#floating brothel

[ltwilliammowett]

Chinese Flower Boats

Flower boats had already existed for centuries, perhaps since the 14th century, but earlier is also possible. They were initially only available to the noble elite. They were luxury brothels with noble courtesans on board and they resembled luxurious pleasure boats with a sun deck with a private chamber and a pavilion at the stern. Not much can be said about the early designs and appearance, as records only began around 1700.

At this time the boats began to change, the stern became more and more drawn upwards so that it looked very much like a beak. There was a special reason for this, but more about that in a moment.

Flower Boat at Shanghai" wood engraved print with recent hand colour, published in All Around the World, about 1880 (x)

From then on, the boats were available in different sizes and even in different price categories. There were small ones with only one or two girls, or large ones with up to 10 or more, all of different ages, even little girls were included, although they were still learning until they were 12 before they received their first customers. Moste of these women were no longer noble courtesans but rather women from poor families who were sold to the ship owners. With the emergence of the European trading companies, they also got access to the flower boats, albeit illegally, but this could be regulated with a small bribe to the officials. Unfortunately, these meetings also further encouraged the exchange of exotic sexually transmitted diseases.

Ivory Flower boat model, late 18th century (x)

What was to be expected on such boats depended on the price of the respective ladies, with the high-priced ladies there was already entertainment and culture included, the middle price ranges offered some additional types of games and the cheap ones were, and I'm sorry to say this, for the quick number.

A model from the late or early 20th century (x)

These boats were to be found at all harbours and rivers, there were even whole streets of them. But let's move on to the very high stern, which from the 18th century onwards could take on very bizarre proportions. The ships did not always stay in the harbour to save space and prevent epidemics. The ships were be towed or sailed by their own, up and down the rivers and because they were so high at the stern they started to bob faster, which was supposed to increase the fun of the customers even more.

A Canton Flower Boat on the Pearl River, late 19th century (x)

Surprisingly, they continued to exist into WWII, although from the 19th century onwards these trips became increasingly rare and then ceased altogether. And many boats were also abandoned and became floating restaurants.

[envyangelic]

˚* ˚ ✦STEEL AND SILK * ˚ ✦ ˚

・❥・Violet “Vi” x Reader

・❥・Warnings: smut, minor descriptions of violence

・❥・Summary: Working at a brothel in the heart of Zaun, you find yourself drawn to a new regular who so happens to be a reckless pit fighter seeking solace in your expertise.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Babette’s brothel is so much more than just a whorehouse- it’s a crossroads full of expensive secrets. In the hallways of the brothel, the most powerful people of Zaun float in between the rooms of different women and men.

There’s always a crowd in the brothel. People let things slip when they feel safe and relaxed. That’s your job. Of course, it’s not the ideal job that you’ve always dreamed of but it pays better than most and you gain leverage over the powerful people of Zaun. It’s not like you have much of an option when all the prices in the Undercity are sky rocketing.

After a while, you’ve become numb to the touch of strangers. The other workers always lookout for one and another and Babette doesn���t stand for violence. It’s one big dysfunctional family. You’ve gotten used to it all and have started to have regulars that respect you. You try your best not to get too close them but a particular new regular has caught your eye.

Her name is Vi. She has this red pinkish hair that she decided to dye black in an impulsive rage. Still her red hair shines through the cheap dye shining a spotlight of who she used to be. A tattoo of her name underneath her eye and piercings scattered on her body. She’s a pit fighter for one of Zauns notorious illegal fighting ring hidden in the dark corners of the undercity. You always prefer the women customers over the men but Vi attracts you in an alluring way.

Your meetings usually happen after her fights. She’s bloody and drunk seeking comfort anyway possible. Sometimes she comes in before fights to scoop details about the other fighters strategies.

Here she is again, stumbling into your dimly lit room on a late Friday night. The faint tang of iron fills the room. Her lip is busted and her nose leaks dark red. She smells like cheap whiskey and looks as if she has been drinking bottle to bottle.

Her knuckles are split open and bruised but she pays no attention to the pain that tightens her body.

“Hell of a night, huh?” You ask as you pat the spot next to you on the love seat. She can’t help it when her eyes trail up and down your body. You’re practically wearing nothing. Like usual, you’re wearing a cropped v neck tank top with an open back and matching shorty shorts. She lets out a deep sigh and shuts her eyes.

She collapses on the soft plush next to you. You lean over the coffee table and pull the medical kit out from the tiny compartment. You started keeping one ever since Vi started her visits.

“I’m taking that you didn’t win tonight.” You state as you open the latch of the medical kit. Her face doesn’t change- not a flicker of pride or shame, just her same old steady stone cold mask.

“In the end, I’m still here aren’t I?” She rasps in a deep voice. You pick out a white bandage and a cloth. You sit against Vi’s clothed thighs and brings your hand to her face. You caress her cheek as you dab away the blood on her lips.

She slightly opens her eyes watching your movements. “Who did you fight?” You ask while you wipe away the remaining blood. “Doesn’t matter, doll.” She leans into your soft touch.

She started calling you that after her first visit there. Always dressed up in prettiest of garments and hair perfect as can be. You look like a doll to her. Perfect and pristine. She wonders how you ever ended up in a place like this. You’re too good for here.

She brings her calloused hand up to your hair. It’s neatly up in a bun with some bobby pins pressed against it to hold the hair. “Why haven’t I ever seen you with your hair down?” She coos in a low voice.

Your lips upturn into a sly smile. “Maybe because you never asked.” You state as you place the bloody cloth on the glass table infront of the loveseat. The warmth of your skin radiates on Vi. You lean back touching your shoulder to hers. Only inches away from her face your eyes meet hers.

“I’m asking now.” She loops her finger into your hair band and unravels it slowly before throwing the hairband somewhere next to you.

Your hair falls down onto your shoulders and cascades around your face. She plucks the bobby pins out and places them on the table. You let out a small laugh.

She takes it all in, her sharp gaze lingering longer than usual. The way your hair falls around your shoulders. You push your hair back with a deep sigh.

“Long day for you too?” She asks while twirling a stray strand of your hair. There’s a rasp in her voice, a splinter of vulnerability shining through her bloody battered state.

“Yeah well.. you know how it is here.” She pushes the stray hair strand behind your ear. “Anyways, I heard some big shot talking about your next fight.” She tenses up while you continue.

“I don’t care. Not tonight.” She says while you start to pull her black jacket off. You peel it away slowly feeling the worn fabric under your grip.

You throw the jacket over the side of the couch. Your fingers trace the black ink on her bruised skin. Her eyes follow them. Then they flicker to your face again.

She can’t help but feel an overwhelming attraction towards you. A gratifying force pulling her to you. She grabs onto your hand freezing you in your place.

She can’t take this anymore. She needs you against her. Her gaze locks with yours. The air between the two of you thickens, charged with an energy you can’t fight.

She lets go of your hand and wraps it into your hair. She crashes onto your lips moving in a hungry rhythm. Your hands wrap against her back. Her hands loop with your tank top. She unravels from your lips to lift the tank top off of you.

It slides off with ease. She takes a moment to appreciate the scene in front of her. Your chest rises and falls. She ducks down to your neck pressing chaste kisses.

You let out a soft gasp as she travels further. Her touch hand latches onto your breast and she nips at the sensitive spot of your neck. A rush of euphoria makes your head spin.

You need more, she needs more.

Her breath is hot against your skin sending shivers down your spine. She ignites a fire inside of you. Her finger leaves your chest and travels below your shorts.

She lets out a deep laugh against your skin feeling how soaked you are. Her finger dives deeper. Your lips press against her ear. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be making you feel like this..” you whisper.

“You know it’s so much more fun for the both of us when I do it, doll.” She pulls you back in for a hungry kiss. Her fingers curl inside of you.

You let out a hushed moan. Her hands explore your body like your body is new territory. Time to seems to blur, your heart beats in your ears. Her fingers leave your warmth.

You sigh unable to form words as she pulls off the shorts that already barely cover you. Her hands drag down to your thighs slowly torturing you with the prolonging absence of her touch.

The shorts are thrown with the rest of your forgotten clothes. Her hands stop at your hips and she grabs them. She moves you down the couch and starts to press kisses further and further down.

The warmth in between your legs continues to grow. Flutters of arousal beat inside your chest. She finally makes her way to your heat. She ducks down in between your legs. Your thighs instinctively tighten around her head.

Her hot breath lingers around your center. Her lips press against you. You gasp lightly and your hands travel into her hair. Her tongue swirls around your core carefully. She always knows just what riles you up.

“I know you like it just like that, doll.” She cockily teases you. She can’t help but smirk seeing your flushed face.

Between breathy moans you moan her name quietly as she inches you closer over the edge. She slides her tongue up sending you over but slows down.

“Fuck.. Vi..” You whisper under your pants. She picks up your pace. You grab onto her hair pulling her closer. A burst of an intense sensation paralyzes you.

You press her down further arching your back. She keeps at her pace until your pathetic humps stop and your body twitches. She leans up from her position to catch you in a quick kiss.

You can barely keep up with her rhythm as she crawls on top of you. Her red hair falls infront of her face. She leans away from the kiss and deep down all you want is for her to stay.

She drops her head on your chest taking in the warmth of your body. For a moment the pain of her wounds melt away. She doesn’t think of Caitlyn but only of you. Your breath slows down matching with her.

She tries not to dwell on the fact that this experience is something you always have when working at the brothel. To her you’re not just the hooker from the brothel. You’re just a desperate girl doing whatever it takes.

Just like her.

——————————————-

I couldn’t find any Pitfighter Vi gifs which is disappointing bc she’s so fine in her emo era

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ You better lock your door and look at me a little more (we both know I'm worth waitin' for) ❞

Vander x ftm!reader | fluffy, NSFW, slight angst | there's some plot at the end | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | versatile. bottom. reader | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 5k

warnings: r! is a prostitute, brothel mentioned, mentions of addiction, spanking, fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like boypussy, pussy, boycunt, cunt are used)

masterlist;

authors note: you guys have @strayjester to thank for this because of the thirst we had for this fine-ass single dad...

*song on repeat: Billie Boss Nova by Billie Eilish *YN is described as being shorter than Vander in this fic.

He’s getting that itch under his skin again. Muscles aching and throat begging for the soothing burn of addictive smoke. Vander tosses a rag on his shoulder, scratching at his beard as he fixes his posture. His skin feels stretched thin, aching for a salve to fill the crevices and drought; his ears muffle the bar, and the song playing floats into his ears.

The playful percussions, the whispering tone of the singer, and the sighs of the adlibs remind him of the fairytales of fairies, sirens, and boys in masks in nothing but a see-through robe.

Vander straightens up, briefly glancing over at the doors of the bar. The underground doesn’t get sunlight, but like a dog, he knows when people are starting to head back home. The crowd in here was mostly gone, some were passed out in the booths and some intently eating sunflower seeds in their corner. He’d have to clean it up and make sure the tables weren’t sticky, and the floor needed a good sweep too.

Impatientness grows in him. Vander sighs, pouring himself a shot of something to reinvigorate him, and slams the glass down. It startles the man at the bar enough to have him reach for his coins, the rest get the same hint.

“You look like you need a nightcap," Spider mutters. Vander thinks it’s ridiculous for people to call the seamstress such an intimidating name when she vehemently despises the arachnids, but it stuck and she has no choice but to embrace it. She has the courtesy of bringing her bowl of opened sunflower seeds and an empty glass to him instead of just stumbling off.

But Vander knows it isn’t exactly out of the kindness of her heart.

It flatters him that she finds him attractive. Really, it does. She was a beautiful woman and a capable one too. But Vander is tired and truly, he doesn’t want his rendezvous to be chattered on about everywhere. His kids didn’t need to hear about any of it.

“Aye’, that I do. Thankfully, I own a bar,” she chuckles and reaches forward to swat at his shoulder. Vander just smiles, taking her dishes and placing them elsewhere so his back is turned to her. “It’s not good practice to drink your own stock,” Spider places her elbows on the table and Vander doesn’t need to spare a glance to know her breasts are on display too. This isn’t the first time she’s done this, and most likely won’t be the last.

The song ends with a soothing croon from the singer and Vander’s cock twitches in his pants as he spots the business card stuck between the frame of the mirror.

“Ya’ sober enough to make your way back safe?” Spider’s brows pinch and she mutters, gluing her gaze on Vander’s face as he pulls the rag down to wipe the table. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Vander nodded, bidding her a good night she simply replied with a wave. She was the last to leave through the front door and Vander manages to not groan in relief at the click he hears.

‘ Hurry! ‘ A voice tells him. It’s early in the morning now, the window is closing but he can’t possibly leave the bar in this state. He’ll be the one regretting it when he opens tonight. Vander imagines he must’ve looked a bit dumb as he stares at the state of the bar when Vi appears at the top of the stairs.

“What?” Vi tilts her head at him but gestures loosely to the tables and chairs. “I said I can clean it, you look...tired.”

He sighs, squeezing the back of his neck. “What’re you doing up so early, Vi?” she shrugs which is a non-answer but pushes through the doorway and meanders behind the bar. Her head pops out and she places the iron bucket of cleaning supplies. Vander walks to her, handing her the rag as he reaches for a broom.

“Vander, I can clean the place just fine,” she huffs. “All by yer’self? S’gonna take ya’ forever,” he’s jesting but she finds no humor in it. The girl crosses her arms as she glares up at him. A part of him wants nothing more than to dash out of here, to find that salve he desperately is aching for, but there was no way he could leave his daughter to clean up by herself just because he wanted to get his dick wet.

“Dude, just go,” Vi grabs the bucket and rag and marches to the tables. He frowns a bit, crossing his arms as he contemplates it.

“Ya’ couldn’t sleep?” Vi shakes her head. “Nope! Milo was snoring and Claggor kept moving in his sleep. Powder must be tired because she’s sleeping through it with no problem.” Vi’s always been a light sleeper. Most of the people in the underground were. But Vander just needs to ask; “Ya’ sure it wasn’t the nightmares?” Vi pauses in her wiping and Vander watches her face as she sends him a pouty expression.

“Yes, I’m sure. I haven’t had one of those in forever anyway — just go rest, old man. I can wipe down tables and sweep floors by myself.”

“Are you sure — “

“Dude!”

The path he takes is always quiet. Hidden between tight alleyways and old wires hung too low — he rarely saw characters here other than the occasional cat or shady hooded figure but that was a normal sight anywhere.

The back of the building is less glamorous than the front but not out of neglect. It was purposefully made that way — fewer lights, fewer signs, and fewer girls spilling from the door. But he peeks up from the hood of his jacket and he sees the voyeuristicly lit windows. The shadows of bodies behind the thin curtains, the seductive glow and thrum of the others. The back door is not locked, it's just made to look that way so people feel dirtier pushing the heavy door open.

He hears a whistle and his cock honestly to god jumps at the sight of your naked shoulders. Your mask was askew, your hair messed up, and smears of lipstick on your lips, and your skin; Vander is envious of the cigarette holder you have in your grip.

When your lips wrap around it he feels the exhaustion melt away. Plumes of purple smoke pour out from your mouth; “Had a feeling you’d be comin’ over."

Vander laughs, moving to the door with his eyes still on you. “Yeah? Just knew, did ya’?”

You nod, placing your chin in your palm as he opens the door.

“Yeah. My ass has been wanting a good stretch the whole day, only gets that way when you’re comin’ over.”

' Coming over ', you make it sound like he’s a teenage boy sneaking through your window. Vander says nothing as he walks in and you grin at it. His silence was good — it meant he was going to give it to you just how you wanted. You finish the cigarette and slip the curtains close.

Vander liked his privacy after all.

The hallways are familiar, but he still thinks the wallpaper is a bit too busy and the creak in the floorboards should have been fixed. Saying it out loud feels a bit shameful. After all, how often would he have to come over to recognize these things?

He passes by a doorway guarded with beaded curtains and he ignores the moans of the woman who is being devoured by another. The doorway next to it has the sounds of leather rubbing against leather so he peeks as he passes by to see it shines under the low lights.

Reaching the stairs, Vander is greeted by Sevika lip-locked with another woman. He lowered his head, hoping she was too busy fingering her to notice. At the landing, there’s a wall of hooks, and on each of them held a mask of an animal. They differed in all sorts of sizes, and materials, each handcrafted by different artists. Customers wear them if they’d like but it was a must for employees.

The allure, the secrecy, the seductive notion of masked strangers sucking your cock, blah blah blah.

He grabs the wolf mask, slipping it on with ease, as he climbs the rest of the stairs. He misses Sevika staring at his back with squinted eyes.

“D’you know him?” she asks. The girl in the doe mask pants but eyes Vander’s frame through the wooden bars of the stairs. “Him? Oh, he’s a regular. Secretive, and never lets anyone else see his face other than the Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

That makes Sevika snort. “(Y/N)? He only comes here for him?” She can’t exactly blame the man. You were a talented little beast. Hands, mouth, feet, cunt, ass — every part of you was made with pleasure in mind. She enjoys having you in a headlock as she pounds into your asshole, enjoys your tongue inside of her and your filthy little words.

