracing herself, Lydia washed her hands. Making sure to make some noise to let the pet prepare himself before she came out of the bathroom.

“All right, Colton.” She said. “Let’s have a bite to eat.”

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206 notes - Posted March 7, 2022

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b0ther · 3 years

Text

tags : drabble/one-shot idk. feminine pronouns, afab reader / royalty or kingdom au, inspired by kill the villainess, eating out, semi-public and clothed though they don’t have sex yet lol we’re gonna have to wait for part two, this was supposed to be short but i got carried away bye.

i’ve been reading a lot of reincarnation manhwas, and i can’t stop thinking about knight yuuta.

knight yuuta with tough, veiny, calloused hands, his fingers are long and pretty and knuckles are chipped with dried blood; a boy that spends his days practicing his swordsmanship against a dull dummy until the sun sets. knight yuuta who is then knighted by a duke’s daughter, whose lips are zipped with obvious intention to display her disinclination to be in the ceremony. knight yuuta who follows the lady home that night, three steps behind her at all times, and recognizes that the vicinity around her isn’t the one that he is welcomed in; knight yuuta who doesn’t speak of it or point it out either way.

“i don’t need a knight,” the lady then says one afternoon, eyes closed as she sips on her most favored flavor of tea under the bright sunlight. knight yuuta is sitting across her, eyes vigilantly watching her every move and ears perked up as if someone is going to ambush her in her own garden — he insisted that the lady enjoy her afternoon tea alone, you see, that he isn’t fit to be sitting on the same table as a lady. but she looked up at him with disinterest that struck his chest, questioning his loyalty to her. he immediately took the only empty seat on the round table.

the duke’s daughter, knight yuuta quickly learns, has a cute side to herself. she keeps him close to her, in the mansion and in the castle, even when she told him that she has no need of him to be around. she takes him to the market, and inside extravagant boutiques that he had never thought that he could enter. and though she has her own lady-in-waiting, she prefers discerning his opinion over hers. knight yuuta does not think of dresses often, and so he carelessly picks ones that he thinks would look best on his lady, and waits just outside the changing room.

but she drags him in, her touch delicate and unforgettable, it’s the first time he’s been touched by those soft hands — she smells of lemon cakes and roses; his lady closes the door and tells him to sit on a chair on the very back of the room. one servant argues — it would be improper for him to see you change, my lady — and she indifferently waves their reasoning away, “he is the only person in this room who has sworn his life to me, wouldn’t it be audacious of me to place my faith on all of you but not him?” as more complaints flows out of the servant’s mouth, his lady raises one hand to silence them and commands another to undo the laces of her dress. that day, knight yuuta learns of the boundaries the lady placed between them — he also learns that the lady has smooth, silky skin, and though his expression is unmoving as he watches her undress to her corset, both hands on his knees forms a fist.

neither knight yuuta nor his lady likes the crown prince very much. he came to learn that the person he is serving is second only to the crown prince, his lady’s inimical fiancé, and that she holds power and influent that most people would not be able to even imagine. knight yuuta knows his lady as one who is loved by all in the duke’s household — and how can one not? his lady, despite her frigid appearance, has the heart of gold that many claims to have, and he is convinced that no one in the kingdom is able to rival neither her elegance nor beauty. and so he wonders, day and night, how is her fate so ill that she is set to marry the wretched prince.

knight yuuta has not ever comment on the countless times his lady hides behind the palace pavilions, shielding herself from leering eyes as she continues to sob and wail quietly into her fragile palms. he has never seen her cry, at all times, he is on the lookout for people that are walking towards them — his gaze is enough to send them away — so that his lady’s dignity would not be tarnished any more than what that bastard prince has commit. he’d kill him, knight yuuta swears, if he isn’t the goddamned crown prince, he’d slit his throat wide open for making his lady cry.

why would anyone choose another woman than his lady? why would anyone openly flaunt their choice in picking arrogant and crude ladies to be their partner? doing so is one thing, but letting his lady catch them in the middle of coition is another. she is trying her best to fit in the mold of the perfect king’s wife, and the crown prince insists lazing around with no inch of grace in his body, even knight yuuta, who comes from a lowly origin, knows better than to exhibit infidelity even in a political driven engagement.

his lady asks him to accompany her to a nighttime tea one evening, and who is knight yuuta to refuse? the underlying sparks in her eyes isn’t present, her voice is low under flickering candlelight as she brings her cup to her lips. “you’re the only one i can trust, sir yuuta,” she says without precipitating movements, “you are my only friend.” that night, yuuta stabs his blade through the chest of a man who tried to bring a knife up to his lady’s face in her own garden. though his lady is unmoving, she lifts her gaze to the sky as the assassin breathes his last breath, “the crown prince has trivialized my knight.” as yuuta peers up at his lady, his eyes widen in overwhelming exalt — she looks magnificent.

trips to town has become a weekly occurrences for yuuta and his lady; her favorite hobby is to dress in regular clothings and prance down the marketplace, making him carry all her luggages. the downtown theater is her best loved place — a new short play every week is to be presented, with new songs and new tricks. his lady loves stories, and yuuta loves watching her eyes light up at every twist the play would offer. though that evening, his lady’s melancholic frown seeps pass her defenses, and he immediately recognizes the presence of the crown prince three rows under where they are sitting — in his arm is another lover yuuta does not recognize.

as his hand creeps to the hilt of his sword, his lady stood up. she is silent, as always, trying her best to not be the center of attention, as she makes her way out the exit. all thoughts of harming the crown prince escapes his mind — his lady is all that matters, after all. he follows her to the empty night streets, hand flying out to catch her wrist; yuuta disobeys his lady for the first time and did not let go even when she tries to pry him off. she refuses to look at him, and he understands, so he tugs her frail body towards his larger one, hand pressing her forehead against his chest.

“i don’t even love him,” as soon as he feels his lady’s sobbings, yuuta pulls them into an alleyway — he will not see her crying face, so no one else can do so. her fingers grip his tunic, tears sopping the material and yuuta can only rock them back and forth as a vain attempt in calming her down. “yuuta, i’m a-always doing my best, i-is that not enough?”

yuuta grits his teeth at the question — he’d kill the crown prince, he swears it. he pulls her from his chest, for the first time, he takes in the sight of her piteous face — her tear-stained cheeks are flushed, eyes swollen, and chest heaving. his heart clenches at the sight, and so, he closes his eyes and brings his large hand to cup her jaws, leaning down to catch her quivering lips with his.

at first, yuuta expects a harsh shove. he expects a slap on his face, or perhaps even a punch. he does not expect for his lady to be melting into the contact; all the tension on his shoulders fades away as he falls in deeper to the kiss, one hand wrapping around her small waist to hold her body closer to his. he can feel her hiccups as she raises her arms to snake around his neck, pulling him down towards her. yuuta knows that he should be careful when it comes to his delicate lady, that he should hold himself back as he is much stronger than she is; and he might have committed a sin when he thrusts her onto the wall.

he silently reprimands his excitement, and while he keeps each hand on her jaw and waist, his dark eyes peered down to his lady, waiting for her to rebuke his actions. but she does not comment on the cold wall or his daring decision — instead, she looks down to her feet, still trying to manage her hiccups, and quietly asks, “are you not going to kiss me again?”

splutters of apologies fly out his lips — he has kissed the crown prince’s fiancé, and while the fear of his own life is not present, yuuta fears for his lady’s. she turns away for a moment, her then erratic breath is now calm and slow, muttering something yuuta does not quite catch. she unhooks her arms from his neck, her soft touch traveling from his neck to the curves of his hard jaws. turning to look at him, shy and timid, his lady grips the base of the hand on her jaw with her smaller ones, tugging it off his face and placing it very carefully on the mound of her breast.

yuuta holds his breath.

the resilient lady keeps her eye contact — he doesn’t know how she does it — and presses her fingers on top of his, making him dig into the fabric and feel his digits drowning in the soft flesh underneath. yuuta does not say a word, he merely does what his lady tells him to do. “you can move,” her pliable voice whispers, and so he does. he takes the initiative to fondle her chest, stepping in closer as he admires how she fits perfectly in his wide palm. the fingers on his hand loosens; his lady takes one thumb to nibble between her teeth as yuuta continues to knead her mound, his breath hot against her face. he was so engrossed in her breast, that when his lady lets out a low sigh, he immediately pulls away.

at an instant, his eyes goes to her face — has he hurt her? he is greeted, however, by his lady’s flushed face (now for an entirely different reason) and her drool pooling on her thumb and on the corner of her pretty lips, threatening to spill out. has her lips always been this plump? yuuta feels his cock hardening against the restraining fabric of his pants as he thinks about how his kiss may be the one making her look so. . . amorous.

“sir yuuta,” his lady whimpers, and he almost flinched at how sultry the complaint sounds. she is so different from the lady he usually serves — so different from the usual bold and prideful woman that she is. yuuta raises his hand back to her chest and she lets out a sigh of relief; his lady looks so small as he towers her, so supple and pliant. is he allowed to do this? is he allowed to see her in such state?

she must have noticed his hesitation. her teeth let go of the thumb in her mouth and she slowly tugs the material of her long skirt to her chest. yuuta let go of her body completely and allows her to exhibit her smooth skin, the fat of her thighs making his head go dizzy even when he’s seen her change so many times. the reveal of her undergarments is slow, but yuuta doesn’t mind, not when his lady is revealing so much of herself to him — her laced underwear cups the shape of her pussy so well, that he almost convinces himself that it’s a sin to be staring for so long.

yuuta swallows the lump in his throat and squats before his lady, the case of his blade clashing against the ground. his face is just inches from her core, breath blowing against her warmth when his lady breaks his trance, “y-you can touch it. if you want.”

he may as well faints. yuuta looks up at his lady who’s intently staring back at him, tense from all that is happening. something tells him that she wants him to touch her, and so he raises one finger — just one, he tries not to be greedy — and presses that finger flat against the length of her slit.

“ngh—“

the responses are all so new for him. he keeps his eyes on his lady as her face rumples into an expression he has never seen her worn — it stirs something inside of him. he wants nothing more but to take his cock out and beat it to the expression she is showing him, but he doesn’t do it. instead, he waits for her cues while occasionally pressing harder on her mound.

“you—“ his lady takes his hand and directs him to a specific spot of her groin; yuuta can feel a bud nestling right there under her underwear, “—you can touch me there.”

yuuta follows her command, and he finds his heart drumming against his chest when his lady’s fingers immediately grips his hair. he places his free hand on her thigh — one he has been longing to hold — and continues pressing her down on the spot she had shown him while occasionally running his finger up and down her slit.

his eyes never leaves his beautiful lady’s face, only glancing to what is in front of him for a moment to see her undergarments getting darker in color when he feels his finger getting wet. yuuta swallows the lump of his throat again — she looks so ravishing, he must say, so inviting. it takes every fiber of his being to not do anything too rash, he wouldn’t want his lady to be uncomfortable around him, but he is only getting more and more close to her pulsating core. her little pants are music to his ears, her little moans of his name — and just his name. they both don’t know what to say in times like this, and yuuta feels content with his lady calling out to him with her velvety voice.

until, of course, something inside of him decides that it’s a good idea to press his lips against the fabric separating his finger and her folds. “yuuta—!” his lady squeals, fingers digging in his scalp as he continues to place flutters of little kisses on her drenched underwear, tasting the sweet slick of his beloved lady. she’s addicting.

yuuta shifts on his feet, angling his face so that he can kiss her better. he uses one finger to pull the fabric aside and let the cool night air breeze against her wet slit. his lady shivers, and he is sure that she is about to say something but his tongue races her, and takes one long lick in between her folds to let her juice run down his tongue. his lips settle on the bud he had felt earlier and slowly sucks on her glistening clit.

noises that his lady makes after he does that is different. though she was panting before, she didn’t do so in a way that is so. . . exhilarating. he is rock hard now, sucking on her throbbing clit, squelching sounds that fill him with delight entering his ears easily. she is so so wet, sopped in her own slick for him.

“y-yuuta—“

he loves her. he really do. yuuta does not lower the intensity of his sucking, and instead, only grips her hips to support her body against the wall once he feels her knees trembling from either side of his body. she’s muttering all sorts of things now, telling him how he feels so good, how his tongue is making her feel so hot.

“yuuta— i’m gonna, i—“

his sweet lady cannot finish her sentence — she is cut off by her own gushing, juice flowing to make a mess on his chin as he continues eating her out, tongue poking at the sensitive button between her folds. she’s trying so hard to keep her voice down, yuuta can tell, biting the back of her hand as she throws her head on the wall. her hips convulses so hard against his face, grinding down on him.

yuuta does not stop. he keeps on lapping up her cum, obsessed with the taste of her honeyed slick as he tugs on her clit softly with his lips, silently begging her to give him more.

“s’enough—“ his lady’s words fall on deaf ears, yuuta keeps slurping up her juice until she finally pushes his head away. “e-enough, sir yuuta!”

yuuta blinks up at her — drowning in the sight of her post orgasm: sweat drenching down her face and neck, chest heaving with massive draws of breath, her hair disheveled and messy (quite unfitting for a lady), and her face somewhat debauched. he made her look like that, a sense of burning pride flares up in his chest, he’s the only one to see his lady like that.

remnants of her juice dribbles down his chin on his throat, and yuuta unconsciously scoops it up with a finger to put in his mouth, indulging himself in another taste of her sweet slick. his lady sees this and looks away, muttering about how indecent he is being. he cannot help the small smirk slipping on his lips as he wipes his face free of her wetness. he stands up, not making a move though his eyes lingers on her chest — he stares longer, more than he usually would and wonders what would his lady’s tits look like under all these article of clothings, and would she ever let him suck on them.

she drops the skirt from her hand, crossing her arms under her chest — perhaps to tease him, or to coax him even further — as her cool expression returns to her face. she still looks embarrassed, face still flushed with her hair sticking firmly on her forehead with sweat, but yuuta does not point it out.

instead, he simply offers her his hand when she says, “take me back to the mansion.” he does not mention too, of course, the way she stumbles in her steps, slightly limping, as they walk back home.

#jjk #one-shot #yuuta #knight yuuta #yuuta smut #yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta smut #okkotsu yuuta x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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devildomimagines · 3 years

Note

For shit’s and giggles, let’s have the Brothers react to a pregnant MC. She’s 5 months and showing so when they see her groaning in pain from landing badly from the portal, they notice her covering her stomach and she’s like “I could’ve hurt my baby, asshole!”. Let’s say the dad’s not in the picture but MC just wanted a kid and didn’t expect to deal with Overlords of hell while she’s gonna go through a rollercoaster of emotions and cravings. (I also wanna see em lose it when she goes into labor a couple months while they’re at one of Diavolo’s parties cuz I love chaos and just wanna see everyone but Barb panic)

Hi Anon! Thanks for your patience while I worked on this!

This was a little tough for me since I’ve never been pregnant 🤣 I hope this is some of what you were looking for!

Edit: I wrote some of this for the formerly Undateables, check it out here.

Belphegor

*Existential Crisis Ensues*

After the events of Chapter 16…. Oof.

He didn’t know but damn does that stoke his grief to be red hot and blistering once again.

When he recovers enough to pledge himself to caring for you, he builds the best nest to sleep in.

You never have a restless night with him making sure there are enough pillows to support your stomach or under your back and blankets for whether you are hot or cold.

Going into labor: For once not sleepy. He is a demon on a mission. Once he gets you to where you need to be, he collapses for some rest and earns a bed next to yours.

Beelzebub

“Baby?”

He was not aware, he innocently thought the weight was just because you were eating with him more.

He went to Lucifer first to get some guidance, he’s already starting to worry.

He’s very gentle with you from then on, offering a helping hand wherever you may be going. You’d have to remind him that you’re still sturdy enough to walk otherwise he would carry you everywhere.

The best at dealing with food cravings because he has them too! He even opens your eyes to weird food combinations that surprisingly work well.

Going into labor: Poor baby, and not the one coming out of you. He loses his appetite as you tell him what’s happening.

Asmodeus

“Baby!?”

He didn’t know but he’s excited!? A baby ‘you’ would be so cute!

He definitely knows all the tricks for moisturizing to minimize stretch marks, massages to relieve tension, and foot rubs for swollen feet.

Almost immediately starts buying baby clothes and planning baby photoshoots.

You do have to tell him a few times that what he’s doing is too much and you’re too tired. He respects that but he won’t stop trying.

Going into labor: I feel like Asmo would have a bullhorn ready to go yelling at people to get out of your way. It’s much more embarrassing but he’s doing his best.

Satan

You know the surprised face he makes with a hand on his chest, yeah that.

He has a vague idea about human pregnancy and labor, I can’t imagine it didn’t come up in any of his readings but he looks into it further now.

Surprisingly, he handles the mood swings the best, probably because he’s been through it with his anger. He gets it.

Satan is very thoughtful and considerate. Orders you decaf tea when you go out to his favorite coffee shop and offers to pay for any baby books if you express a need.

You absolutely change his world when you let him feel the baby kicking. That’s when it took a whole new meaning to him, this was life.

Going into labor: You probably told him your birth plan so he knows where to take you and what you need just from memory.

Leviathan

Frozen in place until it finally registers, “What?”

Really awkward around you for the rest of the day.

Furiously does research that night, scouring the internet for as much as he can digest about humans’ pregnancy and babies. He finds some really obscure complications and issues and then he’s scared for you.

The next day he’s watching you nonstop. You ask him what’s wrong, he says nothing but continues staring.

With his Akuzon account, anything you could need he can get in less than a day, just say the word.

Going into labor: Probably running away, I’m sorry if you thought he was going to be helpful with that.

Mammon

“B-b-b-b-baby?”

Whether you two have been intimate or not, he’s still sweating and counting on his fingers to try to figure out if he’s somehow the father.

He goes to Lucifer, “Hey! Did ya know about this?” And just motions to the whole of MC.

He steals borrows a baby book from Satan and starts spouting random facts to prove he’s knowledgeable. “A woman’s uterus will expand about 500 times its original size during pregnancy.” Thanks, Mammon.

Was he attached to your hip before? Yes. Is he even more so now? Also yes.

Going into labor: Confused but he got the spirit. He definitely thought the baby was going to be born right there if you pushed it out so he’s yelling “Don’t push MC! Keep it in!”

Lucifer

The only one of the brothers that actually knew you were pregnant as it was in your file/application for the exchange program.

Still kind of offended you took that tone with him but may start to worry about you more.

He already has a soft spot for you so you could ask him for anything and he’d do or get whatever you need.

I think he would know the most about human pregnancy since he probably had to prepare in advance to present the idea to Diavolo.

If you want a special treat, definitely have him feel the kicking baby. The warmth and love on his face is 100% worth it.

Going into labor: Obviously, the most together to handle the situation but the flashes of worry and concern in his movements and reminds you that he’s not unmoved and even the Avatar of Pride can get flustered.

#obey me #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #tw: pregnancy

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sillyrabbit81 · 3 years

Note

Hi dear

I'm a big fan of your writing, especially the way you write Sy. Love it. If you are still taking prompts, I have one.

How would Henry and his characters react to having an Erectile dysfunction?

I think that topic is not being discussed enough.

🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for the ask Anon. I was having trouble with this ask so I discussed it with @henryobsessed and we worked on it together. To be fair, she did most of it! If you haven’t read any of her work I suggest you visit her blog and take a look at her Masterlist . She is a great friend and has a wonderful perspective and a unique style. I love her!

