#king morons asks

[gojuo]

they are hanging ....... posters ......... in king's landing .......... asking the illiterate smallfolk .......... to come to dragonstone to claim dragons

[atopvisenyashill]

any thoughts about how could it be the dynamic between viserys-naerys- daeron ii in fire & blood 2?

okay so straight up the dynamic i’m MOST interested in learning about in f&b2 is the viserys-naerys-daeron ii dynamic. first of all, those first two are just UNGODLY DISTURBINGLY YOUNG when they have children. viserys has naerys, his YOUNGEST child when he is sixteen. naerys has daeron when she is fifteen. viserys is a grandfather before he is 32 years old. it is truly babies raising babies out here!! i mean fuck, daeron has baelor under significantly less traumatic circumstances but he’s still only 17 by the time he starts having kids! that’s all just wildly interesting and disturbing to me. like, that alone, how close in age they all are because they all married & started having kids at crazy young ages, explains so much about why this period has always felt particularly deranged to me (“this period” being post dance where we get this incredible string of deranged freaks from aegon iii to aegon iv that ebbs into this vaguely “we’re having a targ renaissance yay” era that erupts into civil war anyways! i LOVE this conceptually i’m so ready to be annoyed when f&b2 comes out and i’ve hyped this all up for some more dumb sex stories from another court fool ajsjs).

but then secondly, okay, when you look at the timeline- daeron is born in 153 and the birth nearly kills naerys 15/16 year old naerys. aegon iii is still king for four more years. that last year, aegon iv spends his time (and the next two years after that) shacked up with megette. then aegon spends a few years shacked up/probably raping casella vaith the hostage, before running off to war. then he spends more time raping naerys, wherein she has a miscarriage, and aegon is sent away so he doesn’t rape her to death. daeron marries myriah, has a child with her. but before that child is two, in quick succession, his father comes back home & immediately starts raping his mother again, his mother nearly dies having twins & now he has a sister younger than his son, and daena unveils her new bastard who everyone thinks is aegon’s, and baelor is so distraught by all this he fasts himself to death. viserys is king, and likely dead before daeron’s second son is born and before daeron turns twenty. suddenly the person responsible for making sure aegon doesn’t rape naerys to death are daeron & aemon, who have NO authority over aegon. this man has the audacity to stay alive for twelve more years.

that shit is insane. daeron’s father is only around when he’s raping his mom. the closest things daeron has to a father figure are his uncle who wants to fuck his mom, his grandfather who is probably busy constantly (and also only in his thirties 😭), and his batshit insane cousin baelor. his childhood is marked by almost constant instability until it stabilizes for the worse when his cousins all get locked in the maidenvault, then gets thrown into upheaval once again as baelor & viserys die and now his dad who is only around when he’s raping his mom is suddenly back in town and has total control.

and naerys. she’s like if aemma lived long enough to parent her kids, but worse bc you could argue there was fondness of a sort between aemma & viserys. aegon and naerys hate each other. she is constantly pregnant and on death’s door from the age of fifteen (three years older than her father!) until the day she dies, in her early 40s. it sounds like worse than hell to me. it is a lifetime where the only source of comfort you have is the son you birthed at fifteen, because maybe your life is a nightmare but if you raise him to be marginally less evil, he won’t destroy the innocent little girl you know is going to be sent to court to be his wife. everyone else is actively holding you hostage and applauding you for taking the abuse so well. your whole life is screaming for help and all you get is tears telling you you’re so dutiful and brave.

and viserys just. watches it all happen. of course he does! his kids are simply ungrateful! he had to get married at twelve and his wife wasn’t born in westeros so they had nothing in common and at least they have a living father, they have no idea how lucky they are. why should daeron and naerys blame him when he gave them everything because he had nothing? it’s a shame it wasn’t naerys that offed this man. i do think she was his favorite kid tho and i bet he’s not subtle about it at all.

[jade-curtiss]

Only reason I have that url is to piss off and when everyone will stop being pissed do something maybe perhaps.

[popponn]

chigiri who genuinely thinks the best method to apply chapsticks is by applying some on you before taking some of it through kissing. even in public because 'bf privilege' he says.

isagi who changes his phone case into a clear one just to put your photo with him in it. sometimes look at it with a lovesick smile then get embarrassed when someone points it out.

nagi who tries his best to take care of you when you are sick. yes, with the power of 'group call' and 'asking maid king and reo', but he turns out to be a good sick people caretaker too.

sae who gets jealous at the pettiest thing, if that's even the appropriate word. what do you mean your shoes are matching with that stranger you never know instead of him???

rin who actually calls for your first name for the first time by shouting it out of panic. he doesn't mean for it to come out, it is supposed to be "moron!" and such, but it certainly just slips out from his mouth.

kaiser who never says it but loves it when you bite the cap of eyeliner while trying to do his eyeliner while straddling his lap. never been so glad he makes sure you will do his every morning.

[ziracona]

Told you the killer for our teacher wasn’t the serial and someone was copycatting 😘^u^

[thelostconsultant]

Instant dad - pilot

pairing: Oscar Piastri x ex!reader

summary: You have no choice but to tell Oscar he has a five years old son. Now he wants to be a part of his life to make things complicated...

note: A little warmup chapter. Oscar is in his early 30s, so yeah, there's a time jump.

[part 1]

“We would like to meet Oliver’s father. His biological father,” the principal clarified as he glanced over at your boyfriend. You’d been together for three years, he had been by your five-year-old’s side for over half his life, why wasn’t he enough?

But he insisted on meeting him, saying if he was dead and you could prove it, or if your boyfriend was your husband, they would move on with the enrollment, but you had confirmed that you weren’t married and the biological father was alive, so now they wanted to have a chat with him. He didn’t even care about the tiny little detail that said father had absolutely no idea he had a child. What a bunch of morons.

In the evening, while your son was reading a book about cars in his bed with your boyfriend, you sat by the dining table with your phone in hand, trying to figure out what to do. This fancy private school was perfect, they knew how to handle intelligent kids like Oliver, and you wanted the best for him. You wanted to make sure he didn’t get bored, that he would get the kind of intellectual challenge in school that he needed.

At the age of five, he could read on his own just fine, he even learned some Spanish from your boyfriend, and he was a quick study in general. It was infuriating how he was a mini version of his father, from his intelligence to his looks, everything reminded you of him. And if you met F1 fans together, someone surely went, “He looks so much like Piastri at his age!” Sadly, that wasn’t a coincidence, and the poor kid picked up on the whole you-look-like-him thing and chose him as his favorite driver.

Sometimes you consider telling him. Oliver, not Oscar. God, there was no way you would ever tell him the truth. He had his own, certainly busy life and he probably didn’t need a child in it. Yes, you saw the photos, he was good with kids, but meeting one for a few minutes wasn’t the same as having your own. Your son on the other hand could find out when he got old enough to understand why you had left and went no contact with his father. That was over ten years away, of course, so you had time to figure out what to do. Until then, you made sure the few photos of you and Oscar were stored somewhere safe in case he wanted to see them when the time came.

Now you were cornered, your hand forced by that damn principal. You had no idea if he was still using that old social media profile of his, but you had to try. So, you took a deep breath and started a call, deep down hoping he wouldn’t answer. You weren’t ready to talk to him, not yet, but you had no choice. And then his face showed up on your screen, the sight bringing back memories you’d been trying to forget for years.

“Hey. Are you sure it’s me you wanted to call?” he asked, although there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

Nodding, you let out a sigh. “Hi. Yeah, um… I don’t even know where to start.”

“At the beginning?”

Silence followed his words, your brain in overdrive as it tried to find the best way to start. But maybe being straightforward was the right answer. “I have a son. He’s five,” you added, hoping the meaningful look you were sending his way could be seen over the screen.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, you could see the wheels turning in his head as he did some math. “Wait, five? We… That was a bit over five years ago. Could he…?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “He’s your son.”

His face was emotionless for a while as he tried to process the news, but this was nothing new, he was the king of hiding emotions. But then, just as you thought he would end the call, he let out a sigh. “Why now? What do you want from me? Money?” he asked, although you could tell he was unsure about this whole situation.

The fact he assumed you wanted money only made you angry. “It’s not your money I need. Hell, I don’t even want you to meet him,” you snapped. “The thing is, there’s this private school I want to send him to, and they have this stupid rule to have both parents present at a parental interview. Since my boyfriend and I never got married, they want to see the biological father. That’s all I want. A meeting with the principal.”

Oscar put up a finger as he bit on his lower lip, his eyes focusing on something behind his phone’s camera. “Let me get this straight. After all these years, you say I have a son, but I’m not allowed to meet him?” he then asked, looking back at you.

“Yeah.”

“One meeting,” he then stated, his voice serious. “You let me meet him once and I’ll talk to that principal.”

“Oscar, come on.”

“That’s the deal I can offer.”

You didn’t have a choice, you knew that. If he didn’t do it for Oliver, he would have to go to another school. Letting out a sigh of defeat, you nodded. “But we don’t tell him that you’re his father. He watches F1, and since he looks a lot like you, he decided that you’re his favorite driver. That’s all you’re gonna be, nothing more.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I,” Oscar began hesitantly, and you could see as he sat down on his couch and looked up at the ceiling. “You just told me I had a son. What do you want from me, to forget it? I want to meet him. I want him to know who I am.”

