#I reach out a hand for you to shake in allegiance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beingsuneone · 1 year ago

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The One

SYNOPSIS: it would’ve been fun. If he would’ve been the one.

FANDOM: Harry Potter

PAIRING(S): Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

RATING: G

CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Goyle, Crabbe, Draco, Theo, Pansy, Enzo, Blaise, Tom, Voldemort

GENRE/AU: Angst, Unhappy ending, Arranged Marriage Au!, reader is married to Goyle (not by choice),

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

WARNINGS: Angst

A/N: *cough* the 1 by Taylor Swift was my inspo. *cough* header and dividers made by me. I would also like to make a part two to this. Note: Voldemort/Toms son Tom Jr who looks exactly like him! (Pre-Voldemort)!AU hope this helps.

DEDICATIONS: the people who voted for him in the poll :)

CREDITS: N/A

The silver band on your finger glistens in the bright lights of the wedding hall, looking anything but enticing; instead of a symbol of love and comfort, it was like a shackle that tied you to a man you didn’t love forever.

Your eyes scan the crowd for the millionth time this evening, trying to seek out a pair of familiar brown eyes— your heart drops for the millionth time this evening, and you realize all over again that no matter how many times your eyes search for his, it will not make him appear.

He won’t come, you know that now as your new husband leans over to ‘kiss the bride’.

You try to wipe the disappointment off of your face, let go of his messy brown curls and smooth words, his rough hands and intoxicating scent.

Mattheo Riddle wasn’t yours to think about anymore; the man in front of you was.

Why your father thought a marriage alliance with Gregory Goyle would help your family, you’ll never know.

Worse, Goyle was, at one point, at least a decent friend of yours; You, Mattheo, Draco, Theo, Enzo, Blaise, Tom, Goyle, and Crabbe, used to strut around Hogwarts like you owned the place— let’s be honest, you damn near did. You and your protective group of Slytherins.

You allow your lips to touch Goyle’s for only a moment before you pull back and smile cordially; the two of you walk arm-in-arm down the aisle until you reach the doors at the end.

The moment you’re through, you push him away.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He says sadly. “If I could have said no, I would have.”

You shake your head, not even listening. “He didn’t even come, Goyle. I thought he’d at least try.”

Goyle sighs. “It wasn’t up to any of us. Not even Mattheo.”

Your eyes sting so you force your face to go deadpan and stare at Goyle. “I will always love you as a friend, Goyle, but I will never love you as anything more.” You say, retreating towards your dressing room.

He says nothing in return. He doesn’t need to. The feeling is mutual.

You enter your dressing room and release a strained breath, resting your head against the door after you close it.

Taking a deep breath, you allow yourself to daydream; to think what this day would be like if Mattheo was the one wearing a suit, the one saying his vows and sliding a ring onto your finger. You let yourself imagine all of the things you would’ve shared with him in this alternate reality, all the joy you might’ve felt. The future you might’ve been able to look forward to.

A tear slips silently down your cheek as your throat closes, suffocating you in the feelings you wish you were feeling.

Someone clears their throat and your eyes fly open, as your whole body snaps stick straight.

It’s your father, sitting eery and alone in a dark room. “You had to grow up one day, Y/n,” he says as his cold gaze sweeps over you. “Stop running around with that Riddle kid and risking your future.”

You shake your head. “The only real future I had was with him, Father.” You tug on the skirt on your wedding dress, and then your hair. “All this— this glamour and camaraderie is you, father, you playing puppeteer with real live people. I don’t know what status you think you’ll get from Goyle, of all people.”

Your father just sneers and pulls up his sleeve— an elaborate tattoo meant to symbolize his allegiance to Voldemort. The dark mark. He says, “You know exactly who that boy’s father is, and exactly where that puts me in relation.” He pauses. “This is what the Dark Lord wanted, Y/n.”

“…what?” Your mouth hangs open, and you wonder why the dark lord would want to torment you personally. “Why would he… I don’t understand.”

Your father just brushes past you and twists the door open. “If the Dark Lord doesn’t tell, you do not ask.”

……

“You’re going to marry him, right?” Pansy asks, smiling at you in the way that friends do when you have a crush on someone.

You shrug, playing it cool but despite your heart going a thousand miles a minute; excitement courses through your veins at the thought of Mattheo. “I think we’d have to become an actual thing first, Pansy.” You laugh.

She winks at you playfully. “I don’t think that’ll take too long, Y/n, He is whipped for you.”

You shake your head. “He is not.” Your heart still flutters.

“He is.” A new voice cuts in, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You turn to face Mattheo, who is now leaning in the doorframe.

What an entrance.

Pansy looks between the two of you and smirks mischievously. “I‘ll leave you two alone and go bug Blaise.” She slips past Mattheo.

You can’t meet his eyes as you grin stupidly at the floor, and the shirt in your hand.

“You talk about me often?” He says, settling on the floor next to you; he breaks you out of your stupor by gently tugging the shirt out of your hands.

You finally look at him. “No, only when Pansy brings you up. Which is always.” You bite your lip as you smile. “I don’t mind it though, you’re one of my favourite subjects.”

“That’s good,” he agrees, toying with a lock of your hair. “I think the guys are sick of hearing about you.”

“Of course they are,” you banter, “They already know everything about me.”

Mattheo leans in closer. “I don’t think they know everything.” His head dips down until his lips are just millimeters from yours. “They wouldn’t know what your lips feel like, would they?”

He bridges the gap and the two of you spent what is probably several minutes just kissing, and when he pulls away you’re breathless.

“No, I don’t think they know that.” Your voice comes out high-pitched, still trying to catch your breath both mentally and physically.

“I hope they never find out.” He says quietly.

You nod absent-mindedly. “Me too.”

….

You sigh deeply and set down the box in your new living room. Trying to put a positive spin on it, you think about how it won’t be terrible living with a friend instead of your parents, who were never there when they needed to be and always there when you needed them to leave.

Emotionally and physically.

You and Goyle are throwing a housewarming party, per his mothers request; so, technically this box really shouldn’t be in this room right now. It needs to be prepped for the party.

Goyle walks into the room. “Malfoy wants to know if he should invite Mattheo.”

You shrug. “Tell him to invite him, I don’t think he’ll show up either way.” Getting over Mattheo has not been easy, and when you think about him, his absence still sends several intense stabs through your heart.

You can still feel the ravines where the cracks in your heart formed. If he did show up, it would either put you on the path to healing or destroy you all over again and possibly forever.

You were fully prepared for the latter if it meant seeing him one last time.

But he won’t show, just like he wasn’t there when you really needed him just a few months ago, when some other man’s ring was being slipped onto your finger and you were near powerless to stop it.

Goyle stares at you for minutes, as if you’re fragile and need to be handled gently. “It is short notice.”

You pick the box back up and walk past him, just to stop at the foot of the stairs. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Then, you go upstairs and place the box in the guest bedroom. You have all this space in your new house and absolutely nothing to do with it.

Rooms filled with expectations and soured dreams.

….

Parties should be fun; this cake, considering it’s your favourite flavour, should taste good. You’re surrounded by the faces of your closest friends, all your family— though you aren’t fond of many of them— and all of Goyle’s family. Yet, all you feel is unfulfilled aching for Mattheo.

You feel so pathetic, always thinking about Mattheo, always relating everyone moment to your first love.

But you had wanted him to be your last. Your only. Your everything.

Draco is here, and he’s the one who asked about inviting Mattheo, so you’re pretty sure he’s not coming and you know you absolutely shouldn’t ask.

Instead, you stare at Draco as you eat the tasteless cake, wishing he’d somehow understand what you wanted to know.

Doesn’t help that he’s across the room.

“Y/n, come upstairs for a minute.” Pansy says, dragging you away from the party and into your bedroom. Or what will be your bedroom, anyways.

When the door has shut and she’s locked it, she turns back to you. “You can’t spend the whole party pining over the possibility of Mattheo showing up, Y/n; I know how much he means to you but you have to accept that you’re married and it’s over. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you keep obsessing over this.”

You reel back, though you’re thankful for how bluntly Pansy says it. “I know, Pansy, I know. I just— I don’t know if can ever get over him. I mean…” You trail off trying to find your words. “Goyle was probably the last person out of our group that I would’ve chosen if I couldn’t have Mattheo. Truly, I think I could live if it was Enzo, or Theo, or even Draco, but not Goyle.”

She sighs. “But it’s not them, and it is Goyle.”

“So, what now?” You huff. “I’m just supposed to… I don’t know, keep his house and have his kids?”

Pansy’s eyes soften but she doesn’t respond; its a rhetorical question and there really isn’t any proper answer for it.

Then, there is a knock at the door. Pansy unlocks and opens the door, just enough for her to see who it is.

When she does, she says nothing. You watch her slip out the door before you even see who is behind it.

And then he steps in.

Mattheo Riddle.

“Hello, Y/n.” He says, so plainly as though he hasn’t just affected you in more ways than you could ever possibly count.

You look away. “You actually came.”

He clears his throat. “I did.”

You can almost picture him a few years back, standing in your dorm room door, smiling at you in that teasing way that made you knees weak.

Except he’s not smiling, and there is absolutely nothing blissful about this moment.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” Mattheo shuts the door behind him. “If it changes anything at all.”

…..

“There’s something I want to tell you, y/n.” Mattheo says one day, cryptically. “I’m just not sure if I should yet.”

You brush his hair out of his face. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, whenever you’re ready.”

He shakes his head, but he’s not disagreeing. “I’m worried you’ll see me differently.”

“There is nothing in the world that could make me see you differently, Mattheo.”

He seems sated by your words, and pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on top of your head. The two of you stay like that for a long while before he finally says, “I’ll tell you, but not today.”

You nod silently and focus on the feel of his arms around you, not wanting to take a single moment with him for granted.

…..

“What is it, Mattheo?” You say exhaustedly while you sit down on the mattress. “What could you say that would change anything?”

He takes a deep breath and sits beside you. “I know why this is happening, why Voldemort singled you out.”

You look up at him. “Mattheo…” trailing off, you stare at his sleeve in horror, dreading what you think he’s going to say. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

He furrows his eyebrows, following your gaze; when he realizes, his eyebrows shoot up again. “No! No, That’s not why I know.”

You visibly deflate with relief. He instinctively curls his arm around you but then quickly pulls it away. “Okay,”

He chuckles dryly. “My reason is actually much worse.” Mattheo pauses, blowing out a breath. “I’m his son.”

After a moment's hesitation, you shoot up from your spot, your eyes blown wide with disbelief. “Mattheo, you cannot be serious.”

He stands up, and sits you back down, trying to keep you calm. “It’s not like I want to advertise that my father is the most notorious dark wizard in history.” He reaches out and pushes a strand of hair out of your face, like you used to do to him so many times. “But he didn’t want you with me, Y/n, all of this is happening to you because of me.”

He sinks down to his knees in front of you and takes your hands in his.

“So,” You start. “I was personally targeted by the dark lord because you couldn’t bother to mention what’s probably a very important detail.”

His fingers tighten around yours. “I was so scared that you wouldn’t love me anymore if I told you, and then, by the time you were engaged, it was too late.”

You push his hands away. “Mattheo, I would have loved you no matter what you told me.” The hurt in your voice makes him back away from you and you can see the pain swirling in his eyes too.

“I told you. You know. Now, we can fix this.”

“No, Mattheo,” You stand up and push him towards the door. “It’s too late. You’re too late.”

He shakes his head rapidly. “No. No, it’s not.” Mattheo tries to stop you from opening the door but ultimately you push him over the threshold. “Please, Love, We can make it work— we could run away, do anything— please.”

You can’t look at him as you speak, while tears flow freely down your cheeks. “We were something, don’t you think so?”

His face falls, and you can see his heart shatter— you can feel your heart mirror his.

Perhaps, though, the most painful part is when he replies; “Yeah, we were.”

All content belongs to @beingsuneone , do not repost, copy or post on other platforms without my permission.

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

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Consequences | Five

Word Count: 6.9k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, DD:DNE, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex, kinslayer aemond, graphic depictions of medieval abortions, choking (and not in a kinky way), p in v, facefuckin (oral, m receiving), choking (in a kinky way), fingering

Series Masterlist

A/N: okaaaay let’s go, please for the love of god, read the warnings. Apologies in advance to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for this one ily 😚

Everything had changed.

King Viserys was dead. Aegon thrust on his throne in place of Princess Rhaenyra as his heir. And the maidservants and staff had been locked up for the entirety of it, to quell the spread of rumours. Only when the staff pledged their allegiance to Aegon II as their rightful King before the now Dowager Queen Alicent, were they allowed back to their duties, threatened with death on the basis of treason if they were found to be doing anything they shouldn’t.

It was the most surreal, frightening experience of her young life. To be clutched at Hedi’s side, shaking and trembling, wondering if she’d ever see her siblings again.

She wondered if her brother had succumbed to his illness and if her sister was winding herself to the ground with grief, as she had when their parents had died.

She prayed to the Gods, namely the Mother and the Crone. For equally important things. To keep her loved ones safe, even if it meant that she was put into danger. To the Crone, for guidance. Although she did not know yet what exactly for.

Everything had changed.

Aemond pulled her body up from the bed to rest on her knees, to support her weight on her shaking arms and the motion had his cock brushing rather uncomfortably against her cervix. Her entire body felt hot, a stagnant, heavy feeling filled his chambers, as if it were humid inside. His thrusts were harder than they’d ever been before, making her skin ripple with movement of his rhythm.