@henryobsessed here I have to interject and have my say too, I loved this request, it was so much fun finding creative ways to discuss a delicate subject. And for the record I may have done more characters but @sillyrabbit81 wrote more words per character HAHAHA. You are a wonderful Friend and Cavill sister you inspire and push me to be myself and I cannot be more grateful. That being said have fun reading guys 😊

Summary: Situations in which Henry and his characters suffer erectile dysfunctions

Word Count: approx 3k

Warnings: smut, masturbation (m), oral sex (m and f receiving), anal play, p in v sex, bad medical advice, incorrect use of prescription medication, bodily fluids, period sex, drunk sex, Dom/sub relationship, descriptions of violence and death,

Masterlist

Erectile Dysfunction Headcanon

Henry Cavill

Henry had been filming for months and now he was headed home for a week’s break. You sat there waiting in the tinted people mover, as Henry was ushered to the car. Lights blinded you as the door opened, he climbed in, and smiling a weary grin, he pulled you into a big bear hug. He missed you so much.

That night, he fell into your arms in a passionate embrace. You had both craved each other, missing one another’s touch. As the night progressed, you noticed things were different. For the first forty minutes you were ecstatic, he had bought you to orgasm three times. Your body was super sensitive, but every time he seemed to be close himself, the phone would ring, indicating someone needed him. You had switched it off after an hour, having enough, and wanting his undivided attention.

Henry had managed to stay hard, but after an hour and a half, it was beginning to be painful for you, and he seemed no closer. Eventually, he flopped beside you, drained from the physical exertion.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s like I’m right there, but I can’t let go.”

You brought him into your arms, and caressing his back said, “Don’t worry love. It will be ok. Just give yourself a day, and maybe we can shut your phone off. I think the stress it is causing you might be a big part of the problem.”

He huffed at the thought. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe.” He sighed and soon you heard soft snores spilling from his lips.

Walter Marshall

It had been a long day, scratch that a long month. Walter had been working day and night to catch a serial killer. That night as he came home, he couldn’t forget the latest victim. What they had found had turned his stomach. In all the years he had been on the force, nothing could have prepared him for what they found that night.

Arriving home he collapsed on the bed, he was so physically exhausted, and for once sleep immediately consumed him. He woke nearly twelve hours later to the smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee. He groaned; he had forgotten it was his two-year anniversary with you. Walking into the bathroom he washed his face, staring at the blood shot eyes reflected back at him.

“Come on man, get it together. You promised her,” Walter tried to fire himself up. It was no use, he was spent. Sighing, he walked into the kitchen wrapped his arms around you and breathed in the soft floral scent in your hair. For the first time in days, he felt a spark within himself, and although the horrific images still played on his mind, he felt a slight peace. He kissed your head, relieved, something could still reach him, something was still good. “Happy anniversary, love,” he growled.

After a wonderful breakfast, Walter sat on the couch with you and the two of you cuddled while watching a movie. His eyes kept sliding shut, his exhaustion made worse by his full belly. His fatigue became even more apparent when after reaching your hand beneath the blanket, you could not bring his flaccid muscle to attention.

Normally this situation would turn heated quickly, you had a way with your tongue that often had him begging for more. But Walter couldn’t get rid of the images in his mind, the battered and dismembered bodies, and the fact they were no closer to catching the killer weighed most heavily on his thoughts.

After half an hour of you trying to arouse him, Walter said in a resigned voice, “Sorry love, I don’t think I can.” With eyes that spoke of immense pain he looked at you and asked, “Could we please just cuddle? I think I need that more than anything right now.” In that moment he knew you were the one for him. He had expected huffing or crying because you thought you weren’t good enough or you asking him to please you. Instead, you had adjusted your position, so he was tucked into your body, holding him close while your hand stroked his curls.

A calm filled his soul as you whispered, “I am here for whatever you need my love. Rest now.”

Captain Syverson

You were just about to turn the light off and go to sleep when you heard the front door open with a crash and heard a rough curse. You grin, Sy was home and wasn’t sober. You knew what that meant, rough, wild, primal fucking. You quickly turn the light off and hide under the covers, well acquainted with the game, you knew how to play your part.

“Where are ya, woman?” Sy’s voice boomed at your bedroom door. “Don’t think you can hide from me. I’m hungry!”

You peek out from under the blanket, Sy had turned the light on again and was quickly undressing. You lick your lips, watching your big furry ox as he dropped his jeans, and his cock was revealed already on its way to being hard. Turning suddenly, he saw you, and you yelped covering your face again. “I see you woman, don’t play shy!” You giggle nervously, excited, your core already dampening with arousal.

Sy pulls the covers back and smirks as he sees you’re already naked waiting for him, “You’re a cheeky little thing ain’tcha?” You bite your lip, opening your legs slightly, inviting him in. Grabbing your ankles, he pulls you down the bed and gets on his knees. A low growl emanates from his throat before he dives between your legs feasting on you with an eagerness that brings you swiftly to your peak.

Licking at his lips and sucking on his glistening whiskers, he stands up pumping his cock getting it ready. Your brows pull together, puzzled, he’s always hard when he eats you out. You don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s soon ready. Sy flips you onto your knees before he enters and begins his assault on your core.

Something is wrong though, you can feel him falling out of you. Did he cum already? Sy mumbles curses, pulling out and you turn around and see him fisting himself again as he slips his fingers inside you. In a few moments he is hard again, removing his fingers and replacing it with his cock. You sigh, relieved, as he builds his rhythm, and you hear him start to groan. But soon, it happens again, and try as he might he just can’t stay hard.

“Fuck,” Sy growls. You turn around and see the look on his face, a mix of frustration and embarrassment that melts your heart. “I think I drank too much Sugar,” he says, running his hand over his short hair. “Fuck. This hasn’t happened… Fuck!”

“Hey!” you say sharply to get his attention.

“What?” Sy replies just as sharply, but he doesn’t look at you.

“It’s fine, Baby,” you assure him. You see him jut his jaw and you reach up and cup his cheeks, making him look at you. “It’s ok. You’re just a little too drunk,” you smile and give him a soft kiss. “It happens.”

“Not to me it don’t.”

“It’s not forever,” you say. “Come on, let’s go to sleep. I’m sure it’ll be back normal in the morning.” You kiss him again and pull his head down to whisper in his ear, “maybe you could wake me up like you did last week.” You pull back and smirk raising your eyebrows.

Sy grins, still a little sheepish, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes again, “You’re a good thing, Sugar.” He kisses your forehead and says, “I love you.”

Geralt of Rivia

Geralt had never in his life had this happen before. The bar maid who had eagerly agreed to keep his bed warm on this cold winter’s night, gaped in confusion.

How could it be? She thought, All the myths about Witcher’s said they were virile and could last most of the night. She had been consumed with the thought ever since The White Wolf had arrived in the area and was quick to accept his offer to take her to his bed. She was bitterly disappointed and pouted at Geralt. Her sweet, plump lips alone should have been enough to make his cock stand, but tonight it lay unmoving, and useless.

That blasted sorcerer, it must have been him who had cast a curse on Geralt. It could be the only explanation for his inadequate showing. Looking at the poor wench beside him, Geralt pitied her. She had been most eager to satisfy his needs tonight, giving a valiant effort to arouse him. No matter, he had other ways to enjoy bringing her to the height of pleasure. Granted he didn’t normally concern himself with their needs as his own normally coincided with theirs. But tonight, his fingers, and tongue would be adequate until he broke the curse and returned to give her what she truly deserved.

Mike

The party had been epic, the drinks flowed, pot was smoked in abundance and Mike had managed to capture the attentions of a wonderful long legged blonde beauty. She helped him back to her apartment and his heart rate raised as she slowly stripped him, leaving him in all his naked glory. Laying on the bed he watched as she did a strip tease for him, her perky breasts bouncing as she jiggled her ample peach in his face.

But something was wrong, the situation was right, she was right but… he held his hand out to the two or was it three beauties before him. One took his hand as he guided her to sit in his lap. He caressed her as they kissed, his tongue violating her mouth with as much enthusiasm as his inebriated self could manage. Even with her grinding against him nothing happened.

“Shit” he swore.

The girl frowned and her lips seemed to move in twisted patterns which stilled again before she snickered. An evil cackle reverberated in her throat and her face twisted into that of a demented creature. “Can’t get it up, boy?” she taunted as she continued to laugh. She collected his clothes and managed to push him out of her bedroom and into the night. Standing in the cold with only his briefs covering his body, he stumbled as he began his walk of shame home.

August Walker

August Walker was hands down, far and away, the greatest lover you have ever had. He was the only man who had ever been able to keep up with you, your average session lasting for four hours. He was able to cum and get hard again faster than any guy you had ever been with too.

But being with August meant following The Rules. There were many Rules, rules which governed how you would dress when you saw him, how you were groomed, how you were to address him and when you could contact him. There were punishments too, but you had been a good girl, never broken any of his rules, so you never gave the punishments a thought.

One of the many Rules was absolutely no snooping. He said it was for your protection as much for his privacy. You didn’t know exactly how August made his money, but you assumed it had to be from some sort of illegal activity. So, you obeyed this rule as you did the others until one evening after a marathon session, you realised you got your period. You were shocked August hadn’t said anything, clearly he had continued to fuck you while you were bleeding. You started opening his bathroom cupboards searching for a tampon or pad or something, hoping you wouldn’t have to stuff your panties with toilet paper until you got home.

You opened the cupboard behind the mirror and were surprised to see a pill bottle with little blue tablets. You recognised them and after checking the label and confirming it you were speechless. August used Viagra? But, it didn’t seem possible that he would need it, his stamina was out of this world… unless…

“What do you think you are doing Petal?” August said from the doorway, a box of tampons and a towel was in his hands.

Quickly recovering your senses, you grabbed the box and towel out of his hands and kissed his cheek saying, “Looking for those. Thank you, August.”

Quicker than you thought possible you were bent over the counter, cheek pushed into the stone benchtop. “You found my pills,” August said coldly. Leaning his body over yours, his weight pushed down on you, holding you in place as he kicked your legs apart. You muffled a cry as you felt him hard again against your ass. “I don’t need them, for most women, Petal. But for particularly slutty, insatiable, cock hungry brats such as yourself, it’s a necessary assistance.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you murmured, hoping he would take pity on you. Tears welled in your eyes as his finger pressed against your ass, forcing your tight muscles apart and you cried as he entered you. “I’m sorry, August.”

“My dear sweet, Pet,” August grunted as he violated you with a second finger. “If you aren’t sorry now, you will be.”

Napoleon Solo

Napoleon had been watching the siren from a distance all night. Her lithe body commanded all around to her attention. After she finished singing her call to the night goddess, he made his move. Two drinks in hand he set his sights and went in for the kill.

The two danced, drank and now were in her apartment, laid out on her bed he was happily pleasing her, mouth buried between her delicious thighs. His tongue flicked expertly over her button bringing her to climax, exciting his body, he climbed forward and for the first time that night claimed her lips. They kissed passionately until something changed, his mind grew foggy, and his cock deflated.

“Aww, is the great Casanova having trouble?” she laughed her sweet siren song changing to a bitter retort. His confused eyes tried to fix on hers as she began to distort, her last words filling his gut with fear. “Don’t worry love. I’ll take good care of you Napoleon Solo.”

Clark Kent

Clark was in college and his new friend Tommy was egging him on to take Crystal out for a date. He couldn’t understand why the cheerleader wanted to take him out. He wasn’t anything special as far as she knew, but she had been flirting with him all week.

Dinner was nice and Clark was surprised when Crystal suggested they return to her share house for dessert. Nervous as he was around her, he was pleased when after ice cream he had allowed her to talk him into a make out session in her room. They had only been in the room a few moments when he had felt strange. They had been kissing, it was enjoyable, but his stomach had begun to feel off and he felt unusually tired and weak.

The more they kissed the more frustrated he was to realise he wasn’t getting a rise out of his little friend. He noticed a pendant hanging on the wall near her bed, the green stone glowed eerily at him giving him a bad vibe. After a few more moments he politely excused himself, saying he must have eaten something off. Clarke murmured apologies and gave promises that he would call her and he left. Strangely, by the time he left her house he felt better, as if he had never felt ill at all. He was only a little upset that he had ruined his chances with Crystal, something about that pendant made him hope he would never see it again.

Charles Brandon

Charles sat in the apothecary rooms, wondering what he had gotten himself in for. The King had recommended him when Charles confided in his friend of his problem.

“So young man, why are you here?” the old man asked, his face kind but stern.

“Well, I’ve been having trouble, when I pee it burns and well, I can get an erection, but it deflates quickly and sometimes I cannot get one at all. I’m also having abdominal pain.”

The old man chuckled. After examining the affected area, he turned to his wall of potions. Pulling together some salves, and powdered herbs he turned to address the Charles. “Here, rub this on the affected area twice a day, and drink this tea three times a day.” The apothecary paused and said with a grin, “And finally, give the ladies from court a rest for a bit, you will regain your vigour again.”

Shame and chagrin filled Charles as he pulled his coverings back over his privates. Taking the medicines, he snuck out of the room trusting that no one saw him, and hoping against all hope, that this would work.

Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock sits back in satisfaction, marvelling at his new invention. Based on some literature he read from the America’s he perfected the design and made it fit himself perfectly.

Having commissioned the glass tube and rubber attachments, the contraption worked by winding a small handle, creating the necessary suction to create a vacuum, pooling enough blood into his cock to make it erect. By placing a rubber ring at the base of his shaft, he found he was able to maintain an erection for approximately thirty minutes. He could even bring himself to orgasm by his own hand.

It really was a delightful invention. Now, he just had to find that little vixen of a maid and see if it worked with her too. Perhaps he should try and use her mouth first.

Tag List 1

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate @wheretheriversrunintothesea @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @eldarwen333 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @summersong69 @littlefreya @littlebirdofrivia @luclittlepond @myloveforhenrycavill @mary-ann84 @tellingyouastory @beck07990 @zealoushound @sofiebstar @sweetlybigdragonn @bloodyinspiredfuck @marantha @diegos-butt @greensleeves888 @endofalldays01 @justaboringadult @ysmmsy @offroadinjandals @littlewrenofrivia @pussyverson @foxyjwls007 @kebabgirl67

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bokutoslittlebird · 3 years

Text

Your Place

Akaashi x sister!reader

Author’s Note : This was originally gonna just be a short drabble but like.. I’ve thought of this before. So I changed it into a full fledged fic; Fukurōdani has a girls’ volleyball club ; Love hotels in Japan are pretty popular, especially in Tokyo, and happen to have kiosks to keep up the anonymity, while also offering options of staying overnight or for a few hours (generally 2-4). The rooms offer lots of options, including room service (including food and toys), such as jacuzzi, showers, massage chairs, King-sized bed, as well as a box of free condoms ; okay I don’t know if a butt plug can actually plug up a vagina and if it is even safe (it should be) so don’t take my words as fact! Please!

Warnings : Incest, noncon/dubcon, gaslighting, naïve and innocent reader, manipulation, alcohol, underaged drinking [legal age in Japan is 20], love hotels, Keiji wants lil sis to be his housewife, mating press, pussyjob, orgasm denial, overstimulation, sex toys [butt/anal plug, egg vibrator, hitachi wand vibrator], lots of Nii-sans used, breeding kink, no actual pregnancy (yet), fingering (f. receiving)

The roars of the crowd enters your ears as the ball bounces against the floor of the large stadium, the opposing players diving to receive the ball only to fail. Your team screams and cheers, everyone running to envelope the ace of your team, Akari, as she hugs everyone back. Screaming hurts your ears, yet you’re still doing it. Adrenaline rushes through you as the announcer claims your team with the victory and the announcement that you’ll be moving onto the next round, the finals of Nationals.

Your team lines up, shaking hands with the opposing team as congrats is shared between members. Once that is done, you all face the seats on both sides, bowing and thanking them for cheering you all on. When your eyes look into the stadium seats, they immediately catch the lidded eyes of Keiji, his hands clasped together as he smiles. The simple motion has your chest puffing with pride, tears sliding down your cheeks as you know you made him proud. With your position on the team, he’s the one who trained you to be the best setter the Fukurōdani girls’ volleyball club has ever had these last three years.

Once the moment is over, everyone is back at the hotel room and either on their laptops, phones, television, or asleep. When you exit the bathroom, your hair has been brushed and styled with a nice dress, accompanying the leggings and boots Keiji gifted you to wear. Akari whistles, her arm over your shoulder as she talks to you.

“Who you lookin’ so good for?” She pries, eyes tracing the lip gloss you put on.

“My brother. He requested me to wear something nice. He’s taking me to dinner,” a bit of heat is in your voice as you say that. Keiji’s always pampering you, he loves seeing you dolled up. It’s been like that since you were playing dress-up when he was 10 and you were 5. Akari’s gaze takes on a confused look, pursed lips as she processes your words.

“He’s always taking you somewhere nice after a good game, it feels like. Why don’t you ever invite us?” She finally says. Your head snaps up, looking in the mirror at yourself compared to Akari who is also looking at your face and outfit. It wasn’t glamorous in your eyes, but it suddenly dawns on you that it’s more than a brother should expect. The twist in your gut is ignored, your head shaking as you clear your head.

“He doesn’t know any of you guys. Plus, he’s an alumni. He’s always at our games,” your response isn’t what she was expecting, you’re sure of it. But the truth is, you don’t know why Keiji takes you out to nice restaurants or just on nice walks after games. It’s the few times he has off, always requesting off to be with you, cheering you on, his full support as your brother. Occasionally, he even brings along Bokuto, his best friend, who always congratulates you and asks to have you visit his own team someday. It’s a request that you always turn down, Keiji’s eyes taking on a dark glint that sends shivers down your spine at just the mere memory of them.

Akari leaves you alone after that, your time to get ready slowly coming to an end as your phone rings. It’s Keiji, of course, asking if you’re ready yet. “Almost, nii-san! I just need to get my coat and then I’ll head down.”

He’s at the lobby of the hotel, lounging in a chair as he swipes on his phone. He’s dressed as nicely as you are, black slacks with a nice white dress shirt, all under a large coat to keep out the cold. You bounce up to him, excited for the dinner. “You look beautiful, [Y/N],”

“Thank you! You know me so well, so it’s really all your doing,” you giggle, linking your hand in his offered elbow. It felt so right, being beside as you had been these past few years. Walking towards the restaurant, you didn’t even feel the ache in your ankles and balls of your feet from the heels nor the unmistakeable tension between the two of you. It just felt familiar and right to be in this position, sitting across from Keiji as he lets you gush about all the stuff going through your head during the match or even when you happened to be getting ready for the dinner. A shadow seems to settle over his face as you refer to it as such, just a dinner. You almost referred to it as a date, but quickly corrected yourself.

Tension hangs between you two, you having to force it away by breaking the silence Keiji brings. He’s usually much more talkative, praising you as he talks about what you did right and correcting you on things you did wrong, but never criticizing you too hard. Dinner ends, with Keiji paying the full bill without ever letting you know, saying that he simply cannot let a woman pay, regardless of situation. The champagne and wine he let you have a taste of lingers in your mouth, a burn in your throat from the bitter taste of alcohol. It’s not enough to get you drunk, but you do find yourself clinging to Keiji tighter, feet unstable and legs unreliable as he brings you back to the hotel.

He stops and even in your bubbly and hazy state, you can tell the hotel isn’t the same. “Come on, you need to rest,” he says, lips next to you ear as he ushers you inside. Upon entering the room, the lobby, you know it’s not the same. You panic, the alcohol making you less restrained in your actions as you go to tug on Keiji’s arm.

“Nii—”

“Ah, ah, Keiji, dear. Until we get back to your room,”

His usage of ‘your room’ has your nerves calming down, even as he uses his card to pay the kiosk and tap on the screen, buying something. A metal jingle comes from the bottom of the electronic, Keiji picking up the key to a room. Urging you along, you follow him to the elevator. The lack of people seems to enter your mind, confusing you as you glance around the spotlessly clean black elevator. A small voice enters your mind, telling you that the hotel’s elevators are supposed to be silver, shimmering in the light that shines down.

Keiji has to practically drag you into a room, the door shutting and clicking behind you as it locks. The room is spacious, a large tub in the corner of the room as the king-sized bed offers comfort and relaxation. Yet, you falter— unmoving, your voice seems to barely get out as you question your brother. “Where... where are we?”