“He’s five. If he finds out, he’ll want to see you again. He will want you to be a part of his life. I don’t want that.”

You could see he was uncertain about this. He probably understood that becoming his father would mean he would have to regularly visit the two of you, and even if you all kept it a secret, there was still the risk of the truth slipping out and making it into the headlines. “Is he anything like me?” he suddenly asked, his eyes softening as he watched you. 

A smile crept on your lips as you thought about this, because it was so painfully obvious to you that you couldn’t deny it, no matter how badly you wanted to do that. “He’s a highly intelligent little smartass, just like you. And his looks… A mini you, no doubt.”

Oscar nodded. “Then I want to be a part of his life. Let me spend time with him,” he asked, seeming relaxed. 

“Two hours.”

“No, I’ll stay for a week, and I want to see him every day,” he was quick to clarify. “I can look out for him while you’re at work.”

Whatever happened to the idea of meeting Oliver once? That’s not what you had just discussed, and now he was changing his demands? “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” was all you said in the end.

“You said it yourself, I’m his favorite driver,” he pointed out with a smug smile. “We’ll be fine.”

You were doing this only because of the school. You remembered what Oscar could be like; if he made up his mind about something, he definitely wasn’t about to let his plan go. Now he wanted a week with his son, and you knew that was the only way he would do what you needed from him. “All right. Can I send you the school’s number so you can make an appointment? I told them you travel a lot, so they’ll need to be flexible.”

“Sure, I’ll call them as soon as I can.” You thanked him, and were just about to say goodbye when he spoke up again. “Wait, can you send me a photo or a video?”

“Yeah, I have a few hundred of those,” you replied with a smile.

Oscar remained silent, but he let out a sigh and you knew something was on his mind, something he wanted to tell you. “I still have a hard time believing it, you know.”

“You seemed pretty confident when it came to getting to know him.”

“I wanted to use my chance to corner you,” he admitted. “But this? That I have a son? Hard to believe.”

“Well, he’s yours. You’ll understand it when you meet him,” you told him kindly. 

After you said goodbye, you went up to check on Oliver and your boyfriend, but by the time you got there, they were sleeping soundly with the open book resting on your son’s chest. With a smile, you took the book and leaned down to give both of them a soft kiss. You couldn’t help but wonder how your little family’s dynamics would change with Oscar’s presence. 

Well, it wasn’t really your son you were worried about, the main issue was your boyfriend. Oscar was a famous F1 driver, someone your son idolized, of course he felt threatened. You told him it would be okay, that you didn’t have feelings for him anymore, but he didn’t seem convinced. Maybe if they met and he saw you were indifferent, he would finally trust you a lot more. One can hope, right?

[qqueenofhades]

I got political whiplash on Threads. First, everyone was screaming, “All is lost!” I came back an hour later, and everyone was screaming, “We Ride at Dawn!”

The right-wingers are in panic mode. Steven Miller was practically screaming on Feckless news. 🤣

I mean. The right-wingers' entire mentality, the fuel for the January 6 attempted coup, the recent SCOTUS President God-King Immunity ruling, and all the rest, is premised on the simple fact that the president is indeed, Almighty God King who serves for life and will never, ever willingly give up his power. So that's how I can guarantee that the GOP, because they are short-sighted fascist morons, did not plan for this. Their entire strategy was built around attacking Biden, because they hate him. Like, really hate him. He defeated Trump the first time and there was still a good chance that he could do it again. Trump got impeached the first time for trying to extort Zelenskyy for dirt on Biden, because he didn't want to face him. That's why they went after Hunter on largely bogus charges, tossed around the idea of impeaching Biden, actually (uselessly) impeached Mayorkas, etc.

And yet, because Biden (even if he was forced to do it) decided to step away and voluntarily give up his presidential power instead of wrecking American democracy to hold onto it, that has broken their little shriveled fascist brains. They literally can't comprehend it, and I can guarantee they're now shit scared about having to face Kamala, a brown woman, who is the epitome of everything their tiny evil brains hate. As noted by those bangin' fundraising numbers, there is also a lot of excitement around her. And suddenly, after MONTHS of "this election is a referendum on which old and mentally declining man you hate more," that has been removed as a factor. (Watch the media suddenly forget all about age and/or mental competency as a factor now that Biden is out. Does it apply to Trump, you ask? CRICKETS.)

Kamala is going to mop the f'n floor with Trump at the next presidential debate, and I guarantee that the GOP knows that too. Because yes, if Biden had another bad debate, or if he has a bad case of COVID that might end up giving him long-covid symptoms or keeping him off the trail for days or weeks, that would have been very, very hard to recover from. Now the GOP is the one stuck with an old, mentally baffled, virulently hated presidential candidate and the most pro-Russia, anti-woman, demonstrable-sellout whitebread VP pick imaginable, that they had to choose because Trump nearly got the last one killed and he wasn't interested in the job again, for some weird reason. And as we have pointed out before, this is the last-chance saloon for Trump in any number of ways, and he has been demonstrably overconfident the last few weeks as the media was consumed with discussion of Biden's stumbles rather than Trump's manifold unfitness, treason, felonies, and all the rest.

I don't agree with Biden on everything he has ever done in his long career in public service, but I will say that I don't think he would have actually done this if he wasn't eventually convinced, for whatever reason that might be, that it was the right decision. And my one big fear about him stepping down was that the party would instantly fracture, people would start flogging unrealistic Magical White Boy replacements, and otherwise insist on an "open mini-primary!" or some other fucking bullshit. Now, there are still a few idiots trying that, but by and large, the Democratic power apparatus has instantly thrown its weight behind Kamala. That doesn't excuse them for the weeks of wibbling Anonymous Sources self-sabotage beforehand, and I still vote that we destroy the billionaires at our next opportunity, but if we can stick with that and keep up those mongo fundraising numbers, we might indeed actually have a better chance than before, and that was what this was all about.

As I noted yesterday, Black women have been disproportionately influential in taking Trump down (think Leticia James, Fani Willis, etc) and there is undoubtedly a huge, HUGE amount of poetic justice if Kamala can be the one to stick the knife in his greasy orange gut once and for all. I can likewise guarantee the GOP is well aware of that, and the fact that while they can yell even louder and trot out the same old racist, sexist, misogynist fearmongering dirtbag attacks they used on HRC, that is a strategy with demonstrably diminishing returns (it sure as hell isn't going to help them win any more female or suburban or black voters or anyone else we always hear about how they're Making Inroads with). And we're not going to talk about how it's Obvious that America would never elect a black female president. Obama won two terms. Even with all that weight of frothing misogyny and DECADES of Republican smear machines, HRC won the popular vote and was ratfucked out of the Electoral College by the slimmest of margins, after a massive interference campaign by the Russians. It is fucking possible, we are going to do it, and the Republicans are so, SO FUCKING SCARED of having to live in an America run by a brown woman, that can only be for the good.

Kamala Harris 2024. Let's go.

[stevie-petey]

moron

I own you.  The words practically drip from your rose coated lips, meant only for Steve, and he knows he’s lost.  “Yeah, whatever.” And it’s agreed. Come this Saturday, you and Steve will be working together. No one else, just the two of you, for eight long, maddening hours. 

Summary: steve really hates his coworker, but you know who he hates even more ? your shitty ex boyfriend (who he just so happens to share jacket preferences with)

Rating: general, violence, lots of swearing

Warnings: allusions to abuse, use of bitch as derogatory language towards women, shitty ex boyfriend, violence, enemies to lovers (more friends), fem!reader, use of y/n

Words: 3.9k

Before you swing in: hey gang !! long time no stevie blurb, so here yall go <3 please, read the warnings for this one. theres a really shitty character in this and he may be triggering, so please be safe.

-

Steve doesn’t consider himself a bad guy.

Sure, he had the whole “King Steve” stint back in high school where he was an asshole to everyone, but he chooses to ignore those four years of his life. They were a brief lapse of judgment. 

A very long, brief lapse of judgment. But whatever.

The point is that Steve opens the door for strangers. He greets everyone with a smile and a polite nod of his head. When Robin forgets her lunch at work, Steve always gives her his. He walks his neighbor’s dog, he offers to carry groceries for the elderly. Hell, he even waves at babies. 

By all accounts, Steve would consider himself a goddamn saint. 

Except when it comes to you. 

Steve isn’t holding open any fucking doors for you and if you ever asked him to walk your dog, he’d laugh in your face. The moment you stepped foot in Family Video for your first shift, you made Steve’s life a living hell. He doesn’t know why or how you manage to dig so deep under his skin, but he’s convinced you do it on purpose. 

The movies you stack on the shelf always somehow manage to land on Steve’s head. The jokes you make with Robin are always at his expense. You never clock in on time, extending his shift by one more minute every goddamn time. The way you laugh pierces Steve’s skull, the sound rings in his ears and blinds his senses long enough to feel nauseous. 

Steve likes everyone, he isn’t a hard guy to please, but he truly, deeply, hates you. 

“Y/N wanted me to ask if you’d cover her shift this weekend,” Robin scans a beat up copy of Grease, trying to feign indifference as she brings the topic up. She absolutely doesn’t want to be doing this, she knows that any mention of you to Steve makes his eye twitch, but you called her crying and Robin is far too sympathetic for her own good. 