A series of hurried and half-pained breaths are all that left her, her cheeks stinging with heat as her tears ran over them.

“What are you crying for, sweet girl” he grunts, delivering a particularly hard thrust, his large hand slapping her buttock and gripping tightly, “I know you like your Prince’s cock, don’t you, you little slut”

Slut.

Whore.

She whimpered, his fingers digging into the meat of her skin roughly, hoping it would be enough of a response for him.

Since his father had died, plunged into a civil war between his family. He’d been unpredictable. He would start the day calm enough, sometimes frighteningly so. But now that the days were becoming shorter with the weather, a looming dark cloud forever over King’s Landing, as if the Gods knew the trouble that was afoot, Aemond temper came with the storms and the rains.

Destructive. Washing away everything living thing in his path.

He reached down and wrapped his hand around her neck, roughly pulled her back up to meet his bare chest. Aemond’s fingers curled so tight around her neck, that for a split second, she thought that he might actually lose control and snap. But he pressed his lips against her ear, his fingertips harshly tearing at her thin and delicate skin, “Fucking answer me”

He adjusts the endless thrust of his cock up into her, now they are controlled, deeper, as if trying to hide further and further inside.

She could feel her air stuck beneath his hand, desperately trying to break free. Felt her head begin to get hot and foggy, vision blurred and her lips move but a barely audible sound is all that came out.

“Yes…” she whispered. Just saying whatever she could to appease him.

She had been afraid of him before. Many times. But now, the way he was now, she feared that he might actually harm her and that the damage might be irreparable.

Aemond laughs against her back, the vibration of it humming uncomfortably in her body.

Still with one hand around her neck but loosening his grip so that she can breathe once again, she almost weeps at the relief. Aemond chuckles darkly and pushes her back against the bed, grinning when he sees the familiar sheen of tears on her cheeks, watching her breasts rise and fall with the intensity of her breathing. He eases his other hand down her body, over her feminine hips, taking the meat of her thigh in his grasp to spread them apart once again, sighing contently at her glistening cunt, ready to take him again.

“You are a terrible liar, sweet girl” he coos down at her, lowering his face so that his hair brushes against her nipples. A flash of fear passes her face, but Aemond seems to revel in it.

He did say once, he would have her fear if nothing else.

He pulls her by her hair to the edge of the bed, where her head briefly hangs over the edge. She whimpers at the tug on her follicles and it sends a prickling pain down her spine. He no longer holds back his grip like he used to. He swats her cheek, again not in the usual soft manner, but as a means to punish her for the outburst.

“Shut up” he commands, standing in front of her.

She looks up at him from where she’s laid as Aemond stands before her, holding his cock proudly by the base, shining with her slick. He prodded his tip against her lips, looking at her wide eyes beneath him. He smelled of sex, of her and his arousal mixed with one another. His hand comes down to her jaw, thumb pressing on her chin to open her mouth and Aemond sighs when he feels her hot, shuddered breath against his cock, twitching with excitement.

He does it slowly, and plunges into her mouth, watching how his cock disappears down her throat, where the skin around her neck bulges where it's nestled. He feels her breathe through her nose and smirks, knowing that she’s doing as he had instructed her the first time, grinning at her endless obedience.

“Good, sweet girl…” he growls, burying himself to the hilt within her warm and wet mouth, the head of his cock rammed down the smoothness of her throat.

Hand still at her jaw for leverage, he cants his hips slowly, grunting heavily at the friction he gets from this angle and the sound it makes. But she herself makes no sound. Not even when his heavy stones sit warm against her face, briefly blocking off her air. Aemond watches as she takes it, her saliva coating his cock just as her slick had.

Continuing to use her mouth for pleasure he runs his hand down her body, cupping his hand at her sex and running his fingers through her folds, collecting her wetness on them.

“Perfect fucking cunt”

He sinks two digits inside of her, his palm delivering friction to her clit at the same time, and he both fucks her mouth and her sex with the same rhythm, taking immense pleasure in the way her body responds.

It’s out of her control. He plucks the pleasure from her without her even thinking about it. She whimpers around his cock, deeper than she ever thought he could be in her mouth. Her neck bobs with his shallow thrusts and his other hand rests against it, pleasuring himself through it.

“Fuck-take it” he moans loudly, nearing his climax with accelerating and shocking speed. He fucks his fingers into her faster, intent on making her shake and writhe beneath him. Aemond increases the intensity of his thrusts with it, outright moaning as her mouth trembles around him.

She whimpers, her insides clenching uncontrollably, painful pleasure taken forcibly from her core, but any sounds she makes are stuck in her chest with the slow, methodical drag of Aemond in her mouth.

Aemond smirks when her body shudders with overstimulation, more sounds muffled in her chest, giving her some reprieve when he pulls his fingers free and her body sags once again against the bed. Not a moment later, Aemond pushes his hips flush against her face, his seed painting the walls of her throat with a shuddered moan. He feels her gag a bit, still with his cock in her mouth, but he enjoys the slight friction it gives him.

He stays seated in her mouth for a moment, his hand running through her hair.

“You are so good to me” he breathes as he comes down from the high.

She felt the warmth slide down her throat, the proof of his twisted, sick attraction to her.

And when Aemond pulled her up, to kiss her on her lips, she wanted to weep. It was too sacred. A kiss. Something that should be done before all the things he had done to her. Something to bind a love, a marriage. A respect for one another.

But he had kissed her so fiercely, to taste himself on her mouth, and she had known then there was no love. No care. No respect.

“You won’t leave me now, will you? Sweet girl…”

There were few things in her life that were consistent up to now.

But her moon's blood had always, always arrived on time.

No matter how many times she willed it to come, stepping into the privy multiple times a day to find her hand completely dry, void of the usual slick of red, it would not come.

Just the other night, Alanna had furrowed her brows and mentioned that she had not borrowed her red petticoat for a while and asked if she was feeling okay.

That was when that hurtling drop of panic erupted in her gut.

She didn’t understand at the time, what Princess Helaena had said. And she thought of how foolish and stupid she’d felt.

Cold Tansy.

The womb quickens.

Tansy tea. In other words.

Moon Tea.

The liquid that so many women used and still used…had to be prepared with a flame before consumption. Had to be brewed fresh.

She felt dizzy.

She hid in the privy, so unbearably torn apart by the revelation that she almost made herself sick. Bile rose in her throat but it never came free, and she wretched, her body tearing her apart from the inside. She felt the pain in her womb, the little dragon inside aching to grow, she had felt their flames lick at her spine.

She tried to muffle her cries with a hand over her mouth, but the hurried sobs inevitably broke free.

Alanna flung the privy door open and upon seeing the crumpled mess of her bedfellow on the floor, promptly shut it again with both of them inside.

"Gods…" Alanna whispered, bringing her into a hug, a friendly hand stroking her back.

If the maidservant hadn't been so upset, she would have laughed. Alanna didn't like to be hugged, or any physical contact at all, even going so far as to lay on the far side of the bed to avoid touching. She found it uncomfortable.

But right now, it was needed. And the maidservant flung her arms around Alanna, tightening her grip on her as if she was the last person in this realm to be on her side and help. Her hands had clamoured at her back, needing this closeness so badly it hurt. Alanna only shushed her and allowed her to sob.

"Please…do not tell Hedi…" she begged, with tears still streaming down her face, voice thick with despair. Alanna pulled her face back and sighed, using her thumbs to wipe her cheeks.

"We have to tell the Quee-"

"No, I-I need…I need this job. I have to-" she stammers through her weeping, struggling to catch her breath, emotions running higher than they would normally, "-my siblings, th-they need me. They will send me away without my wages and no reference, I-”

"Shh, shh, alright I will not tell Hedi or the Queen" Alanna cooed, rocking her shoulders softly.

"Do not tell anyone, please…I-I could not bear it…" she cracks her bleary eyes open, her heart beginning to beat in its normal rhythm again. Her lashes are all stuck together from her tears, cheeks red raw.

"Who is it, the man? You could not marry?..." Alanna asks carefully.

It was a nice thought. But one that would never happen.

She shakes her head, "I cannot say…"

Alanna sighs, obviously quickly running out of ideas.

"I can deliver it. I helped my mother when she had my brothers-"

Everyone would see. Everyone would see you are the Prince’s whore. A child with silver hair.

"My condition will soon start to show…" she says, resigned. Her hands shake against one another, held as if in prayer to the Gods, "Hedi has such sharp eyes…what am I to do…"

Alanna was quiet for a long time, trying to wrack her brain for what to do. She knew she could not have the baby, nor could she tell another living soul in the Keep as it would mean she would no longer have a job, no more funds to send to her family and an even smaller chance of a future.

“Have you any money?” Alanna asks, “there is a woman in Flea Bottom who helps whores when they need it…but…” she says carefully, watching her fellow maidservant’s reaction.

“What are you suggesting?...” she responds with a weak and shaky voice, her grasp on Alanna resting at her arms. Alanna looks visibly pained by the suggestion. Every one of them were devout, pious, to even suggest such a thing as…

“How much is the procedure…” she asked, making Alanna widen her eyes, surprised that she was considering it.

“One gold dragon, but it is dangerous-”

“I cannot afford one gold dragon, ‘tis more than I earn in a year!”

Alanna sighed, “Whoever the man is, go to him. Appeal to his better nature…he cannot turn you away if he has any decency at all”

She really appreciated Alanna’s advice, but there was a twisting pain in her gut at what had been suggested. It was something she had heard of women doing before, in desperate times. It could be dangerous. But this woman had done this procedure plenty of times, on women who survived and lived to keep on working.

There was a chance.

There was a chance she could keep the job. In servitude still of Aemond, but with the knowledge that she could just drink Moon Tea, prepared correctly, and never have to do this again.

A future.

One gold dragon was an incredible amount of money for a common maidservant, well over a year’s wages. It was entirely intentional, gold dragons as a currency was something specifically reserved for the upper classes, and if she was to be found with it…it would arouse suspicion.

She had to be careful.

Should she approach Aemond…?

…How would he react to it?

Would he dismiss her? Send her to the streets, her and her bastard? Left on the cobblestones to die.

He cannot turn you away if he has any decency at all.

Appeal to his better nature.

It cannot be.

The words of Princess Helaena were like an incessant bell, echoing around her mind. It was all-encompassing and it took every little bit of strength she had left to not crumble under its weight.

There was only one problem.

Aemond was nowhere to be found.

The Dowager Queen looked out at the skies, darkened and stormy. The rain was loud and oppressive. Thunder and lightning clapping across the sky, sending an intolerable humidity and uncomfortable atmosphere that seemed to sweep about the Keep like a disease. She tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves, opting to fiddle with them instead of destroying herself.

Her heart was filled with worry.

Aemond had not returned.

She waited and waited for what felt like an eternity, not knowing if a day had passed or not. The sun had yet to make its appearance, stuck beneath layers and layers of clouds, towering high above King’s Landing. It was impossible to see a thing. Despair hung so low to the ground that it obscured everything.

Alicent’s nervous face met the gaze of Ser Criston, who had knocked and walked past the threshold of her chambers.

“What is it?” she asked nervously, unsure if she wanted the reply.

Ser Criston stood straight, hands at his side, one perpetually on the handle of his sword at his side, “Prince Aemond has returned”

She moved swiftly through the Keep, the skirts of her deep green dress in her fists and rushing to find her second son.

Something was wrong.

Down the long corridor, Alicent came to a halt halfway, her chocolate brown eyes wide at what she saw. Aemond had rounded the corner, absolutely sodden through his clothes, hair wet and tangled, trying with an annoyed air about him to tear his leather overcoat off his person. A maid followed closely behind, picking them up from where he’d thrown them.

His eyes were downcast, a stoic expression on his face, which was still covered in drops of rain. His jaw was forever clenched, his lone eye ablaze with fury but also something deep and worrying inside. Shoulders hung on him, as if he had the weight of the world on them.

“Aemond…” Alicent’s soft voice called to him, hoping to break him from his darkened trance. But he continued on, long legs striding to his one comfortable place. His one haven in the hellhole he had made.

Her son towered over her as he strode by and she knew something horrible had happened. A mother’s gut feeling never wavers, not once. She knew her boys, in her bones. And she knew Aemond had a temper, but rationales that there was always a reason for it.

She held his forearm to attempt to calm him. To bring him back.

Aemond didn’t say a word, huffed and tore his arm away. Not even the soft embrace of his mother could help in what he had done. The sin he had committed. His failure.

He refused to stop, to explain what he’d done. Everyone would know by the morrow and he need not be there for it, he reasoned.

Right now, he wanted the safety of his chambers and the warmth and security of being buried inside her. She offered an indifference, a closeness he could not get anywhere else.

His mother attempted once more to reach out, and without looking at her he roared, as if cornered, “Leave me!”

He dared not to see the broken and disappointed look on her face, as he knew she would have by the morning. He felt like a child all over again. Weak and feeble. He remembered the way he had crawled to his mother’s arms and found solace.

But he was not a boy anymore.

Instead he would find solace the way a man would.

The way a man should.

At least as far as Aemond was concerned.