But just for you? This pleasure house had a gaggle of beasts for him to lay with. Hairy beasts with cocks just as big as their arms who enjoy plowing and being plowed. Demure little nymphs with a talent to make people beg for their cocks to be stepped on or to cry in pleasure. Tall beasts, short beasts, catering to every need and fetish a man could have.

“There’s a betting pool,” the Doe says. Sevika turns to face her as the masked man enters the hallway leading to your room. “About?” Sevika pulls her fingers out to pull away the negligee and kneads at her small breast. She shudders, arching her back into her but continues; “The Wolf and The Fox. That he’s smitten, maybe even a bit obsessed.” Sevika scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pinches Doe's perk nipple between her fingers,

"Poor bastard."

"I think it's — ah — cute," Doe retorts as she squeezes Sevika's biceps. "To you maybe, a smitten customer gets you more coin," Sevika grunts out, her tone light despite it.

"Falling in love with a whore is just stupid."

"You saying you don't love me, Daddy?" Doe pouts her lips. Sevika chuckles as she lowers her head to nibble on it. "I'll love you tonight, baby. Think that'll be enough?"

The door has the symbol of your mask, painted in gold. It's ajar, a sliver of light lighting the carpeted floors and Vander rolls his shoulders as he pushes the door open.

Your room is heavy with the smell of incense. There's thudding against the walls, moans of pleasure echoing despite it being muffled. Vander's shoes make no noise. The carpets on the floor provide more than just comfort. Discretion. This room and the others on this floor are all for high-paying customers.

He closes and locks the door behind him. He reaches for his mask but your voice stops him.

"Keep it on," you push yourself off the door frame, the beads clattering softly, and Vander tits his head at your sashay. Your mask was left on the bed, leaving your face bare, and Vander cocks a brow as he looks down at you.

"One of those nights?" His hands settle on your waist. The size of them, the roughness that's felt through the silk of your robe, it makes your grin stretch wider. "You got other ideas, Vander?" you muse. "Was hopin' to kiss ya'," he huffs.

The grip on your ass lurches you forward further into his broad chest. Vander's eyes are heavy, the shadows attempt to hide the desire but it's futile. He's kneading, hitching you up higher until you're barely on your toes.

Head tilting, he leans in. Your head floats away, hands still gripped onto his shirt as he chases and you don't give in.

"(Y/N)," his tone suggests a warning. But it's amusing. Here you are, in his arms. His strength keeps you in place and in the air; the mask is akin to a muzzle. Except he's fully capable of taking it off if he wishes.

The fact that you asked for him to keep it on is not lost to you. Your words alone held so much power over him. You place his neck between the gap of your thumb and pointer finger, barely there pressure keeping him still despite the yearning in his eyes.

"You're exhausted, big guy. Long day, yeah?" Vander nods at your words.

"Lay down on the bed. I'll make you feel good."

He hesitates for a moment. But your feet find the floor again and he begrudgingly parts. When he walks past you, you follow behind him. He pauses when you reach for the front of his pants, looking at you from over his shoulder.

"Take off your clothes for me, baby."

Your bed is shaped in a semi-circle. The curtain around it was drawn all the way back. There's a mountain of pillows and bolsters that welcome Vander's naked frame as he settles on it.

The trail of his clothes on the floor has your silk robes accompanying you as you stand at the end of the bed.

Vander tilts his head, widening his legs and stroking his hairy thighs. Leading your eyes to the thick dick that's already at full mast.

"Damn," you whistle. The bed dipped under the weight of your knee. "I know I'm good looking but you can't be that hard from just 5 seconds of laying your eyes on me."

He can't tear his gaze from you. From the marks on your face to the state of your hair; the bare skin that he loves to bruise and mark up — despite being told by you it's not exactly encouraged — Vander is convinced you're not real sometimes.

The arcane has been long gone now. Yet, here you are. Living, breathing, proof that its remnants linger in pumping hearts and honey-sweet skin. With just your voice, you make his knees buckle and his cock strain through the material of his pants.

Just the whisper of your name has his entire day derailed as he thinks and thinks and thinks of you.

Oh, (Y/N).

You're his undoing.

Gooseflesh spread at your touch and Vander groans as you settle yourself between his legs. That haunting touch makes its way to his crotch, ghosting along his aching rod, up his soft stomach, and towards his chest. It rests there and his heart threatens to escape his ribcage. The heat from your cunt has him sighing and settling his hands on the arch of your back. It makes you chuckle.

"Please, darlin'," he begs, "I been needing you so badly. All day."

There's no way you can deny him. Not when your cock jumps at the airy tone he has, that gravelly husk that comes with it. It peeks up, just as hard as his. He can feel it drag along his own and he tightens his grip on you.

"Yeah?" You nose at his neck, trailing your painted lips down. The hairs on his chest tickle your cheek when you place your face there, breathing against his perk nipples.

"Shit, yeah. Can't you feel me?" He grows a bit bolder in his next move. Urging your hips forward so he can feel your wet folds, forcing your stiff cock to rub up. The motion makes your eyes flutter close, sighing against his pebbling nub.

"For such a big man, you're such a teddy bear," you lift your hips, lining his thick head with your needy cunt. He laughs, his masked face tilting downwards as his blue-grey eyes all but glow in excitement.

"I've been told I am a bear," his words end a moan when you slip him inside. The bowl of condoms littered just about everywhere outside this room wasn’t there for decoration. They were there for the John’s and Jane’s who needed them.

But you know Vander. You’ve been the only thing he’s been hitting and you make sure the rest of your clients are always wrapped up.

Everything about him is thick so it’s no surprise you feel the twinge of discomfort as you accommodate to his size. It lingers briefly but once the mushroom tip of his dick is inside pleasure runs up your spine.

“Oh fuck yes,” you wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest together. He instantly embraces you, adjusting his grip to your ass again so he can help you straddle his legs.

“Fuck, baby. Your dick is so big,” and for once you’re not lying about it.

Vander’s a big boy. His thick arms, square jaw, the delicious shape of his nose; his wide chest and sturdy shoulders, and his soft but firm stomach. Fuck, everything about Vander makes your head fill warm.

His dick twitches inside you as you slide down. The snout of the wooden mask bumps into your forehead and you laugh as he leans in.

“S’fuckin’ needy,” he has no protests. You reach for the bottom of the mask and push it up, blinding him but rewarding him with your lips. His beard is soft. As you feel through it, you cup his jaw and he groans into the kiss.

More of him inches inside of you and halfway down, you’re pulling away to breathe. His fingers are going to leave handprints with how roughly he holds you; flesh spilling from the gaps of his greedy digits.

“Fuck, (Y/N).”

“Yeah, say my name, baby.”

Vander grunts when you fix the mask into place. When you lean back, he takes in the sight of the bump on your stomach.

“Perv.” His dick twitches again. So you laugh.

“Absolutely rotten.”

Your eyes slip close as you let gravity take over. Fuck, the way your hips buck up and twitch as he fills you up has his toes curling. You’re dripping wet, the thick and clear liquid travelling down his balls.

“You’re so fuckin’ hard,” he thumbs at your cock. When he uses his knuckles to stroke it, his mouth goes dry at the way it twitches and righteously stands tall.

“All ‘cus of you,” you purr. Vander groans, now idly touching the bump of his dick and you sigh as he presses down on it.

“Ooooh fuck, Vander.”

He rolls your hips, moving to ground his heels into the bed but you beat him to it. Your hands brace his knees and you lift up and up and up — his tip bumping into yours in the brief time it’s out of you — then slipping him all the way inside again.

Vander curses, his accent thickening as you throw his head back.

You chew on your bottom lips, savouring the explosion of pleasure behind your eyelids. As you look at his heaving chest, you cannot stop the sharp grin that crawls onto your face.

Placing one hand on his shoulder, you put your thighs to work. Vander is at your mercy. Panting and moaning behind the mask as he watches your work on his cock. Riding him, grinding down on him, using his thick dick for your pleasure.

Your other hand leads his own to a surprise.

Between your ass that he adores so much, he bucks up when he feels the base of a plug inside of your ass.

“Oh, you liked that,” you moan. All high and airy as you slow down into grinding, thighs burning. Vander is tugging onto the plug and your rim stretches as he teases it in and out.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he growls out.

“You’ll die happy, don’t — mngh — duh-don’t...Shit, Vander. Baby. Oh fuuuck.”

The exhaustion of the day has seeped out from him it seems. He’s leaning forward, caging you between his raised knees and firm front.

In one smooth movement, your back bounces on the bed and he’s on top of you. The acoustic of the wooden mask makes him sound like an animal as he growls above you, he huffs and pants like a proper wolf.

You share a long look, even as he rocks in and out of you and you feel your heavy eyelids threaten to squeeze shut. He braces onto his elbows, his weight on you making you whine and keen.

He takes the reigns and smiles when you reach to take his mask off. It thuds onto the carpet, mere inches away from your own mask.

“Hey, handsome.” You stroke over his cheekbones, gasping into his mouth as he kisses you. A particularly deep thrust makes you arch off the bed and it distracts you from his deft hands pulling out your plug.

“Your cunts got me all nice and wet,” he growls into your ear. “Perfect for fucking your ass then,” you whisper back.

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” He slips out and you whimper at the loss. You’re not empty for long. He taps his tip onto your winking hole and you chew on the insides of your cheeks in anticipation.

“C’mon, baby. Fuck me.”

“Yes, sir,” he purrs with a devillishly handsome smile.

He rights his posture, holding your ankles in one grip and folding your legs so your knees are nearly at your chest.

The stretch makes you toss your head to the side, cunt gaping as he fixates on the sight of your greedy holes.

Vander spits onto your hole and pushes in deeper. It makes you sing like a proper whore. Clutching onto the sheets while your chest heaves.

God, when he takes over like this — it makes you fantasize about how good it’d feel to wake up in his bed for once — but fantasies like that are dangerous. Vander is smarter than that, he’d know better than to bring a whore back home. Especially a whore like you.

His heavy balls slap against your ass. It knocks the breath out of you. You cry out, tears pricking your eyes when he strokes your dick. Vander splits your thighs and he holds your face with so much care you feel your heart pound our of your chest.

“(Y/N),” when he moans your name you want nothing more than to keep him here with you forever.

When he fucks up into your ass, you inch forward with every strong thrust. So he holds you down, keeping you in place as he stretches out your ass. The friction on your dick makes you even wetter. But you still hiss in discomfort as your rim clenches around him. Vander pants above you, slowing to a stop.

“Lube, darlin’?”

You nod, gesturing to the nightstand. Vander kisses you, pulling out as he turns and grabs the strawberry-scented bottle. You lay out on the bed, breathing heavily as you recompose yourself.

Vander lubes his dick up, eyeing your cunt a little too hungrily for your liking. So you knock your knees together, staring at him pointedly when he blinks innocently at you. “No double dipping,” you warn. Vander scoffs, grinning loosely.

“I know that, boy.” “D’you?”

Your expression makes him snort. He parts your legs again, smearing some lube on your hole before he presses his heavy cock inside of you again.

“‘Course I do. Your cunt’s just so sexy, can’t help but stare.”

“Yeah? Should I call another client and make him fuck my pussy while you fuck my ass?” You’re goading him. He realizes that. But the flash of jealousy that comes across his face is not something he can control.

Vander doesn’t respond. Merely grunting as he fucks into you. You yelp at the strength he’s using, cursing as you’re dragged onto his dick. Helpless as he uses you.

“Yuh - You pissed?” he glares at you but shakes his head.

“No.”

“Yer' a shitty liar.” You moan out his name as he turns you over onto your stomach, barely having time to process his movements as he pulls you onto your knees. He’s bruising you with his grip and when he spanks your ass, you know it’ll be sore till the next day. Every spank makes you tighten up around him. He presses between your shoulder blades and you are keen as he reaches deeper than before.

“M’just joking, Vander,” you pant out. “It’s all yours, all of it — all of me.“

Vander vengeance is in his hips. An unrelenting force that turns your body into nothing but a conduit of pleasure. Your gummy walls are torn between pushing him out and keeping him in — it doesn't matter, in the end, the one with power over you was him. There's bliss in relinquishing control. It's a whisper of voices, serenading you to a high that even the strongest drugs could barely scratch.

Or maybe you were just an addict for sex — or just Vander.

No seasoned whore lets their guard down with a client. There's a degree of trust needed. It's surface level. The bond between you and Vander — there's something oddly binding about it. You've heard of the religions scattered around the world. Of monks who abstain from worldly pleasures, those who worship an entire militia of gods, and those who only believed in one Maker; they spoke with such certainty of their beliefs. The punishment and euphoria waiting for them at the end of the line.

Fucking Vander feels like religion. When he makes your body burn from the inside out with a lust only he can quench — you're doomed and there's no one to blame but yourself.

That's a lie, you bite down on the bedsheets as you feel his balls slap against your cunt and dick. There's someone to blame for putting Vander in your way, (Y/N).

"Shit, sweetheart. I'm close," Vander groans. You moan, forcing yourself to reach back so you can kiss him. Vander feels his heart hammering, reaching to pinch your cock between his fingers to distract himself from these bubbling emotions.

Loving you was a freedom he had long forgotten about. Hearing you moan out his name, digging your nails into his skin and kissing him so deeply. He aches for you — his veins burn when he even thinks he sees you in the crowd.

He loves you.

Vander murmurs something on your lips that you don't catch. But you're too far gone to acknowledge your senses. You're so close to unraveling. Teetering on that edge of bliss as Vander holds you like he wants your bodies to become moulded together like clay.

"Vander, Vander — "

He slips his fingers inside your cunt. You gasp, feeling yourself clench around him like a vice as you squirt onto his fingers and cum around his dick. Vander is close behind, growling out your name as he thrusts in balls deep and floods your ass with his thick ropes of cum.

The both of you ride off the orgasm. His hips still fucking in and out of you in shallow motions that have your breath hitching with every drag and poke. Vander slips his fingers out and brings it to your lips — you chuckle softly, letting them inside as you clean his talented digits.

"How much did you pay the madame?" You nuzzle into his neck, relying on him to hold you up. He kisses your shoulders, his beard tickling your skin as his hands roam your front.

"Long enough. You sick of me already, darling?"

Don't think that's possible, you thought with a loose grin. Vander groans into your mouth as you grab his chin and kiss him.

"Don't flatter yourself, baby."

Vander looks younger when he rests. Not like a boy again, just younger. The lines on his face were less prominent and the softness of his body was more inviting. You're tracing mindless shapes into his chest, chastising the city of Zaun for beginning its morning cycle. The noises from beyond the window are beginning to shift from the noisy nightlife of hookers calling for Johns and booming music from clubs to the food stalls opening and wagons being pulled along the worn-down roads.

You can hear the thudding of Vander's heart under your ear. It squeezes your own so you lift your head and gaze down at him, just taking him in from a new angle. The door clicks and Vander's brows pinch but he does not stir. He trusts you enough to rest. For you to keep vigil over him.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" his voice drawls like a thick caramel. A seductive purr with a certain husk that tingles your senses. The tall, lanky, man enters the room and he is shameless as he takes the both of you in.

"He paid for the whole night, not the day." Silco comments. "He gets a pass on good behavior. What do you need?" Vander's hand is carefully guided to hold one of the pillows and you carefully move to stand.

Silco takes in the sight of you. Moving forward, he grasps your chin in his hand and tilts your head back; "He's always been such a possessive man."

"Yeah? He marked you up like this too?" He regards you with a tepid glance. "Sir," you add smoothly. Giving him a half-hearted grin.

It works. Silco's eyes soften, just slightly but it's a crutch you're leaning on. He likes you more than he'd like to admit and you're beginning to feel guilty for all these emotions brewing inside of you for these two brothers-in-arms.

"Did you learn anything from tonight, (Y/N)?" Silco looks past you to Vander. Turning his voice into a whispering tone that feels more romantic than he probably intended it to.

You contemplate telling him. Pursing your lips for a second before you lean in and embrace Silco, pressing your lips up his jaw and whispering in his ear.

"He's friends with the Sheriff. Grayson. But he worries." "About?" Silco's hands wrap around your waist, shadowing Vander's marks with his own. "He worries about the fresh meat she has on her team. Piltover's steady now but one incident and he doubts he'll be able to keep the peace, no matter how hard Grayson tries. The children," you pause and he turns his head to look at you. You gulp thickly, then continue: "The eldest daughter, Vi, she's getting restless. Dangle bait and she'll bite."

Silco stares for a moment. You take him in, unable to stop the grin that crawls on your face as he presses a long kiss to your lips.

"Well done, (Y/N)." His praise had once been something akin to a drug to you, a high you desperately needed to keep your doubts at bay. A soothing coolness that'll keep this rage inside of you to a lukewarm temperature; the promise that Piltover will soon fall to its knees to Zaun had been your motivation to live for years now.

Yet, your chest tightens and your stomach twists as his words wash over you.

"Of course, sir."

[divorceblogger]

I think the most difficult thing that armand struggles to come to terms with (re: his feelings about marius) is very much that marius seemingly steps into his life and performs actions that are, at a superficial glance, meant to be liberatory or empowering but are unequivocally very predatory if you start to dig into the meat of their relationship.