“My room for the night, dear. You’re drunk, you need to rest,” his comforting words have you slowly shuffling towards the bed. The chair beside the bed seems too fancy for something in a normal hotel room, more adrenaline entering your veins as you panic from unfamiliarity.

“Nii-san, I don’t like this. Take me back to my room. Akari and Hana and-”

“Shut up, you little slut,” the venom in his words has you squeaking, your much smaller frame easily being pinned to the bed by Keiji’s much broader frame. “I’ve been generous this entire evening and all you’ve blabbered about is your team and your friends. What about me, huh? You haven’t even asked how I was doing the entire date,”

“Nii-san, stop!”

“Do I not hold the most importance in your life anymore? You used to be all over me, my sweet little sister that absolutely enjoyed being around me. Now you’re prancing around as if you have not a care in the world. That boy from the boys’ volleyball club seemed awfully close for comfort, don’t you think?”

“He-,” you once more falter, the brief images from after the game when the captain of the boys’ team congratulated all of you on the win. He wasn’t close to you, you were sure of it, but why would Keiji have been there? “He’s barely a friend, nii-san,”

“Not only that, but you always have that giggle and tendency to twirl your hair as you talk to Bokuto-san, your body moving closer to him as he would walk beside you. You barely acknowledge my existence anymore. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“I’m sorry,” the tears spill down your cheeks, a hiccup as he continues to say mean things. “I’m sorry,”

“You’ll be graduating soon and then you’re going to live with me. You’re going to live with me and be my little housewife. I’m going to make you completely mine, inside and out,” his breath is hot as it fans over your face, his grip strong as he continues to squeeze and hold your face. You’re unable to do anything, the fear from his words and actions has you frozen beneath him. As his words settle in, ice crawls through your veins as you realize your gut feeling, the tension between you two, everything you ignored for the past hour and a half had a reason for being there. His entire plan was to bring you here, but you’re unable to do much of anything against him — he’s always been stronger than you. When you were young, it was comforting, his arms holding you after a nightmare or even when your first friend moved to America, but now it just served to bring more tears to you eyes, your body forced to let him do what he wants to you.

Keiji’s quick to undress you, your coat being shed as he pushes your fancy dress up, the leggings, shoes, and panties being pulled off and left to fall on the floor. Tears continue to fall, chest heaving as you’re powerless to do anything. Even if you could find the energy to move and attempt get him off of you, it wouldn’t bring anything to fruition. “You’re so dry, are you not enjoying this?”

“No, nii-san. I’m not,” you’re honest with him, yet he doesn’t stop. Sitting back on his heels, he lets his eyes trail over your form. Before a thought can enter your mind to move, he’s pushing his weight on top of you as he grabs something the table beside him, a long metal rod emerging from the miniature dresser. He keeps you pinned, moving the rubber head down to your clit, pressing a button as it begins to vibrate. “Ah! Nii-san,” your muddled voice comes out, the sensation sending an unfamiliar tingling up your spine.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, I’m going to make you feel even better. All you gotta do is relax, pretty girl,”

“I’m- I’m still- y-your—” your words die on your tongue, your gut twisting into a knot as the sensation turns pleasurable. You’ve never touched yourself, always being told by Keiji that only bad girls touched themselves, that whores and sluts did. Keiji-nii doesn’t like those kinds of girls, so you never dared to go against his wishes.

“Of course you are, baby. You’ll always be my pretty girl, even if I have to remind you exactly where you belong. I’ll remind you of your place,” his words stop there, but in your head his words continue. Silently, the words of ‘if you’ll let me’ enter, an unspoken question that asks for your consent. Yet, you don’t give him anything else. Your moans and mewls are all he gets, a hand grasping at the unbuttoned dress shirt still on him. A small smile paints along his lips, your vision going black as you roll your eyes. Before the knot can release, the vibrations are removed from your clit and you whine, aftershocks coursing through you.

Keiji’s voice is barely a whisper, under his breath, “I’ll give you something much better, don’t worry.” The vibrator is forgotten and discarded, his hands fumbling with his slacks as he pulls them down, along with the dark grey underwear. His cock springs free, hard and thick and long, you unconsciously scoot away as he strokes himself. “Don’t move away,”

“But it’s scary, nii-san,” you whimper, arms close to your chest as your head bumps against the headboard. He doesn’t say anything, using his hand to rub his cock’s tip against your folds. Contrary to earlier, you’re dripping wet as the wet smacks of his appendage against your skin has you clenching around nothing, more juices dripping out. Moving his hips back and forth, he adds another sensation on your clit as he thrusts in between your folds. His tip catches onto the hood of your folds, brushing against the overly sensitive nerves as you whine and mewl at each move he makes.

“You’re so nice and slick for me, it won’t hurt. It just seems scary, look,” he forces you to do just that, hand gripping your hair as he forces you to look at his cock. The underside of it is glistening with your slick, absolutely dripping with you as it slides down to his base and over his balls. “It’s just in your mind, it won’t hurt. Don’t you trust me?”

“But nii-san, I don’t want this,” it’s not what he wants to hear, you’re sure of it. Yet he says nothing. A sigh finally breaks the silent tension as he rubs his finger against your cunt, two fingers slipping in until they can’t anymore. You’re tight, you know you are, clenching around only two of his fingers.

“If you didn’t want this, you would still be dry. You wouldn’t be squeezing my fingers so snugly. This is your body saying it wants this, don’t you remember what I said?”

Of course you don’t, he says a lot to you, so you shake your head. Another sigh.

“You need to listen to your body. It knows you better than you know yourself. I know you better than you do, you know,” his words ring true, his fingers continuing to pump themselves into you as he talks. Eventually, the feeling is no longer unfamiliar, the sensation pleasing as you moan. He smiles at that, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead as his fingers retract themselves. Using the slick on them, he rubs them against his cock to use as lube.

Pushing his tip into you is scary, but it’s not painful. As he sinks further into you, it becomes much more painful. The room must be soundproof, since Keiji keeps pushing in without trying to make you stop your screaming. He does, however, lean down to press his lips to your tear-stained cheeks as you squeeze him. He groans, his hips rutting against you. “You’re fine, stop screaming. Stop being so pathetic,”

His harsh words have your screams silencing, tears and sniffles as your walls flutter around him. It still hurts, it burns, it stings, it’s more painful than anything you’ve ever dealt with before. Before you can manage to get adjusted, Keiji is pushing your legs up to your chest, somehow making himself feel deeper than he actually is. The feeling of being crushed is back once more, his hips rearing back only to come back down against your skin. The scream from your throat is more of a moan, nails digging into the back of Keiji’s neck and teasing the small hairs as he pistons his cock into your cunt.

It’s a tight fit, the way you’re sucking him in and squeezing him with every thrust. Keiji’s balls slap against your slick ass, cunt squelching with each pump of his cock into you as more juices are forced out. His own moans and grunts of pleasure are drowning in the wave of mewls, squeals, and moans spilling from your lips. The feeling from before is back, the knot in your tummy as he rubs his cock against the inside of your walls and instead of being denied once more, the knot finally snaps as you cream all around his cock, accompanying a squeal of his name.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Cum on my cock, let me know how good you feel,” he chuckles, picking up his pace as you continue to suck him in. A garbled call of ‘nii-san!’ leaves your lips, the sensation of his heavy balls slapping against you and his thick cock against your fluttering walls has you creaming around him once more. A sound akin to a growl comes from his throat, leaning even further forwards as he gets himself as deep as he can go, the hair at the base of his cock rutting against your sensitive clit. “I’m going to fill you with my seed and you’re going to have my babies, okay?”

“No, nii-san, I don’t want that!” You cries are ignored, your body continuing to clamp around his cock as he shoots his load into you. The feeling of being full and so warm inside has your eyes rolling, drool spilling from your open mouth as you gush around him, clear liquid splashing against his abdomen.

Once the high has passed, he removes his cock from you, keeping you in that position. You don’t dare speak, unsure you’ll be able to as your throat burns from all the screaming and cries. A metal object briefly enters your vision, the object being inserted into your pussy that drips with your brother’s seed, milky white and thick.

“If you keep it all inside, I’ll give you another treat, okay? You wanna be a good girl for me, don’t you?” He doesn’t wait for a response, but he does take out another object. “You need to keep having an orgasm, I’ll make sure you feel real good, okay?” A medium-sized egg-shaped object enters your ass, another stinging pain from the insertion. Another round of vibrations start, your legs shaking as you mewl, head thrown back as you feel another orgasm quickly coming on. “You’ll be a good little housewife for me, won’t you? Swollen with my child and your pussy will be all for me, you know this, don’t you?”

Of course you do, regardless whether your mind agrees with you or not. He’s your nii-san and he knows best.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #akaashi x reader #Mr. Keiji #BB.Kinky #BB.Dark #BB.Requests #tw.dubcon #tw.noncon #tw.alcohol #tw.manipulation #tw.incest #tw.gaslighting #tw.degradation #tw.breeding #tw.pregnancy #cw.pregnancy #cw.alcohol #cw.overstimulation

1K notes · View notes

aredheadedmess · 3 years

Text

Pied Piper || JJK [3]

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N, an investigative journalist for the Daily Bullet, usually doesn’t see much out of the ordinary; A missing person’s case gone cold, an old case reopened and solved with updated technology, the thrilling excitement when another puzzle of one of the biggest serial killers is cracked. But when an old file resurfaces, she brings back a past that should have been burned with the file a long time ago.

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Chapter Warnings: A few swears, mention of broken wood and glass, the host still being a butt, a super creepy forest, please let me know if I missed anything!

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Mystery/Thriller, Paranormal, Strangers to Friends

Chapter Rating: Pg-13

A/N: Sorry this is late! I was hoping that I would get this out on time, but the past two weeks have been kinda crazy. BUT it’s here now so I hope y’all enjoy! This is kind of borderline a filler chapter, but it still has some... interesting things...

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

My research, before I decided to take it upon myself and actually visit the town, was futile. Everything that I had in the file all led to dead ends. My time spent in the company’s evidence locker only left me believing that there was no such place as Blackgate. Even Yoongi had said that it was a legend.

With what little information I had on the town, I decided to pack up a few bags and look for it myself. My friends thought I was crazy, looking for a town that probably didn’t exist any more, but I was stubborn. I knew that I could find something, anything, as long as I looked hard enough. Old map in hand, and only the general direction people had noted it was located, I took off first thing in the morning on an oddly cold day in late August.

I should have known then and there that what I was going to get into could have been much more dangerous. With my attempts at using technology to find the place constantly failing, and the way the woman—who stopped to see if I was alright when I decided to pull over and look at the physical map I keep in my car—looked at me as if she had seen a ghost, I should have turned around. Given up on the case. But as I have stated before; I’m stubborn. There was no way that I was going to give up after a few minor inconveniences. So I took the woman’s hesitant directions and found myself stumbling upon the town only a couple hours away from the Big City.

31 August, 20XX

“That’s not… Oh come on!”

You tear the crinkled page from the typewriter’s hold. Wadding it up, you toss it to the ground with the rest of the discarded paper. Maybe you should have asked for a pen instead. It would have taken you less time to scribble out mistakes than trying to deal with the sticky keys of the typewriter.

“This is going nowhere,” you sigh.

You lean back in the chair and throw your hands up to rub at your face. It’s only been three days, and every plan you had for your investigation is thrown out the window. With none of your devices working, how are you supposed to close these cases? There’s only so much you can do without being able to look up more information on the town on the internet. And with the bipolar weather the town is having, you don’t have much of a choice but to stay inside the Bed and Breakfast for the majority of the time.

The clock on the desk ticks away as you sit there, unmoving. It fills the silent room with the monotonous noise. It’s just after 8pm, and you still have nothing to show for your research. Many of the pages of the books you brought with you are stuck together as they sit on the desk beside the typewriter. After all of both your and the man’s effort to save the books, they still weren’t able to dry completely.

Thud.

The door to the room shakes in its frame. Your head snaps to the direction of the sound, brows furrowing as you begin to hear a muffled string of curses. What is he doing? For the last two nights, once dinner is cleaned up, the host is quietly off to do his own thing. You don’t hear a word from him again until the next morning when you’re somewhat rudely awakened for breakfast. Though you haven’t stayed here long, it’s odd to hear him move around at this time of night. The desk chair squeaks slightly as you lean forward to lift yourself off the seat. You’re surprised it’s still standing with how old and fragile it looks.

Swinging the door open, you’re met with the man picking up the last piece of a broken picture frame from the floor beside your door. He doesn’t spare you a glance as he moves to toss the splintered wood and glass into the trash bin in the kitchen. He returns back into the hallway, walking towards the front door as if he is running late to something. You follow, watching as he reaches for the closet door knob, twisting it open, and reaching inside for a jacket.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

He doesn’t spare you a glance as he throws his jacket over his shoulders. Once the fabric is situated on his body, he turns to open the front door.

“But I thought-”

“Lock the door after I leave.”

The door slams shut before you have a chance to catch it. Your hand reaches out to touch the lock, but you don’t make any effort to twist it. Where is he going? Especially at this time of night? You keep your hand hovering over the lock. Should you follow after him? Though, maybe you shouldn’t pry into his private life. You wouldn’t want him to do that to you. But with how late it’s getting---and with his strict rule of an 8:30 curfew---you can’t help but grow more curious as to where he’s off to. You drop your hand, running back into your room to grab your jacket. Who knows what the weather will decide to do tonight.

The sun has already set, leaving the town in utter darkness. Only a small handful of houses have their porch lights turned on. The dark sky makes it much easier for you to hide in the shadows as you follow the host into the middle of town. Though, it doesn’t make your surroundings any more inviting. Your eyes catch the sight of the playground again. If you look carefully enough, you swear you can see a small figure sitting at the top of the tallest slide. I’m seeing things. It’s just my imagination, you hope.

Shaking your head to rid your mind of the creeping thoughts, you return your gaze to focus on the man ahead of you. You’re lucky to have looked back at him as he stops to open the door to a shop a little farther. As quietly as possible, you run to catch up to shop before the door can fully close, letting you sneak inside before he can notice your presence. You keep yourself low, throwing yourself behind the first shelf you can see. You can’t see much except for the view of his backside approaching the front counter as another figure steps out from a back room.

“Jungkook! It’s nice to see your face again!”

A bright older woman greets the host as he enters the shop. You can hear him muttering under his breath, but it isn’t loud enough for you to catch what he says. He quickly steps closer towards the counter, leaning in a little closer to the woman.

“Keep it down,” he whispers harshly, his head twisting towards the entrance before focusing back on her. “You know I don’t like using my name around here anymore.”

“Oh, right. After what happened to-”

She stops. Clearing her throat, she shifts under his strong gaze. Letting a soft smile fall onto her lips, she tilts her head in curiosity.

“Sorry. What brings you here? I thought you weren’t due for more until next month?”

“Something unexpected happened,” he, Jungkook, hesitantly tells the woman.

“Well, no matter. Go ahead and get what you need.”

The shopkeeper waves him away, letting him free to find what he came for. You barely manage to pull yourself back behind the shelf when he turns to amble into the rest of the shop. You can hear his footsteps as he walks to an area on the opposite side of the room. As carefully as possible, you make your way to the other end of the shelf in hopes that you can spot what Jungkook is looking for. Though you don’t anticipate your movements entirely as the sole of your shoe comes in rough contact with the hardwood floor, scuffing the ground loudly. You quickly stop, closing your eyes and pressing your lips together.

“Shit.”

It’s silent for a moment, seemingly more than it was only a few seconds before. You wait, hoping that neither one of the other people in the building heard you. That hope is cut short when someone clears their throat behind you. You slowly turn around, meeting eyes with the host.

“Outside.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for you to follow him as he steps out of the shop. Like a child getting caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar, you hang your head low to keep yourself from making eye contact with the shopkeeper. You push the door closed behind you once you make it outside.

“I thought I told you to stay.”

Skipping the warnings, he spits poison at you. It takes you aback at the sudden interrogation. Your eyebrows press close, a frown developing across your face. No longer feeling like a child being scolded by their parents, you step towards him, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“And who are you to tell me what to do?”

“Do you want to die?” he retorts.

You tilt your head in confusion.

“What does that even have to do with anything?”

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, his eyes shift from their gaze on you to somewhere off to the side. His face is still stern, but the way his fingers begin to twitch at his sides gives his uneasiness away.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” You poke at the silent air between the two of you. “Nothing’s adding up.”

Jungkook scoffs.

“There’s no way I’m going to talk to an immature reporter like you. Go back to your research if you’re so interested.”

He walks around you to enter the shop again. You turn to face him, stepping forward to do the same. He must have seen your reflection in the glass on the door as he whips back around before he can get a grip on the handle.

“Stop following me.”

“Why should I?” you challenge. “I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing aren’t I? I’m following you to get more information. Research.”

“You won’t get anything from me. Go back. And don’t look back.”

Without another word, he turns back to the door, closing it behind him. You can hear the clack of the lock as you reach for the handle yourself. You click your tongue.

“Asshole.”

Sighing, you turn back to face the direction you came in. This Jungkook guy is confusing.

“The hell?”

You whip your head around every which way. How did you get to the forest? Weren’t you headed towards the Bed and Breakfast? Just a few minutes ago, you left the shop to trudge back to the house. So how is it that you somehow turned yourself around and ended up on the other side of town? There isn’t much you remember. You vaguely recall passing by the creepy park again, but everything after that is a blur.

Groaning, you bring your gaze back to the tree line a couple feet ahead of you. If he didn’t kill you at the shop, Jungkook will definitely kill you now for not taking his warnings to heart. Though, you’re not sure why you are following what he’s told you. You’re a grown adult. You shouldn’t let him walk all over you. Yet, maybe you can see where he’s coming from. Seeing the forest at night is much worse than in the daylight. And even during the day, you have yet to step close to the area, the fear of the worst possible outcomes bubbling up in your throat from the mere sight of it.

The longer you stare into the forest, the more you begin to see shapes dancing through the trees. You can’t look away. The shapes entice you, pulling at you, making you want to step closer to see what the commotion is about. You have to will yourself to stay put as your legs ache with the need to venture between the trees. Your eyes follow as the shapes become smaller, dancing further into the forest. If you listen close enough, you swear you can make out the sound of laughter echoing from inside. You blink. Suddenly the ache in your legs is gone. You blink again. The shapes are nowhere to be seen. Were they a figment of my imagination? They had to have been, you realize. It has to be the effects of your terrible sleep the past few nights along with the fact that the cloud-covered moon is high in the sky at this point. The darkness of the night only brings trouble for your eyesight.

Taking a step back, you decide it’s time to head back. Surely the host is back at the Bed and Breakfast already, waiting for you like a parent trying to catch their child sneaking back into the house. You turn around once you deem yourself a safe distance away from the tree line. The town in front of you is just as dark and unsettling as the forest. Without the nightlife that you see in the big city, the town looks completely deserted. Almost as if there is no one occupying the houses in the surrounding area.

You don’t know what entices you, but you twist your head to look back at the shrinking forest as you walk. Eyes wide, you falter in your stride. A figure in the shape of a human stands at the edge of the tree line. Who is that? You bring your hands up to your face, rubbing at your eyes. Whoever was there is gone now, leaving you to believe that it’s just the dim moonlight tricking your brain. You rub at your eyes once more, blinking a few times, before hesitantly turning back to return to the Bed and Breakfast.

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chaoticpuff17 · 3 years

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When the Chips are Down

part 5

masterlist

hello my darlings! It’s a little short of a chapter, but I was just to excited for this confrontation. enjoy!--- chaotic puff

Namjoon would have been stupid not to notice the icy demenor that Y/N regarded him with as they sat down to lunch in the garden. She’d been reserved before, cold even, but she was positively frigid now.

“Is everything alright, Jagi.” he set down his utensils and reached across the table to take her hand, but she moved it away glaring at him.