The little maidservant had jolted noticeably when the chamber doors slammed shut with a force that shook the very stone walls. She held a jug of warm water in her hands, instructed to draw a bath upon Aemond’s arrival, and with the sheer shock of him storming past the threshold had some of it fall onto the stone floor below.

With parted lips in surprise, her eyes met his form, standing before the now locked and closed doors. He was tall and foreboding, like looking at a wild animal, especially with how uncharacteristically unkempt he looked, with that fierce look in his one eye. His body vibrated with an unseen rage, his chest rising and falling quickly like he had been running. He smelled what she thought was dragon, a musky animal-like smell that clung to his riding leathers.

He said nothing.

“Your grace…” she greeted with a quiver to her voice.

She would never see the internal battle in his mind. The pendulum swinging between kinslayer and dutiful Prince.

Kinslayer

Kinslayer.

She saw him clench his fists until his knuckles were white.

“Undress me” he commanded, with a low growl.

She swallowed hard and set the jug aside, brushing her hair that she had unbraided over her shoulder. Daring not to meet his eye, she stepped forward, shaky hands reaching out for his leather doublet, the silver clinking quietly in the chambers. Aemond closed his eye, inhaling deeply when her scent flooded his very being.

So feminine.

Weak.

He was about to drift into the calming waves that her presence offered, floating idly in the depths of her touch when-

“May I speak plainly, your grace…” she asked meekly once she dropped the leather from his shoulders.

She had never asked to speak out of turn. Not once. And Aemond opened his eye again, half lidded and looked down at her, his gaze remaining in its stoic manner. But she didn’t meet it, too afraid to, as she folded his doublet over the armchair.

“Speak then”

Her hands found one another, fiddling nervously with the skin at her palm, her head lowered.

“I…wondered if I might request some-”

“Look at me when you are speaking to me” he interrupted.

His voice drove fear, deep into her core and she felt the dragon in her womb begin to wake from its slumber. He took her chin in his fingers once more and forced her to look up at him. Her wide, glassy eyes finally met his and she could feel her entire form tremble, and thought, he must be able to feel it too.

“I wondered if I might request some funds from you” she finally said, in a quiet, mousy manner.

She had known then. That now wasn’t the time to bring up the subject. But by then it had been too late. His fingers tightened on her chin, to keep her there, to watch him as his brows furrowed in frustration.

“You said you had sufficient funds”

He said in an accusatory way. As if her chance before had vanished.

She inhaled, filling her lungs with the last bit of courage she had.

Her lips quivered, and the words left her mouth too quickly.

“I am with child”

His entire form seemed to go cold, as well as his expression, hooded even further in what she could only assume was anger.

“You are lying” he dared to accuse, with a firm and ever-tightening grip.

You wouldn’t lie to me now, would you sweet girl.

She felt the tears hot in her eyes, entire body shaking. The babe within was hot in her belly at the proximity with their father.

“I am not” she responded with a quiver to her voice, “I…do not have the funds to…have the procedure…to…”

It was difficult for Aemond at this moment to pin down a specific emotion. So much had happened in the course of a mere few days. For him, for the realm. For the lives of every soul in Westeros it felt like.

In the morning, everyone would know what he was. A disappointment. Weak. A failure to his family. He would see the sullen look on his mother’s face, when she found out that her entire bloodline was now thrust into danger, on account of what Aemond had done.

He would lose his place in his mother’s good graces.

Fathering a bastard. A blatant disregard to his duties as a Prince.

Just like Aegon had been.

He could not bear it. To be a kinslayer as well as that.

He wanted control, something that had been slipping ever so carelessly from his grip since Lucerys was crushed by Vhagar’s jaws. He wanted control of his life.

Of her.

And her admission didn’t give him the safety he so craved.

To think of a bastard in her belly. His bastard. The storms returned to Aemond’s one eye at the thought of even seeing her swell with it. It could not happen. It could never happen. To be reminded of his failures.

She gasped loud, breath caught in her lungs, as his hand gripped her throat and squeezed. Previously, in the throes of passion, he had squeezed the sides of her neck, so as not to cut off her air entirely. But this time, his grip around her was so tight that his thumb pressed against her pulse point. Her eyes widened, one hand coming to his to pry his hand off her. But he never relented. Not once.

Ordinarily, a primal part of his brain would adore to see her swell with his child. To see her breasts grow heavy with milk and her stomach taut with his little dragon inside. If she were his wife. If she were highborn, a real lady.

But she had dared to exist in a moment of Aemond’s most tumultuous times.

The realm had played a game. Aemond was a loaded cannon and the game was to see which gunner could fire his rage in the right direction.

And it had been her. Her mere existence as a woman.

She could feel her head become heavy with the lack of air, her hands clamouring desperately at his to let her free, fear climbing its way up her spine, both at the situation and the look in Aemond’s eye. Calm but with a white hot rage inside.

He shook her by her neck, “You are mine” he growled at her face, his grip tightening.

“Until the day you die, you are mine”

She wished she could die.

He would never let her go. He would never let her truly live. She would never have a husband. Have children to raise. No ordinary life.

Gods, take me away, she prayed silently, closing her eyes, as if she felt Aemond might kill her right here and now.

He pushed her away forcefully, wanting to be rid of her presence as if he could by the click of a finger. Could not bear to see her and her supposed betrayal of his servitude to his family.

She crumpled to the floor, gasping and coughing, her hand around her neck from where he had grabbed her tightly. The stone floor hit hard on her body, air flooding her head. Aemond, frustrated and wronged, scrambled for the purse on his side table, unknowing and uncaring of the contents. All he knew was there were sufficient funds there.

He threw it to her crumbled body and watched as she wept on the floor, thinking her pathetic, naive. Weak.

He huffed and began to unlace his breeches, the only thing now on his mind was a bath, to wash away his sins of the days past.

“I expect you to return to your duties tomorrow” he said flatly.

She gasped, choking on her breath as she cried, staring ahead at the purse full of coins.

“Now leave”

Not wanting to look at him any longer, she shakily took the purse and held it to her chest. Somehow regaining the use of her weakened legs as she stood to lunge herself towards the doors. Away from him.

Only when she had regained her breath and strength from the force of her crying, did she look into the bag Aemond had given her.

Four gold dragons and several silver coins.

It was more money than she had ever seen in her life. And would likely ever see all at once. She lost her breath at the sight of it, something foreign curling in her gut.

What she could do with this much money.

She could leave. Leave this job and go somewhere far. Perhaps even across the Narrow Sea. Away from him, from this life of being his whore. Something for him to release his violent temper upon in the hour of the wolf.

She held the purse tight to her chest and decided. Made a decision, for the first time in her young life.

Promised herself that she would have the procedure and flee, far away.

No more of this, she thought to herself, stroking her sore neck and walking with purpose back to her quarters. For the first time, she’d felt anger at herself, for putting up with the torture for so long. Felt overwhelmed by what the past few days had given her as her fate.

It cannot be.

Sleep didn’t find her that night.

A red painted house with the curtains drawn, ask for a woman named ‘Sarria’, is what Alanna had instructed.

She had kept her hair down and wore a dress she would normally wear to prayer, not her maidservant uniform, not wanting to be recognised as staff for the Red Keep.

She clutched the purse close to her chest, the coins jingling softly inside with every step she took. It was like he had given her life. A chance. How unfortunate that it had to come from him.

The air was crisp and it was an overcast day, still so early in the morning that the sun was barely peeking through the narrow alleyways. She had decided to come early, before the market stalls had gone up in Flea Bottom, before the rush of customers would flood the streets. Less chance of being seen entering the home. Perhaps less chance of the Gods knowing what sin she was about to commit.

But the Gods were everywhere. Could not be caged in as men could.

After a moment of deliberation, she knocked on the narrow door, barely wide enough for a man to fit through. The red painted house had their curtains drawn even though it was morning, as Alanna had said, perhaps to hide the sins inside. Like a brothel.

A woman with greying hair had answered, standing in the doorway but not quite showing her entire body, possibly in a manner of guarding. She had bright blue eyes, framed by wrinkles of her years, and she looked impossibly tired from what she had seen over the course of her life. The older woman had looked upon her with curiosity, seeing such a small delicate thing at her doorstep.

“What can I do for you, child?” the woman asks in a soft, gravelly voice.

“I wish to see Sarria” she answered quietly.

The woman’s face fell into a soft frown, a sad one. And her eyes looked her from head to toe, swallowing thickly.

“Come in, child, quickly”

Wracked with anxiety, she stepped across the threshold, greeted by a familiar earthy and minty smell that emanated through the home. It was dark and dank, from years of not seeing the sun. The woman shut the door quickly behind her, placing a bolt across it to lock.

Rather surprisingly, she took her cloak and folded it over an armchair in a friendly gesture, now finally being able to see her young face.

She guided her to the opposite side of the house, where the smell of mint was stronger. The kitchen was somewhat dusty, but well used. She saw two stoves, lit, with a pot of something brewing hot on top, with the stench of something akin to mud.

Moon Tea.

“You have coin, I assume” the woman says, capturing the maidservant's gaze from the pots. The maidservant inhaled sharply, clutching the purse still, fingers gripping it tightly as if it were the last thing in his world. Reluctantly, she nodded and handed the purse to her with shaky hands.

The woman eyed the contents, perturbed.

“Are you a whore?” she asked.

“Excuse me?...” she asked, not quite sure what she meant. The words of the other maidservants clear as water in her mind.

“At the brothels” the woman said, to which the maidservant shook her head quickly.

“No…”

The woman furrowed her brows, “Only whores receive gold dragons, child. Where did you steal this from?”

She swallowed thickly at the accusation, “It was gifted to me, I swear…” she answered meekly.

The woman seemed to consider her answer for a moment, holding the purse in her hand as if weighing it. Humming, she took one gold dragon from it and put it in a pocket inside her apron, reluctantly giving the purse back to the maidservant.

“Tell nobody of this, and if you do, I shall deny ever having seen you. Understood?”

She nodded in return, too scared stiff at the moment to speak.

The older woman led her to a back room, separate from the rest of the home. A room with no windows and a wooden dining table in the middle. She watched as the older woman spoke to another, much younger woman, one who had long dark hair, also wearing an apron.

The younger woman approached her with a solemn look, but a reassuring smile, and took her hand to lead her to sit on the dining table. The table was clearly cut from one large piece of wood and weathered over the years, with a big burn mark in the middle of it.

“This is my daughter, Cassia” the older woman says, “she will assist you, make sure you are comfortable”

Both of them were soft spoken, careful. It was like being inside a Sept, it was so quiet. They tiptoed around her, like she was a terrified animal, fleeing at the littlest sound.

They covered the table lengthways with a blanket and propped some hefty cushions at the top and middle.

“Lay down” they instructed.

She felt the first signs of fluttering fear in her gut when she laid her head against the pillow, her hands fisting her dress in nervousness as she laid flat against the table. The older woman adjusted the other pillow beneath her bottom, raising her hips. The maidservant swallowed and flinched when the woman named Cassia began to stroke her hair, whispering ��relax’.

But it did nothing to quell the nerves.

“Bend your knees” the older woman said in a soft tone.

Reluctantly, she raised her knees, but unconsciously clenched them together in sheer terror.

“Will there be pain?” the maidservant asked through hurried breaths.

“There will be some pain and blood. But after that, all will be right again”

Cassia held one of her hands and she squeezed back tightly, grounding herself to where she lay, memorising the pattern of the beamed roof. Counting from one to ten over and over in her head as a means to calm herself.

This was freedom. After this, she would never go back.

She would leave.

Cassia and her intertwined hands, her pupils shaking as they stared up at the ceiling.

“Will…you tell me what you’re doing?” she asks, without moving her eyes as the woman gently parts her legs and carefully lifts her skirts.

The woman was quiet for a moment, “It is best not to know” is all she answered.

Cassia held a cup of a warm, milky looking liquid to her lips, gesturing for her to finish the cup before the procedure, her other hand stroking her hair.

“What is it…?”

“It will dull some of the pain” Cassia’s kind eyes looked down at her. There was that reassuring smile again.

As she drank the musty liquid, feeling her muscles eventually relax, Cassia gave her a wooden pestle, covered with a rag.

“In case you need to scream”

She took it graciously, holding it near her chest tightly.

The patterned ceiling began to blur, and all she felt was the cold touch of the tool against her insides, travelling impossibly further up inside her. Eyelids heavy and breathing hurried but calm, there was only the uncomfortable feelings of a stranger on her most intimate and forbidden of areas. The milky substance left a film on her tongue, seemingly numb now, as were her limbs from the effect of it.

All the while, she felt the soft caress of Cassia’s hand in her hair, soothing her.

Cassia guided the wooden pestle to her mouth.

Her body tensed when the sharp object was cutting, tearing, something inside her. And she’d bit down harshly, her screaming and crying muffled somewhat by the rags that were tied around it. She could feel the little dragon within her fight back, their flames licking at her insides in desperation. A deep desire to exist.

It is here she realised what Cassia was actually here for. She was not here for comfort, or to make her feel reassured.

She was here to hold her down.

And she did, a solemn look on her face as she refused to look down at the little maidservant in pain.

She nearly made herself sick with the screaming and crying, praying for the pain to stop. And it didn’t stop, not even when the old woman visibly placed the small, slender knife into a steaming bowl of water, the thick waves of steam lingering to the floor and blood slipping off the blade in ribbons. It was a dull, deep ache, in a new place, somewhere chasmic within. It felt like a hole had been torn open, blood pouring from within.