Predictably, Steve’s eye twitches and he snatches the movie from his coworker. “What, did she fall and hit her head this morning?” He scoffs, he can’t believe you even thought he’d consider the idea. “She knows I’d rather her show up with a broken arm and matching black eye to work before ever covering her shift.”

“Okay, that’s psychotically cruel. You know that, right?” Robin scans another movie and shakes her head. Steve hates you, she gets that, and while she doesn’t understand why, she also doesn’t like how much of an asshole he is about it. You’re her friend, too. Robin really likes you. 

“Good, I meant for it to be.”

“Steve, she’s going through a hard time right now–”

“No, I don’t wanna hear it, alright? I don’t care if her grandma died and left her an orphan,” the sound of the bell above Family Video’s front door rings, but Steve is too lost in his rant to hear it. “There’s no way in hell I’m ever, ever helping that demonic witch of a human being.”

Robin’s eyes widen and she tries to cover the teen’s mouth, hissing his name, but Steve bats her hand away and keeps going. “Y/N is a fucking moron for thinking otherwise, and that’s her problem. I mean, I know she’s your friend, which I still don’t know how she even managed to do that, but–”

“Steve!” Again Robin tries to get her friend to stop talking, but Steve is on a roll now. He’s fired up, tired of biting his tongue for the last six months. 

“She makes me want to physically tear my skin off and shove it down my throat every time she opens her mouth. And I’m being nice right now. I mean, I will gladly say this all to her tiny, annoying face–”

“Oh, you would?”

Immediately Steve’s voice dies and his words fall down upon his shoulders. He doesn’t dare turn around. He’s frozen. He’s convinced himself that if he doesn’t move then he can linger in the remaining few seconds where he hasn’t just said all those horrendous things with you standing right behind him. 

Robin drops her head onto the counter and groans. “You’re an idiot, Harrington.”

“Well, are you going to turn around?” Your breath almost fans Steve’s neck, you’ve walked up to him. He can practically envision the curl in your eyebrows whenever you get angry. An expression Steve has become familiar with. 

He gulps, still refusing to turn around. “You know, I really don’t think I can turn around.” His legs shake. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever fucked up this horribly before, and he’s fucked up a lot in his life. 

“Robin,” you turn your attention to her, the edge in your voice is the only indication of your anger. “Please inform our coworker that it’s inappropriate to use that language in a workplace, and please also inform him that I will no longer be needing him to cover my shift.”

“You… Don’t?” Robin looks between you and Steve. He still hasn’t looked at you yet, his face stares straight as if he’s trying to somehow disintegrate. You, however, face her with a steely look in your eyes, which surprises her. She thought there’d be more heartbreak in them. “I-I mean, are you sure? All things considered…”

“I’m fine.” The way you say it leaves no room for arguments. It’s already been decided, and Robin knows not to try and reason with you. She deflates, and you’re pleased with this. Even though her sympathy is unneeded, you can use it to your advantage. You’re going to make Steve pay. “In fact, I think you should inform our coworker that he’s covering your shift this weekend.”

Robin chokes on her spit, startled, while Steve finally turns to face you. “I’m sorry?”

“Aw, it’s okay, Harrington.” You pat his chest, albeit with more force than probably necessary, which he huffs at. “But I think the apology will work even better after spending some quality time together.”

You’re going to spend the entire eight hour shift making Steve’s life hell on earth. And he knows it.

“But–” 

“Say, Robin. What’s the company policy on harassment of employees?” You tap your finger against your chin with a menacing smile on your face. You’re enjoying this, and Steve hates you even more for that. “Doesn’t it say something about verbal insults?”

Steve sends the girl a pleading glance, begging her not to respond, but she can only shake her head at him. He’s the one who couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. Sighing, Robin nods. “Yeah, it does.”

“I thought it did! Thanks, Buckley.” You wink at her before facing Steve again. He almost flinches at the coldness in your eyes. He’s so, so fucked. “Harrington, I’m sure you simply forgot, and I’m sure I can let bygones be bygones after you cover our dear friend’s shift. Yeah?”

I own you. 

The words practically drip from your rose coated lips, meant only for Steve, and he knows he’s lost. 

“Yeah, whatever.”

And it’s agreed. Come this Saturday, you and Steve will be working together. No one else, just the two of you, for eight long, maddening hours. 

–

When Steve arrives at work Saturday, you’ve already clocked in. 

He finds you sitting at the cash register, looking over the shipment for tomorrow. Sundays are the restock days, and the lists of orders are a pain in the ass to get through. It can take hours, sometimes even days, to comb through. When you see Steve walk in, you give him an icy smile. “Oh, perfect timing!” 

“We’re supposed to get here at eight.”

“And being early never hurt anyone.” Although you’re never early, you’re always late, and both of you know this. You scratch something off from the list, eyes never leaving Steve, and he can’t help but feel that the rough scratch of the pen is meant to symbolize his face. 

“What do you want?” Steve is too tired to play your games. He recognizes that he was a grade A asshole to you a few days ago, but this is going too far. 

You flick your hair behind your shoulder and straighten your posture. The gesture casts a cloud of a sickly sweet pomegranate scent over to Steve, causing him to sneeze violently. He’s always hated the perfume you wear. Smiling at the desired effect, you finally shove the restock lists towards him. “I need you to start sorting through next week’s orders.”

Steve looks at the lists and nearly cries. There’s at least thirty pages in the stack, doubled sided, with five columns and fifty rows. This is the largest shipment order he’s ever seen since working at Family Video, he can’t even believe it’s real.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope!” You hop down from the counter and walk over to the cart of returned movies. “Now, I’d get started if I were you. You know how much Keith hates it when we don’t get Sunday’s orders in on time.”

Your figure disappears behind a shelf of movies and Steve pretends to strangle you with his bare hands. You planned this. He doesn’t know how, but you did. If he didn’t have a reason to hate you so much, now he does. 

Hours pass by, you don’t at all speak to Steve as he labors over the shipments. Family Video requires the employees to manually input all the orders into the computer to send to the supply chain. The process alone is impractical and takes longer than it should, but pair that with the shitty computers that Keith refuses to upgrade, it makes Steve contemplate running into the road. The browser crashes three separate times. At one point he loses track of which movie he’d been on and has to restart an entire row at number forty-three.

It’s the worst fucking five hours of Steve’s entire life.

Meanwhile, all you do those five hours is browse through some online catalog on the other computer and help a total of two customers who come in. 

By the time Steve has finally finished inputting everything, words float around his vision and he can feel the beginning stages of a headache forming. The pressure sits right behind his left eye, dull and throbbing. 

All because he couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut.

Steve should really learn to listen to Robin. 

“Are you all done?” You materialize next to Steve, startling him and he lets out an embarrassing shriek, which you snicker at. “Wow, Harrington. You’re really tense today.”

He rolls his eyes and steps away from you. “Gee, I wonder why.”

“Yeah, who knows!” Steve glares at you and you smile right back at him. “Anyways, since you finished up so fast, why don’t you sort through the backorders next? It shouldn’t take you that long.”

The backorders. 

Steve wants to fucking scream.

The backorders are all the movies that the store can’t input into the system. They’re orders that get messed up, misplaced, and abandoned in Keith’s disgusting office. The pile of discarded movies has grown so large that it rivals Steve’s height and build. It’s its own entity at this point. A terrifying, breakdown inducing entity. 

You’re a fucking evil genius. 

But if Steve even looks at the backorders, he thinks he might actually murder you. 

“No,” he crosses his arms, trying to look more dignified and intimidating than he really feels. Awkwardly placing his weight on his left foot, he purposely ducks his head down to emphasize how much taller he is than you. “No way in hell am I going through the backorders.”

“I wonder what Keith would say when I tell him all the wonderful things you said about me on Wednesday,” you step forward, angling your head up to get a better look at Steve. You want him to see all the hatred you have for him in your eyes. 

What he said about you hurt. There’s no other way to put it. His words had been venom upon your skin, searing the flesh as it left a nasty scar. The wound has festered ever since, making your already shitty week even worse. 

Steve had called you “fucking moron”. Just like he had. 

“Oh, screw company policy and whatever that asshole Keith says!” Steve doesn’t care anymore if he has a job by the end of today. He’s had enough of your shitty mind games and power plays. He may have been a dick, but he doesn’t deserve any of this, either. The strenuous labor and migraines. “I’m done, alright? You’re being such a–”

“Bitch?” A gruff voice chuckles, interrupting. Steve, surprised to hear another male voice in the store, quickly turns around. 

The guy is tall, taller than Steve. That’s the first thing he notices. Then he notices the cold blue of his eyes and the way your entire body freezes in fear when you see him. Steve moves your body behind his, unconsciously putting you out of harm’s way, protecting you from whoever the hell this guy is in front of him. It’s instinctual, he doesn’t hesitate.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is, calling you a bitch?

“I would never call her that,” Steve squares his shoulders, putting ice into his words as he does so. He wouldn’t. He was going to call you a child. Steve would never call a woman a bitch, his mother raised him better than that and Robin would hit him if he ever did.

The guy laughs again. “You sure about that, buddy?”