Marius rescues armand from starvation and sexual slavery at a point in his life when armand is actively entertaining thoughts of suicide. marius sweeps in, purchases him, and transfers him from abhorrent conditions of existence to a life of material comfort, although it’s not really a safe one, but at this point armand doesn’t necessarily have the ability to have a critical dialogue about safety with himself because he’s so glad to be rescued from slavery that he ascribes divinity to marius. he also receives an allowance and he’s taught swordplay. he’s taught swordplay. but what kind of harm could a child ever cause to a 1500 year old vampire?

And the material reality is that marius is not really interested in empowering armand at all. he actively fosters an unhealthy codependency between them, he withholds information about his nature, he performs sexual acts on him even when armand doesn’t necessarily comprehend that these acts are sexual in nature. he also strategises methods that he reasons are supposed to sexually liberate armand but these instances just contribute to the overall conversation on how he grooms him. armand is 15 years old when marius sends him out to brothels “to learn how to couple properly”. do you remember that he was supposed to be forced into prostitution. marius now offers him the illusion of sexual power by allowing him to experience sexual pleasure instead of offering it to predatory customers instead. but armand also says that he doesn’t enjoy the experiences at the brothels because he craves sexual relations with marius solely, to a point where he feels resentful about being asked to participate in these acts even when he derives sexual pleasure from them. he endures the experiences because his master gives him no other choice, but it’s also in these brothels that he discovers that sex doesn’t have to be associated with pain as it often tends to be with marius.

When he returns ‘home’ from the brothels he’s perceptive enough to understand that marius really sent him to receive a sexual education on marius’s behalf and attempts to replicate these acts on him. he unconsciously takes up the role of a sex worker, but again he’s a child, and it’s horrifying that he thinks he’s harassing marius by initiating sexual relations with him. it’s also not very surprising that when he does display sexual interest in other people marius emotionally shuts him off (because these experiences were never instituted with armand’s interest in mind) and these moments shape up to be very harrowing experiences for armand - he’s been taught to crave marius’s affection and never do anything that might displease him. armand often has to beg his way back into marius’s good graces and allow himself to be subjected to corporal punishment to achieve this. it’s terrifying that one of the first ideas the boys in the villa convey to armand despite the language barrier is that their master will never hurt him.

And the alarming fact about armand’s transformation is that vampirism serves to just further reinforce this abuse, even though, once again, it might seem like an empowering act. his newly acquired powers don’t change his reality - he’s still under marius’s control the whole time. he’s also further isolated from boys his age who share his interests, and his nights with marius are insular and suffocating. the corporal punishments continue. they’re now adjusted to account for his vampirism. “usual brain jarring blow” is a term floated in the book. marius calls armand’s coffin a “crib”. he very seriously asks armand if he’s ever been cruel to him soon after he transforms him. armand’s codependency with marius is in fact further reinforced by the vampiric transformation that marius carries out. so much of armand’s initiation into vampirsm is once again rooted in sexual instruction, once again evoking patterns of behaviour that are associated with grooming. it’s very in-character for marius to teach him the fundamental principles of seducing his victims before killing them. he also advices him to develop emotionally frigid relationships and never reveal his true self to the people he cares for, further establishing marius as the most significant figure in his life, as the person he constructs his entire identity around. how was he ever supposed to turn out well-adjusted?

[am-i-interrupting]

Can’t Go Back | Silco x Reader

Prologue

Summary: You had a long, complicated history with Silco before he became the Eye of Zaun. You thought you’d buried it a long time ago. It all starts to re-emerge from the ground when Vander dies and Powder is found in the hands of Silco.

Life in the Undercity was anything but easy. Never had been, never would be. Things never changed down there. It always stayed the same despite being at the foot of the City of Progress. Piltover kept up with all the new trends but never tried to change or shine their shoes.

No, life was almost guaranteed to be dictated if you were born in the slums. Few ever got to a place where they saw the sun instead of smog.

No one cared about you if you were a child. You didn’t get any type of education. You just had to grit your teeth as you stumbled through life hoping to find something, anything.

When you were fifteen you got sent to the mines. They put a hammer in your hands or gloves on them and you were sent to harbor materials for a city that didn’t give a shit about you for fuck all for pay. Sometimes you made it out. Sometimes you didn’t.

You were considered a lucky one. You grabbed onto every rock and stone and placed your feet in any divot you could. You didn’t care that your hands were scrapped and raw. You were leaving a blood trail for anyone to follow if they could.

What you had on your side was that you were a smooth talker. Able to make people relax and enjoy your company was an art form you worked very hard on. It was the only type of study you ever did.

The good thing about Piltover not giving a shit though is when you disappeared from the mines with no trace, they didn’t bother looking for you. Took the words of the people who said you probably up and died or some shit.

Now you just needed to avoid the swipe of the hands that picked people off the street and beat them until they were submissive. Enforcers didn’t care what you looked like, who you were, how nice or kind (though few were down here), they just wanted you to work and they’d do it by any means.

Babette took good care of her workers. She scared the daylights out of you when she scouted you. Taking notice of how you managed to sweet talk a man down on his prices while simultaneously swiping some things from his stand without him noticing.

She had watchful eyes though. She saw things that couldn’t even be seen. That day she had seen something no one was supposed to but instead of turning you in like some would, she offered you a job of sweet talking.

Babette’s had a bathing room. It was filled with fancy soaps and hair products, stuff for calluses and skin. All of it was stuff you’d never used before and didn’t know how to.

The older woman had no qualms showing you how.

With bubbles in the tub and floating through the air, she dipped her wrinkled hands in the water with you, getting them wet. She flipped a cap open and poured a thick, white substance from the bottle. Rubbing her hands together it almost disappeared. Then she started rubbing it through your hair.

She explained that the solution was to be left in your hair for five minutes before rinsing it. In that time she handed you a fabric scrub to use on your body. After scrubbing every inch of your body, it was time to rinse out the conditioner.

Babette handed you a towel to dry yourself with and then ordered you to sit as she grabbed a smaller towel. She used it to scrunch up your hair, stopping the dripping from trailing down your back.

You let her careful hands travel across the planes of your face as she placed different cleansing and moisturizing products on your face.

By the end of it all you understood what she meant when she said that this was not just for the clients but for you as well.

With a giant weight off your back and a steady income from nights spent at her brothel, you were able to ditch the mines. Do a big fuck you moment of victory and renting an apartment under the table when you stopped paying your previous rent. That way when they looked for you as much as they would, all they would find was an empty apartment in disarray. Made to look like there’d been a struggle. You had no qualms cutting yourself to splatter some blood around.

Babette had qualms though, shaking her head the next time she saw you as she put an antibiotic on your open cut.

With a new job, you had a new income but the only reason you’d be able to leave the mines was the money you’d saved while working there. That meant a new job.

It came in the form of a bartender job at a bar called The Last Drop. It was a small, quaint little place. As soon as you walked in you felt a warmth so rare in the Undercity.

A man, a tall man with a square face to match his broad shoulders and physique was the man training you when you started. His name was Vander.

He teased you the whole night with smart quips in his soothing low toned voice. The two of you bantered with costumers together with ease. Him poking at your lack of experience behind a bar to which you’d respond with a clever quip and the abilities of someone who was a very fast leaner.

You didn’t notice a man sitting in a booth who normally sat at the counter but Vander did. He noticed a careful study being conducted of the new meat in the building.

Little did you know that both these men would change your life. For the better? For the worst? Didn’t matter. It’d be changed.

[soleilapproves]

The Demon King's Bride - prologue

(sukuna x reader)

Synopsis: Sukuna Ryomen is reborn a human being as punishment for ruining the balance of good and evil in the divine realm. To lift his curse and return to his original form, the former demon king must complete the condition bestowed upon him by the deities. Except it can only be done by having a child with the street thief who stole his coin pouch.

fanfic masterlist / main masterlist

Inyo, ying and yang, Shiva-Shakti, good and evil. 

Every belief is built based on the balance between opposites. When that balance is tipped over or disrespected, there are serious repercussions, no matter what being committed the act. 

The demon king’s hair was like pink sakura, blowing in the harsh winds of the Realm of  Judgment. With his head hung low, all he could see were visions of the souls he had eaten. Clean souls trying to enter the afterlife. Clean souls that had the misfortune of having to cross his domain when he was feeling particularly ravenous.

The divine courtroom was a beautiful yet chilling site, with golden clouds and striking blue thunder visible from the Pavillion of Divine Punishment. A dry storm building static on every cursed hair on the demon king’s body. 

“The deities have decided- you will receive the ultimate punishment for ingesting all the human souls on that fateful day,” a black-haired god boomed from his seat across the Pavillion. Striking black eyes trained on the large figure kneeling before him.

“You, Sukuna Ryomen, will be reborn as an immortal human being. You will not have any of your divine powers on earth. To lift your cursed punishment, you will look for the other half of this divine marble.” 

A bluish, almost black, hemispherical object floats towards Sukuna’s face. The demon still didn’t look up. Pride and shame conflict in his head. “Only when you meet the human woman with the other half of your marble will you be allowed to lift your curse and return to your former glory. You are allowed one question regarding your curse. Ask wisely.”

Sukuna raises his head slowly, eyes filled with hatred and vengeance. “How will I know that the human has my pearl?”

“The eyes. The human will have eyes like no other.”

The hearing was then concluded with the thunderous slam of the Divine Mallet. 

Snow is a natural cushion for all kinds of sounds. Even the loudest of pants sound like whispers, which is why the entire town of Seion is so quiet this winter morning. Thick heaps of snow decorated the landscape of the little sanctuary in the valley, including a far-off estate at the edge of the dwelling.

Where a damned man screamed his lungs out. Centuries of pain evident in his bellows. His pale skin almost blended with the snow if it weren’t for the pitch-black tattoos decorating his rippling muscles- a reminder of the reason why he was banished to earth. His back flexed as he rose from his kneeling position. His much shorter servant, whose hair matched the exact shade of snow (save for the red stripe passing around their crown) presently on the ground, wrapped a thick robe around his shoulders.

“Master, you are a human being. They are fragile and get sick easily. Please, let us go inside.” 

The man wordlessly pushes off the robe from his brawny shoulders. Red eyes come in contact with the servant’s deadpanned ones. “Three hundred years. It has been three hundred years of looking for that hellish pearl. Where am I going to find it? I searched far and wide in all the lands and visited every brothel my pathetic human eyes could find, yet no one had the pearl. I have been driven to gouge out the eyes of every supposed beautiful woman. I am starting to believe that the deities are playing a cruel joke.” 

The servant simply picked up the snow-covered robe and folded it before the dampness could freeze it. “It is not a cruel joke, my Lord. They would not have given us the Scroll of Promise if it were so.” 

Promptly, the servant pulled out a tattered sheet of paper and read out what was written on it. Ancient scripture rolling off his tongue. “For the Demon’s return, he must fulfill the condition bestowed upon him by the Divine Council–bring upon the other half of the cursed marble to the holiest temple in the land. The other half lies within one of the many mortal souls created by the deities.” 

“You do not need to repeat the words of those unforgiving scoundrels.”

“Do not speak ill of the Divine if you wish to return to your former glory.” 

The larger male stalked back into his estate sans robe. Probably to look for another brothel on the map. The search continues.

[thomaslittlegirl]

i could be. thomas shelby

you could be a good mother, but he doesnt think so.

warnings; angst.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

thomas lies on his bed, his triumphant smile after his orgasm only makes you want to make him feel good again.

his blue eyes look at you and penetrate into your soul; he looks at you as if he knew each of your thoughts and secrets, but not your desires.

shelby blows the smoke from the cigarette in your face and laughs briefly at how you wrinkle your nose.

your hand goes to his cheek and you caress it gently.

“tommy?” you call him in a whisper.

“yes, sweetheart?”

he looks at you in a way that makes you feel like you're floating. it's a feeling that can't really be explained in words and only those who have experienced it know.

you don't know how to ask the question, and until the moment it comes out of your mouth it is not a question, but rather a thought, a wish.

“what would you think about a baby?”

thomas looks at you with the smile still plastered on his face until he understands your question and erases all expressions on his face.

now his expression is unreadable, as if he were not thinking or feeling anything; as if he was an empty container.

“are you pregnant?” he asks; his eyes having a war with yours.

“no.” you quickly deny and you can notice how the color returns to his face. “but would you like it?”

thomas looks at you for two seconds and then the answer comes. “no.”

you let out a laugh. “i'm serious, tommy.”

he dont. he doesn't laugh. “me too.”

your hand stops caressing his cheek and your brow furrows almost by itself.

if this is a joke you are definitely not liking it.

“why not?” you feel naive, victim of a vile joke. “wouldn't you like to have a baby with me?”

thomas clicks his tongue. “no, i'm not cut out to be a father.”

the answer leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. the palms of your hands sweat; you were never good at confrontation... much less about topics as difficult as these... much less with him.

“what stupid things are you saying?”

“what you hear.” he answers, obviously. “we shelbys are not made to be parents. i'm not made to be one.”

“what do you mean you're not cut out to be one?” questions. “don't you plan for the future with me?”

he remains silent, also sitting on the bed like you. he ruffles his hair with one of his hands while throwing the cigarette butt into the ashtray with the other one.

“i'm not that kind of man.” he says simply. “i can't settle down, i have a lot of things on my mind.”

“what the hell are you talking about?” you claim angrily, pushing one of his arms away.

thomas looks at you, angry at your action.

“i'm not the kind of man who sits back and settles for playing happy house!” he says harshly. “i will not leave my lifestyle. ”

“fuck your lifestyle!” you retort, also angry. “you can't live being a gangster forever... you have to think maturely. for once! ”

“i told you i'm not that kind of man!” he says, standing up from the bed angrily, putting on his pants. “i won't sit down and play house... not when there is so much to expand, so much money to earn... it just doesn't suit me. ”

you look at him, feeling your body heat up with rage. “you are pathetic! this is all pathetic... how can you not want a home to return to?”

“my home is the brothels... the bars with good whiskey.” he points out obviously, putting on his leather shoes quick. “i won't sit down and rub a woman's belly... damn, i won't stop fucking my whores because of a baby in a belly!”

you remain speechless, looking at his worked back with nothing to say. really, for the first time, you are left speechless.

thomas puts on his shirt and turns to face your gaze. the puppy face you make almost makes him feel a little sorry for being so harsh... but at the end of the day; is it not the truth?

you feel stupid, you feel stupid and totally used. you don't feel like a partner but like a slut, like an everyday whore.

thomas's cum runs down your thighs and stains the sheets. feeling the warmth down your crotch only makes you feel like an unpaid prostitute.

thomas gives you one last look over his shoulder, with the coat under his arm, and before walking out the door he gives you his last word.

“you knew what you were getting into when you met me. don't try to change the way i am because that won't be possible.”

[19burstraat]

Random SOC Trivia I Gathered On My Reread

I'll be using this for fics, but it's fun just to read!

Jesper does not hold alcohol well (though this is according to Kaz, who is not exactly impartial)

Wijnstraat, Nemstraat, Havenstraat, Ammberstraat are all street names if you want em

Van Eck has been involved in trying to clean up the Barrel; pious. (Allegedly pious, I doubt he really is)

1/5 Van Eck (or general Kerch trading?) vessels are lost at sea

Kaz arrested three times at ten, twice at eleven, once at fourteen. Does stints in jail but it does not say prison (ppl assume he's been to Hellgate / another prison but I don't think so. He'd never have shut the fuck up about it if he had; I assume the Stadhall Jail)

Kaz's cane is lead-lined. I wasn't sure if this was canon or fanon

Kaz runs book on prize fights, horses, and chance games. Floor boss at crow club since fifteen-ish. Youngest to run a betting shop and has doubled the profits.

Gambling halls: Treasure Chest, Golden Bend, Weddell's Riverboat, Silver Garter

West Stave brothels: The Blue Iris, The Forge, The Obscura, the Willow Switch, the House of Snow

Van Aakster is the widow mercher who sees Nina to ease his grief

Inej likes orange cakes in white paper

Black Tips tattoo is a hand with first and second fingers cut at the knuckle, Razorgulls is 5 birds in wedge formation

Nina Jesper and Kaz definitely all have the crow and cup; the others don't

Jordie seems to like books

ridderspel and spijker are arcade games

Bilge, clams, and wet stone smell in the Barrel (per Retvenko)

Kaz definitely is partial to dogs; Smeet's hounds and the grey dog the Hertzoon household had, the windup dogs, the metaphors. He loves a dog metaphor sorry ur not real babycakes you'd have loved thematic web weaving posts

Geldspin is the cotton mill in Zierfoort, Firma Allerbest is a cannery. Both in Alys' name

Wylan was 8 when Marya 'died'

the black veil tomb is carved like an ancient cargo ship

3 flying fish on a grave: government. Palm trees and snakes: spices.