It was all she thought about as she felt a familiar sticky red liquid begin to coat her inner thighs.

A knife, the weapon.

Cassia took the pestle from her mouth and began to prepare the bandages. The little maidservant stared up at the ceiling, praying in a quiet whisper. For forgiveness. From the Mother, for not allowing her babe to be born. To her own mother, for she’d be disappointed in her eldest daughter, for what she’d done to protect herself and allowing herself into this situation. To her sister, for not being there to protect her, knowing all she does now.

Knowing truly what men want.

Carefully, and with a deep, warm thrumming pain in her core, both women sat her up. The maidservant shook excessively, deeply troubled by the experience, and her glassy eyes went everywhere else but their eyes, not wishing to see the judgement in them.

They pressed a red rag against her, as women do with their moon blood, and kept it there while more bandages were wrapped around her legs and hips to keep it there, to stem the ever heavy bleeding.

There will be some pain and blood. But after that, all will be right again.

All will be right again.

She didn’t forewarn her about the pain in her heart though.

The two women pulled her skirts down, pressed her cloak to her back and gave her the purse again, and she clutched it tightly. Now that it was done, she would go back, sleep, pack her things and be gone by the next morning.

“Rest now, child. Heat a brick for the pain” the older woman said.

And without looking into her eyes, the maidservant nodded, and pulled the hood over her head, “thank you…”

Should she thank them for such a sin?

Her vision never quite returned to normal the entire journey back to the Keep, and several times she had caught herself from tripping over herself. It felt as if every single pair of eyes that walked through Flea Bottom were trained on her, as if knowing all the dark, sinful things she had done, walking around her in silent judgement that was reserved for women only.

The pain in her core seemed to dull as she walked through the Keep, quickly making for her quarters. Alanna was at the front door before she could open it, having just finished her night shift, with wide eyes, looking about her form, but settling on her pale expression.

“Prince Aemond has requested y-” she starts.

No more.

“Tell him I am not well” she replied flatly, softly pushing past Alanna into her quarters and shedding the layers of her clothes, the call of her bed and the sheets too great to refuse, “I have been ordered to rest”

Alanna swallowed, “I shall take your shift, for today only”. It was clear Alanna has no desire to do it, for he frightened the other maidservants significantly.

If only she knew.

They lock eyes for a moment and Alanna can see the utter exhaustion behind her eyes. She squeezes both her hands, giving her some semblance of comfort and the little maidservant wonders at all if she should tell Alanna about her plans.

To leave this wretched place once and for all.

“Thank you, you are a good and kind friend…” she replied with a shaky voice, giving a sad, reassuring smile to her fellow maidservant. Alanna gave one back and immediately put her apron back on, leaving the little maidservant to herself in the quarters to recuperate.

She placed the heated brick beneath her mattress and shed her clothes down to her chemise, the front slightly tainted with a patch of blood where she had begun to leak through. So she placed some dark blankets against the sheets and placed herself finally in her bed, pulling the linen up to her chest and allowing herself to sink into it.

Hot tears began to pool in her eyes at the thought of what she had done, feeling the evidence of it sliding in warm blood out of her. She thought of her family and how she longed to see them again, hoped that her little brother was alright and recovering.

This was freedom, this choice she had made.

And she thought of where she might go. Somewhere where the sun shines all the time, where the clouds are light and fluffy, where she can feel the sea breeze against her skin.

Somewhere away from him. Where he could not find her. Torture her.

Sighing happily at the thought, she sank further into the mattress, closing her eyes to rest off the uncomfortable ache and drained emotions of the day she had so far.

Sleep, the calling.

She felt her heartbeat softly in her chest, calmed. And her breath, slow and relaxed. Felt the warmth of the brick beneath the mattress soothe her and the soft hand of sleep curling around her body to take her. It felt like floating into nothingness, airy and free.

Her name.

Someone was calling her name, somewhere.

Her eyelashes fluttered at the sound.

“Mother…”

Grief breeds grief.

General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics

Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx @daemonlover @iiamthehybrid @thedamewithabook @hiatuswhore @apollonshootafar @ladymarg0t @hopeless-addiction-love @leeleebabe101 @babyblue711 @croatianprincess @what-is-your-wish @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @garnetbutterflysblog @queenmizuki @tempt-ress @ithoughtulikedme @babyblue11 @qyburnsghost @heavenly1927 @madislayyy

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, if I can't tag you you can always turn on notifications for when I post. DM me if you wanna be removed besties

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amber-laughs · 1 year ago

Text

Jon and Catelyn: The Accidental Progeny

Survival

Catelyn saw the shadow slip through the open door behind him. There was a low rumble, less than a snarl, the merest whisper of a threat, but he must have heard something, because he started to turn just as the wolf made its leap. They went down together, half sprawled over Catelyn where she'd fallen. The wolf had him under the jaw. The man's shriek lasted less than a second before the beast wrenched back its head, taking out half his throat. A Game of Thrones - Catelyn III

And suddenly the corpse's weight was gone, its fingers ripped from his throat. It was all Jon could do to roll over, retching and shaking. Ghost had it again. He watched as the direwolf buried his teeth in the wight's gut and began to rip and tear. A Game of Thrones - Jon VII

Reassurance

Her hand groped beneath her cloak, her fingers stiff and fumbling. The dagger was still at her side. She found she had to touch it now and then, to reassure herself. A Game of Thrones - Catelyn IV

He flexed the burned fingers of his sword hand. Longclaw was slung to his saddle, the carved stone wolf's-head pommel and soft leather grip of the great bastard sword within easy reach. A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Family

His mouth tightened. "And you see fit to loose the Kingslayer. You had no right." "I had a mother's right." A Storm of Swords - Catelyn I

“You wanted a way to save your little sister and still hold fast to the honor that means so much to you, to the vows you swore before your wooden god." She pointed with a pale finger. "There he stands, Lord Snow. Arya's deliverance.” A Dance with Dragons - Melisandre I

Vengeance

"Give me Cersei Lannister, Lord Karstark, and you would see how gentle a woman can be," Catelyn replied. A Game of Thrones - Catelyn XI

"It's death and destruction I want to bring down upon House Lannister, not scorn." A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Pain

When Loras Tyrell unhorsed him, many of us became a trifle poorer. Ser Jaime lost a hundred golden dragons, the queen lost an emerald pendant, and I lost my knife. Her Grace got the emerald back, but the winner kept the rest." "Who?" Catelyn demanded, her mouth dry with fear. Her fingers ached with remembered pain. A Clash of Kings - Catelyn IV

Ser Barristan had been the Old Bear's best hope, Jon remembered; if he had fallen, what chance was there that Mormont's letter would be heeded? He curled his hand into a fist. Pain shot through his burned fingers. "What of my sisters?" A Game of Thrones - Jon VIII

Intuition

"Robb." She stopped and held his arm. "I told you once to keep Theon Greyjoy close, and you did not listen. Listen now. Send this man away. I am not saying you must banish him. Find some task that requires a man of courage, some honorable duty, what it is matters not… but do not keep him near you." A Storm of Swords - Catelyn II

All of a man's crimes were wiped away when he took the black, and all of his allegiances as well, yet he found it hard to think of Janos Slynt as a brother. There is blood between us. This man helped slay my father and did his best to have me killed as well. "Lord Janos." Jon sheathed his sword. "I am giving you command of Greyguard." A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Inheritance

"That is as cruel as it is unfair. Jon is no Theon." "So you pray. Have you considered your sisters? What of their rights? I agree that the north must not be permitted to pass to the Imp, but what of Arya? By law, she comes after Sansa... your own sister, trueborn… " A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

I had hoped to bestow Winterfell on a northman, you may recall. A son of Eddard Stark. He threw my offer in my face." Stannis Baratheon with a grievance was like a mastiff with a bone; he gnawed it down to splinters. "By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa." A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Peace

"Wars need not be fought until the last drop of blood." Even she could hear the desperation in her voice. "You would not be the first king to bend the knee, nor even the first Stark." […] Robb's face was cold. "Is that why you freed the Kingslayer? To make a peace with the Lannisters?" "I freed Jaime for Sansa's sake . . . and Arya's, if she still lives. You know that. But if I nurtured some hope of buying peace as well, was that so ill?" A Storm of Swords - Catelyn IV

"If it please m'lord, the lads were wondering. Will it be peace, m'lord? Or blood and iron?" "Peace," Jon Snow replied. "Three days hence, Tormund Giantsbane will lead his people through the Wall. As friends, not foes. Some may even swell our ranks, as brothers. Now back to your duties." A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Fear

In the midst of slaughter, the Lord of the Crossing sat on his carved oaken throne, watching greedily. There was a dagger on the floor a few feet away. Perhaps it had skittered there when the Smalljon knocked the table off its trestles, or perhaps it had fallen from the hand of some dying man. Catelyn crawled toward it. Her limbs were leaden, and the taste of blood was in her mouth. A Storm of Swords - Catelyn VII

Men were screaming. Jon reached for Longclaw, but his fingers had grown stiff and clumsy. Somehow he could not seem to get the sword free of its scabbard. A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Death

"Make an end," and a hand grabbed her scalp just as she'd done with Jinglebell, and she thought, No, don't, don't cut my hair, Ned loves my hair. Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. A Storm of Swords - Catelyn VII

Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold… A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Resurrection

“Sometimes she felt as though her heart had turned to stone.” A Game of Thrones - Catelyn VI

“Instead, he blamed Jon Snow and wondered when Jon's heart had turned to stone.” A Feast for Crows - Samwell III

#that one girl who really doesn't play about jon and catelyn #they mean so much to me I think she's his most defining relationship #asoiaf meta #Catelyn tully #catelyn stark #jon snow #Valyrian scrolls #asoiaf #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf parallels #valyrianscrol #lady stoneheart

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run-little-hero · 5 months ago

Text

TW // Death

“Villain,” a voice hisses through their radio. “Villain!”

They grab the radio from their utility belt, hurdling over the roof of an abandoned car as they rush through the alley. “I’m here,” they respond. “I’m here. I’m en route to base. Over.”

Superhero’s voice sounds once again. “Good. I’ve checked in with Hero. They’ll be at the factory to finish the job in 10. Over.”

A chill runs through Villain as they conjure the image—Hero sounding the building’s emergency alarms, rushing civilians outside before detonating the explosives Villain planted earlier. A brutal operation in their opinion, even if it takes down Supervillain once and for all. But their cooperation in the mission is necessary for a legal pardon, and Villain needs that to fulfill their promise to Hero. To turn over a new leaf.

So far, everything is going to plan. “Got it. Over and out.”

Villain would have preferred to stay with Hero and help them with their half of the mission. Superhero’s insistence on keeping them separate weighs on Villain’s chest, a distracting anxiety. Lately, that anxiety is everywhere Hero isn’t. Villain relies on Hero to cope with their shifted allegiance, and navigate the distrust between them and their new agency.

There’s another feeling alight in Villain’s heart when they think of their new companion. It’s what caused them to change sides in the first place, and threatens to expose itself every time Villain and Hero interact. It’s an inconvenient affection; an intimidating affliction that is suffocating Villain’s judgement at the present moment. They halt in their path.

They turn back, running towards the factory.

It crosses their mind to feel guilty. Superhero isn’t the most amicable boss, but Villain has no true reason to distrust them. Certainly, Villain’s blatant abandonment of mission protocol will earn them reprimand later. But they can’t control their actions anymore than their feelings. They bound down alleyways, veer around corners, and run towards the thing that frightens them most. It is frighteningly easy for Villain to love Hero.

They come upon the factory’s back entrance. Hero must’ve evacuated all the civilians, because the expansive facility is devoid of people when Villain rushes inside. They pray they’ve made it in time to find Hero.

Villain descends to the lowest level where their weapons have been planted. Tears well up in their eyes when they spot Hero, diligently carrying out their mission. Hero jolts up, confused.

“What are you doing here?” They move towards Villain.

Villain laughs, startled at their own relief. “I’m sorry.” They cup Hero’s face with a shaking hand. “I was worried. I didn’t want to leave you. I had to come back—I had to.”

Hero exhales, the smile on their lips offering Villain worlds of comfort. “It’s okay. I’m here, I’m fine.” They bring their foreheads together and bask in the closeness.

A beeping resonates from one of the explosives. Hero startles, gripping Villain’s arm. “We have to get out of here, and get back to base.”

Villain nods. They begin towards the door, hand in hand. They’ll get back up to the surface and Villain will be able to breathe once again, knowing they’ve gotten Hero out safely. They can go home together and retreat from missions and expectations, if only for a moment. They can afford to be themselves when they’re alone. It’s what Villain yearns for as they reach for the exit.

The door doesn’t open.

Villain shakes the handle, slams into the door’s surface with their whole body. It doesn’t budge. Hero steps back, expression blank.

“No. No, no, no, no!” Villain shouts. Their blood runs cold.

“Oh,” Hero utters. Villain turns towards them, countenance demanding an explanation. “I think…” Hero musters, voice wavering. “I think this is Superhero’s design.”

It can’t be. How could they do this to them? To Hero? “W-what?”

“They told me…” Hero trails. “They told me I’d be lucky if we were put on another mission after this. It’s not the first time Superhero’s said something backhanded like that. I assumed it was just another insult because you used to be against us. I thought—“ A sob catches in their throat. “I’m sorry.”