“Jack,” Steve almost doesn’t hear you, you’re barely audible. He’s never heard your voice so soft before, so weak and scared; he decides he never, ever wants to be the cause of this voice. “You can’t be here.”

“Says who? I don’t see anybody kickin’ me out.” The guy, Jack, shrugs indifferently. He stuffs his hands into his jacket, it’s made of a nice, suede material that Steve is ashamed to admit he’d wear himself. “I wanted to see you, sweetheart.”

Jack tries to step closer to you, but Steve blocks him. “Funny, I thought she was a bitch?”

“Bitch, sweetheart, easy fuck, fucking moron.” Jack laughs, only this time it’s cruel. “It’s all the same when it comes to Y/N.”

Fucking moron.

Steve had said the same about you. A heavy weight of shame crushes his chest. He should’ve never called you such a cruel name. He knows that, now. 

“Don’t fucking talk about her like that,” Steve sneers, hand now coming around your arm as if terrified Jack will pull you away from him. “What the hell is your problem, man?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business? This is a conversation between me and the sweetheart over here.” Jack tries to reach for you again, but Steve shoves the guy away. He stumbles back, a wicked smile on his face. “Oh, the pretty boy can fight?”

“Steve,” You finally speak again, trying to shove yourself between the two men. The room grows hot and you don’t want anyone getting hurt. Not here, not with Steve. “Just leave it alone, walk away–”

Only Jack grabs your arm and viciously pulls, causing a pained yelp to escape you. A nerve pinches in your shoulder, he sends your body flying forward. His grip is harsh, it will leave bruises tomorrow, and you’re weak against him. Fear chokes you, he always does this.

“Don’t touch her.” Steve’s fist collides with Jack’s face, starbursts of pain explode in his wrist but he doesn’t care. All he sees is red now. Jack hurt you. He caused you to cry out in pain. Steve punches him again, the sound of pain you made rings in his ears, turns his blood cold and his anger boiling hot. 

Jack recovers from the punches quickly and he raises his fist, but you try to get him away from Steve. “Stop!” 

The fist comes down, you brace for impact, helpless against it, but the sound of skin hitting skin is all you’re met with. You open your eyes, Jack’s fist is in Steve’s palm. Stunned, Jack is too slow to pull away before Steve wraps his arm around his and twists it behind his back. The muscles strain, the ligament cries in pain as Jack’s arm is pulled dangerously far back. 

“Fuck!” Jack screams, contorting his body desperately to get out of the death lock he’s in. 

“You’re going to leave,” Steve hisses into his ear, “and you’re going to never, ever come back. If you even look at Y/N again I swear,” he mercilessly pulls even harder on Jack’s arm, the bone threatens to snap, but he doesn’t care. “I will break every bone in your fucking body.”

And with that, Steve finally releases Jack, who crashes pathetically to the ground. The moment he’s freed, he scrambles to his feet and cradles his sprained arm. He’s panting, no longer the confident and arrogant asshole he once was when he walked into Family Video ten minutes prior.

“Fuck you,” Jack spits out at Steve, but he’s already walking backwards towards the door to leave. “That bitch isn’t worth it, anyways.”

The door slams closed. 

Silence fills the void that the violence left behind. 

Steve shakes out his wrist, wringing out the pain from the punches. His knuckles are red, raw, bruising with every passing second. He brings the injured hand closer to inspect it, wincing at the inflamed skin. 

“You’re hurt.”

Your eyes linger on the blood that leaks from his knuckles. The skin has split, but the pain that the nerve endings scream over soothes Steve. He shakes his hand out again as he shakes his head at you. “I’m fine.”

But you don’t believe him.

Carefully, slowly, you bring your uninjured hand over Steve’s injured one. Your touch is gentle, hesitant. The pads of your fingers skim over the bruising that litters Steve’s skin. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, no.” Steve pulls his hand away, he doesn’t like what the image of his injury is doing to you. He’s not used to your tenderness, the sympathy you blanket him with. Besides, he isn’t the only one who got hurt. Steve instead brings your hand up, holding your wrist delicately as he sucks in a breath seeing the bruises Jack left. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

You don’t say anything. 

Steve kisses the damaged skin, he feels you shiver beneath his lips. He isn’t sure why he does it, he just knows that he wishes he could physically remove the burn of the bruises from your memory. 

Minutes pass, the silence is all that is spoken. 

Eventually the two of you get back to work. There’s still two more hours before either of you can leave, even if the thought of staying in the store suffocates you. No other customers come in. It’s just you and Steve, matching bruises to keep you guys company. 

When four in the afternoon comes along, Steve clocks both of you out and locks the store up. He doesn’t let you do a single thing. He insists on having you sit by the window as he finishes the last restock orders and closes the door. His hand softly guides you outside, lingering on your waist as he locks the store’s doors for the night. 

“Alright, well…” Steve clears his throat. He doesn’t know what else to say to you. “Guess I’ll just, you know, leave–”

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

His breath catches. You stare up at him, eyes wide with fear and vulnerability and despair. “I…”

“Please,” you can’t walk home alone. Not tonight. Not after everything that happened today. “I just…”

Without saying anything, Steve’s hand finds yours, and he walks you to his car. He opens the door for you, closes it softly behind you once you get in. He gets into his own seat, turns the radio on and fiddles with the stations until he finds the one he knows you like. Every time you have a shift together, you play the same station and sing along to all your favorite songs.

It used to drive Steve insane.

Now he’s relieved he can do this one thing for you.

The drive is quiet. The only conversation that is made is mumbled directions to your house. It isn’t a far drive, but Steve takes his time anyways. He doesn’t know if you have anyone to go home to, he knows you haven’t stopped shaking quite yet. 

“Turn here,” your voice is hoarse from lack of use.

Steve listens, turns into a neighborhood he’s unfamiliar with. He thinks he’s nearing your home and he isn’t ready to let you go just yet. He knows you have to talk about what happened today. The bruises on his knuckles will fade, but the memory of Jack’s cruel words won’t. 

“So,” He clears his throat. He’s doing the right thing, he knows he is. “Jack. He was…?”

You’re quiet for several moments and Steve is afraid he’s ruined everything, pushed you too far, but eventually you respond. “Ex boyfriend. Broke up a week ago. He didn’t take it well.”

“I hate him.”

Despite the fatigue that weighs upon you and the dread that Jack will come back, you can’t help but laugh at what Steve has said. “Yeah, I guess I do, too.”

Silence falls again. Steve pulls into your driveway, he turns the car off, the headlights die, but neither one of you move. 

“You’re not, you know.”

You finally face Steve, confused as to what he’s referencing. “What?”

“You’re not a ‘fucking moron’. And you’re definitely not a bitch.” He clarifies, eyes meeting yours. You’re almost breathless by how brightly they shine with remorse. You’ve never known a man who felt such an emotion. “Jack is a dick, and so was I.”

“Steve…”

He doesn’t let you pity him. He knows what he did was wrong, the words that fell from his mouth about you will haunt him forever. Steve may not have liked you, but he didn’t have any right to say those things about you. “I really am sorry, Y/N.” 

There’s nothing to forgive.

Steve isn’t Jack. You know that, now. 

“It’s okay. I think I made you go through enough today, anyways.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, risking physical affection just this once. “First the restock orders and then defending my honor? I think we’re even.”

“I was pretty heroic, wasn’t I?” Steve tries to laugh, play along, but it’s bitter on his tongue. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for how much he hurt you. 

Noticing his darkened expression, you poke Steve’s cheek. “Hey, you’re not allowed to brood. I’m the one whose crazy ex showed up at work today.” But it doesn’t work, he doesn’t laugh and you know he blames himself for everything. “Look at me, Steve.”

Night has fallen and the honey brown in Steve’s eyes resembles darkened ash. You place your hand on his, careful not to disturb his bruises. “I forgive you, but if you insist on being such an annoying jerk about it, then you can make it up to me by being my friend.”

“Your friend?” Steve doesn’t pull his hand away from yours, and it’s a start. 

“Yup, think you can handle that?” 

“‘Friends’,” he lets the word roll over his tongue. Tests it out, gets a feel for what it would be like to call you his friend. He thinks he likes the way it feels, the weight that accompanies it is one that settles his chest, soothes his wounds. “I guess I can be okay with that.”

He smiles at you, then, and you smile back.

You’re beautiful when you smile; warm, angelic.  

Steve doesn’t consider himself a bad guy, but by all accounts, he considers you a goddamn saint. 

-

⌑ writing masterlist

⌑ please feel free to like, reblog, and comment. i adore hearing from you guys :)

[yanderenightmare]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist

Ranging from my top Bakugou post to posts with notes above 1k.