“I’m fine.” she flashed him a smile that never failed to make him nervous. It was thick with false sweetness that warned him of the storm brewing beneath the saccharine expression. “It’s only that I learned some very interesting things today, and it’s left me wondering why you bothered to look for me at all.”

Namjoon stiffened in his seat, his gaze sharp and guarded as he regarded her. He knew that whatever she had up her sleeve was going to be deeply unpleasant for him. “What do you mean, jagi.” he asked carefully.

“You apparently kept very busy while I was away.” she scoffed pushing around her food. The sight of fish made her stomach turn, but both Namjoon and Miss In had insisted that omega three was good for the baby.

“You kept me on my toes looking for you.” he kept his tone neutral, waiting to see what she would say, but he had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“You and I both know that’s not what I meant.” she scoffed, setting down her own utensils. “So much for being the only woman for you.”

If it was possible, Namjoon became even more tense. The fact that Y/N looked like the cat that ate the canary wasn’t helping anything either. They both knew that she had all the leverage in this argument. It was his own fault anyway, and he shouldn’t have been surprised that Sen had told her. The woman had no love for him, and more than one reason to sympathize with his wife.

“Y/N.” he sighed, taking a deep breath in preparation for what was to come. “I don’t know what you were told…”

“I think you know exactly what I was told.”

“Y/N, jagi.”

“Clearly you have women waiting in the wings for you. Why ruin my life?” she asked, leaning back in her chair, a hand resting against her belly as she glared at him, jaw set stubbornly in a look that made her look more imperious than normal. Namjoon would have been lying if he said he didn’t find it to be a very attractive look.

“I love you.”

“Do you?” she asked, quirking a brow. “I don’t think married men typically sleep with other women, prostitutes in fact, when they’re in love, but I could be wrong.”

“Jagi.”

“You could have easily found another woman. Why ruin my life?” she asked again, her gaze intent.

“Jagiya,” he sighed hoping to defuse this before it got any worse and already planning the chat he was going to have with Yoongi about what was appropriate information for Sen and Y/N to pass back and forth. “How could I live without you, without our child?” She was unmoved. “You were gone, jagiya.” he huffed, giving up on sweet pleas. They wouldn’t work on her anyway. “You betrayed me. I was frustrated, hurt, alone. What did you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to leave me alone.” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “Maybe even let me go. You can always have a bastard with someone else.”

“Don’t.” he growled, tone low and angry. “Don’t you dare talk about our child like that.”

“My child.” she growled back. “Who says you have anything to do with it?”

He barked out a laugh at that. “Do you expect me to believe that that child isn’t mine?” he asked, gesturing towards her belly. “We both know that you’re too far along for that to be anyone else’s child, and we both know I would kill anyone who dared to touch you like that.”

“But you can touch someone else like that?” she mused, keeping her tone purposefully neutral. “That’s very hypocritical of you, but what else should I expect from someone like you, a kidnapper, a rapist.”

She watched with a deep sense of satisfaction as Namjoon reeled back from her words as though she had physically struck him. The truth hurts.

“Jagiya..”

“What else could you possibly call it?”

“Jagi…”

“Go back to your whores, Namjoon. I have no use for you.”

She stood up from her seat, throwing her napkin down on the table as she went. Her belly made her dramatic exit slower than she would have liked, but that was the least of her problems when she felt Namjoon’s arms circle around her, trapping her in his embrace.

“No.” He growled into her hair, his arms tightening even more as she tried to wiggle away from him. “You don’t get to walk away from me, not again.”

“Let go.” she hissed trying to land a decent kick to his shin, but Namjoon was having none of it.

“You don’t get to criticize me after you left me, after you took my child from me.” he hissed, voice becoming deeper and more venomous as he went. She’d certainly managed to strike a nerve.

She turned in his arms so she could face him, though his grip tightened around her again as soon as she was staring up into his eyes. “You don’t get to criticize me for protecting myself. I loathe you with every fiber of my being.”

“You can loathe me all you want, my love, but you are never leaving me again for as long as we both shall live. Even in death, you will still be mine.”

“I’m glad you’re willing to accept my loathing. It’s the only thing you’ll ever get from me.” she spat.

“One day, you’ll be begging for me, jagi.” he promised, eyes glimmering with dark intent.

“Keep dreaming.”

“I have all the time in the world, jagi.”

“I’m not one of your lackeys, Kim Namjoon. You don’t own me.”

“My name on your shoulder would say otherwise.” It was a low blow on his part, but she had her own tricks up her sleeve.

She grinned up at him, her eyes glimmering with their own sort of dark mirth. “Didn’t you know? It’s not there anymore.” She took particular glee in watching the confusion brush over Namjoon’s features. “It was one of the first things I did when I was free of you.”

“You’ll never be free of me.”

“I did a pretty good job for the past eight months, and you got along without me quite well.”

“Jagi…”

She cut him off before he could continue. “I don’t care what you do. You can have anyone else, as many someone elses as you want, just leave me out of it.”

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Your actions would say otherwise.” she scoffed. “I don’t particularly care, but I think we can both agree that there’s no need for me to remain in your bed.”

A slow smirk spread across his features as a new deeply delicious thought crossed his mind. “Jealous, jagiya?”

Her eyes widened in disbelieving shock and fury. ��As if.”

“I think you are.” he laughed, loosening his grip around her so that he could gently brush his thumb across her lips. “Don’t worry, jagi. You’re the only woman in my life.”

“You can have as many women as you want as long as you leave me alone.” she hissed, batting his hand away.

“Why would I want anyone else when I have you?” he cooed, that stupid smile still on his face.

“Please, take anyone else. I’d throw them a damn parade.” she growled pushing herself out of his arms.

“I’ll have no one else.”

“It’s a little late for that.” she spat, glaring at him.

“Sit down, jagi. You need to eat.” He laughed, all traces of bad humor gone from his features. “If you’re a good girl for me, I might just have a surprise for you tomorrow.”

“I don’t want you surprises. They’re never any good for me.” she scoffed, but Namjoon was undeterred, steering her back to the table.

“You’ll like this one.” He promised.

“I doubt that.”

“Eat.”

She could grouse all she wanted, but Namjoon was on cloud nine knowing she was jealous. It wasn’t much in actuality, but it felt like the world to him. He’d have her love, even if it killed him.

part 6

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

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Death & Dowries

Summary: The Iron Bank of Braavos will always have its due. But dowries make things…complicated and the pride of men knows no bounds. A bargain is struck between a Keyholder of the Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister and the life of an adventurous woman is suddenly uprooted as she is made the newest Lady of Casterly Rock. But the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell brings a familiar face to King’s Landing and a Braavosi woman always has a backup plan.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/F!Reader, (arranged) Tywin Lannister/F!Reader, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

WARNINGS: Spousal abuse, death, murder, lite smut, my over-use of italics, mentions of child birth and babies (please DO NOT read if any of this will upset you)

Word Count: 12.1k (heavy sigh)

(banner by my love @starlight-starwrites )

A/N: The italics denote the “present” time. Circa Season 7 Episode 7. I’m going to throw a lot of ASOIAF lore at you so, if you have ANY questions, please just ask!

You can read this on Ao3, if you prefer!

She had hoped to never step foot into this wretched city again. But Cersei had called and she knew she must answer to keep the unstable queen from looking too closely. And, of course, she wanted to see a dragon.

What she did not expect to see was a familiar shade of yellow and orange while a recognizable laugh rang in the tense air. She froze at the entrance and her handmaiden smacked into her back. “I am so sorry, my lady,” she whispered.

The sudden noise drew attention and soon Oberyn and Ellaria were standing from their seats, kind eyes locked on her.

Westeros was nothing that her father had promised when he set her on the ship and sent her away from home. It was supposed to be exciting and new and beautiful and everything she wanted in a home. Instead, she had been gifted a cold castle filled with portraits of a woman who she was supposed to be replacing and an old man for a betrothed.

But even the Keyholders of the Iron Bank of Braavos knew of Tywin Lannister. "He is a powerful man. You will be well-cared for and loved by the people you govern, my sweet," her father said, his smile not quite touching his eyes. "That is all I want for you."

It was a lie. A pretty lie, but a lie all the same. Her father and a handful of other Keyholders all had daughters of the marrying age and had created a terrible, unspoken game between them. Everything had a price. Especially to the men and women who controlled the keys to the Iron Bank.

Dowries for their daughters were boasted and bartered. Whomever paid the most, bragged that their line was as coveted as a princess.

It was all ridiculous. A stupid game. Especially for people who usually wanted to protect their coin.

Y/N was thankful she had no sisters so that they would not be subjected to this prick-measuring game, too.

Whispers had spread through Braavos when her father had set her betrothal.

It was a dowry worthy of four princesses of old, surely.

But Tywin Lannister would not see a single coin.

An almost flawless plan, Y/N thought. Her father would pay half of the Iron Throne's debts to the Bank in exchange for Y/N becoming the new Lady of Casterly Rock. For as large as her dowry was, Y/N was only slightly amused at how small her wedding festivities were when she arrived at King’s Landing. A handful of people, mostly Lannisters and their bannermen, and the three handmaidens she had brought with her from Braavos. The furnishings were fine and the food was almost salted correctly but it was small. Tywin wrapped her in a crimson red cloak and kissed her with unmoving lips and she had become Lady Y/N Lannister, a lion of the rock.

And that was it. Little fanfare and her life was completely uprooted. And as the days continued to pass, she doubted she would ever find a bit of happiness in her new station.

She had to keep herself from yawning as Tywin rutted above her, grunting like an old boar. But he finished soon enough and rolled off of her and grabbed his robe. As soon as it was fastened around his waist, he strode out of her chambers without a look back.

The door opened soon after and her small horde of handmaidens quickly entered, already bringing her a steaming pot of tea and a balm for her skin where her lord husband always clutched too tight.

She had given up on telling him it hurt after the first fortnight and considered herself at least a little lucky that the old man still knew how to move his hips.

“How do you fare, my lady?” One handmaiden asked in the lilting tongue of the Braavosi dialect of High Valyrian. She quickly pressed a cup of tea into Y/N’s hands.

“Better, now that you are all here with me.”

One took to changing the bed coverings and another helped her stand and quickly began to wash her skin with steaming water scented with roses. The tea was bitter on her tongue but she quickly drank it and let another handmaiden take the empty cup from her hand as soon as it was finished.

“Have the kitchen maids asked what the tea is again?”

“Not since we told them it was a magical potion to guarantee a boy and that it was filled with the blood of a calf and ash from the Doom.” One of them smiled, remembering how the nosey maids nearly fainted at the sound of their lie. It was an ingenious ruse, if she was being honest. Y/N knew that most of the servants in Casterly Rock reported to Tywin about her movements and the company she kept. Thinking she was a witch who relied on bloodmagic easily discounted anything they whispered to her lord husband. And it also kept them from truly investigating her tea—not that anyone on this stupid continent would be able to name it anyway. The root her handmaids boiled for her every time Tywin visited her chamber was not anything magical or arcane.

It was an old recipe from the famed pleasure houses of Braavos—to prevent pregnancy. And it was working remarkably well. The maester had confirmed her fertility so she knew Tywin was probably doubting his own ability as the months continued to trickle by and she was yet to become pregnant. The thought made her laugh. As did the truth that Tywin would never get he had anticipated with the betrothal agreement he had signed with her father. She had decided that as soon as he had sneered at her on their wedding night and said, “I suppose you will do,” before taking what he needed from her body without care for her at all. And whenever he visited her bed, his hands were always too tight, too rough and would not relent even when tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He never stopped. He never cared. Even when his dislike of her as a person evolved to curling his hands into her arms and leaving her with swollen eyes and tender skin. He always made sure they were alone when he raised his hands to her, but he seemed fond of doing so whenever she ever disagreed with him.

She knew that other Keyholders thought her father foolish for her hefty dowry—a steep price to pay for pride. But her mother once said that while blood will open the door, clout will get you a seat at the table.

Her father had the gold to spare, she supposed. And she always wanted a kingdom of her own.

Now…now one was finally within her grasp. Even if it came with such a poor consort. That was what she told herself, anyway.

Just as she was dressed for the day, her chamber door opened again and a servant strode in, eyes darting around the gaggle of women as if searching for something to report. His mouth opened and he informed them all that Lord Tywin had been called to the Riverlands and left her in charge of Casterly Rock. She had heard whispers of the War of the Five Kings from high and lowborn alike. It was a shame that she was kept so far from the action she was so accustomed to at least witnessing with a spyglass from her chamber windows. The Keyholders often had a stake in the wars fought around Westeros and Essos. Having allies in positions of power meant they were in positions of power—and funding their successes meant that they had bargaining chips in collecting debts. Plus interest.

She almost smiled. Finally, a bit of intrigue.

Y/N took her seat under the canopy after dismissing her handmaidens and guards, telling them to treat themselves to a well-earned drink at a nearby inn as she noticed the incoming crowd of Dothraki, ‘escorted’ by a band of knights. She only let her eyes move to see Oberyn and Ellaria, the Dornish envoy, for a moment. Their reaction to her arrival had been just as unexpected as their presence. Dangerous. Dangerous.

This whole game was dangerous. And now the King in the North and the Dragon Queen had called for a temporary armistice for some strange reason.

“They tell me that the Westerlands have been flourishing.”

The voice at her side almost had her jumping. It was Tyrion, looking far more bristled than the last time she had seen him, when he had been carted away to the Black Cells. “Yes, well. Apparently I’m quite suited for the task.”

Tyrion’s answering smile was small and he nodded just once. “Yes, I suppose my father would have taught you well-”

“He had nothing to do with it.”

Casterly Rock was a delight to have to herself. Even the servants who would whisper her movements into her lord husband’s ear seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when each raven stated Tywin would be away from his seat of power for another fortnight and then another and another. When the Westerlands were being raided by Northmen, led by the adorably pugnacious King Robb Stark, she was happy to open the gates to allow some of the children and ladies of sworn houses to take shelter in the fortress and to give food and water to the knights and bannermen who made camp outside their walls before setting off toward battle.

She arranged marriages between houses and presided over small disagreements brought before her to settle. It reminded her of the time she spent with her dearest friend Bellegere at her famed pleasure house in Braavos and how Bellegere managed each and every bit of everything under her roof and made it all seem so effortless.

That was her kingdom.

And now Casterly Rock was Y/N’s, and she would let no one take it from her.

No one.

“You are happy, my lady,” one of her handmaidens said as they retired for the night. It had been two moons since Tywin had left her to play at war. “I have not seen you this happy since before we left Braavos.”

Y/N hummed and let her wipe the day’s dirt from her skin with a roll of silk dampened with cold cream. “I suppose I should start finding some sort of happiness, no?” She sighed. “Are you happy here?”

Her handmaidens nodded, varying degrees of smiles on their faces. “You know that we had no happiness in Braavos. You have given us hope, just as you have given these strange people hope, too.” They helped her into her sleeping gown and Y/N remembered the places she had plucked her handmaidens from. Cruel noble homes, cruel lowborn homes, temples with dark corners, merchant shops filled with bright tapestries, pleasure houses. Each of them found a new place beside Y/N. And she found friends with them, security and safety.

“We can find a home here,” Y/N whispered to each of them before bidding them goodnight. And she hoped it was true. She needed it to be true.

When the raven came, telling her to come to King’s Landing, she was hesitant to pack her trunks and arrange for the castellan to oversee the governance of Casterly Rock. But she had duties. And, despite knowing she was actively keeping herself from completing one of them, she knew she could not refuse Tywin Lannister. Especially after the Realm (or at least part of it) was hailing him as a hero for breaking the siege on King’s Landing and managing to gain the allegiance of the Reach—such a stupid name for a kingdom—for the Crown. So, she had her trunks packed with her fine gowns and made sure the guests she had allowed to stay in Casterly Rock would be looked after before having the traveling party readied for the trek across the continent. One of the knights, a man who reeked of strongwine and needed to trim his beard, spoke animatedly about the battles Tywin won across the Westerlands and Riverlands on behalf of his grandson, Joffrey. “For the betterment of the Realm,” the knight would finish each story. She doubted it. But she pretended to listen anyway. Y/N truly did not care to listen to the finite details or commit most of them to memory. What she did, however, notice was the distinct smell of piss and soured bread as soon as her wheelhouse and travelling party crested the hill just outside the city gates after several weeks of being confined to the wheelhouse or stuffy inn rooms.

“My lady,” one of her handmaiden’s muttered, “we are going to suffocate.”

Y/N patted her hand with a sigh before spilling a bit of perfume onto each of their kerchiefs to hold under their noses. “Perhaps they will have a garden where we can escape the stench.”

When they arrived at the Red Keep—and such an unimaginative name—she was almost pleased to see that most of the royal family and quite a few courtiers and servants had come to welcome them. Cersei, a face she knew well from the many portraits in the halls of Casterly Rock, only offered a quick sneer and an insincere, “welcome, Lady Lannister, to King’s Landing,” before she quickly left. Joffrey, the brat-boy-king if the whispers were true, looked suspiciously like his mother and also offered a sneer. Tommen was far kinder and offered to show her to her chambers but she declined, knowing that having a prince show her around like a servant would only gain her more ire from the queen dowager.

And then that left…

“Lady Stark,” Y/N said, stepping to the redhead’s side. Yes, she knew of Sansa Stark. The sad little Northern girl who saw her father’s head put on a spike—and apparently one of her brothers was one of the Five Kings running around causing amuck. How fun.

The younger girl curtseyed and murmured a soft hello. “I hope you find the capitol pleasing, my lady.”

She hummed and reached out to take Sansa’s and, wrapping it into the crook of her arm. “I doubt I will. But I shall like it if we were to become friends.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered across Y/N’s face and then to the small hoard of handmaidens behind her. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”

Weeks trickled by and Y/N found herself actually enjoying the company of the little wolf pup. She detested the Lannisters and had a quick but sweet wit when she was not in the company of Cersei or Joffrey who seemed to terrify her to no end. Y/N found it funny that Cersei assumed she would report anything and everything Sansa did while in her company. “What would you have her do other than enjoy a bit of tea and some lemon cakes? It is not as if you have given her duties beyond looking pretty.” Her handmaidens even told her that Cersei requested they report back anything they heard Sansa say.

“The poor girl,” they mused. “She is alone here.”

“Yes,” Y/N agreed, “and so are we.” And they were. They were still whispered about by servants and courtiers alike, their movements watched like a mummers’ performance and then hissed into the queen or the new Hand of the King’s ears. The only time they found themselves truly alone was when they were in the company of the Tyrells. Margaery and Olenna were gratuitous social climbers but at least they were smart and she did not feel the need to continue to play the dutiful Lady Lannister in their presence. They had no real love for the Lannisters aside from realizing that the golden lions were the true power in this stupid kingdom and knowing that they needed to at least have a few of them on their side. And Sansa seemed a little relaxed in their presence as well. After her betrothal to Joffrey was broken in favor of Margaery and the Tyrell gold, the young redhead was a tiny bit more…unclenched, especially after being pressed to detail the abuse she survived at the hands of the brat king. Y/N remembered gently wiping the tears away from Sansa’s cheeks after they left the Tyrells. Sansa had recounted her abuse at the hands of Joffrey and his mother. “It is over now, little pup. He shall not harm you again. I promise you that.”

Sansa only nodded and was still very guarded and it was smart to be so but Y/N was happy to see her smile a little more freely.

The smiles stopped when Tywin announced that Sansa was to wed Tyrion.

The girl cried and cried and cried. But only when they were alone and the lemon cakes she’d taken from the kitchen were only crumbs. Shae, Sansa’s handmaiden, always lingered after being dismissed. Y/N was sure she was another spy—but not for Cersei. But it did not matter. What mattered was the crying wolf pup in her arms.

“I can’t do it. I can’t,” Sansa cried, tears wetting Y/N’s dress.