Villain is drowning. This must be what it feels like. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hero’s own hands wipe their tears. They peer at Villain between their fingers and everything feels so childish. “You were already struggling so much. I didn’t want to add to it.” Villain steps towards Hero. “I had no idea this is what they meant.”

Villain embraces Hero. They can’t say they’ve ever shared a more vulnerable moment. They both know Superhero has made no mistakes—left no room for them to crawl away from their fate. Hero tilts Villain’s chin so they’re face to face.

“You’re beautiful,” Hero whispers.

“I’ve doomed us. They knew I’d come back for you.”

Hero hugs Villain tighter. “We doomed each other.” They smile.

In resignation, Villain sighs against their lips. “I’m sorry. Please, just know that I love you.”

Hero brings their mouths together, a farewell. “I know, my love. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m grateful you’re here.”

Villain isn’t sure if they’re dying as heroes or traitors. Either way, they hold Hero close and sing them sweet comforts. Hero reminds them of their love until they’re consumed by it.

—

snippet #10

#inspired by orpheus and eurydice #hero x villain #hero x villan #heroes #heroes and villains #heroes x villains #spilled ink #villain x hero #villains #writeblr #writers on tumblr #lots of angst #orpheus and eurydice #romance #idk about this one #there’s plot holes if you squint

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carnations-fixations · 13 days ago

Text

God, listened to something the other night and I can't stop thinking about like, working a terrible office job an just totally zoning out for an hour, playing solitaire or tetris on your computer until your boss calls you into her office

And you're just like oh fuck oh fuck she's gonna fire me oh shit oh shit-

Then you finally get into her office and she's sitting at her desk, rubbing her temple and staring at her computer with pure fucking disdain

You manage to squeak out a small "You wanted to see me?" And she looks up, her face relaxing almost imperceptibly. She tells you to sit and you do, not giving your obedience a second thought. You're still terrified you'll be out of a job.

"This meeting is killing me, and I know you're not doing any work in there, so you're going to stay here with me until it's over."

You look at her confused.

"I've seen you check me out more than enough times by now, love. Now, you can absolutely walk back out that door and keep not-working, I assure you no one's stopping you, or you can stay here and earn a little bonus."

Now you understand what's happening. She points to the floor next to her and you stand, walking over and kneeling. You think about leaving. You think about quitting. But she's right, you've been very attracted to her since the moment you saw her, and you struggle to keep your eyes off her body. So maybe this isn't so bad

She starts by just petting your hair as you sit there, staring forward and feeling a cocktail of anxiety, fear, and excitement bubbling in your chest. Then she gets even more bored, and slowly turns her chair so that you're facing each other instead of being side by side

"Last chance," She says, staring lasers into your skull. You can't bring yourself to meet her gaze, but you stay right where you are, obediently making your allegiance clear.

"Good girl," She says, opening her legs. She puts your head between her thighs, not taking off her pants, at least not yet. You finally look up at her, and she's staring at you with the most intense adoration you've ever been subject to. She's surprisingly gentle, simply petting your hair and looking down at you. Her pants are starting to bulge, the sight of you between her legs enough to get her aroused.

You feel daring enough to, while keeping eye contact, kiss her inner thigh. She grins and nods.

"Go on, doll."

Your chest feels like it's wrapped around a nuclear core. Jesus Christ this is hot- you look away, blushing profusely, and she slaps you. Not exceedingly hard, but it stings and sends a message.

"Eyes up here, doll."

You nod again, looking back up at her and placing gentle kisses on her thighs, moving higher... higher... until her grip on your hair becomes somewhat sadistic, pushing you closer to her now-prominent bulge.

You kiss and nuzzle and- god she smells fucking good- it's already enough to get you feeling high off her scent. She nods and pets you, pushing you down, although you don't need it. You'd already be grinding your face against her regardless.

Finally, you get brave, and reach up to her belt.

"That's it, dolly, go ahead- You know how to please Mommy, don't you~?"

God- No one's really talked to you like this before, and it makes your head swim, forgetting the inappropriate nature of all of this. All you want is to make her happy- You undo her belt with shaking hands and unzip her pants, just pulling them apart enough to get to what you need-

She's nice enough to help you pull her panties down, and you finally have access to her long, throbbing cock. A sound escapes you, like an excited squeak.

"Aww, little puppy wants a treat?"

You feel hot and fuzzy and strange and all you can think about is sucking Mommy's cock like a good little whore- you don't even know where these impulses come from. At this point, you don't care. You just inhale and let the scent of her musk erase all your thoughts.

"Open."

You obey.

She lowers herself onto your tongue.

"Suck."

You obey.

She pushes your head down, lower, until you're gagging harshly.

"Good fuckin' girl- Mnh--fuck, you're not too bad at this, I should keep you around-- nnNNgh-"

Hearing her voice break only makes your mind break double, looking up at her and sucking like your life is on the line, She bites back loud moans, dictating your pace with a hand in your hair. As she starts to get rougher and rougher, you can't help but feel so, so needy- hitting your uvula and making you gag, something you never thought you'd like, is like heaven in her hands.

"Mmn-- God you're such a good little whore for Mommy- NHfh--"

The praise only makes you more excited, and you find yourself starting to grind on her wing-tip Oxford's, whining on her cock. She doesn't notice, too distracted by your mouth, she starts to roughly fuck your face, hold you steady as she bucks her hips.

You feel her tense, and you whine, pushing yourself down all the way as she cums down your throat. The noise you make is depraved, and she responds with a low, gutteral groan, holding you down and breathing heavily.

Finally, she let's you up, her seed dripping down your chin from what you couldn't swallow. She takes her finger and runs it up your chin, gathering up the string that's fallen out, and shoves it in your mouth.

"Good fucking girl, perfect for Mommy... Now, clean her off."

You lick and suck at the tip of her limp cock, cleaning off all of the cum you can before putting her dick away. You're still grinding on her shoe, not even really thinking about it, but you're making noises that tip her off, and now that you're not choking on her cock you notice how close you are.

"Aww, little slut got so worked up she couldn't help herself, huh?"

You nod, whining and holding onto her leg.

"Are you close, doll?"

You nod again.

"Go ahead baby, keep going. I want you to cum for Mommy, okay? Just keep going and say Mommy's name when you cum, doll"

You nod again, quickly and appreciatively, grinding and whimpering as you feel your orgasm flood closer. You manage to whine out a single word as you cum, ruining yourself in her office.

"Mnhhh- Mm-Monmy--!!"

She pets your hair and smiles down at you, clearly pleased at your obedience as you ruin yourself on her shoe.

Well, now there's a problem. You're panting and shaking on the floor, covered in her cum and your own, and you still have another 3 hours of work.

"You can clean up in my office's bathroom, darling, take your time. I want you to finish out the day in that skirt, though. Some people have been getting a little too friendly with my doll, and they need to be reminded who you belong to."

You mumble out a slurred "Yes Mommy" as you sit limp against her leg, catching your breath.

Something tells you this isn't a one time deal.

#CARRIE SPEAKS!#carrie speaks #oh my gosh it's finally here my first real writing piece #okay #wlw smut #wlw ns/fw #wlw nsft #t4t nsft #mtf t4t #t4t dom #t4t ns/fw #mtf puppy #mtf sub #mtf nsft #face fvcking #scent kink #musk k1nk #musk k!nk #okay thanks for reading!

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stevenssticks · 1 year ago

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OK OK OK, James (really anytime 90's and after because bros just sooooo dreamy 🤤) having you bent into a mating press, and when you get too dumb from how deep he is, he gives you a couple little gentle slaps to the cheek and grips your face making you look at him. HES SO UGH 😩 I'd do anything for him

i pledge allegiance to the flag of the united states of america…… @30-3am was talking abt This James the other day and i just have to add on w this prompt.

james has your knees to your chest. making you hold them there for him as he fucks you deep, hunched over you and watching as your eyes roll back in your head, pussy fluttering around him when he hits that spot in you that makes you go wild. your head lulls to the side, eyes closing and mouth open, drooling onto the pillows.

“uh uh.. none of that baby. look at me. c’mon.” james grabs your face with one hand squeezing your cheeks, before letting go to land some light slaps to your left. you blink up at him, all spaced out. “fuck- has my baby gone dumb on my cock? am i fucking thoughts thoughts out of your pretty head? can’t even think straight can you.. yeah.. i’ll do the thinking for you honey.”

james shoves two fingers into your mouth, down your throat and choking you with them like he would his cock. your legs shake where they’re still being held up by your own hands. tears streaming down your face as you gag on james’ fingers, closing your lips around them to suck.

james picks up his pace, hips slapping harder into you, the noises from your pussy obscene, turning james on even more as he watches you gag and choke on his fingers. “gonna cream on my cock, baby? you can do it… wanna feel you soaking me.”

james pounds impossibly hard into you, balls slapping against your ass with every thrust, cock twitching inside you as he reaches his own release. james leans back, looking down to where you’re connected and spitting on your clit, rubbing his thumb on it and then you’re gone. squealing and shaking around his cock, about to let your legs drop before james is grabbing them and pushing them as far as they can go, fucking your fast and hard through your orgasm.

“fuck… ‘s pussy’s so tight… gonna cum in you. know you want it. you’re gonna take it.. oh fuck.. i’m cumming.!” james is leaning over you, pressing you into the bed and thrusting as deep as he can before stilling there. circling his hips a little every now and then.

he lets your legs drop however they want. cock pulling out of you, cum spilling out of your used pussy and onto the bed. james takes his cum on two of his fingers to bring it to your lips, letting you eagerly suck them clean. “that’s it.. did so good for me.”

#i’m insane #asks and replies #metallica #james hetfield smut #james hetfield #james hetfield x reader #metallica smut #p’s thots(^ ^*)

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wambsgansshoelaces · 11 months ago

Text

Turmoil; Chapter 9

Roman Roy x Reader

Word Count: 3.518k

You walk slowly back and forth on the cool marble flooring of Shiv’s apartment, trying not to slip on your socks. You're gesturing vaguely at your laptop as you pace, which Roman had gotten to project on her living room TV. You have the spreadsheet of Connor’s financial ruin pulled up, letting everyone mull it over.

“We have many options right now, and all of them are good,” you tell your miniature peanut gallery of the siblings- minus Connor -, plus Gerri and Greg. “We serve Connor. All this does is get him off of our asses, gets us some spending money. Doesn’t eliminate the massive fucking problem that is Logan Roy, doesn’t deal with anything involving Waystar. Purely a ‘fuck you’ to Connor and he goes to jail for five minutes before Daddy bails him out.” You glance around the room, remembering your audience. “Uh, no offence.”

You get a collective grunt from the three siblings, all of them in a similar state of focus. Roman’s sat on the sofa, eyes trained solely on you rather than the presentation. When you catch his gaze, he gives you a nervous smile. You smile back.

“What I think we should do is start building a case against Logan. But we bait him with this fraud to get a stronger case,” you say. “We’re pulling things together. I can see us having an airtight case before the years up.” You pause. “We just, uh, need to finalize the entire… CEO thing.”

The more time you’d spent with the Roys, the more they got along less. With Logan thrown out of the company, ownership, control of the company was up for grabs. Each of the three of them though that they were the right choice. What you saw in Norway, what you saw when you first met Roman, was slowly self destructing.

You’re worried it won’t go back to the way it was before.

The siblings’ banter, their underlying love for one another. You’re not going to hear it again for a while.

The general consensus is that you are to start building a criminal case against Logan Roy. You have to tell yourself that if you fail, on the off chance that this case crumbles under pressure in court, that the rest of your life will with it. Losing to Logan Roy, at anything, has grace consequences. And in this instance? Your career will suffer the most.

Roman’s trying to figure out how to completely disconnect your laptop from the television when Gerri approaches you. You both offer each other soft smiles. You were similar, after all, and although lawyers didn’t get along most of the time, you got the feeling that you’d both give each other grace.

“It’s nice to meet you informally,” she tells you, offering her hand for you to shake. Her grip is firm, it doesn’t falter. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it out to Norway.”

“You didn’t miss much. It was a lot of peacocking, if I’m honest.”

Her voice drops so that only you can hear, even though everyone else is involved in their own business, nowhere near. “There’s a power struggle here. Neither of us are stupid.”

You gather your composure. Maybe this wasn’t the wholesome interaction you’d hoped it’d be. Oh, how you wish strategy would leave you alone. “Mm.”

“And I think, with our lack of familial ties, lack of allegiance, we’re in quite the position to just… make things go our way.”

Your eyes flit about the space around the two of you. Still, nobody’s within earshot. “And what’s our way?”

“The one where we benefit most.” Her gaze shifts from you to Roman, still sat on the couch, your laptop finally disconnected from the TV. As if he can feel your eyes boring into him, he looks up, catching you and Gerri staring. “The one where we have the most control.”

“Since when are you and Gerri all buddy buddy?” he asks the minute you step out of Shiv’s apartment. The bone-chilling January air smacks you in the face, blowing back your hair as you glance at him in the dark.

“We’re not. I met her today.” You simultaneously reach for each other’s hands, curling your fingers together.

“What’d she say?” he asks, voice just barely cracking. He brings his free hand to your intertwined ones, rubbing over the back of your hand in an attempt to warm it.