Inej's mother braids her hair with orange ribbons (colour of persimmons)

University a series of buildings built around the Boekcanal and joined by Speaker's Bridge (where people debate and/or drink). Boeksplein four libraries built around a central courtyard and the Scholar's Fountain

Shipping container at third harbour is a Liddie hideout; Jam Tart House is an old hotel near the slat that the Razorgulls use

Long scar across Kaz's right knuckle

Violating contracts and interfering with the market can get you hanged in Kerch; same sentences as for murder (this is. Insane)

Haskell holds court with his mates at the Fair Weather Inn every week

Belendt is the second oldest Kerch city and sits on the Droombeld River

Jesper was 7 when Aditi died

Inej has an uncle (who seems to have some sort of ringmaster role) and cousins; Hanzi and Asha

Kaz convinced a locksmith in Klokstraat that he was the son of a wealthy merchant who highly valued his collection of priceless snuffboxes, and that's how he knows what locks the rich are using

Hubrecht Mohren, Master Thief of Pijl, who Kaz doesn't appear to think much of; one of Haskell's old cronies

Martin Van Eck, Wylan's great great grandfather, was a ship's captain, brought back a big shipment of spices from Eames Chin and started the Van Eck fortune

Kaz and Jesper (+ other Dregs boys) taught Inej to fight

Kaz and Jordie are from a town near Lij, as per the 'Johannus Rietveld' exposition, but Lij is seemingly the closest major city/county so it's easier to just say they're from Lij lol

The last time the Council of Tides appeared in public was 25 years prior to CK

Kaz found Filip running a monte game on Kelstraat; he also got the clerks who turned over fake info, the fake attorney, the man who gave them free hot chocolate

The spelling of Zentzbridge lapses to Zentsbridge, not sure which is right or if they're actually separate bridges or if there's a lot of wrong quotes floating around lol

Dryden house symbol is the golden wheat sheaf bound with a blue ribbon; Van Eck is the red laurel but we knew that

Kaz taught himself finance and gambling hall rules

Church of Barter roof is copper and long has turned green

Church of Barter built around the First Forge / The Mortar, which is a flat lump of rock that's supposedly Ghezen's altar

Ghezendaal Hospital is. Idk. a hospital. Just thought ppl might want the name

[mythicmanuscripts]

Crybaby Aegon has to be one of the canon hc there is. Maybe something like Aegon thinking his wife or a brothel worker he’s been taken with is being distant and he panics and thinks he did something wrong. When in truth they probably have just had a lot to think about lately or just didn’t notice. Following up with a lot of attention and reassuring?

In NSFW form I feel like reader would probably tell Aegon to let her show him how much she cherishes him, gives him a bunch of kisses during love making and soft praises

God I love crybaby!aegon. I ended up doing this with wife!reader but I'd be happy to discuss a similar topic with a brothel worker if you guys would want that, so just let me know!

There's nothing too explicit in this but there's definitely some implied sexual content and also is definitely sub!aegon so I'll hide it behind a cut just in case

I think this is something that could happen very easily once your marriage with Aegon starts to become more of a proper relationship?? Once Aegon starts to submit to you, it's like a switch flips in his head and he has absolutely zero interest in anyone else ever. Of course he's also very needy.

The biggest problem is that once Aegon starts subbing, you really have to make sure to keep a close eye on him because he so desperately wants to please you. Especially in the start when he's still feeling like he'll never be good enough for anything and certainly not good enough to keep someone like you in love.

Aegon feeds off your energy and praise, his entire face lighting up every time you give him attention. You're the only person whose guidance doesn't feel patronising or insulting, and you just make him feel so safe.

He hates being away from you and that's especially try the day after he's done something intense with you. So maybe this happens after the first thing really intense kink thing you did? Like maybe you use pain play for the first time or bondage or very intense overstimulation. Whatever it is, it leaves Aegon floating in subspace and feeling absolutely incredible.

But then the next day he wakes up to an empty bed. You had told him the night before that there was a breakfast you had to attend with some other nobles, but of course this slips his mind completely because he's still groggy and he thought he'd get to spend the morning cuddling.

Aegon has never experienced anything as intense and hardcore as what you did the night before and while of course he absolutely loved it, he now suddenly doesn't feel so good because you weren't there when he woke. If this were later on in the relationship then he would have no problem ordering a guard to track you down and bring you back on the king's orders.

But this is only the start, where Aegon just starting submitting properly but he's still not sure how much he can ask for outside of the bedroom. So the poor thing little thing just hugs your pillow and tries not to cry until eventually a servant arrives inform him that it is time to get dressed and start the day. He does this of course, mostly because he knows you don't want him avoiding his duties.

Throughout the morning he keeps on glancing around, trying to see where you are because surely you would come find him? Right? You wouldn't just leave him alone all day? Would you?

Your day ends being one chaotic mess after another, and you don't get to see Aegon at all.

Aegon, meanwhile, is now starting to think he did something wrong or disappointed you in some way. He starts to think back to the night before, of how he clung to you afterwards and how you had to hold him tight and wipe away his tears. At the time, he felt safe and good and the right side of overwhelmed. He felt like you really cared and would take good care of him, but now that he hasn't seen you all day he begins to wonder if maybe he was wrong about that? Maybe you weren't pleased.

You dont know any of this is ongoing because you're far too busy putting out fires left right and centre.

Eventually when the day comes to an end and you sit down for dinner, aegon isnt there? You ask Aemond and Alicent and they both say they haven't seen him. A guards steps in then and says the king has requested to have dinner in his chambers. That immediately sets off alarm bells in your head and you tell the guard to ensure your dinner is also served in your chambers and then quickly run up to him.

You find him on the bed sitting crossed legged and hugging your pillow. He looks so small like that, like you could break him in half with one finger.

He looks up when you enter and he's apologising before you can even close the door. You have no idea what he's on about, but he's clearly upset and far too worked up to explain right then so you just grab him and pull him into a hug until he can form coherent sentences again.

Once this ability returns to him, he mumbles his apologies again and promises to be less needy. You still have no idea what he's going on about and when you say this, he eventually manages to get out that he thought you were avoiding him because he did something bad last night.

It breaks you heart to realise your darling sub went the whole day thinking he had upset you when that wouldnt be further from the truth. You explain that to him and he starts crying again, but this time it's relief.

The next morning you have a talk with him about it and he explains how bad he felt after waking up alone. You suggest a new rule that you always spend at least the morning with him if you've done somehow particularly hardcore the night before and while aegon tries to say this isnt necessary at first, he can't deny how much that would help him.

I think in the end you end up having to tell him that he's your good boy, and so you have to look after your good boy. If he needs you to stay with him the next morning, then that is exactly what he will get because he's your darling.

[itsjinkibitch]

I remember shaking and throwing up when we got the first glimpse of Aemond at the brothel thinking I'd hate it. Turns out it delivered to me the greatest Lucemond meal since last season. Butt ass naked in a whorehouse and Luke's name floats from his mouth. My soul sings in victory.

[dm-tainthairs-collection]

Orlyltar, Underdark City of Sin

|| @heartthrobxhook - closed starter ||

ᒥ🌌ᒧ—        Days prior had been spent planning this trip, a trip to Orlyltar. The city was known as the underbelly of the Drow Matriarchy. All were welcomed as long as they had gold to spend and a decent lack of morals. Orlyltar, as Xeniarth explained to Killian, was a place of fun. A pirate would thrive in the environment, as it was similar to any pirate port. Endless taverns and brothels, a handful of casinos with plenty of gambling and a lack of care for card counting.

The beast was delighted when his precious human agreed to go on a trip with him to Orlyltar. Xeniarth, in his true form, floats alongside the Jolly Roger waiting for Killian to come out with his gear. That night they would fly to the entrance to the Underdark Xeniarth knew led to Orlyltar's particular cavern.

The last month they had spent at sea, and while the first week had been a bit taxing on the Ancient Dragon, he adjusted finally. The rocking of the ship became soothing, the noise of a busy crew during the day he learned to drown out, and the intital weariness of raids became enjoyment. However, a break from it all was needed. Hence his plan to take a small and hopefully enjoyable holiday together had come to mind.

A large head rises from the water and rests gently on the railing of the Jolly, violet eyes scanning the deck for Killian.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

A Queen for a King (+18)

Pairing: DonQuijote Doflamingo x Female Reader

WC: 1800

Summary: You were promoted to manage the only brothel in town, but Doflamingo has other plans for you... and who are you to deny a king?

TW: KINDA DUBIOUS CONSENT HERE! Doflamingo is a huge jerk, p in v sex, oral sex f receiving, doggy style, breeding kink, cream pies, unprotected sex, dirty talk, TELL LAW I AM SORRY BUT I HAD TO WRITE THIS TO GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD!

— — 

You pushed through the double wooden doors to the palace without paying any mind to the guards trying to stop you.

“If you care about your life, you’ll leave me be.” You casually remark as you quickly climb the spiral staircase to the young master’s quarters. 

“This asshole…” You mutter to yourself as you approach the top of the stairs you were ascending. You knock and sigh. 

The large door at the top of the tower creaks open. 

You brush past the door and into the throne room in annoyance. 

“Young Master you promised that my girls would receive equitable treatment.” You remark as your long red velvet robe flutters behind you. 

“The girls you’ve sent don’t know what they’re doing.” You hear a low, sinister voice respond. 

“You’ve promoted me to the overseer of The Nest and I’ve sent you my best girls, I don’t know why you’re sending these poor women back to me with unfathomable injuries and insults.” You say as you flop yourself down on the pink loveseat in the throne room and light a cigarette. 

“I know what I’ve done… but I still want you to service me. Is that so difficult for you to understand?” You take a drag of your cigarette as Doflamingo rose from this throne to look at you. 

“You’ve sent 7 of my girls home in tears and 2 of them in body bags… How am I supposed to trust you with them now?” You lean back on the sofa. 

“I don’t want your girls.” Doflamingo approaches his bar cart and pours two heavy glasses of liquor. “I want you.” 

“I am no longer for sale since my promotion. You said it yourself.” You receive the cocktail from the much larger, pink coat clad man and sat back in your chair. 

“I said you no longer have to service clients… I am not a client, I am your king.” Doflamingo smirked as he took a sip of his drink. “You are mine, and I will accept nothing less.” The man strides away from you and takes a seat on his throne.

“I control The Nest now. I can provide you with any women or any desire that floats your interest. All you have to do is-“

“No. I will not have the other girls. I will have you.” Doflamingo smiles wickedly. 

You sigh. 

You glide across the room towards the Young Master.

“You may be the king of Dressrosa and the king of getting whatever you want, but I was assigned to oversee The Nest and I have done my job, Young Master. You cannot malign me for doing my duty.” You say as you square your shoulders. You tried too hard not to let your fear seep through, this man could end your life in a second but you were here in his throne room trying to make him squirm. 

“You’ve done your job, y/n… but unfortunately for you I’ve taken a liking to you and you will belong to me… mind, body and soul…”

You take a drag of your cigarette and sigh. 

“So I’m suck here?” You ask 

“Stuck? Love, it’s so much nicer than that. You don’t miss taking me?” Doflamingo says as he brushes off his coat and shirt. He swoops down to his knees and meets you at your level, lounging on the pink loveseat. You chuckle as he reaches your face level. 

“I can find someone to appease you, Young Master.” You put your hand on his massive wrist. 

“No.” 

You look up and look into your captor’s sunglasses covered eyes. 

“No one will ever touch you again. Only me. Or they’ll die. Not instantly, but in the worst way anyone could ever imagine.” Doflamingo grabs your cheek and forces you to face him. 

“I must insist that my girls-“

“NO!” He bellows. 

You tremble in fear. 

“Doffy….” You try to calm him and stroke his bicep. 

“No one touches you again… you’re mine…” Doflamingo pulls you against him and grinds your body onto his pelvis. 

“Doffy I can’t do this anymore…” You huff out quietly as you try not to enjoy the feeling of his massive hard on grinding against your sensitive sex. 

“You can…. You can, my love….. just let me show you…” Doffy picks you up and throws you against his chair and unties your robe, then pushes your panties down past your ankles. 

“Doffyyy…” You cry out and buck your hips up into the air as he pulls back. “If I agree to this arrangement… you have to leave my girls alone…” You choke out.

“Agree? Haha oh sweetheart you have no choice. I am your king and you’ll do as I say. I don’t want anything to do with those whores anyway. They don’t deserve to even be in my presence.” Doffy pulls your thighs apart forcefully, exposing your naked sex to him. 

“Those girls are nothing compared to you…” He continues. “Their filthy holes could never satisfy me the way yours do.” He strokes his huge hands up and down your thighs as he gets to his knees between your legs. He notices your pussy involuntarily clench at his words. “Now, I’m going to have my fill of this wet little cunt and you’re going to take it like a good slut. My good slut.”

“Yes, Young Master…” You give in. 

Doflamingo immediately dives in and bullies that damned long tongue deep into your waiting hole. You cry out and throw you head back. 

Lewd slurping noises echo off the stone walls of the throne room while you grip your king’s blonde hair for dear life. He pulls his tongue out of you to flick it harshly across your clit, making you whine. 

“Such a perfect pussy, so sweet… always so sweet for me…” He lowers his head again and continues bringing you closer and closer to the precipice of pleasure. You hated how good he was at this, being such an evil man, but your body was betraying you. With each deep probe of his tongue inside your walls and nudge of his nose on your clit, the coil in your lower tummy threatened to snap. 

“Shit, Doffy! I’m gonna cum, fuck!” You cry out. 

He pulls away. 

“Ask properly, you know how.” He demands. 

“Fuck fuck fuck, please let me cum I’m so close! Please!” You plead as you look down at him between your messy thighs, his lips were shiny with your copious amounts of slick. He smirks. 

“Cum then, my love.” He takes your clit between his lips and sucks harshly. 

“Ah!” You scream and release all over your sadistic lover’s face. He was being kind so far, clearly thrilled that you’ve agreed to his new terms. 

Doflamingo rises to his feet and grips your jaw in his massive palm and forces you to look up at him. 

“What do you say?” He says as he looms over you. 

“Thank you…” You breath out, still coming down from your high. 

“Good pet. Now get up, and bend that tight little ass over the arm here for me.” Doflamingo lets go of your jaw and waits for you to rise to your feet, undoing his pants in the process. You shakily stand and do as you're told, shedding your robe off your arms and taking your place bent over the arm of his throne, presenting yourself to him. 

You gasp as you feel the huge head of his cock tease your soaked opening. 

“Ready, darling?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Yes- AH!” You yelp loudly as he pushes into you forcefully and quickly. His cock was bigger than anything else you’ve ever had by far, but he’s taken you so many times now that you knew how to bear the stretch. 

“Shit!” Your eyes roll in the back of your head. 

“See this is why you’re my favorite…” Doffy begins to thrust into you harshly, not giving you any time to adjust. “Didn’t even need to open you up… this pussy was made for me… taking me so well…” His hands were so big they almost wrapped completely around your waist as he pulled you back and forth onto his cock. 

“Do! Ffy! S-slow! Down!” You try to plead with him. You were being bounced forward with each powerful slam of his hips hitting your ass and thighs. 

“No I don’t think I will!” Your king cackles from behind you as he delivers a hard spank to your right cheek. You scream in both pain and pleasure. He slaps your ass a few more times and continues his brutal assault on your sex. Your head was swimming and you could barely even hear the filthy, disgusting things that Doflamingo was spewing from behind you. 

“Oh, Doffy!” You cry out his name as he angles your hips to further access your G-spot with every stroke. His name felt like poison on your tongue but you were so lost in pleasure that it didn’t matter to you anymore. The world melted around you and the only thing you could feel was his hot breath on your back and the battering of his giant cock inside you. 

Suddenly you’re pulled up by your hair and your back was against Doflamingo’s huge exposed chest. 

“Going to cum again, little slut? Beg for it. Beg your king to make you cum.” He growls into your ear while gripping your scalp tightly. You whine. 

“Please! Please Doffy! Wanna cum so bad! Please!” Sweat drips from your neck down the valley of your breasts as you pant and beg to finish. 

“Cum. Do it now.” He reaches down and pinches your clit without faltering in his thrusts. 

You unravel immediately and squirt all over the throne beneath you. Your cunt spasms and you moan out with each wave of your orgasm wracking your body. Doflamingo releases your hair and you fall forward. 

“So fucking messy, just the way I like it!” Doffy laughs and grips your hips tightly, approaching his own climax. “I’m going to breed this cunt and keep you here with me forever, my sweet love.” 

“Doffy, wait! Shit!” You try to protest but it was no use. He was already groaning loudly and shooting rope after rope of thick cum into your womb, spilling out around his cock stretching your hole. With a final smack to your ass, Doflamingo pulls out of you and picks you up. He sits on his throne and pulls you onto his lap, still leaking his cum onto his thigh. 

“I-I have to get back to work, Young Master…” You try to wiggle out of his grip. 

“No, I don’t think you do. Not anymore.” He tightens his hold on you and smirks. 

“But… the arrangement… you said…” You look up at him. 

“Fuck what I said. You’ll be my queen.” 

xx

[bonezone44]

'Doesn't Nothing Ever Last Forever?' (18+)

Raider!Joel x afab!Reader

Word Count: 5,4k

(FYI: woman in moodboard is a side character.)