Y/N could only shush her sobs, knowing that Tywin always had his due—well, almost always. “I will make sure you are safe, pup. I promise you that.”

Y/N stood, as she was expected to do, when Cersei entered the Dragon Pit and curtseyed as Cersei moved in front of her to take her own seat. The air was tense. Everyone was staring at each other, measuring threats with bated breath.

Y/N had been surprised to see Theon Greyjoy present—after all, it had been a Greyjoy fleet that had destroyed the ship that was carrying little Princess Myrcella back to the Red Keep from Sunspear. It had been a Greyjoy that had given the final push for Cersei to descend into her carefully curated madness. But, then again, Cersei had a Greyjoy of her own, too. Verbal volleys were made and Y/N might have enjoyed listening to the traded barbs but she continued to feel someone’s gaze on the side of her face.

She knew who was looking at her—it did not take any stretch of imagination or serious thought.

She knew.

And a dragon roared overhead.

“Take this, pup.” Y/N curled Sansa’s shaking fingers around the small bottle with an even smaller smile.

“What is it?” Sansa was beautiful in her golden wedding dress—beautiful and sad. Handmaidens had just finished twisting her hair into the ridiculous braids Cersei was so fond of and then scattered when Y/N and her flock of Braavosi women arrived. They had taken to dashing away when the Braavosi women arrived after Y/N had all but screamed at them when they would not let Sansa have a moment alone after news of the tactlessly named Red Wedding had reached King’s Landing. Her entire family—gone. Y/N would not see the little pup suffer for another moment.

It had earned her a busted lip and a sore wrist from her dear husband.

“It is a gift.” Y/N patted Sansa’s hand. “One drop will give you a night’s reprieve from your husband. The entire bottle will give your husband…a reprieve of his breath.”

Sansa turned and turned and turned the bottle in her hand. “Poison?”

“Yes, pup. And it is merely a precaution. I would not have you fear for your life in your marital bed.”

“Do you think Tyrion would hurt me?”

“He is the gentlest of his siblings, but it is never unwise to have a dagger up your sleeve.” Y/N stood and took Sansa’s hands in hers after watching her carefully tuck the bottle away into the folds of her dress. “Come, I am allowed to escort you to the Sept.”

“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei said through gritted teeth.

“My apologies.”

Y/N almost snorted at the complete lack of care in the Dragon Queen’s tone as she addressed Cersei for the first time but held a finger under her nose, attempting to hide her smile instead. But Oberyn did openly laugh, only stopping when Ellaria placed a hand on his thigh. When Y/N looked at them, eyes drawn to the pair like a moth to the flame, their smiles grew.

The sound around her died to a low roar. Y/N knew she should be paying attention—the meeting had been called with the premise of saving the Realm—but all she could see was them.

“I am not some lowborn trollop, husband. I will not be seen in anything other than the color that denotes my station.” Y/N stared down at the garish red and gold dress that her husband’s servants had placed on the featherbed just a few moments ago.

“Your station is cemented as my wife—Lady Lannister. You will wear your house’s colors and you will never fight me on something so frivolous again.”

“Oh? And what am I allowed to fight you on?” She retorted, feeling her upper lip curl in a sneer. “If not my clothes, what else? You have decided every bit of my life since I have arrived. Am I not allowed one bit of my home?”

Tywin reached out and struck her across the face. Pain bloomed from her eye to her jaw, throbbing in time with her hammering heart. “You would do well to hold your tongue. I have had enough of listening to your ungrateful words. You are the Lady of Casterly Rock—not a sniveling brat. You will wear this gown and I will not hear another word of it. Am I understood?”

Y/N only nodded, hand cradling her cheek and then Tywin swept from the room.

Silence washed over her like a wave in the big room. She stared down at the red dress. Gold lace lined the sleeves and there was even more of the gaudy lace around the neck—it would probably reach just below her chin.

It was a collar. Soft and expensive. But a collar, she realized.

“My lady?” She turned to see one of her handmaidens stepping in, a frazzled look on her face. “Are you ready for us to help you prepare for the wedding?” The girl’s eyes searched her face as if knowing something was wrong. “My lady?” She asked again when Y/N did not answer.

Y/N sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yes. And I believe we are running late.” She removed her dressing gown and let them start to tie her into the hideous gown. It itched. It did not move like the soft silks of Braavos. It was stiff and uncomfortable. It felt like a cage.

Perhaps that is what it was—a cage and a collar.

But she said nothing as she met Tywin outside his chambers and allowed him to grasp her hand and tuck it into the crux of his arm as he escorted her to the Sept. She said nothing as she took her place in the crowd. She said nothing as the stupid vows were exchanged and Joffrey named Margaery as his queen. She said nothing as she was led out to the grounds for the wedding feast. But she plotted. And her cheek throbbed.

She was seated on the raised dais at Tywin’s side but found herself slightly and strangely comforted by the fact that Sansa was within eyesight. When Tywin left her side to speak with someone—and she truly wasn’t listening nor cared who it was—Y/N quickly stood and walked to Sansa’s side, taking Tyrion’s vacated seat.

“How are you, pup?”

Sansa almost smiled. “Alive.”

“And that is half the battle, no?” She reached out and touched the girl’s hands. “Has he been kind?” Her head tilted just so to indicate Tyrion.

Sansa nodded. “I have no use of your gift yet.” They both sighed and looked out over the crowd. “Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions.”

“Yes, I suppose they are. But we have yet to attend one that is capable of making us smile.” She sighed again and looked back at Sansa, eyes catching the pretty, purple necklace around her throat. The jewels glinted…

“Careful with those, my love,” her mother chided as she pulled the little vials from her daughter’s childish fingers.

“What are they, Mama?”

“It was a gift,” Sansa said, providing an answer for the unasked question.

“From whom?”

“Lord Baelish.”

Y/N hummed and twisted one of the jewels between her fingers before letting it drop back against Sansa’s throat.

Y/N listened to Jon Snow blather on about saving the Realm, about how an army who doesn’t leave corpses was coming and could not be bargained with. Cersei had a few quips of her own and Y/N pondered if she truly needed to have shut herself into a wheelhouse for weeks to travel here just to listen to Cersei complain and foreign monarchs hardly disguise their contempt. But then Sandor Clegane emerged from the underground tunnel with a large crate on his back and the Dragon Pit grew quiet.

He set it down and…nothing happened, even as he removed the lid.

But then he circled back and kicked it over. With a scream, a creature emerged and ran at Cersei. Bone and dried skin and glowing blue eyes. That was all it was.

That and the terrifying scream.

“You look exquisite, child,” Lady Olenna said as she approached Sansa. “The wind has bit at you though.” Olenna glanced at Y/N in acknowledgement, bowing her head just a fraction before focusing on Sansa again, tugging at the ends of her pretty red hair. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother. War is war, but killing a man at a wedding? Horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing?” An aged finger traced against Sansa’s cheek. “As if men need more reasons to fear marriage.”

Y/N snorted into her chalice of wine and earned a wink from Olenna over Sansa’s head. But it was the next movement that truly caught Y/N’s attention. Olenna fiddled with Sansa’s necklace before inviting her and Tyrion to Highgarden just as the lion in question approached. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is time to enjoy this food I paid for.”

Y/N pulled Sansa back into conversation as Olenna departed and noted that one of the strange little gems was now missing from the necklace. What was Olenna planning? Whatever it was, it was sure to be more entertaining than the pretention of this wedding feast. She stood and had Sansa do the same. “Come, pup. It is time we acted like Lannisters, no?” She linked their arms together and led them toward the obnoxiously decorated grounds filled with more food and entertainment.

They both found little enjoyment in the contortionists or the musicians who insisted on playing and replaying The Rains of Castamere on a variety of instruments. But the food was mostly seasoned well.

“Tyrion tells me that a Dornish Prince is in attendance. He’s traveled all over Essos, perhaps he has been to Braavos?” Sansa asked as Y/N found her some lemon cakes and they sequestered themselves away in a dark corner while Y/N sipped on a bit of sweet wine.

“Oh? It would be nice to hear of my home from someone who knows it.” She almost smiled. “I must take you across the Narrow Sea, introduce you to my home. And maybe I can know Winterfell, too.”

Sansa’s smile was small but genuine. “I would like that.”

“But tell me, what is this prince’s name? Perhaps I’ve met him when my lord husband was parading around.”

Sansa wiped the crumbs from her face. “Prince Oberyn Martell.”

Jon Snow was a bigger idiot than Sansa had ever said he was in her missives. Openly proclaiming that he had sworn the North and bent the knee to the Dragon Queen while trying to broker a tentative agreement with an unstable lion was very, very stupid. He could have, should have lied and just agreed to the terms Cersei had laid out, keeping her in the dark about his true allegiance.

But no.

Apparently he had more Stark in him than sense.

Everyone had separated after Cersei had stormed away and Y/N found herself walking toward one of the few places she hadn’t seen anyone retreat to but then-

“Mama!”

Y/N turned and caught the child that had leapt into the air, knowing his mother would catch him.

A soft murmur of her name had her freezing.

He looked so similar. Barely anything had changed since the last time she had seen him, all too briefly nearly a decade ago. The same self-assured gait. The same sparkle in his eyes. The same charming half-smile that had her mirroring the expression without a thought.

“Hello, little Titan.”

And with the next breath she was younger, visiting her friend Bellegere on her mother’s fine barge, evading her duties for the day. “You are not who I was expecting,” came a voice behind her.

Y/N turned and arched a brow at the young man looking in the doorway. “Nor was I expecting you.” He was either lost or an esteemed guest if he had found his way to Bellegere’s private rooms. With his fine clothes and self-assured smile, Y/N wagered he was the latter. “Who are you?”

He introduced himself with a growing smile and kissed her on the back of the hand before turning her hand over and pressing another kiss to her palm. And the first time in months, Y/N giggled.

The prince was eventually greeted by Bellegere’s mother and he was just as flirtatious with her but did not seem too preoccupied with bedding the famous courtesan as many of her other clients had been lately. In between meetings with the captains of the Second Sons mercenary company, Oberyn was found frequently upon the barge—and Y/N always found herself invited, too. Whether it was by Bellegere or Oberyn, they always seemed eager to pull her away from her duties again and again.

Bellegere had been calm, as she always was with her mother’s clients (Bellegere knew she would one day be the Black Pearl of Braavos and took her training very seriously), but Y/N saw how the Dornish prince had her smiling into her hand after whispering something into her ear, a far cry from the demure tilting of her lips her clients usually coaxed from her while buying her attention and company.

Anyone who could make Bellegere, with all her practiced manners and carefully curated gestures, smile like that was truly a force to be reckoned with. But even when he was on Bellegere’s arm, he took care to include Y/N in their conversations, wanting her opinion. “I like the sound of your voice, little Titan.”

And that wretched, silly nickname. While he called Bellegere by her name, or “my Pearl,” he called Y/N his “little Titan,” a play on how Braavos was known for the hulking statue of a titan at its gates. She was not sure if she loved it or loathed it.

“Have you two been introduced?” Sansa’s question pulled Y/N from her reverie.

“Yes,” Oberyn answered for her with a wink. “We met years ago in Braavos.” It was an understatement. Every time the Second Sons were within a handful of leagues of Braavos, Oberyn made it a point to visit Y/N and Bellegere. There was nothing overtly carnal within their relationship. In fact, they all seemed to be closer friends than anything else. Bellegere was free to be herself in his presence and Y/N was, too. Oberyn was always happy to be their escort around the city and pay for their attentions as if he were any other client, but largely they spent their time laughing and speaking of the world beyond Braavos. He disappeared a few years later only to return to Braavos, older and angrier, to meet with Illyrio Mopatis on business he could not discuss with them. But he had been just as kind with them as he always had been—always a dutiful friend. The last time she had seen him, he had whispered about the death of his sister and her babies, of how she was cruelly killed while trying to protect her children.

It would not be until Y/N reached King’s Landing that she learned that it was believed that Tywin gave the order for his loyal dog, Gregor Clegane, to kill the Princess and her babes.

If Y/N had known that, she would have taken Bellegere’s offer of working on her barge instead of allowing her father to barter her away to Tywin. She never would have betrayed Oberyn like that if she had known. Truly.

But it was too late.

Y/N noticed the beautiful woman at Oberyn side. Surely there were songs sung about her gentle eyes. “But I have not met your lovely companion, my prince.”

Oberyn’s smile widened and he took the woman’s hand and pulled her forward just a bit, obviously filled with pride to have her at his side. “This is Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

Ellaria curtseyed, “my lady.”

Y/N returned the gesture. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ellaria.”

The woman glanced at Oberyn with a smile. “It seems you are one of the few who share that sentiment.”

Y/N waved it away. “The Westerosi have strange conceptions of honor and status.” She made sure to pat Sansa’s hand. “But there are a few who make it bearable.”

But then a noise drew all of their attention. It started with Queen Margaery screaming, “he’s choking!”

Joffrey heaved with stuttering breaths before collapsing. And the pieces were falling into place.

“You idiots! Help your king!” Olenna shouted. She was a good actress.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she watched a poorly dressed fool grab at Sansa’s arm and try to lead her away. Without moving her head, Y/N reached out and snatched Sansa’s hand. “Stay, pup. You know not what you do.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered between the Fool and the Lion on her arm and then pulled out of the man’s grip.

Satisfied, Y/N turned to watch Cersei scream and scream and scream as her firstborn turned purple in her arms and Tyrion was carted away by a pair of white cloaks. What a pretty painting that would be. She took another sip of wine.

“It is almost as if you were avoiding me, Little Titan.” He still smiled as if no time had passed since their last meeting. But the easy expression faded as he looked down to the small boy in her hold.

Slowly, Y/N set her son down and brushed a bit of dirt from his cherubic cheek. “This is my son, Morgan Lannister.”

Oberyn’s hand shook as he reached out a hand toward the dark haired boy. “Pleased to meet you, little lord.”

Morgan smiled up at Oberyn, bright-eyed, as Oberyn’s finger traced over his brow. “You are Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell! Mama tells me stories about you—about your adventures across the Narrow Sea. And how you slew a mountain!”

“The Mountain, my dear boy,” his mother gently corrected.

“Hardly appropriate bedtime stories,” Ellaria chuckled.

“He likes to know when the hero prevails.”

Little Tommen looked so small when he sat on the throne. He was so…kind. So little. That stupid chair was too rough for his gentle soul. But she clapped when he was proclaimed king and smiled when his bright eyes caught hers, a nervous smile on his lips.

“He will be a fair king,” she heard someone whisper as the clapping and cheering continued. “Kind.”

He would be ruled by Tywin. Y/N knew it to be true. The young king was far easier to manipulate—and perhaps Olenna was anticipating that detail, too. Hm. Olenna versus Tywin in a battle of wills. That would be interesting to watch.

“You are contemplative, Little Titan.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of Oberyn’s voice whispering in her ear. They had frequently sought out each other’s company for the last handful of days, meeting in the sunny gardens to reminisce about their time together in Braavos and learning of their adventures during their time apart. Ellaria had proven to be a true, steadfast friend and Y/N was grateful to know her and hear her stories of her childhood at Hellholt in Dorne. And she wanted to hear what Oberyn thought of this newest pretentious display of power but her eyes darted to see Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys far too close for her liking. While she could rely on knowing where the various servants and Westerosi handmaidens to always whisper the ludicrous stories she had concocted into Tywin and Cersei’s ears, she was not sure how to handle the two men who were arguably more intelligent. “We have a new king,” was all she said. “Long may he reign.”

Oberyn’s nose wrinkled for a moment, confused by her response, but nodded as he noticed Pycelle glance in their direction. “Yes, long may he reign.”

She wanted so badly to simply speak with him. She was alone in the capital. Tywin had dismissed her handmaidens and sent them back to Casterly Rock, replacing them with women from the Westerlands who had once been Princess Myrcella’s maids. He was making sure she was alone. Y/N rolled her shoulders as she watched Tywin approach her. He held out his hand for her to take and she dutifully placed her hand in his, letting him guide her up the small set up steps and dais toward the ugly throne. Tommen’s face broke into a smile as she approached and curtseyed. “Lady Lannister.”

“Your Grace,” she replied. “May the Seven bless your reign,” she repeated the words she had heard droned over and over, knowing the little king found comfort in them even if she thought it ridiculous.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Tywin squeezed her arm and she bit back a wince as he led her away. His grip only tightened the further away they were from the mass of celebrators and they only slowed to a stop for a moment, in a dark corner of the hall for him to hiss in her ear, “you will retire to your chambers, immediately.”

Over his shoulder, Y/N spotted Oberyn slipping into the hall, his dark eyes narrowed at the scene. “Of course, my lord.”

But his grip only tightened. “I will not have you making a spectacle of yourself and my house’s name.” Tywin’s long fingers finally pulled away from her skin and he signaled for two white cloaks to flank her on each side. “Make sure she is waiting for me. Do not let her leave the Tower of the Hand until I have come for her. Am I understood?”

Y/N could only gape at her husband as two pairs of unfamiliar, armored hands grasped at her arms and started to pull her away.

And when she was all but shoved into her chambers in the cold tower, Y/N knew she would be facing the old lion’s wrath.

Time trickled by slowly. The tower she had been told to call home was quiet. No servants. No handmaidens (she would not be surprised if they had been told to vacate that morning). No lower-ranking Lannisters begging for a bit of attention.

She was alone.

And she waited.

A glance outside her chamber’s window let her know that the two guards were still standing sentinel at the entry to the tower. Maybe she had become a character from one of those songs children were so fond of—a princess in a tower, waiting for a knight to rescue her.

But she was not a princess.

She was a daughter of Braavos. And she was tired of waiting for something to happen to her, for continuing to allow things to happen. She was going to make it happen.

“My lady, I am so sorry,” an out of breath handmaiden sprinted to her side and looked down at the little lord. “He ran off when I turned for just a moment.”

Y/N looked down at Morgan who offered a guilty smile. “I missed you, mama.”

“I was only gone for a moment, little one,” Y/N murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek and winking at the handmaiden, letting her know there was no harm done. Her son was hard to contain on the best of days. “We have talked about being patient, no? I will never leave you alone for long.”

“But Septon Martyn said you were…umm…” his little face scrunched up, searching for words. “I forget.”

“That’s okay, little one. You’ll remember later.”

“But did you see a dragon?” He nearly screeched, dark eyes lighting up.

“I did. And it was beautiful.” She bent and set him back on his little feet. “But you have to promise mama something, yes? You have to stay with Septon Martyn and Tyanna until I am finished.”

Morgan’s bottom lip jutted out and his gaze moved to Oberyn who was looking down at him with an intense fondness that made her sigh. And Ellaria was at his side, a gentle and curious affection in her gaze. “But what if I want to stay with Prince Oberyn?”

Y/N knew to protect her head even before she passed the first stone step. Down, down, down she fell, limbs smacking against the stairs and bannisters until she came to an abrupt stop on the cold ground. The ceiling swam as she finally opened her eyes.

Within a handful of pained breaths, blood coating her teeth and tongue, she watched Tywin loom over her. He had leisurely walked down the winding stairs, uncaring of how he had tried to kill her just moments ago. But perhaps he knew she would survive. This was simply a warning.

“You are a disgrace. You are my wife. I will not be made a fool of any longer. You will not be seen dallying with some Dornish tart prince or his whore. You will not cavort around as if you truly belong here. You do not. You have not earned your place yet.”

“What do you want?” She asked, tongue heavy in her mouth and blood coating her throat. “What do you want?”

“What was promised to me. I do not know what potion you’ve conjured or trick you have conceived, but I will be given an heir. Or I will have your head on a pike.” His thin lips curled into a sneer, the closest she had ever seen to him smile, before he stepped over her crumpled form and out into the sunlight.

And she let herself wallow for just a moment, only until the ceiling stopped spinning and then she rolled onto her side with a wince and grunted as she pushed herself up onto unsteady feet.