You don’t answer until you’re both in the car a few moments later, you sitting behind the wheel. “She made an interesting proposition about the entire… succession thing.”

He buckles his seat belt, not taking his eyes off you. “Yeah?”

“That her and I back you so that we have the power when you’re CEO.”

You tear your gaze from his, backing out of the apartment complex’s parking lot and pulling out onto the street. He says nothing for a bit, turning things over in his head.

“I mean, I wouldn’t really be against that,” he says carefully, failing to sound convincing. “I wouldn’t like it, but I mean, CEO, and the two smartest people I know pulling the strings so I don’t fuck up…”

“You’d be fine with that? You wouldn’t want, I don’t know, free will?”

“Well, it’s you and Gerri. Sure, you’ve both had your cold and calculating bullshit, but neither of you are capable of rendering me completely useless.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, glancing at him when you stop at a red light.

He shrugs. “Just that you’re physically incapable of slighting me, because, you know”- he gestures at himself, taking your hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel and planting a kiss on the back of it -“and Gerri doesn’t even have it in her.”

You roll your eyes. “I mean, I could, but I won’t,” you say, teasing. He keeps your hand in his as you drive, night time New York lights blurring by.

“Would you do it, though?” he asks quietly. “Do you think I could do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Am I… am I capable?” You can tell he’s still looking at you, but your eyes are in the road.

“Of course you’re capable,” you say immediately. “But it sounds like you don’t really… want it.”

“I mean, I want it. I want more for myself. I just… don’t really want Waystar. I want more than just fucking around in my stupid fucking office and having… having no substance.” The car’s in the parking garage of your own apartment now, but neither of you make a move to get out. He’s looking straight ahead of him, eyes slightly glazed over. It’s an expression you’ve never seen on him before. He looks troubled, like he’s actually at war with something in his head. “I mean, I feel like a week ago I would’ve strangled you for it. Now, I think about it, and it’s so… so boring.”

Your hands are still wrapped around each other, so you begin stroking small circles into his skin with your thumb. “Boring?”

“Unfulfilling. Dull. Like, what, I make billions of dollars every year for the rest of my life, doing absolutely nothing to earn it, and then I just die? What kind of life is that?”

You turn so that you can face him. “I didn’t know that was on your mind.”

Roman gives a mirthless laugh, bringing your hand to his shoulder. Vaguely aware of what he wants, you rub absently. “I didn’t, either. I don’t know.” His fingers trace over the back of your hand, still staring out the windshield rather than holding your gaze. “You make me feel all of these new things. I’m thinking about so much more, now that I’m taking you seriously.”

“You weren’t taking me serious before?” you ask playfully, trying to lighten the mood. You lean over the center console, using your hand on his shoulder to keep you steady, pressing a hot kiss to his jaw. “In the end, don’t do anything you don’t want to. Life’s not worth it if you’re not happy.”

You step out of the car, and Roman’s not far behind you. “You know,” he begins once you’re both safely inside the apartment, “I have no idea what we’re supposed to do.”

His coat gets tossed into the hallway closet, yours not far behind after he coaxes it off of you. “We’ll just do what we can.”

“You’re not very reassuring,” he mutters, shutting the closet door and pushing past you into the kitchen. You follow, reaching for his shoulders from behind him once he stops at the kitchen counter. He drops his face into his hands, somehow both tensing and relaxing at your touch.

“Roman.” Your thumbs glide over his shoulder blades, and he doesn’t respond. “What’s the actual problem here? We can talk. I’m here for you.”

“He’s my dad, Y/N. In the end he’s still my dad.” You gently knead his shoulders in an attempt to soothe him. He still doesn’t turn to face you. “Which is why it hurts so fuckin’ bad.”

“Tell me what hurts, Roman. We’ll fix it, I’ll fix it.”

“I want… I want him to love me like I love him. But I know-” he chokes on his words, and you realize he’s crying. You falter for barely a moment when he abruptly turns and buries his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around your back. You feel his tears trickling onto your collarbone, and you feel a twisting in your chest. You cradle the back of his head with one of your hands, the other going to the small of his back. “But I know it’ll never happen.” His grip tightens on you before he continues. “Yeah, that shit with you, and Gerri, and CEO… it sounds so fucking good, but Y/N, when I fucking dreamed of it, the only reason it ever mattered was that it was him. He wanted me there, he thought I was the best. But it was all just a dream, anyway. It doesn’t fucking matter if that’s not how it goes.”

He sobs into your shoulder, and you don’t move. You keep holding him. You’ll hold him until he lets go. You hope he doesn’t.

“We’ll figure something else out, then. It’s okay, Roman, it’s okay.” You press a tentative kiss to the side of his head. “You’re getting yourself worked up. We can talk about this later, yeah?” He pulls away to look at you, waterline still glistening. You cup his face with your hands, thumbing away the stray tears on his cheeks and under his eyes. “Wanna watch that show I was talking about the other day? Make you feel better, take your mind off things?”

He takes a deep, controlling breath, calming himself. “I know a better way we can get me to feel good,” he murmurs, not wasting any more time, taking you by the jaw and pulling your mouth to his. If your first few kisses were careful, arguably sweet, this one was reckless. Roman kisses you without abandon, mushing your lips against his. For the first time, he’s needy, he’s greedy, he’s fucking desperate. Messily, he’d turned the two of you so that your back was to the counter. “Up,” he utters, mouth barely leaving yours. He reaches behind you, barely gesturing at the counter top.

Vaguely, you register, and you brace your hands on his chest and jump, managing to land where he wants you. The counter isn’t that high up- it wasn’t a struggle. Immediately, he’s pressed up against you, hands sliding down your legs to loop them around the part of his torso they are dangling by. While your hands go to cup his face, his slide back up your clothing to settle on your hips.

You kiss him again, and again, and again. The only thing you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears and the soft noises of your lips on his. You pepper kisses onto his lips, and he makes quiet, contented noises. He’s completely relaxed. He’s letting you do whatever the fuck you want.

“Feeling better?” you ask into his mouth before kissing him again, long and deep, fingers digging deeper into his skin.

He groans in response, the vibration against your lips spine-tingling. “So much fucking better.” He pulls his mouth from yours, to your disappointment, and the both of you are panting, vying for air. He doesn’t pull away entirely, instead leaning back in to dot kisses to the corners of your mouth, then down your chin, down your neck. “You look fucking gorgeous from this angle. A fucking goddess among men.”

☾𖤓

When the morning arrives, the two of you are tangled together, your head nestled into his chest, his head atop yours. His arms are wound tightly around you, keeping you flush against him in a refusal to let go. When you wake up, all you can smell is the faint scent of his aftershave from the night before. You never want this to end.

You don’t open your eyes, trying to get even closer to him. You barely rub your cheek against his chest in an attempt to burrow into him. Roman murmurs softly in his sleep, shifting, bringing you with him and pressing his nose into your neck.

His breath fans over your skin, deliciously warm, sweetly soothing. You bring your hand to his cheek, gently stroking, admiring his peace-laden face.

You spend the next half hour like this, just looking at him, reflecting.

Your fiancé. Your Roman.

You’d never expect, in a million years, that this would be how you ended up. You let your fingers trace calming patterns into the crook of his jaw, and he’s practically purring. You savor these fleeting moments, this peace.

It’s like a dream. Everything is in slow motion, and you can feel everything before it happens. You know you’re going to fall for him. You’re going to fall so fucking hard. You’ll scrape your face on the pavement, skid your knees, bleed for him.

Also like a dream is the looming sense of doom. The feeling that you’re grasping at straws, waiting for everything to suddenly slip away. Because you know it will. You know, whatever path you take, it intersects with Logan Roy’s, and there’s quite the conflict in the distance.

Roman grunts from under you, shifting so that you’re laying on the bed rather than him. “Fuckin’ tryna kill me,” he mumbles into your neck. Despite his words, you can feel him smiling into your skin.

“I want all that money of yours,” you tease back, letting him drape an arm over your torso, readjusting so that his face is buried in your chest.

“Mm, don’t act like you don’t already own everything that I do,” he says, sleep still playing with his voice. “God, you could tell me you wanted to live in the White House and I’d blow all my money renting it out for you.”

You laugh airily, and before you know it, you’re both up and about, getting ready for work.

“I forgot to tell you,” he calls from across the apartment, him in the kitchen, you digging around in your closet. “The shareholder thing. Looks like Dad’s trying to rally the troops. He has all the old-timers questioning everything Ken does.”

“Anything from Marcia?” you shout back, finding the outfit you were hunting for.

“She agreed to meet at the firm. Also, I heard from that pompous piece of googly-eyed garbage that Connor’s already had a lawsuit processed. He goes to court in a month or something.”

You stroll out into the living room, watching Roman muck about the kitchen, making breakfast. It smells good, at least, and you can tell he’s melting cheese over eggs while he scrambles them. “Are you talking about Pierce, or Greg?”

“Pierce. I don’t think Greg is that bad…”

You snort, rounding the counter to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Whatever you say.” He turns to briefly smack a kiss onto your cheek in return before getting back to his eggs. "Hopefully your daddy makes a scene.”

“Never refer to him like that again.”

At the firm, you decide that you’re going to pretend to keep working on Connor’s case. You’re itching for shit to hit the fan, to see Logan step in. As far as you know, everything is in place, and you’re getting closer to catching him red handed.

On your office phone’s intercom, your assistant buzzes to get your attention. “Siobhan is here.”

“Send her in, Cherry, thank you!”

When Shiv’s sat across from you, dressed in a power suit, she’s distracted. “I didn’t know you employed solely pretty people.” She gestures at you, then looks back at Cherry’s desk.

You laugh. “I do my best.” You absentmindedly click a pen, turning some thoughts over in your head. “So how are we going to play this?”

Shiv relaxes a bit in her seat, regarding you carefully. “I say we go for the jugular. There’s no reason to go easy.”

You lift a shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s your call.”

Another buzz. “She’s here.”

“Put her in Conference Room C. Love you lots, Cherry.”

Shiv flushes slightly. “Her name is Cherry?”

You shoo her out of her office before she can continue the conversation, and the two of you make your way down the hall. You see her through the glass before you get to the conference room. Marcia sits, hands folded primly in her lap, lips pressed into a thin line. You sit yourself in the chair directly across from her, Shiv following, settling in beside you. She wears a steely expression, her face devoid of emotion.

“Is it really so bad, just telling Dad you don’t want him anymore?” she asks Marcia, leaning back into her chair.

“That is not the topic of today’s conversation,” Marcia manages back, tone icy.

“Before we get to that,” you tell her, “you’re going to have to swear a few oaths. You’re Catholic, aren’t you, Mrs. Roy?”

She nods, hesitant. You reach under the conference table, where a small storage container is attached, and pull out a Bible. You stand, round the table, and make her set her hand on the holy book.

You swear her in, and you’re back in your seat next to Shiv. You fiddle with your pen, as does Shiv with hers. Your notepads are set before you both, at the ready to take notes.

“Just so you remember,” Shiv drawls, “if we find out anything you say here is untrue, you’re in deep shit.”

“Let’s start out easy, light.” You cross your ankles over each other, keeping your eyes on Marcia. “How long have you and your… new friend been seeing each other?”

She sighs, lips pursed. “A little over a year now.”

Shiv’s lips press together, keeping whatever comment she had lined up to herself. Instead, she asks, “What are you aware of, if anything, that my father has done that isn’t… to your taste?”

Marcia takes a moment to respond. “Bribes. Threats. What’s new?”

“You’re going to need to be a bit more specific,” Shiv replies quickly, pen poised over paper.

“Well,” Marcia says, drawing the word out, “he’s had private meetings. With investors, with accountants, with employees. He always has something to hold over them. There is always some hidden record, some bastard child, to bring them to him.”

“And if we were to ask you to remember who some of these people were, would you be able to come up with names?” you ask carefully, glancing down at your empty notepad then back up at Marcia.

“Yes, I’m sure I could.”

You and Shiv both jot things down.

Shiv opens her mouth to continue, but Marcia beats her to it. “There is something important you should know.”

“By all means,” you say, trying to be encouraging.

“I have come to know your first case quite well,” she tells you, averting her gaze. “It is a shame, what happened to you.” You and Shiv exchange a glance. “But despite all of the theatrics my husband enjoys, what he’s presented to you still is not the full truth.” She takes a moment, formulating her next sentences. “It was not Connor committing the fraud. It was Logan. He manufactured evidence, he framed his son, and I… I’m fairly sure the poor boy thinks he committed the crime.”

The room is dead silent for what seems like ages. You don’t know where to look. Your eyes flit from Marcia, who seems to be contemplating something in her head, to Shiv, who looks just as confused, just as off put as you do.

Marcia seems to decide something, then continues speaking. “I have had enough of the drama. I will testify in court against my husband if you help me turn our relationship into a thing of the past.”

You throw Shiv a triumphant look before turning back to Marcia.

“That sounds like quite the respectable deal.”

#roman roy #succession #succession hbo #succession fic #wambsgansshoelaces #succession x reader #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #turmoil

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rambheem-is-real · 1 year ago

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Varadha's Greatest Strength Part 1

A Varadeva fic

Baachi pov for Part 1

warnings: NSFW in Part 2

AU where in the crossfire, Raja Mannar, Radha Rama, Rudra, and the Ghaniyar tribe have perished. Varadha is about to assume the throne when the Shouryangas come to attack.