Summary: You worked in a brothel outside of a quarantine zone. Every once in a while, you got a visit from Joel and his men. This was your first time being around for one of those visits. (Reader is severely depressed and bisexual [relatable, amiright?]. Reader is not popular at the brothel.)

tags: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT (tagging this to be safe!) Kidnapping, sexual slavery, group sex, overstimulation, rough oral (m). POV switching, canon-typical violence. -- Sex between Reader and Joel is non-con. Reader enjoys it, but the larger context doesn't allow for consent. Fingering, unprotected p-in-v. Degradation. Finger-sucking. Spanking. Orgasm control/denial. Joel is turned on by Reader's history w/ women. Reader is called slut, good girl, bad girl. Reader calls Joel "sir."

A/N: Written for @iamasaddie's writing challenge. ✏ I was so excited by their moodboards, I had to participate. Also, read @toxicanonymity for the original Raider!Joel which heavily inspired this one. 🙏 And special thanks to @milla-frenchy for helping me choose a story line. 😘

story masterlist - main masterlist

+++++

The days bled together, one right after the other. No matter how clear the skies were, a permanent fog had taken over your mind. 

The only reason you woke up that evening was all the commotion. You heard the roar of diesel engines and loud men laughing and yelling. The slamming of car doors. Then those voices got louder and closer. Obviously, they had made their way inside your building. You knew you should rise and shine. Get to work. But you stayed curled up on your bed cushion in the shared room as long as possible. Even after your boss had been calling for you.

It wasn’t the kind of job you punched in and out of. You lived in a brothel. You were paid by the client–and even then sometimes all you got was a spare coin or two. A ration slip, if you were really lucky. But those could only be spent at the nearby Quarantine Zone. And the four hour trek there and back was hell on your feet and knees.

Your boss, Larry, finally opened the door to your room, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he allowed the noise and chaos to do the job of waking you up.

You unfurled from the floor and wandered to the bathrooms, bare fit sticking to the tile floors. You had hoped no one would catch you and make you work. You hadn’t had it in you to do anything that day. What you really wanted to do was float away, fly with the clouds on the wind to somewhere far, far over the rainbow.

You found Trisha at the sinks, under the sickly green lights, already washing cum from her hands. 

“Joel and his crew are here again,” she mumbled. There was a tremor in her voice.

You nodded blankly. Tired.

She turned around and stared at you with wide eyes. “Joel,” she emphasized.

“Okay?” You shrugged. Your eyes bored into a growing mold stain in the corner.  

She scoffed. “Joel is the guy who bought Carrie.”

“What?” … ‘Bought Carrie?’ That didn’t sound right to you. “I just thought… she left.”

Trisha stared at you, aghast. The room was cold, but steam began to fog the mirror. “Are you fucking kidding me? You were there!” She shouted. “You were there when Larry told us he sold her for the fucking water heater!” She pointed at the filling sink.

You blinked. “...Oh.” You wiped your eyes with your hands. “I don’t… really remember.” Her words didn’t quite click it into place for you, but a dull memory played in the back of your mind. You remembered a ‘house meeting’ and hearing Carrie’s name a lot. You remembered getting the water heater. You remembered everyone being upset and yelling at Larry. You remembered curling in the corner, your brain checking out and wandering through the static of your own mind rather than feeling something–anything–in your own body.

That explained all the weird looks you had gotten later when you expressed excitement over the hot water. You had been happy about something for once and everyone responded by staring at you like you were a freak. 

But everyone you had ever met always felt so far away. Like you were so deep in the depths of your own mind that the world around you was a movie you were watching. All the people in your life were characters playing out their roles. So you did, too. You went through the daily motions, following some imaginary script in your mind. Playing a part. Doing whatever you thought you were supposed to.

Trisha started telling you more stories about Joel and his crew. About their violence. But none of it sounded real. It sounded like another movie to you. You stood, unmoving, wishing you had some bleach to clean the mold in the corner. You wanted to scrub the grout until it was pure again. Wipe away the layer of filmy mildew from the ceramic tiles. Disinfect every inch of porcelain in this piece of shit building. 

Another woman entered the bathroom, fully nude. “Well, look who decided to show up!” she spat at you. “Go out there and do your job. I need a fucking break.”

You sighed and resigned yourself to your fate. “Okay,” you muttered without meeting her eyes. You didn’t bother looking in the mirror or worrying about your clothes. You knew that in your line of work, they didn’t make a difference either way.

-

You walked out to the main room and saw about a dozen men scattered around the couches, women in their laps or on their knees. 

One woman was sitting naked in a guy’s lap while another guy roughly rubbed and slapped her clit. His laughter grossed you out. The woman was crying.  

Another woman was getting facefucked and choking. She pulled back to cough and breathe. The man she was sucking on held himself in a tight grip. He pushed the hair from her face and whispered softly to her, wiping away her tears, before shoving his cock right back in.

You nodded at the scene unaffected… well, mostly unaffected. You stared into the middle distance and focused on no one person in particular. The women’s moans were mostly performative–it was obvious. But the men didn’t seem to mind. Their moans were hungry and horny, enjoying whatever stimulation they seemed to be receiving. So that was what you focused on. Their blatant sexual desire. It fueled your own heat. A fire expanding in your chest and between your legs. Your mouth began to water. You sucked in your bottom lip, eager to feel flesh inside you. 

You weren’t sure how long you were standing there, watching. It merely occurred to you at some point that one of the men was walking up to you, blocking your view of the scene. He wore a dark brown leather jacket over a v-neck shirt.  A small, shiny gold cross hung around his neck and against his sunburned skin. He wore blue jeans and work boots.

Your boss, Larry, yammered in one of your ears at him.

“Joel,” he pleaded with clasped hands. “I’m sure you’d prefer someone like Trisha or-or-or Cameron. I’m sure, she’ll be right back out any minute!”

“No,” Joel says gruffly. “Her,” he pointed to you with his chin. 

“I’m sure. I’m sure.” Your boss chuckled uncomfortably and surrendered with empty palms. “Of course!” He grabbed you by the arm and tugged you toward the back of the building. He snarled in your ear. “Don’t fuck this up for me.” 

You wanted to shrug him off, but his grip was bruising. What could you ‘fuck up’ exactly? You had been working there for over a year. You weren’t popular, but you got the job done. You didn’t get along with any of the other women there, but what did that have to do with this guy, Joel?

Larry took you and Joel to one of the farthest rooms. It was the nice one with a real bed instead of a mattress or cushion on the floor. You had never been in it before. Not even to clean it. You looked around appraising the paint on the walls. There was a window, but it was dark out. The noise from the main room was barely audible. You liked being somewhere quiet again. 

#######

Joel and his crew pulled up around dinnertime in two pick-up trucks. The sun had set and the truck’s headlights bathed the front of the old office building in a warm, dull yellow.

The crickets were louder than hell that night. Joel remembered that much.

Not five seconds after his boys hopped out the trucks did the brothel owner come skittering out the front door with a nervous grin on his face.

Joel liked that. Piece o’ shit like that should be nervous. 

Joel hated Larry. The man was fucking pathetic. Weasel-y. So needy and desperate to please. Joel hated that Larry sold him a woman for a water heater. What kinda man would do something like that? This was supposed to be a brothel. The women were supposed to be his employees. He didn’t have the right to sell anybody.

But Joel had wanted her. And taking her outright would have caused more problems than it would have solved. So he figured a water heater would help keep things peaceful between them. Because his boys liked the brothel. Each little trip helped ease their minds. Gave them something to talk about and look forward to–something other than survival.

Joel’s needs were more permanent. He needed something more full-time rather than once every few months.

His boys started hooting and hollering as soon as the payment of supplies were unloaded and they got to hang out inside. The women weren’t even around yet, but they were more than ready for some physical entertainment. Joel remained standing while the rest of them spread out along the decaying leather couches lining the walls. A shitty little cd player sat in the corner playing old R&B music. He heard his brother, Tommy, singing along to it. 

Joel sighed and wiped his face with his hands.

Once Larry brought out a few women, the men started roaring. They were shouting and cheering, pulling their cocks out in excitement. Joel groaned. These boys didn’t know a goddamn thing about seducing a woman and their sad little dicks weren’t gonna get them anywhere neither.

Two of the guys grabbed one of the women, causing her to shout, but Joel was on them not a second later. He gripped their skulls, one in each of his giant hands, and knocked them together like coconut shells. 

“Ouch! What the hell, man?” asked one of them, rubbing the sore spot on his head. 

Joel shook his head with his eyes wide, boring into the depths of their souls. “Not until I say,” he spat.

They both tucked their heads under, murmuring. “Yes, Joel.” “Whatever you say, Joel.”

The woman got back in line while the boys sat down on the couch.

“I’m sure I’ve got a couple more on the way,” said Larry with a forced smile. “They’re just getting themselves cleaned up, I’m sure, after uh…  after finishing dinner.”

Joel grunted. He knew what he wanted–knew what kind of woman he was looking for. And he was quick to realize that none of the women in the room were it. So he waved his hand and his men let loose.

Joel stood with his arms crossed and his back against the front door. He kept his eye on the two troublemakers. Kept his ear on Tommy. Tommy was a talker. He loved to chat up the working women as if he was in a bar back home in Texas and looking to find himself a girlfriend. Joel thought Tommy was being ridiculous—acting like the women could say ‘no’ and walk away. Like he had to put real effort in. It annoyed the hell out of Joel. He wanted his crew to have their fun and be done with it. Why did Tommy have to make it so complicated?

Joel was getting bored and antsy the longer he waited. He was feeling needy, too, with the rough sounds of sex filling the air around him. But he was hopeful, preferring to be patient. And if, in the end, there was no woman he wanted, he would pick one at random and blow off some steam. He would find a replacement some other time or start looking around at the nearest Quarantine Zone.

  Then you walked in. 

And at first, Joel was ready to shrug you off, too. Sure, you were attractive. But looks weren't everything. That's what got him in trouble with the last woman. 

But something in your eyes changed as you scanned the room, taking in the sexual depravity. You didn't shrink in and shut down. You were turned on. He saw the way your chest rose and fell as your breaths shallowed and shortened. The way you chewed your bottom lip. The way you squirmed. That's what Joel needed. Someone as needy as him. 

The brothel owner tried to dissuade him. Huh, Joel wanted to laugh. As if that asshole knew a goddamn thing about what Joel wanted–about what Joel needed.

-

“Take your clothes off ‘n get on the bed,” he ordered after slamming the door shut behind him. He liked how quickly you complied. He didn’t understand why you were so calm, though. He unbuckled his belt, releasing the pressure from his stomach and allowing himself some room to breathe. He let the buckle hang and it jingled as he stepped closer to the bed. 

“All fours.”

Again, you complied swiftly and smoothly, facing the back wall.

He eyed you for any sores. Then he slipped his bare hand around the smooth curve of your ass and his fingertips prodded around your lips and entrance. You were already wet, he realized.  He slid the edge of his fingers forward against your clit. 

You moaned. Something fake and bland. 

He pulled his hand away and slapped you on the ass. “Hey.”  He grabbed you by the cheeks when you didn't immediately face him. Your eyes never met his. “Don't fuckin showboat me,” he warned. 

“Okay,” you said flatly. 

He didn’t like how detached you were. How unafraid. But he willed himself to be patient–the amount of wetness coating his fingers eased his anxiety. He continued to play with your folds as he asked questions.

He cleared his throat. “You like workin here?”

You shrugged. “It’s a job.”

“How long you been here?”

“About a year.”

Joel hummed. “I don’t remember you from last time.”

“Probably had the flu.” 

“You got over it okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, closing your eyes. You seemed to like it when he moved his thick fingers around you real slow. He liked that.

“You got anything else? Any diseases?”

You shook your head. “I don’t get a lot of men.”

Joel paused. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. They like the other girls better.”

“Why’s that?”

You shrugged again. “They’re better at fakin it.”

Joel didn’t know how to feel about that answer. He continued to rub your clit, feeling you get slicker. “So what? You do handjobs, blowjobs?”

“Mostly.”

He noticed an uptick in the tone of your voice. “You like doin those?”

“If the guy is cute.”

He slid his fingers from your clit to your entrance to your other hole. He didn’t push in, only pressed against it, and you sighed. “What about this?” he asked, biting his lip. “You like gettin your ass played with?”

You hung your head and nodded. “If they do it right,” you said with another uptick in your tone. 

Joel liked that. “Ever have a train run on ya?” He slid his fingers back to your clit.

“Yeah,” you answered with a whimper. 

“You like it?”

Your breath hitched as Joel’s fingers sped up. “Been through worse.”

“Worse? Here?” Joel asked, wondering what could happen at a brothel that was worse than a gang-bang.

“No just… you know…” you sighed with pleasure. “--in general.” 

Joel furrowed his brows. You were being honest with him. Too honest, in his opinion. But you were rolling your hips into his hand. And he didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.

He shoved two fingers inside of you without warning. Your body twitched and you moaned–and it was different this time. Quieter. Realer. Joel liked that. He didn’t mind taking his time to get you ready if he knew you would enjoy it. 

“You like fuckin, huh?”

“Who doesn’t?” You snickered, pushing back into his thrusting hand.

Joel took a deep breath, maintaining his composure. But he knew then that he wanted you. That you were just what he needed and more.

#######

You liked this Joel guy. He took his time. He was asking you questions, trying to get to know you. You don’t remember the last time anyone had done that. …Well, maybe when you first started working there. Trisha and Carrie and a couple of the other women tried, but this felt different for some reason. Like it was leading somewhere. Like there was a promise at the end of it. Like maybe he really wanted to make you come and he wasn’t just there for himself. 

And you liked his voice. It was smoky and deep. He had an accent like a cowboy. It was comforting, in a way.

And his fingers felt nice. He knew what he was doing. You couldn't remember the last time a guy got you that wet with just his hand.

Part of you felt a little hopeful. You thought you might finally get to have some fun like the other girls did. Most of the guys you got were ugly or just plain ol’ depressing. Another part of you couldn’t stop thinking about Carrie for some reason. You’re not sure why she kept coming up in your mind. You two never worked together. You barely knew her at all.

-

“You ever fuck the other women here?” Joel asked. 

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed in proud affirmation. It even pulled a smile from you. 

“What's that mean?”

You weren’t sure how you expected him to react. You weren’t sure why you answered that way. “It means… yeah,” you replied while embarrassment burned your cheeks. You had barely looked at him before, but now you really didn’t want to see his face.

“Yeah, you like fuckin women?” His voice turned breathy. You heard his buckle jingle and the slide of the zipper of his jeans. 

 It turned you on to know that he liked that. Some men hated it. Made you feel like shit for it. But man, this Joel guy was something else. It made you want more of him. More of his fingers. His voice. His skin. “Yeah,” you moaned and shoved yourself harder into his hands, thrusting his fingers deeper.

“So what? You lick their pussies? Rub your little cunts together?”

Your mouth hung open from his words. “yeah,” you said with a hot breath. He pulled his fingers from inside of you and drew circles on your clit. You started whimpering. You nodded your head as fire burned in your core and across your skin. 

“That’s why you work here, huh? You got a needy little cunt?”

His fingers were moving so fast, the muscles in your legs were jumping and your toes were curling. “Uh-huh,” you moaned loud enough for your voice to echo around the bare room.

“That why you left the Q-Z? This slutty hole wasn’t get fucked enough?” His fingers slid back inside your entrance. You’re not sure how many he stuffed in, but it was more than before. 

You nodded with a desperate moan, your right leg slapping the mattress beneath you in frustration. You needed more. His fingers, his words–they weren’t enough. Your body was hot and sparking and you needed-needed-needed. “Joel, please,” you begged, turning to face him, finally opening your eyes again. He was stroking himself and the sight of his cock made you drool. 

“Whatchu need, sweetheart?” He asked and you could almost kill him for it.  

“Please, please fuck me, Joel. Please.”

“Need it that bad, huh?” He kicked off his boots and shoved his pants all the way down to the floor. 

You got out of the way as he crawled into the bed and sat up against the headboard. 

“Come and get this cock, you fuckin slut,” he growled. One hand held his length while the other pulled you by the arm. 

You were too hungry to notice how tightly he gripped you. You hovered over his lap as he lined himself up with your entrance. You stared at the curve of his lips on the way down, the mix of gray and brown hairs in his mustache. But there was white on his cheeks and chin. You briefly wondered how old he was. But you couldn’t bring yourself to get a good look at his face. Too busy melting from the pressure of his cock stretching your walls. Fuck, it felt good. You braced yourself on his firm, wide shoulders and brought your hips back up a few inches before sinking down on his length even further. You groaned and tucked your head into his neck.

#######

You started sucking on his neck and his hips began to thrust up into you.

“It ain’t enough that I’m stuffin your cunt?” he grunted. “You need me in your mouth, too?”

You moaned against his throat, sending goosebumps all over his skin. “Yeah,” you said through panting breaths, before latching back on, teeth and tongue digging into his muscle. 

Joel liked you. He really liked you. You were wet and riding him just right. You weren’t mechanical about it, neither–like Joel was just another job to you. There was a sadness to you, sure. It was probably why you didn’t get a lot of men. Men wanted to forget their troubles at the brothel. Have some fun. They wanted the world outside to disappear with their cock inside a woman.