“If you want an heir, I’ll produce an heir.” The vow was snarled into the quiet air of the tower.

Y/N watched little Morgan toddle away, his hand firmly clasped in the handmaiden’s, babbling excitedly about dragons and princes. And then her eyes once again found Oberyn and Ellaria, both also watching the little lord walk away.

“He looks like you,” Ellaria said with a smile.

“Yes. A small blessing, I suppose.” She watched Oberyn’s smile widen and he unsuccessfully hid it behind his hand.

A sudden movement caught their gaze and they realized that Cersei had come back, apparently ready to parley with the Dragon Queen.

A cold cloth was pressed to the swelling of her cheek.

“How cruel, to hurt someone so beautiful.”

The scent of the pleasure house was almost comforting; filled with expensive perfumes and burning incense, it was a welcome reprieve from the stench of the city. But all Y/N truly cared about was how soft Ellaria’s touch was and how gentle the other woman was, even after Y/N had bodily climbed in through the window of their room and collapsed onto the floor.

In a strange stroke of luck, the pair had not been entertaining themselves with another person’s (or multiple people) talents and time. And perhaps she truly did look worse for wear if the pained looks and surprised noises they let out when she lifted her head were any indication.

Ellaria had quickly called for a servant to bring what she needed as Oberyn easily hid Y/N’s crumpled form in their warm bed from any prying eyes.

“I am sorry…” Y/N said, “I am so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Oberyn asked as he took a seat beside her. Gentle fingers pressed at broken skin at her hairline and he frowned. “You escaped your gilded cage and sought safety with us—there is nothing to apologize for in this instance, Little Titan. You have trusted us. There is no higher honor.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and continued to clean the cuts and calm the swelling around her face. “But how you managed to evade all those gold and white cloaks is surely a tale to tell.”

Y/N smiled but regretted it when pain bloomed across her entire face and Ellaria tutted as a bit of blood bubbled from a scab. “I do doubt it is anything worthy of repeating. Just a bit of Sweetsleep in some wine and hoping for the best.”

“It took you five days to think of Sweetsleep?” Oberyn teased but there was still a clear undertone of concern in his voice that made her heart clench. They cared.

She had a plan, true. And if they agreed vengeance could belong to all of them. Tywin had taken enough from them. “It took me five days to muster the courage to come to you.”

The simple sentence took the air from the room. Ellaria’s gentle touch paused and Oberyn grasped her hands, careful of the injuries. “Tell us, Little Titan. Tell us what you need.”

Y/N looked to Ellaria first and then Oberyn. “It is my lord-husband.”

“I knew it,” Oberyn said, looking to Ellaria who nodded. “I knew he would. He destroys everything he touches. Everything.”

“And I need to let him think he has—just for a few moons longer.”

“Why? Why wait? I can kill him now and be done with it-”

“I want to kill him,” Y/N said, voice steady. “But I want to take away everything he has created. Everything he has worked for, killed for. I want it all. And you are the only ones who would be able to truly take it from him, the only ones I trust.”

Ellaria and Oberyn looked at each other again before turning back to her. “What is your plan, Little Titan?”

She knew Cersei was lying when she said that she would send the Crown’s forces to aid in the fight against the Night King. But it seemed Jon and Daenerys would take her at her word.

Stupid mistake.

As the small crowd dispersed and Y/N continued to play the dutiful peon with a final curtsey, her mind churned. While Cersei had most of the Westerland armies at the capital, some had been allowed to keep to their posts in their homeland. They were Y/N’s to command. And she knew they would listen.

She would not stay in the capital. She did not care if Cersei had expected her to stay. She did not care if the polite thing would be to at least graciously decline the rooms probably readied for her presence.

She did not care.

Her son was in the city. And a war was coming.

The Dragon Queen and Jon Snow were trustworthy. Y/N did not care if the wrath of Cersei was turned on her after this—she could handle Cersei, if needed. But the Realm needed Dragons if they wanted to survive. Daenerys seemed much more reasonable and willing to listen than Cersei ever did so she would not mind if the petite Valyrian sat on the Iron Throne after the dead were dealt with. But that came first.

The small entourage Y/N had arrived with was waiting dutifully by her wheelhouse, also tired of the city, it seemed.

“My lady,” A soft voice said, gaining her attention.

Y/N turned to see Ellaria waiting patiently just outside the Dragon Pit. “Yes?” She took a moment to glance around and see that they were largely alone. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own retreat to pay them any mind.

“We must speak with you.”

Y/N gave one last look to her son, watching him laugh so easily at something a handmaiden whispered into his ear. For now, he was safe.

Y/N turned and linked her arm through Ellaria’s, once again finding an easy comfort in the other woman’s warmth. “I am all yours for a few moments, my lady.”

“Lady Lannister, what a sight you are!”

Y/N bit back the snarl at Maester Pycelle’s exclamation. Despite tending to her bruising, swelling and broken skin for nearly a fortnight, she still looked a fright. She knew it. But it was another thing for an old man in tattered rags to announce it so loudly.

“It is nothing. A servant spilled a bit of wine near the stairs and I did not see it. A careless mistake.”

Pycelle nodded. “Yes. Careless. But you should thank the Seven that you are still able to fulfill your earthly, wifely duties.”

Y/N felt her hands curl into fists and tucked them behind her back, ignoring the ache the movement caused. “Yes. Duties.”

Tyrion’s trial had finally started and Y/N was expected to attend. She retrieved Sansa from her locked chambers—a stark contrast from the Black Cells where Tyrion was kept—and had escorted her to the Great Hall, half a dozen kingsguard surrounding them. She had only a moment alone with Sansa in her chambers before she knew she would draw suspicion from the guards waiting outside the door. “You will need to lie, pup.”

“But-”

Y/N grasped Sansa’s chin in a loose grip but her eyes were hard. “You will lie, Sansa. Your life depends on it. I can only keep you safe if you do.”

“What would you have me say?”

“That you knew of Tyrion’s hatred of his nephew but you did not think he would go so far as to poison him.”

Sansa’s blue eyes watered but she nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good, pup. Then you shall be just fine.”

The entire Great Hall was packed with spectators and she took a seat toward the front, near the dais as Margaery’s side, and Sansa had been relegated toward the back, being treated like another accused instead of a witness. The whole thing smacked of Cersei’s bias.

But Y/N held her tongue, watching as Tyrion was escorted into the hall in heavy chains, and stood as Tommen did, following the rest of the crowd. Tywin briefly looked at her, a smug look on his face as he saw the black and red gown she wore—the stupid garment had been the only garment in her chambers that morning. He was not subtle.

“I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals, First Men, and Rhyonar, lord of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, protector of the realm, will serve as judge in my stead. With him, Prince Oberyn of the House Martell, and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. If found guilty, may the gods punish the accused.”

As Oberyn moved to take his seat, he caught her eye for just a moment—and that look was all she needed to remember to breathe.

As person after person provided “evidence” against Tyrion, Y/N started to wonder if she would ever be able to leave this stupid hall. There was a slight reprieve in her sheer boredom when Sansa was called forward and she gave testimony that Tyrion did not care for Joffrey but she could not be sure if he truly poisoned his nephew. Her blue eyes glanced toward Y/N for her final words, “but I would not be so bold as to completely clear him of guilt or conspiracy.”

And that proved enough for Tywin to dismiss the little pup and let her retake her seat—without the small troupe of guards surrounding her. Sansa had been deemed innocent.

But this farce of trial was far from over. It continued on and on—and even included an appearance from Shae, who was apparently Tyrion’s lover. How quaint. Oberyn easily saw right through her lies and made nearly everyone present squirm with a double entendre. Y/N hid her smile behind her hand and ignored the blood bursting from her healing lip.

But the joy was short lived when Tyrion exclaimed, “I demand a trial by combat.”

Oberyn was waiting in a dark hollow of the dragon pit’s crumbling walls and drew both Ellaria and Y/N into his arms. He kissed Ellaria slowly and then pressed his warm lips against Y/N’s pulse. It sent familiar shivers down her spine.

“You are planning something, Little Titan.”

“As are you, my prince.”

Ellaria sighed. “You two are impossible.”

Y/N ducked her head with a smile. “A fair assessment, my lady, but I do not think you would enjoy us half as much if we were not constantly scheming.”

“You know the lioness will not honor her word,” Oberyn cut in quickly. His grip tightened around them.

“Of course not. She will wait for the Night King to both wipe out her enemies and then try to fight him herself, or attack after the battle is won and their numbers are depleted.” While Cersei thought herself Tywin’s true heir in manners of warfare and plotting, the only true manner she had inherited from her father was her inability to forget a slight. “I will not stand by and wait for the dead to reach Casterly Rock. Not while my son is…” the words died on her tongue.

But Ellaria grasped her hand and squeezed it tight. “You have something to fight for. We all do.”

“Dorne will fight beside you. We will fight for the living.”

“It is for luck,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Even the bravest in Braavos drink it. I have not seen a single man who drank this fall to his opponent.”

“I do not need to drink your potion to kill the Dornishman.” Of course, Ser Gregor Clegane would say something like that. His reputation and his (stupid) moniker of The Mountain might have been well earned but that did not mean Y/N any higher of him. In fact, his inability to think for himself when Tywin gave an order only made him smaller in her eyes.

Easy prey.

But that did not mean she would let Oberyn handle him on his own.

Y/N raised the cup a little higher, pressing a worried expression to her face. “It is more for my nerves, my lord, I assure you. I have heard of your prowess even across the Narrow Sea. But please,” she reached out to place a hand on his arm, a pretty picture of genteel worry, “calm my heart.”

Gregor nearly sneered as he took the cup and drained it in one gulp. “For you, Lady Lannister.”

Y/N reached out to take the cup back with a quick dip of her chin and another smile. “I thank you, Ser Gregor.”

She handed it off to a handmaiden and then let herself be escorted to her seat under the canopy, sitting aside her husband. She watched Oberyn and Ellaria speak to Tyrion under their own canopy, happily drinking wine and eating berries. The confidence they had in Oberyn was palpable—and for good reason. But Y/N never did like to watch an even match.

It was too boring.

Pycelle prattled on about how the gods would decide the fate of the trial by combat and soon the two men were engaged in battle.

Oberyn delighted in each blow and catch of his spear into the Mountain’s hulking form and made sure Gregor knew who his opponent was. “I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.” Another catch and parry. “I'm going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.” Another clash of blades. “Say it. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children.” Y/N watched Clegane stumble, nearly fall to his knees, as Oberyn landed a kick to his hulking form.

“You murdered her! You killed her children!” Each word out of Oberyn’s mouth grew louder and louder.

Even over the din of the crowd starting to roar, Y/N heard Gregor’s shuddering breath as he struggled to his feet and his grip seemed to loosen on his broadsword.

Oberyn sank the end of his spear into Gregor’s side and quickly gave another, dodging a loose-gripped swipe of The Mountain’s sword at his neck. He stepped back only to watch the giant of a man stumble with a smirk. Oberyn charged at the Mountain to give him one final blow. Blood spurted out of Gregor’s mouth as Oberyn pulled his spear back.

The earth itself seemed to rumble as Gregor finally fell to his knees.

“Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no. You can't die yet,” Oberyn mocked. “You haven't confessed. Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!” Oberyn lifted a hand and pointed toward Tywin.

And for the millionth time since Oberyn had arrived in the city, Y/N had to hide a smile.

“Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children. Say it. Say her name. Say it!”

Y/N did not move her gaze from the ring, uncaring of Tywin’s reaction. She would remember how the crowds gasped and started to murmur. In a single moment, the rumor that had almost been forgotten had been reignited. She was not surprised to learn that Oberyn had declared himself Tyrion’s champion when Gregor was called in for the crown.

And she wanted to make sure Oberyn was given at least a small bit of justice.

But Gregor could not answer. He fell forward, more blood pouring from his mouth, arms shaking to keep him from completely collapsing.

“Tell me!” Oberyn roared. “Tell me!” He leaned down to listen to something The Mountain said, whispered only for him to hear. But when he stood, Oberyn swung his spear and buried it into the Mountain’s head.

Y/N, Ellaria, and Oberyn plotted to move their loyal forces for only a little longer, keeping both the Dragon Queen and Crazed Lioness from overhearing. But soon-

“Mama! Mama!” And for the second time that day, Y/N was nearly leveled by her son throwing himself at her legs.

“We must work on your patience, my love. I was nearly finished.” She hauled the squirming boy into her arms and kissed his cheek. “We shall have supper at the inn but the hill when I am finished, hm? They have that pie you like.”

Morgan happily nodded and squirmed again, wanting to be let down. As his little feet hit the broken stone, he turned to look up at Oberyn and Ellaria, smiling wide. “Hello again, Prince Oberyn!”

Oberyn smiled and leaned down to Morgan’s level before gesturing to Ellaria who smiled fondly down at him. “This is Ellaria Sand, the love of my life.”

Morgan’s little hand reached out to Ellaria and he pressed a quick peck to her fingers, much to her delight. “My lady.” His following bow only continued to earn giggles.

Y/N watched Oberyn as he observed the little scene. His face was serene yet sad. And she knew why.

“You have a viper’s eyes, little lord.”

Morgan preened at the compliment despite not knowing what it meant. “Thank you, Prince Oberyn!”

King’s Landing was a powder keg.

After ‘the gods’ deemed Tyrion innocent, he fled in the night. But Cersei continued to rage and rage and rage, still offering a hefty sum for Tyrion’s head on a platter. Tommen and Margaery were married in another lavish ceremony and the Tyrells continued to press their influence over their city and the new king, only pushing Cersei further toward the edge. Tywin would hold daily meetings with the Small Council and with Lady Olenna, trying to keep the precarious balance of power decidedly in his favor.

And all that distraction proved very fortuitous for Y/N.

“Oh please, please,” she gasped as Oberyn continued to move.

Ellaria chuckled above her before moving Y/N’s mouth back to between her thighs. Y/N had always been very talented with her tongue. It was something Ellaria was happy to learn.

“Patience,” Oberyn said in a breathy huff. “You are always so greedy.”

But Y/N simply buried herself further into the soft patch of curls between Ellaria’s thighs as Oberyn canted his hips just slightly, letting her feel him nearly in her stomach.

They had done this every day—and almost every night—as Tywin was distracted.

Oberyn’s warm, calloused hands curled over Y/N’s thighs, anchoring them around his waist as his pace grew faster and faster. And Ellaria sighed, holding Y/N’s head still as she found her high and coated Y/N’s lips with her release—sticky and sweet.

“Are you nearly done, my love?” Ellaria’s voice was raspy and she did not move from her seat on Y/N’’s mouth, even as she shook with overstimulation. Y/N was greedy—Oberyn had rightly branded her so. And Ellaria tasted so good. “You do have a meeting to attend.”

Oberyn huffed but his pace did increase and the coil in Y/N’s belly wounded tighter and tighter, for the third time that morning, and then finally snapped as Oberyn groaned before leaning forward to press a kiss to Ellaria’s kiss-slick lips. Warmth bloomed and Y/N shook.

Yes. King’s Landing was a powder keg. But it was delicious.

And when Y/N passed the Small Council chamber later that morning she nearly snorted as she heard Tywin say, “You look tired, Prince Oberyn.”

And Oberyn, ever the viper, responded, “yes, my lover and I are trying for another child. I have heard you are trying for another heir, too, no?”

When the next morning came and Tywin left her bed, let him be for a moment before readying herself for the day. She slipped into his chambers and put on her dutiful-wife mask, one she had worn so well for the past handful of moons.

“I will be speaking with the Maesters this morning.”

“Oh?” Tywin responded, buttoning his tunic.

“Yes, I have been feeling poorly and I have missed my last moon blood. I am hoping I will have good news for you soon.”

Tywin was quiet for a moment before he hummed. It almost sounded happy. “You will tell me immediately what they say. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lord.” She pulled his Hand of the King pin from atop one of his trunks and handed it to him. “I would have Sansa as a ward. King’s Landing has only made her a scared little thing—she will cow in front of the Northmen she’s supposed to rally to your grandson’s cause.”

“And you believe you may shape her into something-”

“Someone who will command respect and is loyal, my lion. Your daughter, for all her charms, was not suited to mold someone as gentle as Sansa. Her children were born with a steel core. Little Sansa needs a gentle, shaping hand.” Y/N slipped her arms around Tywin’s shoulders as he adjusted the pin over his heart. “I know you have an allegiance with Lord Bolton who you have named the Warden of the North in the Starks’ absence. The Northmen’s loyalty to them is tenuous at best. I know you strive for peace. If you could arrange for Sansa and the Boltons to find common ground, I know it would give you a small bit of reprieve to know you no longer had to worry about the North revolting. Again.”

Tywin froze—just for a moment. “Perhaps you aren’t as useless as I had been beginning to suspect.”

Y/N only smiled.

And after having the Maesters confirm that she was with child, she knew Tywin would come to her bed chamber again. She offered him a cup of wine in celebration and watched him drain it as he smirked. And she let him undo the laces of her dress. She let him pull her chemise over her head. She let him press her down into the pillows.

And then he paused. His eyes screwed shut with a pained groan. Tywin fell to the side and Y/N happily climbed over him.

“What…have you done?”

Y/N felt the slash of a smile grow across her face. “I have taken everything from you.” Her hands folded over her stomach. “You have only moments to live. But life grows within me. And your line has ended.” She watched the light fade from his eyes before forcing tears into her own. She let a few trickle down her cheeks for maximum effect before climbing off her husband’s lap and pulling on a dressing robe before dashing to the door and flinging it open. “My husband, please! Please someone help my husband!”

“Does he know?” Oberyn asked quietly as he helped Y/N lift little Morgan into the carriage. The child had fallen asleep at the table, nearly tipping over his prized pie. A day full of excitement had worn him out. He had caught a single glimpse of a dragon as their traveling party departed the city and had animatedly recounted the story to anyone and everyone who would listen. Oberyn and Ellaria had quietly followed.

“He knows his father is a brave, strong man. Who is loyal to his word, devoted to his family, and a hero for the ages.”

“Does he believe it is Tywin?” Oberyn asked, his fingers brushing the dark hair away from his son’s forehead.

“I believe he is smart enough to understand it is not.” She paused. “He is heir to the Lannister seat of power. He will hold everything Tywin worked so hard to build and protect. But the Lannister bloodline has ended. Yours will continue—yours will hold his seat of power until the gods deem this world finished. House Lannister is now your blood—your son.”

“But will he know the truth? Will he ever know me as his father?”

“Of course,” she said with a small smile. “When the time is right, and I know he can keep this secret, he will know your name as his true father. He will know you, love you.”

“And you? What of you?”

“What of me?” She repeated. “What would you need of me?”

Oberyn and Ellaria locked eyes for a moment before their penetrating gazes moved back to her. “We will want you as well.”

“Me?”

“We will always want you.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, trembling for the first time in decades. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Gone were the washes of gaudy crimson fabric and she was once again permitted to drape herself in black. She was a widow now. Perhaps that suited her. And now that Tywin was dead, she saw no reason to stay in King’s Landing. Tywin, before his tragic death of a bad heart, had announced to the court that Y/N was with child. It had only cemented her status as the true ruler of Casterly Rock.

Before she departed, Cersei called her into her chambers for tea. It was the most civil Cersei had ever been toward her and it was still laced with unsubtle threats and verbal barbs.

“The newest Lannister. A new brother,” Cersei mused, her eyes pointedly looking at Y/N’s stomach. “I hope they look like father.”

“I do doubt they will look like Lannisters.”

“Oh?” Cersei said, mouth tilting just so. “Are you so sure?”

“I do not look like a Lannister, your grace. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Yes, but the seed is strong-”

“Not strong enough. I assure you. The babe will look like me. After all, it seems you have taken all the luck and used it on your children—all of them, green-eyed and golden-haired. What are the chances? Hm?” Y/N finished her tea and stood. “I thank you for the company, your grace. But it is time for me to leave.” And Y/N turned and left without being dismissed, a smile on her face all the while.