Boss ! Bakugo going yandere for his helpful assistant:

♡ WANTS & NEEDS

Yandere captor ! Bakugou punishes darling for a crime she didn’t commit and then regrets it:

♡ WRONGLY PUNISHED ♡ FOLLOW-UP ASK

Darling uses sex as a coping mechanism:

♡ DARLING INITIATING SEX

Hero ! Bakugou x Villain ! Deku x childhood friend ! darling:

♡ REUNION

Cock descriptions:

♡ COCK

What BNHA ! yandere is the scariest:

♡ SCARY YANDERE

Bully ! Bakugou creeps on his quirkless study partner:

♡ STUDY-SESSIONS

Bully ! Bakugo is scary and pushy and delusional:

♡ BAD GUY

Fuckfriend ! Bakugou turned yandere:

♡ BORING

Alpha ! Bakugou figures out why he bullies Omega reader:

♡ LESSON ♡ HEAT

Bully ! Bakugo series. He harasses the reader into a relationship:

♡ SEVEN MINUTES IN HELL ♡ TRUST ME

Boyfriend ! Bakugou headcanons:

♡ BOYFRIEND ! KATSUKI

Poly ! KiriBaku bullies cute darling:

♡ BAD INFLUENCE

Poly ! BakuDekuTodo x darling thirsts:

♡ BAKUDEKUTODO X DARLING ♡ BAKUDEKUTODO X DARLING ♡ POLY

Prince ! Bakugou x maid ! dalring:

♡ PRINCE x MAID

Imagines of what happens when the darling tries to deny the BNHA ! yanderes intimacy and sex:

♡ BAKUGOU

Bully ! Bakugo x poor ! darling:

♡ IN CASE OF FIRE: PUSH ALARM ♡ IN THE TRAILER ♡ FOLLOW-UP ASK

Barbarian King ! Bakugo arranged marriage with princess ! darling:

♡ BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Yandere captor ! Bakugou reacting to pregnant darling:

♡ PREGNANT DARLINGS

Overworked and touch-starved Prohero ! Bakugou x girlfriend ! darling:

♡ ONE MORE TIME?

Yandere captor ! Bakugou with a darling who enjoys being his darling:

♡ DARLING ENJOYS BEING A DARLING

Bakugou and darling's sexual role-play dynamic:

♡ ROLE-PLAY DYNAMICS

Yandere captor ! Bakugo x pet ! darling:

♡ PET ! DARLING IN HEAT ♡ AFTERMATH OF PET ! DARLING IN HEAT ♡ BRATTY PET-DARLING

Yandere captor ! Bakugou x darling with early Stockholm syndrome:

♡ EARLY STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

Yandere captor ! Bakugou wants captive darling to be willing:

♡ WILLINGLY OR NOT

Poly Proheroes ! BakuDeku blackmails criminal ! darling:

♡ STREET SCUM

Bully ! Bakugou redemption, being charming with darling and asking her out:

♡ GIRLFRIEND

Sheriff ! Bakugou harasses backpacking tourist:

♡ HIS TOWN, HIS RULES

Yandere captor ! Bakugou's need for intimacy:

♡ INTIMATE ACTIVITIES

Bakugou having a breeding kink for his crush:

♡ BREEDING KINK

Yandere captor ! Bakugou cleaning darling’s cuts after she tries killing herself:

♡ CUTS & BANDAGES

Childhood friend Bakugou and you have been stuck in a toxic relationship forever:

♡ NO ONE ELSE

Pro Hero ! Bakugou regrets not making you his before it was too late:

♡ MISERABLE

Bakugou's type:

♡ SUBMISSIVE DARLING

Alpha ! Bakugou mating his terrified Omega ! darling:

♡ Five Steps for Alphas Mating Omegas

Prohero ! Bakugou going yandere for childhood friend ! spy ! darling:

♡ EMPTY SHELLS

Poly wolf-boys ! BakuDeku with a bunny ! darling in heat:

♡ HEATED

Daddy ! Bakugou punishes his darling for not following her strict schedule:

♡ RULE BREAK

Yandere captor ! Bakugou x clumsy ! darling:

♡ CLUMSY DARLING

How yandere captor ! Bakugou punishes his darling:

♡ PUNISHMENTS

Sadistic yandere Bakugou chases you down after you escape:

♡ BEAR-TRAP

Poly ! KiriBaku are a toxic duo for poor captive ! darling:

♡ BAD COP/GOOD COP

Alpha ! Bakugou finally finding his rebel ! Omega ! mate:

♡ MUD

Prohero ! Bakugou lusting over his equally successful childhood friend:

♡ PROFESSIONAL

Yandere captor Bakugou with a depressive darling:

♡ MELANCHOLIA

Incel ! Bakugou kidnaps reader to be his sex-puppet:

♡ TOUCH

Bakugou smut alphabet:

♡ NSFW ABCs

Bakugo frustrate with his affection over this clueless moron:

♡ SCARY LOVE

Bakugou's darling puts on his hero costume:

♡ PLAYING DRESS-UP

Yandere captor Bakugou's likes cooking with his darling:

♡ HOBBIES

Yandere captor Bakugou's sleeping habits:

♡ SLEEPING HABITS

Bully ! Bakugou being heartbroken and desperately in love with you:

♡ HEARTBROKEN

Yandere captor Bakugou spanking reader:

♡ DADDY'S GIRL

Yandere captor Bakugou with tiny darling:

♡ PUFF

How Bakugou became yandere for his darling:

♡ YANDERE BEGINNINGS

Hermit forest-dweller ! Bakugou takes lost hiker ! darling captive:

♡ HERMIT

BNHA genderbender:

♡ FEM

Bakugou teaches you how to cum:

♡ STRUGGLE

Bully Bakugou kidnaps you during the purge:

♡ THE PURGE

Parole officer Bakugou accepts your bride:

♡ OUR LITTLE SECRET

Yandere captor Bakugou infantilizes darling:

♡ DADDY'S BABY

Captive reader rebels against yandere captor Bakugou:

♡ GONE WRONG

The Torodoki family makes use of their quirkless daughter - with friends:

♡ FAMILY FUN

What type of hybrid he is:

♡ HYBRID

Sad and lonely stalker Bakugou:

♡ DRIVEN MAD

You and Bakugou survive under a collapsed building together:

♡ SHARED TRAUMA

Yandere Bakugou kidnapped quirkless reader:

♡ HYPOCHONDRIA ADJACENT ♡ more thoughts

The Bakusquad discovers Bakugou's Omega Housewife:

♡ SECRET ♡ PREQUEL

Similar posts can be found in the following:

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 4 ✿:+ Candle Flames

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, -, 5

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: SMUT, MINORS DNI, afab reader, thigh fucking, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, alcohol consumption, mention of death, mention of arranged marriage, LOTS OF VIOLENCE, blood, implied threat of non-con, 

Word Count: 4738

After you’d spoken to Loras, you’d felt even more alone than before. The talk offered no comfort other than the fact he didn’t want you dead. Sansa was fine company but she was something you felt the strong urge to protect. You put yourself in harm's way constantly just to prevent her from facing any pain.

Specifically one incident when you and her were walking with the Royal Party after watching the Princess sail away to Dorne to be wed off. It was hard to watch the crying girl sail away, especially when you’d been in her very place. 

It was easy to keep your eyes averted to such a sight when The Hound was there to accompany Joffrey. You kept your head low but your eyes stayed on him. You’d still had so many questions about the night you both shared, but now was not the time to ask. 

Later making your way back through the capital city you were sickened by the sights you saw. The Lannisters and Baretheons were supposed to be the wealthiest and most powerful houses. And yet the people of their cities sit in filth and starve. Starving over a war they did not want nor started. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to be even the least bit angry when the crowd began to shout vile things. However you found yourself slightly confused once you heard the words ‘bastard’, ‘incest monster’, and ‘brother-fucker’ being sworn towards the royal party.

However your confusion only occupied your mind for a brief moment before someone within the crowd hurled cow manure at the King's face. You felt a brief sense of enjoyment when you saw it hit his face, but it was soon replaced by fear when the King ordered for the execution of the entire crowd,

“Find the man who did that and bring him to me! Kill them, Kill them all!” The King shouted.

Foolish it was, he’d only a few gold cloaks, some kingsguard, and even less knights. Outnumbered by the hundreds of rioting starving people.

Sandor grabbed hold of Joffrey protecting him.

“What are you doing? I want these people executed!” Joffrey whined loudly

“And they want the same for you!” He shouted back

The city watch was quickly overpowered. And the High Septon that you and the royal party was traveling with was pulled into the crowd. You were horrified to witness him being pulled limb from limb, never seen such a thing in your life.

“Move, Move!” Tyrion shouted at you

As the Kingsgaurd were able to eventually carve somewhat of a path towards the entrance of the Red Keep, Joffrey, Cersei, and Tyrion were all rushed inside quickly. 

Before you could make your way inside you noticed your cousin Sansa being derailed and separated from the rest. 

You grabbed ahold of her quickly and pushed her into a Kingsguard who brought her inside. However once she was in, without seeing you they closed the doors. 

Alone.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆

Inside the keep 

“You blind bloody fool!” Tyrion scolded Joffrey’s moronic behavior by hitting and cursing at him. “We’ve had vicious kings, we’ve had idiot kings, but I don’t know if we’ve ever had an idiot king!”

“You’re talking to a King!” Joffrey shouted back like an embarrassed child.

Tyrion raised his hand and slapped him “And now I’ve struck a King, did my hand fall from my wrist?” He shouted back, he turned around and noticed you were not there, “Where is the Arryn girl?” He shouted at the men. 

“Let them have her!” Joffrey retorted 

“If she dies her relatives in the North won't forget it! She’s cared for in the vale and might I remind you she shares blood with the Starks! You need her alive!” He shouted back before frantically calling upon all the king's men to return to save you. 