"Anna, they're getting in, we can't stop them!" Baachi cries out, watching the metal doors of the Khansaar inner court warp from the pressure of hundreds of warriors fighting to get inside.

His older brother stands behind him, unmoving. The coolness of his demeanor is irritating Baachi to no end. The Shouryangas were literally on their doorstep and Varadharaja Mannar hadn't even drawn a sword.

"Anna! What do we do!"

Finally, his brother looks at Baachi, and his lips twitch into the slightest smile.

"We can't beat them, don't bother. Let them come in."

At this, even Varadha's loyalists gape at him, but before they can say anything, the doors smash open.

With a cheer, the Shouryangas make their way into the room, quickly surrounding the few men left willing to fight for the last lord of the Mannarsi.

"Anyone lay a hand on my brother and I'll-" Baachi is cut off by Baba's hand on the arm holding up his rifle. He looks at Baba, who just shakes his head and gestures at a familiar figure walking towards them.

"You!" Baachi exclaims. "After all my brother did for you, after bringing you here, you dare betray him?"

Devaratha doesn't even look at Baachi as he passes by, who realizes in horror that Devaratha is going straight for his older brother, standing in front of the Khansaar throne.

The Shouryanga army and Varadha's loyalists both hold their breaths, waiting to see what would happen.

Devaratha reaches Varadha, who still has that damned smile on his face.

Please let it be honorable and quick, Baachi prays. It was bad enough that the person his brother loved the most would be the one to end him.

To everyone's surprise, instead of striking Varadha down with his sword and claiming the throne, as was Devaratha's birthright, Baachi sees Devaratha kneel.

It's a slow, deliberate action, meant to dispel any confusion over its purpose. Devaratha keeps eye contact with his brother until he fully reaches the ground, and then drops into a low bow.

"I, Devaratha Raisan," the man starts in his gravelly voice. "Pledge allegiance to Varadharaja Mannar of the Mannarsi tribe."

Gasps are heard around the room, and the Shouryanga leaders, Bharava and Dheru, look furious. Baachi himself isn't sure what's happening.

"I have vowed to protect my Sulthan, and I will always be his Salaar. Anyone who disagrees will cross Dhaara Raisan's son."

Baachi sees his brother's smile widen into something more joyful, something softer and more intimate than he thinks a roomful of enemy Shouryanga warriors should be seeing. And in the second twist of the night, Varadharaja Mannar moves forward to kneel before Devaratha.

He gently caresses Devaratha's face, who leans into the touch as if he craves it.

"My Salaar," Varadha says, so softly Baachi almost can't hear it over the sound of the unhappy Shouryangas. He can't see what expression Devaratha makes at that, but it's enough for Varadha to grip him by the jaw and pull him in for a kiss.

Oh. Ohhhhh.

"Deva, what-" Bhaarava tries to yell but is interrupted by Devaratha, who stands up and raises his sword.

"I WILL NOT LET ANYONE TOUCH HIM!"

The declarations stuns the Shouryangas, who, after a long pause, start to back away.

The reality of the situation sets in for Baachi, and he can see from the suddenly hopeful faces that Baba, Bilal, Rinda, and the others have also understood.

Devaratha was never a threat, never a weakness, he had always been Varadha's greatest strength.

Baachi's face breaks out into a grin. "All hail the next karta of Khansaar, Varadharaja Mannar!"

"No, Baachi." His brother says, standing up. He locks eyes with Devaratha once more. "There will be a change to the Nibandhanam."

Varadha turns to address the entire room. "Shouryangas!" He calls.

The retreating army pauses. Bhaarava glares at Baachi's brother. "What do you want?"

Varadha just smiles at him, and grasps Devaratha's hand. "I propose an equal partnership between the Mannars and the Shouryangas."

Dheru scoffs, and Bhaarava narrows his eyes. "And how will you do that? When the rightful heir to the throne and the savior of our tribe is beneath you?"

Varadha shakes his head. "Deva is not beneath me. My Deva is always an equal to me, the one I love most."

Devaratha gives him the sappiest look Baachi has seen a man give another person, and he internally shudders.

Ugh. That man was going to be his brother-in-law soon at this rate.

"Which is why I want to rule Khansaar with Deva. As a partnership."

There it was.

Bhaarava gives Devaratha a cautious look, who nods.

"And what will that entail for us?"

Baachi tunes out once the negotiations start, but he's glad that his brother is alive and happy once more, even if it means he has to keep dealing with Devaratha.

He catches Varadha's eyes during a break, and sees the question in them: Are you okay with this? With him as well?

Baachi smiles in response, and sees Varadha relax at the confirmation that Baachi approves.

tagging moots and the people that commented on my post about writing a smut fic: @deadloverscity @sada-siva-sanyaasi @sambaridli @sometimesbrave @just-a-lazy-person @vijayasena @mad-who-ra @umbrulla @jitterbugbetty @importantpiratesgetscaredofme @chocolate-1-0-1 @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @sinistergooseberries @tulodiscord @varadevaficrecs

#salaar #salaar fic #varadeva #yes genocide is bad and the shouryangas deserve the throne but consider: i need varadha to be happy #ending is lowkey rushed i know #part 2 in progress

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midnight-talescape · 2 months ago

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𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽(𝒵𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝓍 𝒪𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓁𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇)

Kinktober Day 15: Size Difference (sorta)

Brooooo u guys don’t understand I had like two more story planned the last two days but I couldn’t finish one and the Mewtwo one was literal garbage so I gave up 😭😭😭

So anyway heres the Zestial one that I promise, never in my life do I want to see thee thy and other similar language again I want to die.

I want to write egg laying so bad, but I shouldn’t.

Warning: egg laying, bdsm, bad use of Shakespeare language, ooc, etc etc you get the point not for kid

Genre: filthy filthy smut

Word Count: 3.2kish

｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡

Everyone have heard the rumor…

A powerful overlord who can grant ones wish in exchange for their soul and entertainment…

Zestial watched in silence, a dangerous smile on his lip as he thought back to the other overlords who have already sold their soul to you.

And how broken and shattered they become when their soul was returned.

The pain and agony they felt as they realize that they no longer entertain you, that they no longer deserve to be your toy.

When they realize that true desperation is when they can no longer feel your imprint on their soul.

As he heard the tell tale sound of butterflies, Zestial knows what he want…

As insane as it sound, he want to be own by you.

To become the most important soul you own.

｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡

You hummed as you walked out of the shadow, stopping in front of him and doing a curtsy before greeting him.

“Hello, Zestial right? I’m here to make a deal with you for your soul.”

Zestial green eyes flick to you, his smile raising by a fraction, not at all surprise by your request. before he lean in closer to you. His tall, imposing figure loom over you, his black cloak billowing slightly in the choleric air of the Pride Ring.

"A deal, a pact, a contract. It is all a matter of give and take, is it not? So tell me, what dost thou offer in exchange for my soul?"

The lime green spider on his cloak seemed to dance and twitch with anticipation almost as if alive, the glimmer in his eyes matching with Zestial’s as he spoke.

Unfazed, although uncomfortable with how close he was to you, you take a few step back before answering, “What will you like in exchange for your soul? I can give you anything I can give.”

His smile grew as he watch you back away, a low chuckle escaping his throat. He took a step closer, closing the distance between you once more, wanting to be as close to you as possible.

"Thou art a curious one, are thou not? To offer such a tantalizing proposition without first knowing the desires of the one thou seek to bargain with.”

His gloved hand reaches out, gently tucking a strand of your black hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“I crave not wealth, for I have already possessed much. Neither doth the power of the underworld intrigue me. No, what I do seek is something rarer than gold or gems. It is something intangible, yet just as precious."

The overlord's head tilts to the side, his gaze roaming over your form as if inspecting you, to memorize every curve of your body. "I offer thee my soul, my power, and my allegiance for as long as thou wants, if in return, thou wilt grant me one year of servitude. One year of unadulterated attention and affection from thee alone. Day and night, under thy tender care."

He extend his hand towards you, his voice lowering to a husky whisper. "Will thou accept my offer?" His eyes stared unblinkingly at you as he waited for your answer, his body trembling slightly in excitement,

“I accept your proposal.” You said almost immediately, shaking his hand without hesitation,

A year of your endless and boring existence, for a soul who will bring you entertainment. It was a deal you had no reason to decline.

With a snap of your finger, a beautiful clear crystal float out of your chest and stopped in front of him. Silently asking for Zestial to sign the deal.

Zestial reach out and gently took the crystal heart from your hand, cradling it in his large palms, studying the intricate etchings and runes etched elegantly along its surface.

"Thou art truly a generous one, to accept my offer so readily," he purred, his voice low and smooth as silk. "But know this, sweet one, I am a possessive creature, and thou art now bound to me."

He close his fingers around the crystal, feeling its warmth seeping into his skin as he began to forge the deal.

"I, Zestial, hereby pledge my soul, my power, and my allegiance to thee. In exchange, I demand thy servitude, thy care, and thy affection for one year. My signature is my binding word, sealed with my very essence."

As if on cue, a swirl of dark energy emerged from Zestial's chest, coiling around the crystal before sinking deep into its core.

Zestial let out a groan, the weight of his soul leave his body was both terrifying and exhilarating. After a few moment he calm down, his four eyes glowing and his breathing slightly ragged. In a instant as if unable to control himself, the overlord brought the crystal close to his lips, kissing it gently as if in a trance.

“D-don’t do that.” You pant out almost immediately, practically snatching the crystal back and placing it back your chest. Your skin flushing lightly as the sensation of his lip seems to be imprinted on your own soul,

Zestial doesn’t feel the least bit apologetic at his actions, finding your flustered state utterly charming.

"Apologies. Dost thou find my words unsettling, sweet one?" he asks, his eyes blinking almost playfully, "I assure thee, I merely meant to express my gratitude. For my soul is thine, and I, in turn, claim thee as mine. Mine to cherish, mine to protect, and mine to...possess."

His hand reach out, cupping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brush over your lower lip, applying just the barest hint of pressure.

"But if thou art so easily undone by a mere glance or caress, then I fear what thou art in for during our year together."

His other hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you flush against his tall frame. The heat of his body seeped into you as gaze at your lips, then back up to meet your own. "Shall we seal our pact with a kiss, my dear? To mark the beginning of our arrangement?"

It was a absolutely scandalous request, especially for a gentleman like him. But he couldn’t resist. He want to know what your lip feels like under his.

Were they as soft as they look?

You look up at him, a rare moment of confusion in your eyes.

It was a odd request.

Or at the very least no one had dare ask that of you before.

But you nodded, after a moment of hesitation. You did agree to be his for a year, and you honor your deals.

You waited for hum to lean down to your height, before placing a chaste kiss on his lip, it was supposed to be quick and easy. But as you pull away, you felt him place his hand on the back of your head.

Zestial's eyes fluttered shut as he deepen the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a slow grace. He tasted of tea and something distinctly otherworldly, a flavor unique to the demons that inhabited the depths of Hell.

After a long moment, he reluctantly pulled away, leaving you breathless and flushed. He licked his lips, savoring the taste of you still lingering on his tongue, a grin spreading across his face.

"My, my... Thou art a delightful surprise," he purred, his voice husky with desire. "I cannot wait to unravel the many secrets thou holdest."

With a flourish, Zestial swept you up into his arms, cradling you against his broad chest. "Come, let us retire to my abode. I would hate for any to interrupt our little... celebration."

He carried you through a portal he summoned and you soon arrived in his bedroom. You let out a muffled groan when he dropped you onto his bed. His lip curling as he watched you bounce slightly on the plush bed, your form sinking into the silk sheets.

His knee press into the mattress as he lean down, caging you beneath his tall frame. His hands came to rest on either side of your head, his face mere inches from your own.

"Thou art as delicate as a flower, yet with a strength that belies thy fragile appearance,"

His eyes grew dark as he stare at your delicate neck. He lean down almost hungrily, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of scorching kisses in their wake as he tore at your shirt.

“Zestial…” your voice tremble as you pant out his name, instinctively arching your neck wanting to get away from his kisses.

Zestial smile against your skin as he heard the breathy moan escape your lips. He can feel your pulse racing beneath his lips, a delicious flutter that only stoke the flames of his desire. His hand trailed down your body, fingers splaying across your stomach, teasing the waistband of your pants.

"Shh, my sweet. There is no need to be afraid," he purred, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "Just relax and let me take care of thee."

Without warning, a silken thread of webbing materializing between his fingers. In one swift motion, he wrap it around your wrists, binding them together above your head.

He lean back, leaving you bare before him. Your skin marred with scratches and love bite as he admire his handiwork with a grin. "There now, is that not better? Thou art positively radiant, all tied up and helpless like this."

You struggle unhappily as you were tied to the headboard. The thread was thin, but strong, holding firm against your movement and digging into your wrist.

“I don’t like being tied up…” you complain softly, trying not to tremble as you felt his sharp claw on your thigh,

Zestial's eyes gleamed with wicked amusement as he watched you squirm beneath him, your protests only serving to fuel his desire.

"Oh? But thou art so beautiful like this, my sweet," he purred, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. "Bound and helpless, at the mercy of my whims."

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "And as for liking it... Well, that remains to be seen, doth it not?"

His eyes rake over your form, drinking in every dip and curve. His hand gripping onto you, fingers digging into your thigh as he muse to himself. "I wonder... Shall I devour thee whole, or savor thee bite by bite?"