And she left. She left without saying goodbye to Oberyn and Ellaria—her only friends in the city. She left knowing it would hurt them. But trying to find a moment to find them, to explain, would only cast suspicion on the paternity of her child. Because she knew she would not be able to stop herself from falling into their arms one last time.

Sansa gave her a small smile as they both settled into the wheelhouse and soon they were off.

Months slipped by and the pregnancy was largely uneventful.

She had kept her distance when she had heard of the Greyjoy attack on Myrcella’s boat and the princess’ death. She kept all the sword hands she could within the borders of the Westerlands when Cersei seized power from the Tyrells after the mysterious death of Tommen. She declared herself queen and threw Margaery into the Black Cells, threatening to send her head to Olenna if the Reach rebelled. She had played the part of careful, dutiful Lady of the Rock very well. She had kept Cersei’s eye off her kingdom and focused on the threats she perceived from across the Narrow Sea or the North.

Sansa had been a dutiful student. When Lord Bolton asked if Sansa would be willing to marry his son, Ramsey, she accepted, even knowing the boy’s reputation to be cold and cruel. Crueler still after the mysterious and suspicious death of his father.

But he never touched Sansa. No. On their wedding night, Ramsey fell ill and then never woke.

But Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell again—a Stark was in the North.

And it was so easy for the North to rally to her cause and the North rose up in revolt again. It made Y/N laugh.

But soon the baby was coming—far sooner than she had anticipated. With a final scream, it was over. A baby’s cries filled the air and a bloody, squirming infant was placed in her arms, wrapped in black silk.

“A boy, my lady. A healthy boy. Have you thought of a name?”

Y/N felt tears start to gather in her eyes as she looked down at her son—her beautiful son. The spitting image of her—but then his eyes opened. And he had his father’s eyes. Viper eyes. “His name is Morgan.”

Y/N’s lips still burned from the kiss Oberyn and Ellaria left her with before they departed.

And her heart was lighter, too. They had forgiven her—had said there was nothing, truly, to forgive. “You were protecting your child. My child.”

Morgan stirred in her arms as the wheelhouse rode over a bump. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

His viper eyes opened and she smiled, seeing them shine in the low light of the evening. “Will we see Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria again?”

Her smile widened. “Yes. I can promise you that.”

Please let me know what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @huliabitch @revolution-starter @starlight-starwrites

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #asoiaf

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casualreader1234 · 3 years

Text

Reunion

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

An: Part two of the random story idea I had. I think I'm just going to keep the same summary each time because I'm too bad at writing them. I tried to make this gender-neutral, and I don't think I wrote anything that would imply a particular sex, but let me know.

Summary: What if you weren't the hero of the story? What if you were the villain meant to burn the world down?

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warning: Morally gray protagonist, violence

Word Count: 2k

[Part 1], [Part 2]

This gif is so funny to me.

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When you had first arrived in the U.S, you had been intrigued by tales of the infamous Black Widow, a former Russian assassin turned good, that was enough to catch anyone's attention. To satisfy your curiosity, you had tracked her down, wanting to see her for yourself. Watching her from afar, you understood why she was considered one of the best in her field: her movements always flowed into the next like she was performing a dance.

She easily disposed of her targets, strapping her weapons back onto herself. Seeing the completion of her job, you left the ledge of the building you had been standing of before she could see you. Slipping into the shadow, you had to admit that your interests had been piqued by the assassin.

///

You had always known that your girlfriend had been hiding secrets, but this one was far more exciting than you had thought. Never had it crossed your mind that Natasha might also be involve in the assassin industry. For such a planet, what were the chances of two assassins meeting and starting a relationship without either being the wiser. You weren't sure if that made her exceptionally good at her job, or you exceptionally bad at yours.

Asking around to some of your other contacts, you learned more about the KGB and the Red Room program that had trained Natasha, wanting a glimpse into her childhood. Disgust and rage filled you when you learned about the operation. They had hurt her, so you had made sure they all suffered for their crimes. Then, you returned back to America.

It was the reason you had stayed all these years. She was the reason. Though you've known where she's been all this time, you never revealed yourself. Maybe it was out of fear. Maybe it was out of shame.

It hadn't surprised you that Natasha decided to work for SHIELD. You've also known that she had a good heart, but it did make things more complicated.

She was one of the good guys now. If she ever crossed paths with you, she would be forced to face you as an enemy. So, for both of your sakes, you avoided doing things that would get SHIELD attention, carefully selecting jobs that would run under the radar. You had been careful, erasing most of your tracks, yet here you were, chained down to a table in a SHIELD facility.

Natalia-no-Natasha stared down at you. You unconsciously cringed under her intense gaze.

" How are you darling?" You asked, breaking the thick silence and giving her a small smile. "I must say, you look as stunning as always. Did you do something to your hair? It seems to be shorter."

Natasha didn't reply, instead shaking her head angrily. " What the hell, (Y/n). What are you doing in the U.S?"

Her harsh tone almost made you flinch. “ Here to visit my beautiful girlfriend? I've really missed you.” You tried, feeling a bead of sweat roll down your neck. Natasha may not have any powers but damn was this woman scary when she was mad. Flattery wasn't going to work on Nat though, her face stone cold as she looked down at you.

"That doesn't answer the question, milyy (darling)." She replied with a strained smile.

Tony watched the exchange with a slack jaw, eyes looking like they were going to pop out of his sockets from shock. “ I’m sorry? You know this criminal Nat?”

Your head snapped to the man, jaw clenching. “ Nat?" You sputtered at the intimate nickname. "Who gave you permission to call her Nat?” You swiveled back to look at Natasha. “What is your relationship with him?” You asked accusingly.

Natasha rolled her eyes, turning to Tony. “ Don’t call me Nat, Stark. And this idiot here is (Y/N).”

"Yeah, her [girlfriend/boyfriend] ! " You added helpfully.

The look Natasha gave you was deadly enough to silence you again. She turned her attention back to Tony, " Do you want to fill me on what's happening Stark? I return from a mission and hear from Steve that we had caught a mutant, but I wasn't even aware that we were after one." You frowned at the fact that had she referred to you as a mutant, but chose to ignore it.

Tony shrugged, acting like a bratty overgrown child," No, I don't want to." Natasha's jaw clenched and you decided to lend a helping hand.

Tendrils of black suddenly snaked around Tony, pining him hard against the wall behind him. His eyes widened, shooting to the origin of the magic, seeing you now unbounded and smiling widely at him, the handcuff hanging loosely off the table. Standing up, you rubbed at the red marks on your wrist left by the binds.

"Better answer her, Mr. Stark, I wouldn't want to get on her bad side." You threatened, eyes turning pure black for a split second.

Tony desperately looked at Natasha for help, but she stayed steadfast, unmoved and patiently waiting for him to answer. Realizing that no help was coming, he relented. "Fury got tipped off about some assassin that had been piling up bodies all across the U.S and North America. At first we dismissed them as the work of sporadic killers, not linking the deaths together until we got another tip about them being a mutant. We had Wanda examine a few of the bodies and she confirmed that magic was the cause of death. Since then, we've had our eye set on a contracted killer who went by the alias Reaper. A few weeks ago, we got a hit on their last location, and from there, we planned our trap."

Realization dawned onto you, " You put a bounty over yourself!" You exclaimed with a chuckle, thoroughly impressed by their commitment. It was a good plan, one that you hadn't even considered. Of course, if it had been any other week, the plan would've failed.

Every time you used magic, there was a backlash. The magic was deep inside you, a part of your very being, but it didn't stay that way willingly. The black flames were a dark and ancient form of magic, one that could only be wielded by a select few. Long ago, many groups had tried to master the arts, but most failed. The magic was powerful, more than anyone really knew, and only grew more so as it consumed more energy. Magicians didn't as much wield the magic, as they did subjugate it.

Candidates trained for years in preparation for the infusion, getting their body ready to handle massive amount of energy. When they were deemed ready, they would be exposed to a pure form of the magic. The flames would consume them and their screams could be heard for miles. Most people who entered the last trial end up dead, completely consumed by the magic. A few though, came out stronger. Instead of being consumed by the flames, they had somehow consumed the flames, magic now flowing through their veins.

Even then, the magic inside of wielders fought against their vessels, constantly trying to escape. The ring you wore helped you control the magic inside, absorbing some of the power and trapping the rest of the flames within you, where it couldn't escape and grow any stronger. But every time you took off the ring, you unintentionally let the magic grow, and when it finally returns back to you, the fight inside gets a little tougher.

Normally, it didn't affect you much. You had been trained since childhood to control the magic, so you could go hours with continuous magic use without any major repercussion. But the past month, you had really tested your bounds, toeing the limits of your control. This inevitably degraded your mental state, leaving your mind a little hazy. This meant you were a lot more impulsive and less observant, something that played in favor to SHIELD's trap. You knew you shouldn't have taken the hit on Tony, especially due to your exhaustion, but you had let your excitement of possibly seeing Natasha blind you. Nevertheless, the current situation didn't really worry you anyways, although you made a note to deal with a problem later.

"And why wasn't I informed of this?" Natasha pressed on.

"Don't take it personally. You're area of skills weren't required for the job, so you weren't informed. Simple as that." Tony plainly stated, clearly sensing the Russian's agitation.

You had to stifle your laughter at the irony. If Natasha had been assigned to the case earlier, you probably would've been captured much sooner.

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek, obviously deep in thought as well. " Release him, (Y/N)." She finally said and you happily obliged, but not sliding you ring back on, letting the flames surround you in a hazy aura incase you needed to react to any threats. Tony let out of breathe of relief as your magic retreated, but you could see that he was still a bit shaken up, the effects not fully wearing off.

"Hey are you alright darling?" You asked concernedly, ignoring the wobbling man when you caught Natasha looking a little pale. Walking over to where she was, you reached out a hand to lightly caress her cheek, the flames retreating as it reached her. You hesitated for a split second, unsure of how she would react, but Natasha leaned into your touch. Her eyes met yours. It was the same bright green that you dreamt about, and they looked even more dazzling up close. She smiled up at you and it was like all the years you've spent apart hadn't happened.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She whispered reassuringly and you smiled too in relief. “ What does Fury want with the (Y/N)?” She asked Tony, but her eyes didn't leave you.

“ The same thing we do to all threats. We either eliminate or imprison them .” He answered, voice indifferent.

Natasha turned to him, much to your dismay, “Why can’t we accept them into SHIELD?” she offered instead.

Tony, who had thought your weird relationship with Natasha was the strangest thing that could happen, couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You want to let an assassin into our ranks? Are you crazy?! Did you already get your hands on the vodka shelf?” He stammered.

Natasha gave him a dark look, one that sent a chill of excitement down your spine, “I was an assassin too Tony.”

Tony didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, but he didn’t need to. The door to the room swung opened again, this time a larger blonde man marching in. You recognized him from your intel: Steve Rogers-Captain America. Behind him, you saw several heavily armed agents behind him, their guns trained on you.

Natasha whipped around at the sudden intrusion, surprise flashing across her face. " Steve." She said warningly, noticing the same things you did, but Steve didn't let her finish, already throwing out his shield in attack. The metal was launched at you, cutting through the air faster than the eyes could follow.

You easily caught it, magic stopping it mid-flight.

You sighed at his pathetic attempt, " Mr. Rogers, don't you know it's rude to interrupt? You can't just come in here, guns blazing, and shield flying." You reprimanded, lazily throwing the shield back to the man. Steve tried to catch the shield, but was knocked back by the sheer force of your throw. The men immediately behind him stumbled back in shock as the 6'1 super solider crashed into them. Those who were left standing quickly recovered and upon realizing that their first line of attack had been beaten, prepared to shoot. They found themselves unable to. Fear had crept up on them during the ruckus and now they were unable to move as your magic seeped through them. With a simple wave of your hand, the black flames around you attacked and within seconds, all the agents, including Cap, dropped to the floor.

"What?" Tony gasped in horror, and for the first time, he seemed to truly understand the extent of your power.

"Relax, they're not dead. I just knocked them out for-" You pretended to check your wrist for a watch, " -a while. I don't know, I usually don't wait around for the people I knock out to wake back up."

Natasha was staring in shock at the pile of bodies by the door and you saw something indistinguishable in her eyes. A distinct chime echoed off the walls of the room, drawing your attention to your phone in the corner. You walked over to it, Tony looking like he wanted to stop you but was too terrified to. Picking it up, you read the message silently. Shouting could be heard getting louder, footsteps pounding towards you as alarms blared.

"Looks like that's my cue to leave." You announced to Natasha and Tony. " Sorry to cut our reunion short Talia."

Natasha stepped forward, blinking out of her shock. "(Y/N) wait-!" She began.

"Don't worry, I think I'll be staying a little bit longer in New York. We'll see each other soon my love." You promised, picking up one of the fallen agent's guns and shooting out the lights until you were enveloped in pitch darkness. Then, before the backup agents could arrive, you melted away into the shadows.

///

You emerged from a dark alleyway in some shifty part of the Bronx. Pulling out your phone, you replied to Matt, your associate, declining the new job he had sent over, informing him that you would be taking a vacation for a while.

Seeing Natasha had reminded you of how much you actually missed her, and you didn't want to just leave New York yet, not when you barely had the chance to catch up with your lover.

But first, you had a snitch to catch. Someone had tipped off SHIELD about you. Someone who knew you about your power at that. You couldn't let someone so dangerous live.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Powers of Reader [Will be updated as more information is learned about Reader]

-Ability to set fear in opponents

-Ability to melt into shadows (teleportation like: goes into one shadow, pops up somewhere else)

-Magic flames that kill people(?) and knocks them out(?)

-Major simp for Natasha (special skill)

#natasha romanoff #natasha x you #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel fanfic series

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maracujatangerine · 2 years

Text

9. Lost Property

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

Previous - Next

“Do you need anything, Colton? Any food, or water?”

Col looked at her in surprise. “I’m fine, Ma’am. Thank you,” he mumbled.

“You’re not hungry?” Then, after a few seconds of silence, she prompted, “Col?”

“Y-Yes, Ma’am.”

“Cory?” Linden called softly, just loud enough for the pet to hear. “It’s time for dinner.”

A pause. “Th...thank you, Sir. But this pet really doesn’t deserve any.”

That was what he wanted, right? Patheticness? But to its confusion, Linden just looked at it and shook his head.

“Nonsense, you have to eat. Do you wa- are you able to sit at the table?”

From his place on the floor, Cory shook its head vehemently. “If… if you please, Sir. Pets belong on the floor. T-this pet knows its place.”

Those grey eyes watched him fearfully, reminding him that the pet probably expected a reply.

“It’s alright.” Linden tried. “You are welcome to eat at the table here.”

Coriander just watched him apprehensively, seemingly trying to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible.

“P-pets do not eat at the table, Sir.”

Linden was suddenly thankful that he had overcome this fear with Col. Seeing Cory refuse so intensely, he felt as if having Col at the table was a real milestone. In the present, however, Linden gave in. He handed the spoon and the bowl to Coriander and placed the tumbler of water on the floor next to him. To his great relief, the pet proceeded to eat daintily, but with a healthy appetite. He had no problem handling the cutlery, at least.

Linden proceeded to eat the dahl by hand, absentmindedly shaping the mixture of rice and stew into perfectly sized bites. He watched Cory swallow past the leather wrapped around his throat.

Wearing a collar even indoors, not being allowed to eat at a table. What kind of person would set these rules? The pet’s owner had seemed decisive, but not necessarily cruel. First impressions could be deceiving, though. Would Lydia impose similarly arbitrary and ridiculously strict rules on Col? And how would he take it?

Tag list part 1:

@cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#lydia and linden #linden and colton #lydia and coriander #pet whump #pet whumpee #caretaker #rescue whump #recovery whump #box boy #box boy multiverse #box boy whump #bbu #box boy universe #whump fic #conditioned whumpee #whump #original writing

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alia-turin-fanfiction · 3 years

Note

I love your writing so what do you say about writing a fic where Caranthir and Imlerith live in a double marriage with one girl? How a day would look like for them?

Pretty please

Hi Nonnie. So I'm actually not sure if I can really go down that path and I will tell you why - Imlerith and Caranthir are the two creatures that I cannot being 'tied' down in a marriage, let alone in one where they share. In my own HC if they are bot attracted to a woman to the level where they would be willing to spend forever and ever with her, they both would be very possessive (in different away) and even obsessive.

However with that said, I do totally see them sharing someone if no feelings are involved so if that is around your ally (and I think it is) read below.

Warning: NSFW, asphyxia

Caranthir watched as Imlerith was whispering something in the servant’s ear and she somehow managed to giggled and blush at the same time. He found that an interesting combination, giggling would imply some sort of entertainment, blushing - embarrassment. How could you be entertained and embarrassed at the same time?

The two of them had been drinking and talking in one of the common areas in the palace. Imlerith was doing most of the drinking and talking as per usual Caranthir was keeping his thoughts mostly to himself. The servant girl had walked in and out of the room a few times, bringing drinks and excusing herself out until the next time she walked in. Every time she appeared Imlerith would look at her as if he had just found his next meal. Caranthir knew very well what would follow. He had witnessed that more times than he wanted to remember, with servants, just some random tavern girl or even a nobleman’s daughter.

The girl was already sitting in Imlerith’s lap and he was placing soft kisses down her neck. That was something Caranthir would never understand, neither from Imlerith, nor from Eredin...what was the point of teasing her, she was obviously willing, might as well move onto the main event and not waste time. At the end of the day it wasn’t love, for anyone involved and this will most likely be the first and last time for everyone involved. But while he viewed that more as a business transaction, he had a need, the woman had something that could satisfy the need, he was aware that mostly everyone else did not view it that way.

“I will leave you to it.” he finally said as he finished his drink and got off his chair.

“Wait.” Imlerith said as he almost moaned in the girl’s neck. “Join us. You want him to join us, right?” he asked her, but not him. He didn’t want to join them. Why would he even be interested in that? The girl looked at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining and then she nodded. She was pretty, he could not deny that. Long dark hair, big eyes, if anything Imlerith knew how to pick them.

“Not interested.” Caranthir was about to step away as Imlerith started taking off the dress from the servant. Her dark hair falling over naked shoulders, her body being exposed to him, with Imlerith’s large hands ravishing her tender skin. Despite his words he watched, his eyes fixed on the sight in front of him. Imlerith smiled and as annoying as that was, Caranthir could not move.

Caranthir made a step back to his chair and sat down, the tightness between his legs becoming a bit too obvious.

“I meant closer.” Imlerith finally said as he had completely undressed the servant.

“I think I am fine where I am.” Caranthir smirked. “You going to fuck her, or talk to me?”

Imlerith laughed. He wasn’t sure why Caranthir had decided to play but whatever. The kid could certainly use some fun time to get rid of the massive stick up his ass. He knew very well why he was keeping his distance, he knew that getting him actively engaged in that whole thing would be close to impossible.

“Let’s show him what he is missing.” Imlerith smiled as he slid his middle finger in the servant and she moaned. She was already so wet he was finding it hard to take it slow and wanted to just throw her on the table and fuck her unril the wood could not take anymore and crushed under the two of them. His free hand grabbed her throat and made her look up, exposing her body for Caranthir who was just sitting there with his usual bored expression. Imlerith pushed a second finger in her, feeling the tightness as she started moaning louder. Humans were so small and fragile, something he found entertaining. He could probably wrap his arms around her and squeeze the life out of her if he wanted, she wouldn’t even be able to struggle against his grip, He chuckled. He pushed a third finger in her, her legs violently kicking against his, her body trying to arch in every possible direction with pleasure. Caranthir was still sitting in his chair, watching, but not moving. Sometimes Imlerith could swear the man was of ice or was an actual corpse deprived from any feeling that could make him feel alive.