“Gather your men and find her!” He shouted to Ser Meryn 

“I only take orders from my king, imp.” Meryn responded coldy. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ 

Meanwhile as you attempted to hide in a dark hall, winding up in some kind of stable. You thought for a moment you’d made it there unnoticed and alone. However four men soon walked in behind you as you backed yourself against a wall. Your hand found his way around the handle of a small sharp shovel of some kind. The blade of it was sharp and flat. 

You’d not said a word, you knew if you shouted for them to get back or to fuck off it would be of no use. 

“Look at this little bird's eyes, she’s furious.” One of the men with short hair was mocked. 

“I’ve no gold, no silver, no bread.” You said in a low tone, firm voice. 

“Aye, but you’ve got something.” The taller man said with a crooked grin.

As that man began to take a step towards you, you grasped the handle of the shovel firmly and stabbed it into him. Between his neck and his collarbone. 

As the other men began to shuffle towards you, you pulled the shovel back out and pointed it at them as their friend fell to the ground holding his bleeding wound. 

The man with short hair managed to grab ahold of you whilst his other friend grabbed ahold of your wrist, yanking the shovel out of your hand. The man with short hair placed his hand over your mouth, in response you bit down onto his fingers so hard you were afraid your teeth would shatter. You could taste the blood rush into your mouth. 

In response to your bite, with his other hand he hit you creating a cut over your eyebrow. It threw you off just enough to make you fall back and into the other man's arms. 

The three men began to pin you down shouting vulgar remarks, as they did you kicking at them and scratching at them. Just as the one with short hair began to undo his pants, he was stopped. 

Picked up by the back of his neck like a puppy, practically lifted off of the ground. His guts were cut out of him. As his body fell to the ground you saw him, it wasn’t Sandor, it was The Hound. This is what everyone spoke of. 

The men who held your wrists were next. He cut with precision. His swords swung and took off the man's head. The next he grabbed before he could escape. Slamming his fist into his head, and shoving his blade deep into his stomach. Once he was done he put away his sword. He turned back towards you, and it was him again, Sandor. 

He bent his knee to you and spoke softly “You’re alright now, little bird, you're alright.” He said as he picked you up in both arms and carried you back to safety. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧

As the two of you entered the keep Tyrion was shocked. 

Once Sandor placed you down gently, a few ladies including Sansa rushed to your side pawing at your bloody face. 

“My Lady are you hurt?” Tyrion asked as he tried to assess whether the blood on your mouth and hands were yours or not. 

“Little birds hurt, get her back to her cage. See that cut on her head.” Sandor commanded the women as he walked away, 

as he did Tyrion shouted back to him. “Well done, Clegane.”

To which Sandor responded, 

“I didn’t do it for you.” 

Tyrion, confused by his words, went back to your side and asked again before your ladies could take you away. “My lady, are you hurt? There’s blood- your hands and-“ he said reaching his to touch your chin where the blood from your mouth dropped. 

“I bit one.” You said plainly, exhaustion in your eyes, unwilling to attempt that you’d murdered a man. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

As you laid in your bed that night, you looked at the one candle you had burning beside your bed. Contemplating whether or not to blow it out. Watching the flame kept your mind away from the memories you’d made today. You’d never seen such horrid things before, and much less partook in them. You’d killed a man. And yet, felt no remorse, which made you feel terrible, but maybe that alone counted for something. But soon even that left as your memories shifted to the feeling of being in Sandor's arms. 

Before you could blow it out, 

you began to hear the sounds of metal clanking up the hall. Sandor thought you’d never notice, but he often walked up and down your halls more than he was meant to. Simply to make sure you were alright. 

Every time you heard the metal clanking pass you’d smile to yourself. Only this time it stopped, in front of your door. You sat up slightly on your elbows and peered towards the door. Without knocking, he came inside your chamber. 

“What’re you doing here?” You asked in a whisper. 

He didn’t respond, but made his way to that same golden pitcher in the corner of your room. 

“It’s water, remember?” You said. He huffed and put it back down without taking a swig of it. 

“What are you-” You began before he spoke in a low deep husky voice. 

“You could’ve been killed.” He said without looking at you. 

“But I wasn’t.” You said in a sweet whisper.

He began to walk towards your bed. “The fucking cunts would ‘ave taken you bloody every which way, that pretty throat would’ve been slit open. You’d been left for the fucking rats.” 

You took his hand and pulled him onto the bed, his metal scrapping the delicate sheets as he sat on it. 

“You saved me, you’re the bravest man I’ve ever seen.” You said with a strange kind of adornment, one he’d never heard before. 

“Brave?” He dryly scoffed, “Dogs don't need courage to chase rats.” 

“You’re no dog.” You say with that same sweet whisper, it’s as if you’d realized you’d began to fall deeper into whatever emotional trap you two had created here. 

“You killed that man?” He asked in a low whisper. 

“I did.”

“How’d that feel.” 

“Necessary.” 

He stared at you for a moment, not in judgment or disgust but in understanding and some other emotion you couldn’t quite understand just yet. 

“You can’t do that again.” 

“Kill?” 

“No.” His eyebrows furrowed, he couldn’t give less of a shit who you killed or why, “You risked your life for that Stark girl.” 

“You saw that?” 

“She kept yapping about it.” His tone husky 

“I needed her safe first.”

“Too bad.” He said not giving you any room to argue as his thumb ran over the cut on your eyebrow, you winced slightly. “I’d kill those cock sucking rats a million times again if I could. Died too quickly. I should have cut their arms off, their hands, taken their eyes for even looking at you.” 

Your hand came to his jaw, pulling yourself to his lips but he pulled away. with a sigh he came close again. He rested his forehead on yours. 

“I don’t know how to- do this- gently.” He let out a small rumble, “fuck” he hissed “i want to do this gently. I want to be gentle with you.”

He was like a dog given a bone that he so badly wanted to preserve. 

His hand came to your lap, and fisted the fabric of your nightgown. You placed your hands on top of his, you smoothed out his hand to lay flat on your lap. 

“Like this..” you whispered as you guided his hand up, making the fabric ride up. As your thighs became more and more visible he stopped and backed away, 

“No, no this isn’t right.” He grumbled as he walked over towards a large chair in the corner of your room. His face was illuminated by that single candle light. You could see his frustration and desperation in a battle with one another. 

You stood, and walked towards him. He slumped forwards. Resting his forearms against his strong thighs. 

“I can’t be what you wan- what you need.” He corrected. His voice was low and deep. 

You pushed him back by his shoulders, making him lean against the back of the chair. His deep scowl was ever present but it didn’t stop you from running your fingers through his coarse hair. 

“I shouldn’t have come back here. Should’ve stayed the fuck away. Left you be,” 

“I don’t think either of us have much a choice.” You said as you moved yourself between his large thighs. Standing in front of him still running your hands through his hair. “Do you think of that night?” You asked in a whisper. 

“Fuck do you think-“ He barked back before you stopped him, 

“Gentle.” You corrected him 

“Aye.” He conceded painfully, his hands coming to your sides holding you by your waist. His large hands engulfed your ribs. 

“What part of it do you think of?” You whispered sweetly as you began to move on top of him. Your thighs spread across his as you straddled him. His eyes never leave yours. 

He grumbled something low, you couldn’t make it out, but it sounded like “Your eyes.” 

You didn’t want to push him, to make him repeat it. 

Your hand cupped his chin, as you slowly pressed your lips against his. You pecked at his lips for a moment. Then pulling away, looking into his eyes waiting for his response. His eyes filled with shame, he looked away. 

You pressed a kiss into the scarred tissue on his cheek, he flinched at the feelings and his eyes darted back to you, 

“My face, why did you-“ He rasped suddenly 

“Don’t you want me?” 

“Course’ I do but I-“ he cut himself off as his lips hit yours once again, he sucked on your lips as hardly audible groans escaped his throat. 

You pressed your thinly clothed cunt against his hardening bulge. However as soon as he felt it he grabbed you by your hips and lifted you up. You whined, and his forehead slumped forward and rested on your chest. “Fuck-“ he said breathlessly, “Can’t do that shit to me.” he panted. 

“Why?” you whined a little too loudly, his grip on you tightened. 

“Told you, stubborn fucking girl.” He finally caught his breathe, “Ye poke at me too much and i’ll fuck you bloody.” His eyes leaving yours in what looked like guilt.

“That’s what I want-“ 

“Don’t matter.” He snipped back quickly, his eyes snapping back to yours. “Once you're wed that imp will stick his cock in ya’ and know you’re not his.” He said, his words harsh, sharp and cold 

“I’m not.” you said, his eyes went a little wide, with what? adornment? 

You slowly lowered your hips onto his once again. Waiting for his push back but were met with none. You let out a small gasp as the bulge separated your lips through the thin fabric that covered your cunt. Another moan left your lips once you felt the hardened mound poke at your entrance. You grinded against it, your cunt began to clench around nothing. 

“At’s it” He groaned into your neck, “Grin’ yerself on my cock.” He grumbled low and deep. 

His face contorted, his muscles tensed, and his groans became more and more primal. His grip on your hips began to sting a little how tightly he held you. Your cheeks began to heat up, and that knot in your stomach tightened. 

He picked you up abruptly, kissing your neck. 

“On your back, now.” He commanded as he placed you onto the fur rug on your bed chambers floor. 