But Joel had tried that. And it hadn’t worked out so good.

So this time, he looked for someone different. Someone who would understand. Someone who would get why he needed to fuck and when and how he needed to fuck, too. 

And you were telling him everything he needed to know. He was learning what you wanted and what you liked and what he could use to threaten you into compliance. 

He pulled you away from his neck, not sure how he felt about being covered in hickeys. “Here,” Joel prodded your lips with his middle and ring finger. “Suck on this, you greedy little slut.”

And you did, moaning desperately as you rolled your hips in his lap. You gagged as he slid his fingers back and forth on your tongue, saliva spilling from the edges of your lips and down your chin. Your eyes were closed and he knew there was nothing going on in your mind. He knew you were focused on nothing but how good he was making you feel.

You started bouncing on his cock and he slapped your ass with his free hand. He gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, forcing you to stop.

“Did I say you could do that?”

Your eyes popped open–meeting his directly. You tried to pull your head away to answer, but Joel shoved his fingers in even further.

He repeated himself. “You tryin to come right now? Did I say you could?”

You let out a pathetic whine and shook your head.

He slapped your ass again and this time he noticed your pussy clench around him. He heard a small moan grow and die in your throat. “You come when I fuckin say you can come,” he snarled with his teeth clenched. He smacked your asscheek again and thrust up into you. 

You whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut. 

“That turn you on?” He gripped your ass in his hand. “You like takin’ your medicine, bad girl?”

You tried to turn your head, but Joel still had his fingers in your mouth and he held you in place. You looked at him with the most pathetic, pleading look.

“I asked you a question,” Joel growled with wide eyes. His cock twitched inside of you. “You like takin’ your medicine? You like bein told what to do?”

You squeezed your eyes shut again and quietly nodded.

Joel liked that. He liked that a lot. He took his fingers from your mouth and gripped your cheeks. Your eyes popped open again. He licked his lips. “You be a good girl and make me come first, then we’ll see what you get, okay?”

You nodded.

“Now what do you say?”

Your brows furrowed. 

“When I tell you what to do, what do you say?”

Your face softened. You blinked slowly before answering. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s right.” Joel grunted and thrusted his hips. “Now, make me come, you little slut.” His fingers dug into your own hips to guide your rhythm to what he wanted. “Make me come and we’ll see what you get.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir,” you murmured again and again.

Your warm, wet cunt sucked him in and stroked him. He could hear it, too, how drippy and turned on you were. It wasn’t long before he tossed you off him with a grunt, throwing you onto your back on the bed. He only fisted his cock twice before shooting his spend on your spread open pussy, on the hair on your mound. He wiped his cum down and around on your clit. “Come on, girl. You can come now. Come on,” he chanted. He rubbed your clit back and forth with the flat of his four fingers. “Give that greedy little cunt what it needs. Come on.”

Your body curled in as you orgasmed and you moaned loudly into your arm. Joel didn’t see the need for you to be quiet, but it was too late to do anything about it now. He rubbed you with his thumb until your legs clasped shut and you squirmed away.

He wiped his hands on the sheets and got up from the bed. He pulled his jeans back on, but waited to buckle his belt. He sat back down and put his shoes on.

You were still lying where he left you. Curled up in the fetal position. It almost looked like you were falling asleep. He figured you might as well rest up now. The drive back home was a bumpy one.

He sighed when he stood up. He figured he should get the liquor bottles out of the truck sooner than later. He huffed. Larry was a real piece of shit for trading a woman for liquor. But Joel wanted you. And he was gonna have you.

#######

You were reeling. Sexually, you were satisfied, but every other emotion bursted and channeled itself through your muscles and across your skin. You felt so vulnerable. This man had seen you–seen you! Like you were a real person or something! Like you weren’t just a ghost or a character in a movie! Everything felt wrong and you couldn’t figure out why. And you couldn’t stop thinking about Carrie for some reason.

You stayed as still as possible until you heard Joel’s booted footsteps leave the room. You were grateful he didn’t say anything or try to touch you again. Your body trembled as you got out of the bed. You walked on shaky legs to the bathrooms to clean yourself. The world around you was so close and too clear. You could hear and differentiate everyone’s voices in the main room. The air was humid and you could taste it–actually taste it like it was a wet, moldy cloud in your mouth. 

Your hands tremored. You tried to exert control over them, but you were barely able to turn on the sink. You mostly swatted at the faucets until water came out. And there was no comfort to be had in the warm, rushing water. You noticed tension in your cheeks and thought you wanted to cry, but couldn’t make any tears come out.

The woman in the mirror scared you. It was you. You knew it was you. But she felt unfamiliar. Three dimensional. You wanted to run. Run away to the Quarantine Zone or—or anywhere but here.

Then you heard screaming, shrill screams from what had to be one of the other women. Suddenly you were being dragged out of the bathroom. Trisha’s hands were on you. Her fingers were small and thin and her skin was smooth and cold. You had never noticed before.

The lights in the main room were so bright that you could see everything. Every small piece of leather that had flaked off each of the couches and landed on the dirty, carpeted floor. The carpet itself was covered in dust and dirt and leaves. Where did the leaves come from? you wondered. How did they get tracked inside? Weren’t people wiping their shoes like they were supposed to?

There were people moving around. Naked. Half-naked. Clothed. All talking over each other. And blood. Bright red blood. One of the women, with long gold hair, was covered in it, shrieking in pain with both her hands on her hip. Two others guided her past you towards the back. One of Joel’s men was apologizing to Larry. He had black curly hair and a thick mustache. Larry was screaming in his face.

You saw Joel from the back as he pushed himself up from the couch. His shoulder rose and fell with deep, heaving breaths. There was blood dripping from his fist and there was someone beneath him. Once he stepped away, you saw an oblong fleshy ball of bright red where a face should have been. The body beneath the ball didn’t move. 

You folded in half and started heaving. Trisha shrieked in your ear. 

“I’m so sick of you assholes coming here and-and-and-and–” Larry was caught in a loop as he pulled his gun from his pocket. It was a small revolver. You watched his gray-skinned thumb pull back the hammer. “I’m sure! I’m sure!” he yelled over the shouting.

The man with the black curly hair lunged at Larry with a curse. 

The gun-shot stilled everyone in the room. It was loud enough that for a moment, you thought you had been shot. The vibrations pierced you to the very center of your being. But then… Larry was on the floor. Sprinkled with dust from the ceiling tile. And then there was more blood. Bright red blood spilling out from his body. 

You breathed in relief. Not only that you were still alive, but that it was Larry that was dead. For a few beautiful seconds, you felt free. Free from his bullshit and free from the brothel. Free to go back to the quarantine zone and start over again.

Trisha’s smooth fingers pulled one of your arms, but something warm and calloused pulled your other. You looked up, confused. It was Joel. Joel’s hand, which had been on you only minutes previous, felt so strange and unfamiliar. You had just shared a bed with him but–that had been a different man. Certainly different than the one that stood before you now with blood-splattered on his clothes and sweat beading around his temples. 

“You can’t take her!” Trisha cried, tears pouring out her eyes. “You can’t take her!”

“Sorry, darlin’,” he said. Joel’s eyes looked sad. “She’s mine now.”

Terror fell over you like a cold, biting wind. He was talking about you.

Your body started trembling again. You tried and failed to pull your arm away from his grip. “NO!” You shouted. Your vision went blurry as you sobbed. “Don’t take me! Please!” That was why you couldn’t stop thinking about Carrie. Joel had bought Carrie. Trisha had told you that Joel had bought Carrie. But the information hadn’t clicked into place. You had spent so long avoiding your body, avoiding feeling any emotion at all that when it spent all night trying to warn you, you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t feel the siren in your gut telling you to stay away from Joel. And now that siren was loud and clear. But it was far too late for you to do anything about it. “Don’t take me! Pleasepleaseplease!”

Joel didn’t budge. He leaned in real close to you. “Now you told me you like bein told what to do.” Your face went fiery hot with shame. He yanked your arm, pulling you from Tasha’s grip. “And right now, I’m tellin you that you’re comin with me.” He continued to pull you out the front door, towards his truck.

“No! Nonono!” You cried. You tried one more time to shake him off, but it was pointless. He was too strong. You were too weak. And you started to wonder if you could have prevented this or if it was simply your fate. Your own boss hadn’t been able to say ‘no’ to these men. What could someone like you have done?

You sobbed into your hands as you sat in the truck. The man with the black curly hair got in the driver’s seat. Joel sat on the other side of you and rubbed your back in some sick attempt at comfort. “You be good for me–” he said, adjusting himself. “--then we’ll see what you get.” 

+++++

a/n: Please let me know if I missed a tag. Also, idk if it's really a DDDNE story or not. ??

story title taken from the song "Mary the Ice Cube" by Primus.

[kc-writes-sometimes]

Crown and Kin | Chapter Three

Ao3 Account | Masterlist

Chapter Three: The Red Keep

Word Count: 4,146

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary: Daella faces the true dangers of the city, and a terrifying encounter leaves her questioning everything she once knew about her safety. As danger closes in, a familiar figure comes to her rescue, but their appearance only deepens the mysteries surrounding her past.

Themes & Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Rape/Non Con, Future Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Incest, Angst, Dad Daemon Targaryen, Bastards and Brothels, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Team Black Centric, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance

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Daella of King's Landing

Daella froze as the men inched closer, her feet sinking into the muddy ground as if the earth itself conspired to hold her captive. There was nowhere to go. Their leering gazes crawled over her trembling form, and she finally understood the true dangers of King’s Landing. She had walked these streets before, stepping over pools of blood and freshly cut bodies, never once caring because it hadn’t been her blood, her body. Trouble had always kept its distance—after all, who would care about a bastard like her? But now, as these men closed in, she realized that there were those who simply didn’t care. To them, she wasn’t a person, just a young girl ripe for the taking.

She screamed as she hit the ground, the impact softened by the mud, but sharp pain flared as her head snapped back. The world swam before her eyes, fogging her vision. She kicked out desperately, but their laughter only grew louder, taunting her.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a fighter, lads,” one of them jeered, kneeling over her, his weight pinning her down. His rough hands tore at her nightdress, pulling it apart. Daella squeezed her eyes shut and screamed, praying someone—anyone—would hear her. Her voice grew raw with terror, tears streaming down her face, but his laugh cut through her cries. “Keep going, I like it when they scream.”

Suddenly, silence. The only sound was her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, and her ragged breathing. A heavy weight collapsed on top of her, and she felt something wet and warm soak through the remains of her dress. She opened her eyes and stared into the lifeless, terror-stricken face of the man who had just been on top of her—his head severed from his body. She scrambled out from beneath the decapitated corpse, her limbs trembling as she stood and stared at the growing pool of blood.

A choked gurgle drew her attention further down the road. Daemon stood over another man, wrenching his sword from the man’s gut. Daella’s gaze swept over the scene, taking in the five bodies now littering the path between her and the man who claimed to be her father. Five men dead. Their evil wiped from the world. A strange, cold satisfaction welled up inside her. She couldn’t help but feel relieved, even happy.

She stepped over the bodies, moving slowly toward Daemon. Hearing her approach, he whirled around, sword poised, the blade slicing through the air above her head. Confusion clouded his features for a moment before he realized there was nothing left to fight. His gaze softened as he lowered his sword and dropped to his knees before her, his hands gently cradling her tear-stained face. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice thick with panicked concern.

Daella shook her head slowly, the motion numb. She rubbed at her wet cheeks before launching herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. Her tears soaked his collar as he lifted her off the ground. “Shh, little one,” he murmured, stroking her back in comfort. “Let’s get you to Mellos.”

The guards watched them closely as they ascended the steps of the Red Keep, their faces drawn with apprehension, but none dared stop them. Laughter and music floated from the hall ahead, a stark contrast to the horror Daella had just escaped. They moved deeper into the keep, down a long corridor where two knights in polished silver armour stood on either side of large wooden doors, their pristine white cloaks a stark contrast to the blood still streaking Daemon’s hair.

Daemon exhaled sharply as they approached the doors and the knights guarding them. One of them was young, with slightly tanned skin and wavy brown hair, his eyes burning with barely concealed rage as they settled on Daemon. The other was older, tall and broad, his bald head gleaming in the torchlight, a greying beard adding to his severe appearance. The older knight stepped forward, his voice formal. “We were not aware of your arrival, My Prince. The King is currently indisposed.”

“I have no desire to see my brother yet, Lord Commander,” Daemon replied, his tone dry and impatient. “I only wish to borrow his maester.”

“The maester is also occupied,” the younger guard snapped, his words edged with disdain.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze on the young knight. “Well, Crispin, be a good little dog and un-occupy him.”

The young knight shot a glance at the older man, who nodded curtly. He spun on his heel and pushed through the heavy doors, leaving them slightly ajar. Through the gap, Daella caught a glimpse of a grand hall bathed in golden light. At the far end, a man stood at a raised table, cup in the air as if to make a speech. A stout man leaned in to whisper in his ear. The man with the cup suddenly looked toward them, his brow furrowing in displeasure.

The knight returned, glaring at Daemon as he addressed him. “The King wishes to see you.”

Daemon rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Now? In there?” He sighed, pulling Daella tighter against him as he headed up the steps and into the hall.

As they passed, Daella glanced back at the two knights. Ser Criston sneered at her, but the older knight stepped forward, blocking her view with a finality that sent a shiver down her spine.

The hall was breathtaking, with dragon silhouettes and red ribbons hanging from the ceiling, swaying gently in the breeze. Two long tables were laden with food—more than Daella had ever seen in her life. A roasted pig, platters of fruit, and golden loaves of bread. To the right, a group of musicians stood with instruments poised, their lively tune faltering as the room fell into a stunned silence.

No one spoke as Daemon strode down the central aisle, his boots echoing on the stone floor. All eyes were on them, the whispers quieting as they took in the blood-streaked man and the girl in his arms, her once-white nightdress now torn and stained red.

As they neared the raised table, Daella took in the features of the man with the cup. His sharp nose and silver hair mirrored Daemon’s, though his was pinned back beneath a heavy crown. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized who he was. This was Daemon’s brother. This was the King.

“My King,” Daemon said softly, bowing his head.

Daella scanned the people seated beside the King. To his left was a beautiful young girl with long silver hair flowing down her back, the shade only slightly darker than Daemon’s. Her dress was off the shoulder and black, silver stitching ran throughout it, creating the illusion of scales.

On the King’s right sat a slightly older woman, no less beautiful, her long auburn curls framing a face of stern beauty. She wore a dark green dress, embellished with gold detailing, and a small seven-pointed star sat in the divot of her throat. She was deep in conversation with a young man beside her, her face pinched in frustration. The boy, with silver hair grazing his shoulders, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

The King studied Daella, his face lined with confusion and concern. His eyes flicked back to Daemon, hardening. “Why have you returned, Daemon?” The displeasure in his voice was unmistakable.

“Mellos was the closest maester,” Daemon replied, his voice stiff. “I have only come to have our wounds seen to and beg an audience with my brother.”

Ser Harwin appeared, and Daella’s gaze snapped toward him as he approached the older, stout man sitting a few spaces down from the king. As he turned, his gaze locked with hers, and her heart skipped. “Daella,” he whispered, confusion flashing in his eyes as he hurried around the table, his expression quickly turning to concern.

Daemon turned to face him, his gaze hardening to steel as Ser Harwin approached.

The King’s eyes narrowed as he watched. “Do you know this child, Harwin?” he asked, his voice sharp with confusion.

“I do, Your Grace,” Ser Harwin replied, his eyes never leaving Daella. “Give her here,” he demanded, arms outstretched.

Daella shrank further into Daemon’s embrace, clinging to him.

Daemon’s voice was low and deadly as he glared at Ser Harwin. “I like you, Ser Harwin, but touch her, and you’ll lose a hand.”

“What in the seven hells is going on?” the King barked in confusion, slamming his cup onto the table.

The red-haired woman’s gaze landed on Daella, taking in her torn dress and the fresh bruises on her legs. “Dear gods, what has happened to that child?” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with concern.

Daella turned to her, her voice barely a whisper. “Bad men.”

The woman’s face pales, her eyes wide with horror. “Lord Commander Westerling,” the red-haired woman commands, her voice firm with authority, “escort Daemon and the child to a guest chamber. Send for Grand Maester Mellos immediately. Have the servants draw a bath and find her something to wear. Burn that dress afterwards.”

The Lord Commander bows. “At once, My Queen.”

Daemon’s gaze met the Queen’s, his voice low and controlled as he quietly said, “Thank you.” Though his words were formal and polite, an undercurrent of tension simmered beneath them. He turned to follow the knight, but his eyes found the silver-haired woman standing beside the King for a fleeting moment. Her violet eyes lingered on him, almost imperceptibly, as though drawn to him against her will. A silent moment stretched between them, so subtle that it might have gone unnoticed by others, but it felt heavy with something unsaid. She hesitated, her breath catching before her gaze shifted, reluctantly, to Daella.