Imlerith was finding it harder to control himself. As much as he wanted to test how far the girl could take it or when Caranthir’s cold demeanor would break, he couldn’t wait forever. He pulled his fingers out of her and she moaned in displeasure, tired eyes looking at him in confusion but he gave her a wide grin. He pushed her against the table, her fragile body slamming hard against the wood. She tried to turn her head toward him, but Imlerith grabbed her hair and forced her to look at Caranthir as he used his free hand to pull his pants down. He didn’t give her any warning as he pushed his length in her, her back arching from the pressure.

“You had to pick the one place that would hide the view.” Caranthir chuckled and before Imlerith could understand what was happening the table moved underneath the two of them and slammed against the wall to his left. The servant almost fell, but his reaction was faster and he grabbed her wrists, pulling them behind her back and making her bend over.

“Well, enjoy.” Imlerith grinned and increased his pace positioning her hands so he can wrap one of his hands around both of her wrists. Her whole frame was so small, even like that he had a stable grip on her and if he squeezed hard enough he could probably crush her wrists for good.

She could barely realize what had just happened, one moment her body was pressed firmly against the table, next moment the table was gone and all that supported her was Imlerith’s grip around her hands. As much as the position was uncomfortable - her hands being pulled back, her body bent, her feet the only point touching the ground she could not complain. With every thrust of the larger elf her mind sank deeper in the feeling of pleasure. She did her best to lift her head and look the sorcerer in the eyes. One eye, the other one was hidden under his pale hair but she could still see the shine in it. She could not believe how different these two were, Imlerith had pulled her to himself and she was more than happy to oblige. He was touching her, kissing her, even when he was rough, the contact with her body never broke. Caranthir had been sitting there all that time, she wasn’t blind she could see the excitement between his legs, but he did not even reach with his hand there, he just looked at the two of them unmoved. Servants talked. She knew the Red Riders were different in almost every aspect. Scarier, rougher around the edges...Imlerith was definitely the later, the Navigator….servants talked. One of the things they said was that whatever they did to Navigators to allow them to travel through space and time broke their minds. She wondered if that was the case.

Suddenly Imlerith let go of her hands and she leaned forward, her palms hitting the stone floor the rest of her body following. She turned back annoyed, but she had no moment to even form a thought as he was back on her, this time his hands on her hips as he pulled her closer with every thrust he made. She could almost forget the other man in the room. Imlerith slid one hand between her legs but the moan of pleasure that was about to come out of her mouth suddenly died. Her throat felt tighter, air was just not flowing to her lungs as it should have. She turned toward the sorcerer in panic and for the first time tonight she saw an actual grin of satisfaction on his lips. His right hand was raised at his eyes level and his finger was making circular motion. With every circle his finger did she could feel the tightness around her throat growing. It felt like rope, but it was also freezing cold, she could not decide what was more uncomfortable, the tightness around her airway or the chill. Her mind was divided between Imlerith pushing her closer to her orgasm with every thrust and circle of his own fingers and the sheer panic that she might be strangled to death. Eventually her body won over her mind, she came around Imlerith, she would have probably screamed if she had enough air to do so, but all she managed to do was collapse down as the elf behind her came violently.

It took her a moment to gather her thoughts, but as soon as the world made a bit more sense she realised that the tightness around her throat was gone.

“Come here.” The Navigator said and she tried to get up, but he made a dissatisfied sound. “Hands and knees.”

She didn’t need more details to understand what he ment. She crawled to him as Imlerith made a mocking laugh from behind. For a second she had forgotten her place, but they were both too quick to remind her.

When she reached him she knelt between his legs, a screeching sound distracted her - Imlerith pulled the table almost to the spot where it was and he sat on it, naked, his chest still rising and falling rapidly from the effort he had been inputting just seconds ago.

“Come on.” the larger elf encouraged. “Show him what he missed.”

She hesitated. Imlerith had been...easy. She knew he was dangerous, she knew his reputation, but she also did not need to guess what he wanted. The Navigator…

She pushed herself up and reached for his face, trying to remove some of the hair that was covering it, but he grabbed her wrist and squeezed hard. Her skin still tender from Imlerith’s grip she groaned. Despite the fact she stopped her she could see the scars covering his skin. They weren’t like Imlerith’s - his were blade or similar marks, Caranthir...that was something else.

“He grows on you despite his ugly face.” Imlerith mocked from behind.

She wasn’t sure what to do, Imlerith had kissed her before he started undressing her so she reached Caranthir's lips but this time his hand grabbed her throat. His palm felt cold, almost dead against her skin.

“No.” Was the only thing he said as he forced her back on her knees and positioned her head at his crotch.

She understood what he wanted, her fingers started working on the laces of his pants, her hand shaking a bit from the way Imlerith had been holding her. Once his cock was free she started licking teasingly, to her surprise the elf made no sound, she had to look at him to ensure he was even enjoying it.

“He likes it, don’t worry.” Imlerith laughed from behind her again. Just now she realised she was naked as he was watching this time pleasing the other man.

She tried to ignore the awkwardness of the situation, focusing on taking his length in her mouth as best as she could. Ignoring the lack of response. She moved her head up and down for a few minutes until she felt a hand in her hair. She tried to look up, but Caranthir had not moved an inch from where he was, his hands relaxed. Imlerith, however, was kneeling next to her, his fingers buried in her hair. He started controlling her motion, pushing her head as deep as possible until tears started coming to her eyes.

“Can’t even make her please you…” his words came out somewhat distant and the Navigator’s response was a grunt. She could feel him fighting with his own need to puck in her mouth, and the more he struggled the harder Imlerith pushed on her head until eventually she could taste salty liquid on her tongue.

Only then Imlerith released his grip and she found herself again on her hands and knees gasping for air. As she was trying to ease her body, the Navigator got up, she lifted her eyes and watched his tattooed fingers tie his pants again.

“Leaving?” Imlerith asked behind her as he petted her head almost gently.

“I’m sure you can continue without me.”

#my writing

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scxrsgxrd · 4 years

Text

Listen To Daddy // Bill Skarsgård

After a week of writer’s block this just came to me, so rather than forcing any other pieces I thought I’d copy this up before the idea left me :) thank you all so much for your patience, I hope everyone enjoys this and I’d love to know your thoughts!

WARNINGS: 18+ mature language, daddy kink, degradation, spanking, oral sex, sex.

She lay on the sofa, a soft blanket covering her as she gazed at the television screen in front of her, barely paying attention to whatever movie was playing. She had other things on her mind. From behind her, Bill’s thumb reached over and stroked down her jawline before grazing across her bottom lip. She was positioned between his legs, her back against his chest as she began to fidget slightly, innocent enough for Alex, who was at the other end if the couch, to not notice.

“Enough.” Bill murmured into her ear, his tone was harsh as he forced a cushion between his crotch and her behind. If it would've been just her and him she’d have whined and begged for him to allow her to touch him, to take him into her mouth. But instead, all she could do was huff and attempt to ignore the worsening ache between her legs.

As the time began to pass even slower, she found that trying to ignore her arousal was futile, and it was further frustrating that Bill’s attention was firmly on the movie. When his hand gently tapped her shoulder her eyes lit up as she sat up straight and gave him her best doe eyes, but this excitement was wasted as he stood up slowly and stretched out his long legs.

“You want a glass of water sweetheart?”

She frowned, oh how she frowned, and shook her head. A pout formed on her lips as strolled to the kitchen, the faint sound of glasses clinking then Bill gulping as he helped himself to a tall glass of water.

Then, she had a thought. If Bill wasn’t going to pleasure her, she’d pleasure her damn self. She was wary of Alex’s position on the couch, so she pulled the blanket up to her chin and slid her pyjama shorts down to her ankles. From her position on the couch she could just about see Bill in the kitchen, he was leaned against the counter, scrolling through his phone with one hand while the other held the glass limply in his fingers.

She took a last glimpse at Alex, his eyes were darting between his phone and the television, perfect. Slowly, she slid her hand down her stomach, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth as the apprehension was almost too much for her. Her fingers began to slowly circle her clit, rubbing harsh circles as her eyes fluttered closed, the relief of her pent up tension made her teeth sink harder into her bottom lip. It had been days since her and Bill had last fucked, and she had tried her best to sympathise that work had been particularly trying for him, but this sympathy was lost when he had told her she was forbidden from touching herself.

Her middle finger slowly ran up her slit, collecting the arousal that had began to pool before she gently slid it inside her warm entrance. The immense feeling made her head tip back, and she had completely forgotten how incriminating this would look if Alex happened to look over. She was so lost in her own ecstasy that she didn’t notice Bill pace over to the couch, his eyes blazing as he watched her not only pleasure herself, but pleasure herself in front of his brother.

He cleared his throat, loudly.

Her eyes shot open, her heart dropping to her stomach when she saw the look on Bill’s face, his eyes were darkened and his lips were firmly pursed. She swore she saw a vein almost pop out of his forehead as his eyes flicked between her and Alex. Bill stood there, unmoving, his eyes fixed on her as his jaw clenched tightly.

Alex seemed to be able to feel this tension and, not one to question his brother about his intimate relationships, rose to his feet and grabbed his jacket.

“Thanks for the movie.” His smile faded into a look of confusion as Bill didn’t acknowledge him, his eyes were still burning into the woman lied on the couch in front of him. After a few seconds Bill waved his right hand, gesturing for Alex to let himself out as he breathed out deeply through his nose.

When the front door clicked shut, she gulped.

“I’m sorry, daddy. I really am, I didn’t mean to-”

“Do you think you’re clever?” His voice was gravelly, a few octaves lower than usual as he grabbed onto her cheeks, his fingers turning white as he tightened his grip.

“No, no daddy I don’t.” She squeaked, a lump forming in her throat as he removed his hand, taking a few steps back to study her.

“Then what is it huh? There must be a reason why you were behaving all slutty in front of my brother.” His head cocked to the side, prompting her for an answer.

“I-I just.. I was just so achy and I needed you but you were busy.” She whined, holding out her arms for him but he firmly shook his head.

He was silent for a few seconds, his intense gaze not leaving her.

“Touch it, then. Touch your little cunt while daddy watches you.” He stepped back over to the couch, ripping the blanket off her to give himself a full view.

“But I want to touch you.”

“No, you wanted to touch yourself. So go on, I’m waiting.” He folded his arms and watched as she slowly began to rub circles into her swollen clit once more, small mewls leaving her mouth as pleasure began to course through her once again.

“Mhm, that’s right. Now fill up that tight little pussyhole.” Bill commanded, his pants beginning to tighten as he watched her insert her middle and index fingers with ease, her arousal was glistening on the leather sofa beneath her as she began to feel her stomach flutter.

“D-daddy, I-I’m-.”

“No, don’t you dare.” Bill hissed, watching intently as she removed her fingers and looked up at him, her eyes brimming with desperation.

“Oh honey, you didn’t think I’d make it that easy for you, did you?” He sneered, taking a hold of her forearms and hauling her up from the couch. She gazed at him, all of her senses beginning to tingle at once as she awaited his next instruction.

“Turn around.”

She obliged, allowing him to straighten her arms out and place her palms against the cold wall in front of her before resting his hands on her hips, his fingers digging into the fleshy area as he pulled her rear end towards him until he was satisfied that her ass was sticking out at an appropriate angle.

“You,” He began as he started to unbuckle his belt, the jangling sound of the buckle sending shivers down her spine, she knew what was coming.

“You’ve been such a little brat. And you know how daddy feels about brats.” The belt was now in his large hands, his fingers running up and down the soft, expensive leather before he folded it over and grazed it across her pert ass.

“I’m sorry daddy.” She whined, but he laughed. This laugh wasn’t a comical laugh, no. This laugh was mocking, and almost cruel.

“Too late for that kitten. You’re only sorry that daddy caught you. Now, listen to daddy, and listen closely.” He leaned forward, the bulge of his jeans pressing against her ass as he pressed his lips against her ear, the sensation making her whole body tingle.

“You’re going to stand there and take your punishment like a good little girl. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you. Trust me sweetheart, you’ll want to obey me this time.” A primal growl left him as he took her ear lobe between his teeth, nipping at it before dragging his hand agonizingly slow up the side of her thigh.

All she could do was nod feebly.

“You remember your safe word kitten? Tell me what it is.” His voice was now a little softer now, and he placed a light kiss behind her ear.

“Peaches.” Her voice was almost a whisper, her legs were trembling with anticipation of what was to come.

He chuckled once more, running the belt alone her ass for a few seconds to allow her to adjust before her punishment was delivered.

Thwack

She grimaced and shot forward slightly when he landed the first blow, breathing out slowly as she edged herself back into position as Bill impatiently tapped his foot against the hardwood floor.

“The longer you fuss, the longer it’ll take.” Bill held onto her hip with his left hand, holding her in place as he hit her with the belt once more, the bright red mark on her ass cheek making him hum as it became more pronounced with each smack.

She bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes brimming with tears as another thwack sound filled the room, the skin on her right ass cheek was searing as bill ran his hand along it gently, feigning sympathy with a small “N’aww.”

“I-I really am sorry, daddy.” She whispered, her words getting caught in her throat as he raised his hand and brought it down against her ass cheek, causing her to jolt against the wall once more.

“Have you learned your lesson? You will not, not, touch that little cunt in front of anyone but me. It's mine. Do you understand?”

“Yes, daddy. I’m sorry, I understand.” She sniffled, wincing slightly when she felt him bend down behind her and kiss over the red raw skin gently.

“There’s a good girl.” He murmured between kisses, snaking his hand between her thighs. A large smirk appeared on his lips when he felt along her slit, her arousal pooling around his fingers as he ran them up and down her entrance.

“Mmm, you’re not fooling me. You liked that, didn’t you? You liked having daddy’s belt? What a dirty, little slut you are.” Bill purred, rising back to his feet and spinning her round, rubbing the ears away from her cheeks with his hands.

The truth was, she did enjoy it. She was almost relishing in her punishment after days of barely having his attention at all. Their dynamic pleased her more than anything, she knew she could trust him completely and that he’d never dream of taking advantage of this, she had long dreamed of a partner who understood her; and she had finally found him.

“I want to please you daddy.” She mewled, reaching her hand out to palm him over his jeans, but he smacked her away.

“I don’t think you deserve daddy’s cock after the way you’ve behaved tonight. It’s too good for a disobedient little girl like you.” Instead, he began to palm himself over his jeans, tipping his head back slightly as the tension between his legs increased.

“Daddy please!” She almost yelled, but Bill chuckled and shook his head. He took hold of her wrist and began walking upstairs with her. When they reached their bedroom Bill knelt her down on the edge of the bed while he stripped himself of his clothes, kicking them into a pile in the corner of the room.

She gawked at him when he made his way over to the bed. He was completely hard, his tip was an angry shade of crimson and pre-cum was already leaking out of him. The sight made her almost salivate.

“I wouldn’t get so excited if I were you.” Bill positioned himself in front with his back against the headboard, his legs splayed so she had a full view of his throbbing cock.

She pouted. “But-”

“But nothing. You’re going to sit there like a good little girl while daddy touches himself. Understood?”

Reluctantly, she nodded. She knelt up on her knees slightly, her ass was still extremely tender and made it impossible for her to settle comfortably.

Bill held out his hand, tapping under her chin. She leant her head down and spat into the palm of his hand, watching helplessly as he wrapped his hand around his base, moving it slowly upwards towards his tip and squeezing gently.

“Mmm, fuck.” He groaned to himself as a slight portion of relief washed over him. She watched as he continued this action, pumping his hand faster as a string of long, throaty moans left him. His hips began to buck slightly as he ran his thumb along his tip, inhaling sharply as she knew he didn’t have long left, the vein running down to his base was popping out as he continued to drive his hand up and down, twisting in a clockwise motion and calling out various profanities.

“Wrap that pretty little mouth around daddy’s cock.” He growled at her, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead as small curls of hair stuck to them. She sprang into action, kneeling between his legs and attaching her lips to his tip and swirling her tongue round and round him until he hissed.

She smiled to herself. Her head began to bob up down him, appreciative moans and mewls leaving her as she took great pleasure in finally having him in her mouth. Bill’s hands flew into her hair, grasping it tightly as she allowed him to touch the back of her throat, his eyes rolled to the back to his skull and his mouth fell open as she rubbed her hand along the part of him that couldn’t fit into her mouth.

“Such a good little girl sucking on daddy’s cock. I’m almost there, sweetheart.” His voice cracked slightly as his whole body tensed up, and a few seconds later she felt the warm, salty liquid hit the back of her throat. She swallowed the whole amount graciously, flicking her eyes up to meet his.

“C’mere.” Bill extended his arms out, his hands reaching under her arms as he hauled her onto his chest, his lips meeting her forehead tenderly as she curled up against his warm frame.

They lay like this for a few seconds until Bill stirred, running his index finger along her jawline.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you kitten, you’ve done so well tonight.” He praised her, as he was always sure to do after a hefty punishment. She gazed up at him longingly, the ache between her legs was still yet to subside.

“I want you to fill me up daddy.”

“I know you do princess.” He chuckled and shifted her off him, laying her down on her stomach and spreading her legs apart. She felt him place a kiss on her shoulder before running his hand over the stinging mark on her ass, making her hiss quietly.

“Daddy’s going to fuck you real good little girl, and then he’ll take care of you.” He kissed her shoulder once more before lowering his hips down, running his tip along her entrance before edging himself inside her. Instinctively, her walls clung to him as she let out a small wail, trying to push her ass back against him as he was taking a painfully long time to fully enter her.

“Patience.” He mumbled, pushing himself into her tight hole until he completely filled her. He stayed like this for a few seconds, causing her to fidget beneath him and whine, begging him to do something.

Then, he granted her wish.

He began to slam into her, his hips rolling against her ass as she cried out, the feeling of him scraping against her walls was so intense she knew she wouldn’t last long. She felt Bill prop her right hip up slightly as his hand slid underneath her, his middle finger pressing against her clit as he began to rub figure of eight shapes against her.

“Is my little girl gonna cum? Huh?” He cooed as her moans became choked and her hands gripped tightly onto the bedsheet, she was surprised it didn’t rip with the amount of tension she was putting it under as she grabbed and pulled on the sheet.

The dealing blow was when she felt him hit her cervix. With a loud yelp she almost flew off the bed, writhing beneath him as he continued to rub her clit and thrust into her with the same rhythm. Her walls clenched tighter and tighter around him as she edged closer and closer to her orgasm.

“D-daddy, I’m going to-” She didn’t even have time to finish her sentence before she came, her lower body arched off the bed as she felt every muscle in her body contract. She whined and whimpered as her orgasm wrecked her body, leaving her a panting, shaking mess underneath Bill.

Both the sounds and sight of her falling apart beneath him drew Bill nearer to his own release, and the feeling of her tight walls contracting around him made him suck in a sharp breath before taking a fistful of her hair and spilling himself inside of her.

He slowly pulled out of her and rolled her onto her side, studying her face as her eyes were wide and sparkling while her cheeks flushed.

“Thank you daddy.” She breathed, a small grin playing on her lips as he kissed her cheek. He reached over to his nightstand, rolling the top drawer out and producing a small tube of cream.

He rolled her back onto her stomach before squeezing a small amount onto his hand, lathering it over the welts on her skin, careful not to put her into anymore discomfort as he rubbed the cream in softly.

When he was satisfied with his efforts, he put the cream back and lay down next to her, allowing her to rest her head on his chest as he wove his fingers through her soft hair. These moments were his favourite. He loved nothing more than to take care of his little girl after having his way with her, and hearing her content hums made his heart swell.

“You did amazingly tonight, sweetheart. You made daddy so proud.” He babbled to her, kissing the top of her head and breathing in her sweet, fruity scent. She could barely respond as she was utterly worn out, so he pulled a blanket over them both and traced small patterns down the length of her arm until he heard small snores leave her mouth.

He had never cared for anyone in the way that he cared for her. She was everything to him, his little girl.

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