He untied his breeches that clearly had a wet spot on it, unclear if it was your doing or his. He was still fully covered in his armor, as he pulled out his cock. Harder than you’d seen it before. 

You rode up your night gown to your hips and slipped out of the thin underclothes you’d had on. 

He was on his knees before you, you on your back, legs bent and spread, ready and inviting. 

He stared at you, admiring you. 

He placed his heavy aching member between your folds. Rubbing up and down, his tip hitting your clit in the most perfect way. 

He pressed your thighs together, and he let out a long drawn out groan. 

“Fuck!” He hissed as he began to buck himself against your cunt. “So fuckin’ wet” He growled as his bucking continued in a more erratic pace. 

You arched your back and squeezed your thighs together as his fat tip kept hitting your clit

“Don’t- Don’t stop.” You whimpered looking up at his hair falling into his face, his eyes trailing all over you, from your wet thighs to your breasts that bounced with every thrust to your pouting lips all the way back to your eyes. 

“Not fuckin’ stopping.” He said through gritted teeth. “But,” He was stopped by a deep guttural moan, “Don’t look at me like that.” He said panting, “You’ll make me finish too quickly.” He said once more through gritted teeth. 

You took it as a challenge, stubborn as you were. You gave him a smile, and a giggle. 

“Fuckin' stubborn girl.” He said through gritted teeth, then picking you up and turning you around. Your back flesh with his armored chest. 

He pressed your thighs together again, and pushed his cock back in between them, but slightly missing and catching your entrance. Even though he graced it only slightly you moaned so beautifully it almost made him cum right then. That's when you realized how truly lovely it would feel to have him inside of you. 

“I want it inside” You moaned as one of your arms reached over and behind you to wrap around his broad shoulders. While your other hand held his large forearm that draped over your stomach holding you in place. 

“Can’t do that to you.” He said breathlessly, as his other hand removed the straps of your gown. As it fell to your waist, he cupped your breasts, his large hand completely engulfing it. 

You whined again. You didn’t care if you were ruined, you wanted to be. But you couldn’t force him. 

His tongue and teeth danced along your neck, you begged in your mind that he’d bite down or suck on your skin but no, never. Never to burden you with evidence that this ever happened. 

You felt that heat rise and the knot in your belly begin to snap. He could feel you clenching and it produced a vulgar moan from him, 

“That’s alright, you can cum,” He grunted, as he said that you moved your head back and faced him. “MH-” He gave you a sloppy and passionate kiss to mute your moan as you came over his cock. As your high was ridden out, he continued to thrust, he separated the kiss and looked deeply into your now exhausted and satisfied eyes, “Sandor” You whispered, sweetly, “Sandor,” 

He didn’t break your eye contact, his teeth gritted as he tried to hold back his moans as he began to spill out and over your thighs, “(Y/N)” He growled with a final deep and long thrust. 

As you laid there, on the fur rug of your room catching your breath. He laid with you. 

You peered over to him, “I meant what I said.” He peered over to you, raising one eyebrow. “I’m not his.” You said softly. 

“Aye.” He looked away, “But for your sake he’d better think you are.” He said in a low husky voice. 

You raised your hand to his scarred cheek, you began to run your fingers over it when he pulled away. 

“I don’t mind it, really,” You whispered. 

“Every one fucking minds it.” He hissed 

“I don’t.” You said back defiantly 

He huffed, and laid there in silence, he looked over at you, feelings somewhat bad he’d snapped at you. ‘Gentle’ he remembered. 

“When I was a boy, my brother caught me with one of his toys. Thought I stole it. I didn’t, just playing with it. Pressed my head to the fire. All like Baelish told you.” He let out another sigh, “But the worst part was that it was my brother who did it. And my father who protected him. Told everyone my bedding caught fire.” 

You moved closer to him and rested your head on his chest. You tried to listen to his heart beating through the armor, only making out a few muffled thumps. Your eyes heavy, closed soon enough. 

When you woke in the middle of the night you were in your alone bed, your legs were cleaned and you were dressed. 

And 

Your candle was out.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

Every Morning since the riots you were awoken by a handmaiden, sometimes two. They’d dress you in red or gold. Braiding your hair, being sure to put lots of intricate, and no doubt expensive hair pins in it. You were beginning to feel more like the ornate decor that was scattered around kings landing than you felt like an actual woman anymore. 

As you walked the halls your handmaidens were like guards, guards of a prisoner. 

You passed a mirror as you walked and caught a glimpse of yourself, hardly recognizable. “As high as honour” what a joke you thought. Look at you now, looking more and more like a Lannister with each passing day. The red and gold you were forced to wear was a stark contrast from the blues and silvers you’d grown to love. But now you’d really had no home. You didn’t align yourself with the rest of your house anymore either. Lysa and Robin felt like intruders in your home, and they treated you the same. And now, Baelish was a true intruder in it. Being allowed in by your stepmother who’d no right to allow him entrance. Entrance to your home and now your titles. Rightfully yours. 

To gain your titles the Lannister's were your only hope now, so for now you’d be Cersei’s doll and Tyrion's wife. For now, you’d play along. 

But where did that leave Sandor?

You knew that first night he was angry, not at you. He was angry you were the one thing he couldn’t protect. You were his master's thing and couldn’t stop them from toying with you. He was angry you were the only thing he’d ever wanted, and just like everything he couldn’t have. He was angry he couldn’t tell you how much he wanted you. 

And the second night, he was scared, and vulnerable. 

You’d stopped eating since the riot. Normally, that would have gone unnoticed. However your now doting husband has made sure to keep eyes on you at all times. Your handmaidens are unwilling to engage in an argument with you knowing you aren’t the person to pick a fight with, told Tyrion. 

As your ladies ceaselessly brought you trays of food whilst you attempted to lounge on your balcony while you read you simply waved your hand at each tray, now not even bothering with a “No, thank you.” As it didn’t seem to stop them. 

Tyrion stepped onto the balcony, your eyes went towards him but snapped back onto your book as soon as you knew who was joining your handmaidens in disturbing your peace. 

“Lord Tyrion.” You said in greeting, hardly exerting any energy into it. You would have felt badly about discarding your virtue once more for another man if he’d hadn’t made you feel even more like a prisoner. 

“Lady (Y/N)” He said back, sitting across from you, “What are you reading?”

“Something of little consequence,” You said, closing the book and looking over your shoulder at the women who surrounded you “May we be left alone?” You asked, the women didn’t budge but looked to Tyrion who nodded at them, once at his command they left. 

“They don’t listen to me.” You said with harsh eyes. 

“I told them not to.” He said with a huff as he repositioned himself in his seat and putting on a half hearted smile. 

“Did you tell them to dress me like this too?” You said tossing the closed book to the side table next to you. 

“I asked them to help you fit in,” He said, leaning closer to you, his eyes filled with some kind of concern. “Joffrey has a tendency to single you out I wanted to see if I could correct that... Aesthetically.. Cersei had some dresses made for you and-”

“If you wish for me to continue to view you favorably, you are failing.” You said stoically, "Was I inadequate before?"

"No- no I-" He stopped himself, “I just want to do all I can to ensure your safety.” He conceded. You did appreciate it, but your need for freedom overweighed that appreciation heavily.

You sighed and looked away, off towards the near distant ocean of blue. You fidgeted with your new golden rings on your fingers. “And, you’re not eating.” He said in a lower tone, 

“And, you’re spying on me?” You said now focusing back on him. 

“Your ladies told me-” 

“Your ladies.” You corrected. 

“I am concerned. Ever since the riots you’ve not eaten a meal.” He huffed, “You need to eat. Name any food you want and I wish to have it made.” 

“I don’t want to eat.” You responded bluntly.  

“I am your husband to be, It is my duty-”

“Your duty? Your duty to imprison me in this place, in this engagement?” Your angry scowl dropped soon as you realized how cutting your words were. To him he was keeping you from further harm, and you knew that. You sighed and looked back to the sea, “It is hard for me to eat, it is hard for me to sleep.”

“Tell me how to help and I will.” He said almost pleading as he leaned forward and held his hands out palms up. "I’d do anything for my lady wife.” The words ‘lady wife’ made you want to vomit, especially after the previous night. 

“I want to go home. I want to claim my titles.” 

“You and I both.” He said with a dry chuckle. “I have wanted to claim my own birthrights long enough to know the feeling.”

“Were they stolen from under your grieving feet by Petyr Baelish?” 

“No-”

“Mine were. And I am powerless to stop it, because I sit here in this castle in these red gowns and Lannister gold. I am presenting myself as indifferent to my own birthright being stolen from me.” You sighed, “I understand what you are trying to do. I do, I may be angry but I do understand. But you need to understand this, in doing what you feel is protecting me, whether it is or is not, you have taken whatever independence I had left.”

“I understand.” He said sitting back into his seat, “And I will do all I can to help you proclaim your titles. But, it would seem Stannis aims to attack this city.” 

“Stannis Baretheon?” You asked in some confusion, no one ever told you anything.

“It seems we are not the only ones who wish to claim titles.” He said in an attempt to jest, “So we're not the men to fight for you yet, however we aim to win this war. Once it is, I will see to it that your titles are restored.” 