“Niece,” Daemon said, the soft smile tugging at his lips feeling both familiar and distant, as though there was more behind the word than he dared to reveal.

“Uncle,” she replied, her voice quiet, as if afraid to speak any louder. Daella shifted in Daemon’s arms, glancing over his shoulder. The woman’s gaze followed him, her composure barely concealing the warmth in her eyes. A faint blush touched her cheeks, fleeting but noticeable, before her eyes flickered forward, as if she was suddenly aware of being watched. Yet, in that brief exchange, something lingered—something unspoken but undeniably present—slipping away as quickly as it had come.

As they were led away, Daella, peering over Daemon’s shoulder, caught sight of two children. A beautiful silver-haired girl, engrossed in a glass case, muttered softly to herself. But it was another boy, close to Daella's age, with silver hair like Daemon’s, who captured her attention. His gaze met hers, piercing and unreadable, holding a curiosity or silent question that she was too exhausted to understand.

The King’s voice boomed behind them, cutting through the thick silence. “Alicent, what is the meaning of—” His words were abruptly silenced as the heavy doors closed behind them, shutting out the noise of the hall and the festivities within.

Once inside the private chamber, the atmosphere shifted, becoming heavy with the scent of burning wood and the muted crackle of the fire. An old man in a cream-colored robe knelt at Daella's feet, carefully bandaging her wounds as she stared at the charred remains of her nightgown crumbling into the flames. The heat from the fire seemed distant, almost unreal, as though the pain and fear had dulled her senses to everything but the steady, rhythmic motion of the maester’s hands.

“How bad are her injuries?” Daemon’s voice broke the silence, low and measured, though the tension in his posture revealed the depth of his concern. He watched the maester from his seat at the table, his chin resting on clasped hands, his eyes never leaving Daella’s bandaged feet.

“Her injuries are minor, My Prince,” the maester replied, his voice steady with the authority of experience. “Other than the bump on her head and the cuts on her feet, she appears to be in good health. However, she must try to stay off her feet so they may heal properly.” The old man groaned slightly as he rose from his kneeling position, his movements slow and deliberate.

“And what of the bruising?” Daemon’s voice sharpened, his violet eyes narrowing as they fixed on the maester.

“The bruising does not extend past the knees, so I do not believe it necessary to examine the girl further at this time. Should anything change, have her brought to me immediately,” the maester advised, his chains clinking softly as he gathered his things and moved toward the door.

“Thank you, Maester,” Daemon said with a curt nod, his attention already shifting back to Daella as the old man exited the room.

Daemon approached her slowly, his presence filling the space as he sat down beside her on the settee. His eyes softened as they met hers, the intensity from moments ago replaced with a gentleness that felt almost foreign. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice tender as if afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile calm.

“Scared... and sleepy,” Daella whispered, her voice small and tired as she curled her feet beneath her, seeking comfort in the warmth of the blankets.

“Let’s get you to bed, sweet girl,” Daemon murmured, his tone a soothing balm to the lingering terror in her chest. He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as he carried her to the large bed in the centre of the room.

The mattress was soft and warm, as though someone had prepared it just for her. Daemon tucked the covers around her with the same care one might use for a fragile piece of glass, his touch light but reassuring. He stroked her hair gently, sitting beside her as she settled into the bed.

“Can you tell me a story?” Daella asked, her voice barely more than a breath as she curled into a ball, seeking the comfort of his presence.

“Of course, I can, my sweet,” Daemon replied, his hand continuing its soothing motion through her hair. “Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys—” His voice, low and steady, became a lullaby that pulled her into the welcoming arms of sleep. As she drifted off, the horrors of the night faded, replaced by the safety and warmth of Daemon’s presence. For the first time since the terror began, Daella felt truly safe.

The soft morning light trickled through the windows, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. A quiet creak followed by a gust of air pulled Daella from sleep. As she opened her eyes, she took in the unfamiliar surroundings: soft green wallpaper covered the walls, statues of the seven-pointed star were purposefully placed around the room, and even the books on the shelves bore the same star on their spines. The blankets that covered her were green as well, completing the theme. Her gaze drifted toward the adjoining room, where the boy she had seen the night before stood in the doorway, staring at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though he had been running.

She pushed the covers aside and slipped out of bed, walking toward him. Her eyes raked over his form, taking in his dishevelled appearance. His long hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his fancy clothing was smeared with black soot. The smell of smoke clung to him, sharp and undeniable.

“Why do you look like that?” Daella asked, gesturing to his blackened tunic with a questioning tilt of her head.

“Dragons,” he answered breathlessly, leaning against the wall as though to steady himself.

Daella gasped, her eyes widening in awe. “You have a dragon? Can I see it?” She rushed toward him, her excitement bubbling over as she grabbed his hand eagerly. “Please, please, can I see your dragon?”

“No!” he snapped, yanking his hand away from hers with such force that it stung. His glare was sharp, his expression hardening as he stepped back, his eyes flickering with something like shame or frustration.

“Why not?” Daella huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, a pout forming on her lips. She felt the weight of her disappointment pressing down on her.

“Because I don’t have a dragon!” he shouted, his face flushing with embarrassment as his gaze dropped to the floor.

“Oh.” The disappointment vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced with an understanding nod. “That’s okay. I don’t have a dragon either.” She patted his shoulder gently, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “How did you get in here?”

“Come,” he said, his voice quieter now as he took her hand again, leading her to the far side of the room. He pressed hard against the wall, and to her amazement, a hidden passageway opened, revealing a dark, musty corridor. “These can take you anywhere in the keep, and no one can see you. As long as you don’t mind rats,” he added with a mischievous grin.

Daella's eyes widened with wonder. The thought of sneaking through the keep, unseen, sent a thrill through her. Rats didn’t bother her—she’d seen plenty in Flea Bottom. As long as you left them alone, they tended to leave you alone too.

“Daella!” Ser Harwin’s voice boomed from the other room, followed by a heavy knock on the door. “Why is this door locked? Daella!”

Daella glanced back toward the relentless banging of the door, her heart skipping a beat. “Coming!” she called out, turning to the boy, who was already stepping into the hidden passage. “Go, before he breaks through the door,” she whispered with a smile.

The boy’s violet eyes met hers one last time before he disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.

Quickly, Daella unlocked the door and opened it wide for Ser Harwin. He strode in, worry etched across his face, and without a moment’s hesitation, he knelt down and pulled her into a tight hug. His embrace was warm, grounding her in its familiarity.

“What happened, Daella? Why are you here?” he asked, his voice thick with concern as he pulled away to examine her face.

“Daemon found me in the market,” Daella began, the words tumbling out as tears welled up in her eyes. “He wasn’t happy that I was alone again, so he took me home. He was arguing with Rose, and I—I ran. I tried to find you, but I couldn’t. There were men... they tried to hurt me.” She sniffled, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Daemon killed them. He brought me here and made sure I was okay.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, sweet girl,” Ser Harwin murmured, pulling her into another hug. His voice was heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

Daella pressed her face into his chest, finding comfort in the familiar scent of him. “Is Prince Daemon really my father?” she asked, her voice muffled by his tunic.

Ser Harwin gently pulled her away, his eyes softening as he looked at her tear-streaked face. “Your mother always said he was,” he admitted quietly. “It’s why Rose and I tried so hard to keep you safe. We didn’t know how Prince Daemon or the King would react, but it seems that the Prince cares for you.”

His words sank in, but there was still so much she didn’t understand. “What are you doing in the keep, Harwin?” she asked, furrowing her brow. “I thought you’d be with the City Watch.”

“My father is the King's Hand, Daella. I’m expected to maintain a presence at court, which means attending feasts and announcements whenever needed.” He chuckled softly, stroking her hair. “Like the one you and Prince Daemon interrupted last night when you walked in covered in blood.”

Daella smiled sheepishly at the memory, but before she could say more, Harwin’s tone shifted back to concern. “Enough about me. Are you alright? What did the Maester say?”

“I think I’m fine,” Daella replied, her brow furrowing in confusion. “The Maester told Daemon that I was in good health apart from the bump on my head and the cuts on my feet. He said the bruises didn’t go past my knees.” She paused, trying to make sense of the cryptic statement. “I don’t know what that means, but I feel alright. Just a little scared.”

Harwin’s eyes softened further, and he nodded in understanding. “Ah, I see,” he said, though he didn’t elaborate. The silence that followed was thick, hanging in the air like a question left unanswered.

“Do you think the King will let me stay?” Daella asked suddenly, breaking the stillness. “I like it here... well, apart from all the green,” she added with a small laugh, glancing at the verdant surroundings.

Harwin chuckled and ruffled her hair. “That’s up to the King, little flame. But if you’re family, I’m sure things will work out the way they are supposed to.” His smile was warm, but beneath it, Daella sensed the weight of what was to come. Harwin’s smile lingered, but there was a heaviness in his eyes. “The King is a hard man to read, but you belong here more than you know, Daella.”

His words brought Daella a sense of relief, though her thoughts were still a jumble. She leaned into his side as he stood, and they walked toward the door together, her mind still racing with unanswered questions.

As Harwin opened the door, sunlight flooded in from the hall, and for a moment, Daella was blinded by its brightness. She stopped and turned to him, her voice barely above a whisper. “Harwin… if Daemon really is my father, will he want me to stay? Or does he just feel like he has to?”

Harwin knelt down to face her again, his expression thoughtful. “Daemon may be many things, Daella. He’s fierce, unpredictable, and often more driven by duty than emotion. But what I’ve seen… the way he looks at you… there’s something there. Maybe he’s just beginning to realize it, but he cares for you. I believe he wants you here.”

The weight of his words made Daella’s heart swell with hope, but also uncertainty. She nodded slowly, trying to make sense of it all, but before she could respond, the sound of distant footsteps echoed down the hall. Harwin straightened up, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll have to go soon, but if you ever need me, you know where to find me. Stay close to the Prince for now, alright?”

“I will,” Daella promised, gripping his arm for a moment before letting go.

As Harwin left, the room suddenly felt too big, too empty. Daella stood there, staring at the door for a long moment, unsure of what to do next. A part of her wanted to explore those hidden passages, to run through the castle unseen and discover its secrets. But another part of her felt the weight of the past few days settling over her, the exhaustion of everything that had happened.

She glanced back toward the passage the boy had shown her, curiosity pulling her toward the unknown. But the memory of his violet eyes watching her before he disappeared lingered in her mind, and she decided to wait. There would be time for that later.

For now, she headed back to the bed and sat on its edge, staring at the green blankets that surrounded her. This place felt foreign, but at the same time, there was a strange comfort in it. Maybe this was where she belonged after all. Maybe she had a place here, with Daemon, with Harwin… with her family.

She didn’t know what the King would decide, or what Daemon would want in the end. But for now, she had the chance to find out. And that was more than she had ever thought she would have.

As the day moved forward and the castle stirred to life outside the door, Daella lay back on the bed, letting the soft green light wash over her. There was so much ahead—uncertainties, dangers, and decisions to be made—but for now, in this quiet moment, she allowed herself to hope.

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[christinebloodwrittings]

Die in your arms #5

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Taglist open: @littlebluefishtail @maxlynn17 @vxllys @modifiedmonster @sirens-and-moonflowers @qardasngan @polytheatrix

Warnings: Implied SA, imprisonment, trauma, mentions of blood.

Masterlist

Proofing made by: @littlebluefishtail

April 1914. New Orleans, Louisiana.  

The melody played with your senses, in a way that when you turned you could only hear it with one ear at a time. And you turned and turned, and his hand guided you through the room, occasionally pressing his chest against yours. It wasn't so bad, his warmth was unbearably comfortable.

Without warning, a nauseating smell of tobacco and liquor filled the dining room, coming from a door you didn't recognize behind the stairs. "Don't pay attention to the door, darling." Alastor's voice was distorted and sounded like a broken gramophone. "There's nothing a doll like you should worry about," you recognized that voice, as well as his breath smelling of blood and seafood. 

The realization and the whole heavy atmosphere crushed you. Alastor's thin, calloused hands were exchanged for larger and fat ones, with cold rings that sent shivers up your spine. 

As soon as you tried to move away from him, multiple hands broke the wood under you, trapping your body in place. 

The only thing you could hear between the laughter of the wretch behind you was your desperate attempts to push your way through his fingers. You managed to take a few steps towards the door, but when your fingers were about to touch the handle, black water began to rise from between the wooden floorboards.

Sobbing and screaming, you fell into the water, unable to hold on to anything. Is this how you would die? Consumed by fear and darkness? 

Y/n?

Y/N!

- Y/N wake up! It's just a nightmare! - you heard something in the darkness, away, very far away. A lady’s voice calling you from a speck of light floating in the void. - You’re safe, open your eyes, please - the voice pleaded, a thick accent more present in it.

You struggled to open your eyes, even more so to adjust your vision to the street lamp post shining just outside your window. Your chest heaved up and down as the cold air burned down and out your lungs. 

Your body was heavy and drenched in sweat. Unclenching your muscles and hands from the tense state they were was a very unpleasant sensation, although the word falls short. As you let go of the sheets your hands clicked and cramped, provoking you letting out puffs of air through your nose, teeth gritting given the pain.

The clock marked one o’clock in the morning. Not that you cared, it wasn’t the first time that it happened. You took one pill of methaqualone every two days, for insomnia. It was prescribed that way because it causes addiction and severe withdrawal symptoms, and Rosemary thought that given your story with opium and aphrodisiacs, you’d had enough of addiction related issues. 

Taking one more pill would do you more harm than good, so you thought a glass of water and a short walk in the garden might do the trick.

It was nothing new, you just did what Rosemary did the first time you had withdrawal attacks. With a damp towel you wiped the sweat off your body, gagging several times as you lowered the towel down your torso. The cold helped a lot to contrast the heat of your body, without actually numbing your skin.

You quickly looked at yourself in the mirror, the reflection of your sunken eyes and prominent facial bones passing through your eyes. However, after opening them again, you could notice some pink tones on your cheeks, your face was definitely fuller and healthier. You no longer looked like a ghost. 

For many years you couldn’t recognize yourself in the mirror, so you avoided them. Now that you were slowly getting better, could you? Or did the you before the brothel die with no way to get her back?

You decided not to dwell on it too much and changed your nightgown and sheets, walking with both to the laundry basket, prepping them for cleaning at a more appropriate hour. 

On your way down, you noticed Alastor’s door was open, and he was clearly not inside. Down in the kitchen, his plate was still inside the fridge, untouched. So it was obvious to you that he was doing his secret activities and he was running awfully late. You grabbed a glass of water and sat in between the laundry room and the steps to the garden. 

After a few minutes you heard the rattling of keys and the main door opening and closing. Then Alastor's footsteps, slow, almost dragging his feet against the floorboards. Without even looking at him you could tell he was exhausted.

When he was next to the kitchen, the shape of your morning robe at the end of the way made him freeze in place. He had no explanation of why he wasn’t home yet, he assumed you’d already be asleep, so he didn’t need one. 

But he also couldn't hide the fact that he hadn't just arrived home, stinking of blood and sweat, so he tried as best he could to make his voice sound like he was simply returning from overtime at work.

"Good evening, Y/n, I thought you would already be asleep" the casual tone and your name on his lips indicated a danger sign, so you weren't going to turn around for anything in the world.

“I woke up, couldn’t go back to sleep…here I am” Your body was still shaking from the overwhelming dream and the pat down, the water didn’t wash down the taste of bile in the back of your throat, and to top it all the stench of blood Alastor carried, made you sicker.

“Give me a minute” you heard him run upstairs, then he came back down around fifteen minutes later. 

“Can you give me some room?” you scooched a little to the edge of the entrance. “Here, warm milk and honey” you grabbed the mug welcoming the tenderness and the sweet vapors. “Holy shit” you looked at his face, seeing a cut over his lip and a dark bruise on his cheek. 

“Don’t mind it” his voice was stern, firm. It was so filled with an accent that was not his usual transatlantic one, as he once put it. It was raw, to put it simply. 

You reached a hand towards him, getting yourself ready in case he wanted to slap your intent away. He didn’t, his gaze was fixed on the garden fence, aware of your sudden touch. 

“Can I at least clean it?” your thumb barely caressed the edge of the cut, it wasn’t a deep one, but it definitely took a couple hits to make it. “No, thank you anyhow, ma chére” he smiled, weakly leaning against your touch, then making a strange displeased face and taking your hand off his face. 

You took one big sip of the sweet beverage, relaxing with the warm feeling traveling down your chest. “Did you have a nightmare again?” you almost spit out the milk when he asked, “Again?” you coughed out, a hand in your chest for support. “I’ve figured they are nightmares for the way sometimes I catch the sound of sheet rustling from your room” he had made a pitiful look towards you, also seeing your hand grab the hem of your robe, and twist it between your fingers.

“Shit, I’m-” you tried, but he interrupted you, taking one of your loose strands of hair into his index and thumb. “Not to offend you dear, but don’t apologize. Never apologize for the things you had to do to survive, and how the very same affect you afterwards” he let the strand slide from his finger and fall onto your shoulder, before patting his knees and standing.