You open your mouth to say something, but he didn’t give you time. The next thing you know, his face was between your legs as you arched your back. Pressing your pussy into his mouth as you cried out, your leg wrapping tightly around his head as his tongue delved into your wet cunt.

"Mmm... Thou taste divine," he groan against your pussy as you grind into him, "I could feast upon thee for hours, days even."

Without further word, he buried his face back in between your legs. He could taste your arousal on his tongue, a intoxicating flavor that only spur him on. His tongue swirl around your sensitive bud, flicking and teasing until you were writhing beneath him.

His hands grip your hip tighter, holding you in place as he feasted on your cunt. He could feel your thighs trembling around his head, your moans and whimpers music to his ears. His actions were fueled by pure hunger, an insatiable need to taste and claim every part of you.

He want to hear you fall apart, want to feel you clench and spasm against his mouth as he drove you to the brink of ecstasy. His eyes lock onto yours, watching you with a predatory intensity as he continued his relentless assault on your cunt.

“D-don’t— too much!” You cried out, your body filled with unfamiliar sensations,

It was ironic.

As a demon who gain power through emotions, this was something you have never felt and least of all familiar with. You felt like your body was melting and all you can feel was his tongue in your pussy.

He could feel your control slipping, your defenses crumbling with each flick of his tongue and press of his lips, your body arching and writhing beneath him. Could sense your confusion and pleasure, and it only excite him further.

"Shh, my sweet," he purr, his voice a low, soothing rumble against your core. "Just let go. Let me take care of thee."

He felt your body tense, coiling like a spring ready to snap as your moans grow louder and desperate. He could feel your climax building, your walls fluttering around his tongue as he push you towards the brink.

With a final, hard suck, he sent you hurtling over the edge. Your body convulse, your thighs clamping around his head as you cried out in ecstasy. He lap and lick, prolonging your orgasm until you were a boneless heap on the bed.

As you pant on the bed, your skin glistening with sweat, he sat up licking his lip. "Mmm... Thou art exquisite when thou art undone. I look forward to doing that again... and again."

You let out a broken sob at his word, your leg still shaking as you try to come down from the high. You felt like your body was no longer yours, and the night haven’t even started.

After all this was just the beginning, and he was going to ravage you to the fullest.

With a lazy flick of his wrist, another strand of webbing shot out, binding your ankle to the footboard. He could feel the power thrumming through his veins, fed by your emotions and excitement. It was intoxicating, addictive even. You were now fully at his mercy, spread out and vulnerable before him like a feast waiting to be devoured.

"I could get used to this view," he said as he pull back, his eyes hungry as he stare at your bound form. "Thou art a work of art, my sweet. And I intend to worship every inch of thee."

His hand trails down your body, fingers ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He could feel your body trembling beneath his touch, anticipation and fear mingling together in your veins.

You grit your teeth as you felt his cock head nudging at your entrance, the taper head forceful and insistent. You wanted to close your legs, the sheer size of it making you wonder if it will even fit, but the web left you unable to move. So you can only watch as Zestial sank deep inside you, your scream swallow by him as he kiss you.

He groan into the kiss as he felt your tight heat envelop him, your walls clenching around his cock. He could feel your body tense beneath him, your screams muffled against his lips as he sank deeper and deeper into your welcoming warmth.

He broke the kiss after a few seconds, watching you with a predatory intensity as he began to move. He started slow, giving you time to adjust to his cock, he could feel your body softening, yielding to him as he filled you again and again.

"Thou feel divine, my sweet," he groan, his pace becoming more erratic, more desperate. "So tight and perfect, like thou were made for me."

As he started to pick up the pace he could feel your body responding to his thrusts, your moans growing louder and more desperate with each passing moment.

“S-stop…” you managed to beg out, before you felt yourself cumming again,

Not even getting a chance to catch your breath before he was pounding into you again. It was only till you started losing count, did you felt his thrusting getting erratic as he get ready to fill you with his cum.

With a wail, your body tremble and shake as you felt Zestial crammed his cock into your womb, spilling his cum into you with a grunt as he tightened the web on your limbs.

You didn’t know how long it lasted, you just felt so so full. You couldn’t think or make a sound, your brain practically fried with unfamiliar sensations and pleasure.

Your face was wet with tears and your hair messy as it cling to your body. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so weak and vulnerable.

Not that you can remember much by this point.

After a few minutes, you let out a soft whine as you felt his cock still buried deep inside you. You look up at him your voice hoarse and broken as you ask,

“Are you not pulling out?”

Zestial laugh as he felt your body go limp beneath him, the sight of your overstimulated form feeding him just as much as the physical pleasure you brought him.

"Pull out, my sweet?" he repeated, his voice a low, husky rumble. "Whatever gave thee that idea? I have no intention of finishing our little... encounter so quickly."

To emphasize his point, he gave you another particularly hard thrust. You wailed and he could feel your walls fluttering around him again, your body still sensitized from your earlier climaxes.

"If anything, I intend to fill thee even further. To see thee swollen with my seed, my mark etched upon thy very flesh."

His hand slid down your body, coming to rest on your lower belly. "Wouldst thou like that, my sweet? To be bred and claimed, marked as mine for all to see?"

As he said that he ground his hips against yours again, and you felt something hard and ridged prodding at your entrance. With a sadistic smile, Zestial pushed forward, and you felt a strange, bulbous shape sliding into your womb.

Seeing the shock and confusion on your face, he stroke your belly softly, “Don't worry, my dear. These eggs are but a mere token of my affection for thee." his touch gentle compared to the brutal and lewd action he’s forcing upon you.

One by one, your womb was filled with his eggs. After a eternity, the last of them enter your womb and with a hint of disappointment Zestial pull out of you.

A whimper fell from your lip as he cut you free from his web, your body landing on the soft bed again as you immediately curl up. You can feel the eggs floating in the copious amount of cum inside your womb, pushing against each other and grinding against your sensitive wall. It was a absurd feeling, like you’re actually filled with his young.

Humming softly Zestial pulled you against his chest, his cock already hard again as he pressed it against your ass. Ignoring your instinctive struggle he whisper in your ears.

“Come now, my sweet. Be good and bear my eggs, for thou canst do that for me, canst thou not?”

Before you could answer he was already ramming his cock into your ass, his hand wrap around your throat as he begin to fuck you into oblivion.

You were going to lay those eggs eventually, but he certainly don’t mind fucking you through it. After all the night is long and you will be with him for a long long time.

#no i don’t have problems #reader insert #x reader #reader smut #kinktober #kinktober2024 #hazbin hotel #zestial hazbin hotel #zestial x reader

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sanjiyue · 10 months ago

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law; misguided loyalty 1

doflamingo family!reader x law, angst

As a member of the Doflamingo family, you embark on a perilous mission to secure a supposed cure for disease, fervently believing in your dedication to Doflamingo.

Little do you know that Law, is also out seeking control of the cure.

When your paths cross in the New World, tensions arise as Law, aware of the dangers involved with the underground boss, tries to convey the truth about the misleading mission.

Will the ties to the Doflamingo family shatter, allowing both Law and you to find a new understanding, or will the echoes of the past prove too powerful to overcome? Explores the complexities of allegiance, trust, and the consequences of leaving behind a life bound by shadows.

[1.3k wc]

[10 years ago]

You peeked out from behind the feathered drapings of a bright pink coat, curiously stretching your neck to try and get a glance at the little boy before you.

When you opened your mouth to introduce yourself, he glaringly stared in your direction, defiantly.

You could only shake from how the bloodlust rolled off of him, erupting in waves before your eyes.

"Now, children, we can all learn to get along, can't we? We're all family after all!" The man before you laughed as he bent down to bring you before him.

You struggled a little, digging your heels into the floor as he brought you out, unwilling to meet whoever this was before you.

"This is Law! He'll begin training with you soon, so let's all get along."

Reaching for the man's hand that you knew as Doffy, "fine!"

You glared back at the small boy, asserting your possessiveness over the young master.

His golden eyes gave you a condescending look as if you were five years younger than him. "Whatever. Don't get in my way."

Your spare hand turned into a fist and you held it up to his face. "I didn't even say anything to you yet!"

The distinctiveness of his face turned fuzzy, and the world softened its outlines.

And it faded.

"Hey."

A voice draws you back to the current. You lift your dipped head, still a little drowsy, eyes flinching against the bright sunlight that always flooded the upstairs throne room in peaceful Dressrosa.

You set your heavy-lidded eyes on your young master, who was lazily stretched in his chair, comfortable and seemingly at-ease.

"You seem quite comfortable now after I fed you that mirage fruit, don't tell me you're going to start slacking now that you're my right hand."

He stood up before the sun rays, stretching a hand your way, languid.

There was a hint of a smile as you took his hand, soaking in his every word, "no way! We're a family right? I'm going to try ten times as hard to protect us."

Doffy's face stretched a chesire smile as he fixated upon you, "good. With mirage and String-String fruit--"

His luringly sweet voice was interrupted by a loud and sudden slam through the door.

"It's Law! He's--"

"Vergo, my old friend." Doffy took a step sideways, revealing you in his shadow, "let's be a little more considerate."

Vergo let out a cough, "Law is in the foyer."

Doffy sensed you tense up behind him. "Now now," he had a wry smile, "we don't want to rile up the little one."

"This is beneath you, young master, I will go." You ran out the door Vergo pushed through, their conversation fading in the background as you were out of earshot.

"Don't you ever run out of string doing that? 'Doffy'.".

The man in question barks out a laugh in reponse.

As you hurried down the steps, you thought back to all the times Doffy unheaved dreadful news of Law Trafalgar.

First the purging of a hospital, and now this. He dares to show his ungrateful face here to the family that raised and loved him.

If Doffy deemed him the source of the hatred of man, then you hated him with your whole being.

For as the young master breathed, you lived.

The door to the foyer swung open, sunlight greedily filling the unsettling and tense room. The sight before you left you breathless.

There, standing in the center of the room, was Law-- or at least, what appeared to be him. His silhouette was unmistakable, the familiar hat casting a shadow over his face.

But as your eyes adjusted to the low light, the details became clearer, and a knot tightened in your stomach.

Baby Five struggled in his grasp, even more so as she came upon the sight of you. "Get out of here!"

"Law," you were caught off-guard, uneasy at the sight of your beloved family member at his mercy.

His gaze slowly lifted, golden eyes lifeless and cruel with a hint of malevolence. He raised a sword above Baby Five.

Before you could even move, he spared no hesitation for relationship ties and struck down, steel slicing flesh. Baby Five groaned, her whole being filthy with dark blood.

You shook with what felt like a stab in the back. Even Baby Five, one of the closest members to Law while he was here, cut into like it was nothing.

Disillusion gripped your heart, and all possible fond memories of Law extinguished to the flames of the burning fury.

Then, like nothing happened, he released his grip and disappeared, leaving his message of threat.

You rushed to Baby Five's side, hands shaking. "Doff--" Before you could finish your cry, he appeared at your side.

As the shattered remnants of your sentimentality lay scattered around you, you found a source of solace in your young master's presence.

"My dear, to think that Law would cast you aside without another doubt in his mind," he purred, gathering Baby Five in his arms, "how thoughtless."

"Doffy, I need to go after him, just--"

The young master looked at you with unnerving complexity, "no. I could never lose you the way he wants to get rid of you. I need you for my future, our family's future. A future where your true potential will flourish, right alongside me."

His words pulled you in like a venomous secret he was dying to spill. "I will take care of Baby Five. Go back upstairs and wait with Vergo, there's something I need to talk to you about."

In the fascade of comfort meticulously crafted, you found yourself willingly ensnared by his allure and the intricate web of manipulation woven deep in your fragile emotions.

Your fury dulled, you forced yourself to stand up. You took one more look at Baby Five, her fingers grazing yours as you stood.

"That damn Law," she stuttered, "he has no sentimentality-- a monster."

Your hands balled into fists. "The next time I see him, I swear I won't go easy on him." You promised her.

Doffy's Machiavellian smile crept onto his face. "Good. Now go up."

As you climbed the stairs, you could barely hold it together. You entered the room to Vergo's waiting figure.

"Ah," he glanced up at you. "Do you know how Joker's plan to cure the Chrono Crystal Fever is coming?"

You stirred.

The Chrono Crystal Fever was a rare condition where individuals developed a crystalline sheen. Victims were said to have been unable to distinguish between past and current events, progressing into madness.

"I didn't know the young master was planning on finding a cure."

Vergo paused meticulously, "yes, I suppose it would procure a new line of income. I heard the young master is in a hurry to obtain the ingredient before others discover it."

"I guess it would be beneficial for the family to have a monopoly on the cure." Guess? It was the means of an end. There's no way Doffy could let up such an important opportunity.

"I would go myself if I could."

You drew your attention to the voice, the young master in his eminence against the doorway, "it's a real shame. But as my right hand, you'll go in my stead right?"

If he ordered death, you would die. If he craves blood, you spill. This was the man that was going to be the King of the Pirates.

The source of your comfort and familiarity and warmth. One of the only people in this world that seemed to treat you with preciousness.

"Of course," you tilted your head as if it was ever an option to say no. "Whatever you will, it is done."

He tilted his head at your devotion.

"For you, young master, this family would lay down kingdoms."

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