“Now, how about you finish your milk before it gets cold and you take a crack at sleeping again?” he took a few steps towards the laundry and then offered his hand to you, which you took, now more at ease, he noticed. 

As he helped you up, you gathered enough courage to ask, “What happened that made you come back so late?”. It did make Alastor think of a proper lie, but whatever he could think disintegrated like ash in his mouth. “It was my turn to dust off the equipment” which if you wished to verify with your cousin you’ll find that it was indeed true. 

But that didn’t explain the bruises. He followed your gaze and guessed you were still fixed on his small injury. “And I ran into an unpleasantry. But don’t fret, everything is just fine and dandy, as always” with your hand still in his, he placed a kiss on your disfigured knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Okay”, He knew you were no idiot and you didn’t swallow his half-told lie, but for the moment, it would have to do. 

For you it didn’t, it just piled up to the suspicions you were taking notes of. 

Four months had passed since the wedding. During that time you knew that something was awfully wrong with your so-called husband. It all became clear with the stench of blood, and how Alastor only returned home late the days the police weren't outside to make sure you didn't break the agreement. 

The first couple of times you thought it was a coincidence, but after two months, that had to be a pattern. 

Then - a few days after - a horrible smell began to spread through the house. One day you finished cutting some weeds from between the buds of your flowers. You searched like crazy for the source of the smell throughout the house, the bathrooms, under the kitchen sink, and so on.

You followed the stench until you came across an all too familiar space under the stairs. A space with wallpaper that was too new compared to the rest of the wall. Newly pasted and stuck to a hollow space. When you removed it, there was a door.

After ripping the fake layer and pushing the wooden door open, a thought burned from the depths of your mind, just like the disgusting smell that escaped from the basement, death.

You knew how it looked. 

Bloated limbs, a pale hue around the eye sockets, blue lips, veins popping. Scratched fingertips, purple patches of skin, red abrasions.

How it smelled. 

Vinegar-like smell, sour, pungent. The smell crawls under your skin, making you remember it for weeks. It takes your stomach in its grip and twists mercilessly. It stings your eyes, even your tongue as you breathe.

You know how it made you feel. Just never experienced it, not physically.

It didn't take you long to understand, the frozen hand among the butchered meat was a horrifying fact.

You married a murderer. 

What would have been the best way to react? A normal person would have probably packed their bags, alerted the police and left the house immediately.

But it was as if you were frozen in place, the little bit of lunch you had earlier, threatened to rise up your throat with every breath.

If your husband went to jail, you'd be in even more trouble than you were already in. You'd be even more unprotected, you'd end up either back with your cousin or worse, back at your father's house and then sent away again. 

That's what they would do unless the mobsters found you first. They say a bird in hand is worth two in the bush, in this case, two killers in the house against ten mobsters and thugs. Keeping him close perhaps...would be better than pushing him away.

But if that were the case, what would become of you after the year of arrest had passed? Would you end up on the same bloody steel table in front of you? Cut into pieces in a refrigerator?

Thinking about that, why would he have cut parts in a freezing unit? Unless. You checked the type of cut on one of the pieces defrosted by the malfunctioning machine, it was similar to the ones he brought from the butcher shop.

Either he was a cannibal or a seller. In this dire situation, you hoped for the latter. 

You moved the heavy container, it rattled and screeched, but you managed to move it enough until the back of it was in view. 

Against the concrete wall was a charred corpse of a rat, it must have chewed through the wires, ruined the equipment and lost its life in the process. “Sorry, but you should’ve known better, buddy" you pushed it away to bury later. 

Luckily Alastor had enough tools around to do a temporary rewiring. Although you knew you shouldn’t do him any favors, you figured it would atone his rage if you fixed it and saved whatever you could, rather than do nothing and add that to the fact that you broke into his space.

You burnt your fingers with the energy left in the cables after disconnecting them. Having finished the repair, you then set to separating what was tender and what was still frozen, salvaging what you could. There were two different coloured meat, one with a caucasian hue, - definitely not pork - and another darker, deer. You marked each with a different symbol to keep yourself safe. 

Even though you sealed the cause of the bad smell in a garbage bag, the stench was still in the air. With tears in your eyes you cleaned the entire basement, with all the cleaning chemicals you could find in the basement, until there were only chemical fumes.

For the first time in months you had to use the cream that Rosemary gave you, the chemicals burned through the gloves and bandages, to avoid the itching and burning you thought the ointment would be better, it didn't improve but it made it less strong.

After moving the meat in 'good conditions' to the freezer upstairs, you prepared a piece of human flesh to make meatballs. He had a meat grinder and a frying pan designated to that kind of business, so you simply followed the recipe, without tasting what you cooked, for obvious reasons. You had the pasta and sauce ready, so all you needed was for him to come home.

“Darling, you won’t believe it, the sponsors came to the station” you heard the door and the stumbling of the coat rack at the entrance, while Alastor was excited and happy. “They gave me the news segment, to talk about crimes and the Axeman!” you shouted ‘kitchen’ as he spoke to indicate him where to go.

“That’s amazing, welcome home” you congratulated him, sort of, setting up his spot on the table. “You didn’t need to wait for me” sometimes you did that, so you could indulge him, but most of the times you ate without him, (a portion a little less lady-like) and then served him, “I didn’t, but you worked all day, I wanted to have something warm for you”.

Alastor sat as you handed him a napkin to shield his white dress shirt and crimson vest from the red sauce. “Well how nice of you, my dear, much appreciated” he was truly thankful to have someone to cook, now he could ‘work’ until late hours without going to sleep without dinner. 

But his happiness would not last because when he put a piece of meatball in his mouth, and recognized the flavor, his eyes gave him away. ‘Fuck’ he thought, making it seem as if he closed his eyes because of his enjoyment and not stress.

“How is it?” you saw the change in his demeanor before turning to hide the ‘special’ frying pan in the sink to clean it. “Let me know if it has too much or little salt” oh he saw what you were doing, but two can play this game. “It’s perfect” How did you raise the gut to do this for him? What are you going to do next, immediate confrontation or just go ahead and cut off his head? Oh how excited he was to find out. 

Alastor had a chill of adrenaline run up his spine when you circled him as he chewed. He noticed a change in your walk, it was more secure, confident. Your hand slid across the table, then up his arm to his shoulder in a slow pace, agonizingly slow. You continued until he felt your breath hit the back of his neck. He bit his lip as soon as your arms were around his shoulders.

"You said you didn't have the need to lie to me" you began, with your scarred side softly pressed against his temple. 

"I did" your skin was dry, rough - he noted - but that didn’t matter, your new attention got under his skin, deeply. He was barely paying attention to your words, watching your fingers undo his bowtie.

"Yet you failed to mention the busted freezer in the basement, or that you even have a basement" Your voice was soft, calm and accusatory. It made Alastor nearly choke on a piece of meat. 

"I managed to save most of it, whatever was not tender enough to be bad" you heard him breathe, his chest rising up and down slowly. "Thank you, my darling, it was mostly venison" he had a hard time swallowing a piece of meat, his voice breaking as he spoke. 

"You and I both know that it's not, unless there’s a new kind of deer with hands instead of hooves" you pressed your lips together, only to make a pop sound next to his ear. "I cleaned everything downstairs, every single tool, even the blood behind the counter". You showed him you took off your gloves, so he could see your reddened skin because of the cleaning products. 

"I know what you are…Am I going to be next?" Despite your skills, you couldn't help but shiver at the thought of how he stalked and killed his victims.

"No, of course not" he made it seem as if it was obvious. Sure, if he wanted you dead, he probably wouldn’t have waited so long to try something. But every psychopath, like animals, taunt their prey differently. 

Everything was going fine within your plan to squeeze the truth out of him, but something very deep in your mind snapped, and thoughts started spirling through your mouth. 

"I should've seen it coming, I mean, why would you have said 'I do' in the first place if you weren’t insane?" you wanted to keep your calm stance, but your breath hitched, a couple of sweat drops fell from your brow. 

"A murderer and a man eater- uh no, that sounds wrong" a sudden feeling of repulsion forced you away from his warmth. "It only makes sense, why does it make sense?" you paced around the kitchen, reaching the edge of the sink, since your head started spinning, you rather have your head somewhere easy to clean. "I don't feel well", you pressed your hand to your chest, like that was going to stop your racing heart.

"Darling-" he stood up, like an instinct. He made his way towards you, just to see you draw a butcher knife from the sink, to hold it in the space between you. "Step back" you warned, at that he chuckled, his stare unmistakably challenging. 

"Are you going to kill me, my darling?" how could he maintain a smile in such a moment? one reason, you thought, he believed you frail or weak. "Can't, a life in prison is not worth your blood on the floor", and also you’d probably have to clean that too.

"Can't say I'm touched" in reality, he’d be lying if he didn’t think you incapable of harm in your bandaged state. He mused, keeping his eyes on yours, watching them drift anywhere but his stare. 

"Yeah? Well me either, I didn't even want to marry a sociopath, or anyone for that matter!" raising your voice after so long felt painful, like you were pulling a strain more than you should.

Everything should’ve been under control, but of course you had to start hyperventilating to top it off. "Why can nothing be easy? NOTHING! I get out, to be trapped again" Alastor watched you now with a concerned look, making no move to aid you, and to not get accidentally cut. "But that's how you like it, right?" you murmured, eyes filled with rage.

The walls darkened, the smell of rust hit you like a tidal wave. Everything was damp, or was it just you? The air felt heavy, your knees trembled and threatened to give out. Nothing made sense, at least you had that in the midst of the mental fog, you had to find an anchor to get out of the horror, because there was no way you were going to be in the cell again. Right?

"Y/n" he called you, but his voice didn’t reach your ears. "Just another one of your games, because of course you must like games" Alastor felt your words, you were staring at him, but somehow he felt as if you weren’t talking to him directly, "You're a hunter, you must see people as prey" you joked to ease yourself, but the moment your eyes went up to his eyes, you saw how he agreed wordlessly.

Your back hit a wall, which one? You didn’t know. 

"You know what? I've had it” you waved the knife, causing him to step back. “Do what you must, just bury me with my eyes closed or I'll come back to haunt you" Again, were you talking to him? He felt as if you were looking at a ghost, or many people at once given the speed your eyes moved around. 

He backed up to rest his hip against the counter. Thinking of a way he could ground you back from your fright. 

"I see it as a calling" he began, eyes closed as if he was summoning back that thrill. "It's like a magnet, it pulls something from within me, and... I follow it” and quite a strong pleasant pull, it always leads to a rotten soul who deserves to be eliminated. 

“That look on your face, the day we met" he got your attention with that memory, "That raw hatred, fear, that alert state, permanently making your body jump, keeping your mind awake" your brow moved closer, showing just how confused - or rather disgusted - you were.

"Tormented, yet so alive, I was drawn to that, in an unusual way" Now, he had absolutely no idea how to ground people with ptsd, but his monologue got you out of the cell, and dissipated the rusty smell. 

"My miserable self?" there you were, your defensive stance was back. 

"Your anger. Made me realize you're not different from me" you shook your head before answering, without knowing what truly led him, you knew you had a different motivation, "I disagree".

He only took a step forward when you dropped the knife. "Look me in the eye, tell me that you haven't had someone else's blood on your hands" he smiled, making you swallow a lump of saliva. "You read the file" he didn’t answer, nor did you ask really. "Answer me, please" how he said it, was so insistent but soft at the same time, it coaxed you to be honest, "I have".

He smiled, for the first time in four months he was having a conversation with you in his same language. "How did it feel?" you shook your head as soon as the rust threatened to come back. "Just nod if I'm right".

"You had your first scream, it ripped from your vocal cords out. With the first punch came the second, then the broken nose, blood and saliva on your knuckles. Every grunt of pain from them, released a knot from your stomach. Your mind was in a haze. Bolts of electricity jolting your every nerve. You wanted him dead, so you made it a reality" he had you cornered. His hand under your chin to maintain your eyes on his. 

"Have you ever had a moment when you felt truly alive, like that day?" his lips were so close, his nose touched yours softly, was he going to kiss you? Right now? "When I made it through the enrollment test" you whispered, taking Alastor by surprise, with new information.

"What?" he was taken aback, and so he turned to the drawer in which the file was stashed. "I knew it" you smiled, "You didn't read the file" ever so matter of factly you victoriously declared. He stepped back, eyes on the drawer, "I will, eventually". 

"You should've read it beforehand" without warning, Alastor’s head hit the ground. Lights out almost immediately. 

Almost. 

After a while of patching him up, you called Howard to his house, to explain, lousily, that your husband wouldn't be in conditions to go to work in a couple days. "Sorry Howard, is there anyone that can cover for him tomorrow?" luckily the next day was a friday and the news segment was on mondays. "He raised his hand, I reacted" you defended yourself. 

"He'll be fine" Howard asked you if he hurt you, "He didn't, he was just raising his hand and I...it was a reflex" an innocent accident. But he was in a good mood and swallowed your big fat lie, so he told you it was okay and hung up.

Seconds after you heard him, a groan of pain echoed through the hallway. "Sorry" you walked to his side, wrung out a small towel in a bowl of water, wicking away excess sweat and cleaning an accidental cut on his torso. "I had it coming" he certainly did, but he had you right where he wanted to, angry, truthful. 

"No", you cleaned the side of his face that hit the cabinet earlier - well, that you smashed against the cabinet earlier-. "You aimed at my gut, knees, and eyes. Even the back of my head, but never my throat, why?" Well, if we were being truthful, "You like the broadcast, I hear it everytime you talk about it" and also it would raise suspicions and probably his anger. 

He chuckled, a smile ear to ear on his face. "I don't know how you can smile after what I did..." you remembered he still doesn’t know what you did, "...To you" and given that, you corrected yourself. 

"How did it feel?" he took your hand, making you flinch against his flesh. "You wanted to teach me a lesson?" he caressed himself with your hand, still smiling as if he had won. "To show me just how much pain you can inflict" you didn’t respond, just rolled your eyes. 

"Honestly, I thought you'd rather stay in jail than with me, after finding out" the thought of it made you uneasy. "You knew I would?" he nodded in response, "One way or another. You're smart, you know that, hence why you don't let others see that" he kissed the cuff scar on your wrist. 

"People don't like smart-mouths" you watch his subtle touches on your hand, as your free one washed the remaining blood off his chest. "Men, as you noticed, don't like blunt and rough women" his look, his so arrogant grin and glint in his eye. 

You coughed out a high toned laugh, "HA! And you're going to tell me you do? And, that you find it attractive? Turns you on?, or are you going to take pity on me?" you hummed defiantly,  "That I'm special, pretty, that you can help me? Release my bindings and take me over the green hill?!" with one strong yank, you released yourself from his touch. 

"We're in this situation because my cousin doesn't want to deal with me, and because you need a social cover to not seem suspicious, and now I know the real reason why!" when your voice started rising, it took a couple seconds to lower it down again. "You don't even like me, and I certainly don't like you". Having finished cleaning the blood on his head, you rinsed the towel and threw the filthy water down the bathroom sink.

"I marked the meat that isn't deer, and rewired the freezer, but please buy a new one, I don’t like the stench of death" you couldn’t face him, not with his bruises and not while feeling the cramping that your own strength made on your hands, "I'll come check on you later".

"I thought you didn't like me" for his smug tone, you yanked one of the pillows supporting his head making him fall down to the first one with a yelp, "You're my husband, taking care of you is the only way I can pay you back for supporting me". 

"You have a beautiful smile" you were about to leave, but his words made you stoop in your tracks. "What?" he pointed to his head as he explained himself, "When you began banging my head against the floor, you smiled".

It was none but a deranged smile, but it made him so happy to see something else but sorrow in your face. "I know you don't like me, but I believe we at least understand each other". And then it made sense to you, "You allowed me to hurt you, why?" he nodded once, "You needed it, I saw it, and if I have to be honest…I enjoyed it".

Your puzzled look, trying to find some sense into the whole evening made him laugh, "Me seeing through your walls scares the living shit out of you, doesn't it?" he continued to chuckle. "And that amuses you" you arched a brow, hands to your waist not believing what you had in front of you.  

"Like you have no idea" his smile, you wish you could sew it shut and rip it off. “Ugh, you’re impossible" you groaned. “On another note” you turned to see him, “It is beyond lovely to see your true expressions” your grossed out expression had him on the verge of breaking in a fit of laughter. “You’re so weird” he gasped, “Because I love your true self? Darling I’m hurt” he pressed his hand to his chest, in dramatical pain.  

“Shut up” you closed the door behind you, hearing him chuckle to himself still, “Poetry”.

[littlestpersimmon]

Here we go.

A quarter of a quarter of a quarter.

A wip from a spinoff in my other wip.

Opulent rebellious and hedonistic prince and how he met his manipulative adviser and saved him from a brothel. Southeast Asian inspired fantasy world. There is a scene where more than kissing is done!!!!!

M/M (trans / cis )

I was gonna delete this from my twitter but it seems I can't! So posting this here.

This is not proofread / raw and unedited- many mistakes, many confusing bits that I hope to sort out soon. If you like it hehe maybe you can let me know.. I turned on anon for this