You smiled, “Thank you, Tyrion.” Although not in the slightest comforted by the idea of war approaching your doorstep

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆

As you walked down the halls of the castle you were hit with a brick wall, Sandor. 

“you’re not eating.” Sandor said in a hushed but deep and husky tone

“How’d you-” You began before he interrupted you. 

“All those fucking handmaidens tell the royals.” He said in annoyance

“I eat when I'm hungry. haven’t been in a while.” 

“you don’t eat, you’ll starve.” His voice was like he was warning you.

“unlikely. That takes time. Stannis aims to attack the city. I'm sure I'll be dead then.” You responded stoically.

“You won’t die.” He said as if it were fact,

“How can you be certain?” You retorted defiantly 

“Cause I fucking said so.” He said stomping off, his cape flowing behind him.

NOTE: Hey all you cool cats and kittens I hope you like this one!!! The next two are going to be a wittle cwazy just a warning... ALSO yall I wrote the smut part during jury duty LMAO... anyways

Also the last few chapters have gotten so much love and I am so very grateful thank you!!! <3

[wheels-of-despair]

The Nerd King Cops a Feel Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie learns something about bras. (He hates them.) Contains: Assassination attempt, Girl Boob, an Eddie Munson First. Word Count: 800ish

Author's Note: This one goes out to all the ladies who look down and sigh every time they encounter one of the many 'Eddie Loves Your Tiny Tits' fics. 😂

Jeez, you accidentally say "Nerd King" instead of "Dungeon Master" one time and suddenly you're running for your life, jumping over piles of dirty laundry and trying not to crash into anything breakable.

Eddie chased you into his bedroom and tackled you to the bed, cackling like a madman. Flailing this way and that, you squealed and pretended like you weren't enjoying the absolute hell out of this.

"Alright, alright! I'm sorry!" He grins at your surrender and collapses on top of you, ignoring your exaggerated groan at having to support his full weight. After catching your breath, you reach up to brush the hair out of his eyes, his chin resting between your breasts.

After a few minutes of staring wordlessly at each other like a couple of lovestruck morons, he rolls to the side and you let out a sharp yelp.

"What'd I do?" he asks in a panic.

"Not you, this fucking bra."

He watches with a puzzled look as you sit up and reach under your t-shirt to take off the offending garment. As you suspected, the underwire had worked its way out during your tussle and stabbed the absolute shit out of you. You angrily fling it to the other side of the room and lay back down, turning your head toward Eddie and being met with a most curious sight.

His eyes are wide. Pupils blown. Fixated on your chest. It suddenly dawns on you that he's never seen you without a bra before. Normally this would embarrass you, but the rage from the garment's betrayal is still pumping through your veins.

"See something you like, Munson?"

He nods cautiously.

"Well, go on then."

His eyes flick up to yours, growing even bigger, which you didn't think was possible.

"I just survived an attempted murder. I need to be comforted."

His fingers twitch, making you smirk. But judging by the look on his face, his brain has turned to mush, so you gently take his hand and move it yourself, placing it just below the place his eyes are locked onto. He's still frozen.

"You still breathing over there, Munson?" you tease. He nods slowly, finally daring to move. Light as a feather, his hand glides upward and splays out, now holding a considerable handful of Girl Boob. Why is he acting like this is his first time? Is this his first time? You watch him silently, a gentle smile on your face as you both soak in the sensation.

He opens his mouth as if to say something, but snaps it closed again when no sound makes its way out.

You try your hardest not to laugh. This loud, filthy-mouthed little horn-dog has been rendered speechless, possibly for the first time in his life. Should you get an award for this?

"Something on your mind?"

One side of his mouth twitches into a smirk.

"Can… no."

"Looking for some under-the-shirt action already?"

"No! That's not-- I don't-- You-- I--"

You mercifully cut him off before he can stutter his way through the alphabet. "'Cause you can. If you want. But you don't have to."

Looking upward for reassurance and receiving a nod of encouragement, he carefully drifts his hand down to the hem of your faded band shirt. Taking his time, his fingertips glide back up the skin of your stomach, stopping at the imprints the band of your torturous device had left. He traces the marks and furrows his brow.

"Bra band. Its mission to slowly suffocate me was taking too long, so it resorted to stabbing."

"Does it hurt?"

"It's not exactly pleasant."

"Why do you wear it?" he asks softly, fingers still lingering on the marks in your skin.

Surprised at his question, you bark out a laugh. He stares at you with his innocent doe eyes and moves his hand north, splaying out his fingers again and holding you gently.

"Are you kidding me? Are you seeing these things? Are you feeling these things?" Your hand comes to rest on his, still under your shirt, and give it a jiggle. He shrugs a shoulder and shifts his eyes downward again. Boys are so dumb.

"Girls with not a lot going on up here," you gesture, "can get away with that. But when they look like this and they're not... contained, it's kind of noticeable."

He looks up at you thoughtfully, then that spark of mischief returns to his eyes. Eddie clears his throat.

"Hear ye, hear ye," he begins in a deep voice, "The Nerd King hath issued a royal decree… that the princess must never wear a bra in his presence again. Refusal to comply will result in a punishment most severe."

"Oh my God," you laugh, rolling your eyes. The Nerd King responds with a grin, removing his hand from beneath your shirt and pulling you to him, then burying his face between his new favorite subjects.

[imfromthemiddlekingdom]

I don’t understand the fandoms love for Daemon, by all rights he should be as hated as Joffrey was. Not only did he do almost everything Joffrey did, he also did worse. Even Tywin wouldn’t hold a candle to his cruelty. I understand liking a villainous character, I do too with Cersei and Tywin, but I’ve never went out of my way to whitewash their characters. I love them because they are villainous and practically irredeemable, if team black stans liked Daemon for his villainous actions before and during the Dance of Dragons I wouldn’t have any problems with it. But the fact that they go out of their way to defend him killing Rhea Royce because “he was forced into a marriage he didn’t like!!!!” As if she wasn’t too. And the fact that they defend him sending Blood and Cheese to psychologically torture Haelena and kill Jaehaerys due to “a son for a son it’s only right” when they despise Alicents moment of madness when her son was denied justice, makes me want to hurl.

It’s alright to like villainous characters, it doesn’t make you a bad person if you like them. But you know what makes you a moronic person? Whitewashing everything that makes a character compelling because you want to like them without seeming like a ‘bad person’. Your opinion on a character does not determine your own morality, it doesn’t make you better or worse than someone who hates them. But what it does, when you erase their entire identity as a rouge to make them more palatable to you, is make you seem moronic, stupid, and lacking any critical thinking and reading comprehension skills.

Rhaenyra is a compelling character because she is entitled and spoiled and lacks any political experience, she shows how badly Viserys fucked up when he tried to compensate for his guilt of murdering Aemma. Alicent is a compelling character because she is a mother who is trying her best to protect her children from the reality that if Daemon took the throne for Rhaenyra, he would kill all of them because they are a threat. She is even more of a compelling character in the books because of her ambition and cunning and want for her family to rise far above the ‘station’ of being a noble house in the Reach (as if house Hightower aren’t the oldest house in Westeros who could trace their lineage back to both the Garth Greenhand the high king of the first men and the Andal Kings that came afterwards). Daemon, for all that I dislike him as a character, is compelling for his ruthlessness and shortsightedness in his pursuit of the throne. He didn’t raise an army for Viserys because he thought he was a competent leader, he did it because it raised his own standing within Westeros, he groomed Rhaenyra not because he loved her, but because having him in her good graces means that he stood a better chance of being king after she was named heir. His ruthlessness is compelling. Taking it away to make him into a ‘malewife’ or a ‘loving father’ or a man who is lacking any ambition beyond wanting a valyrian wife is taking away his agency. It makes him seem like a Gary Sue who only wants the throne because his brother said Rhaenyra was heir. It makes it so that he is so completely white bread like that not even I, someone who loved the more morally bankrupt characters in ASOIAF can find him agreeable in any way shape or form.

Daemon is a fundamentally morally bankrupt character and he should stay that way. If you like him you should acknowledge and accept that he is one of the ‘bad guys’. Just as Cersei fans acknowledge and accept that she is fundamentally a morally bankrupt person who is selfish to the extreme. We like morally black characters because they are morally black. To make excuses for their actions is to take away their agency which makes them unlikable and very hate-able.

Daemons actions aren’t justifiable, blood and cheese would never be justified. A son for a son is akin to the visceral disgust the fandom had to Alicent when she asked for Lucerys’ eye, yet I bet when season two comes out and Blood and Cheese happens we’d see Daemon fans applauding and trying to justify it as ‘not that bad’ and ‘team green deserved it because of Aemond’s actions’ when little Jaehaerys, a boy of 6, was as far removed from the incident as can be. It would be akin to Team Green saying that due to Jaehaerys’ death, Aegon III or Viserys II deserved to have their head cut off in front of Rhaenyra.

Let morally bankrupt characters be morally bankrupt. You aren’t morally bankrupt because you like said character, it’s a fictional story loosely based on Empress Matilda. It’s not that deep. Like the characters you like without trying to justify their actions. They might be monstrous but you aren’t because you like them. It’s not a measure of your own character because you like said character. But it is a measure of your intelligence when you try to change said character’s entire personality to make it so that they are more digestible to you and everyone else.

[rae-writes]

just a few more

Diavolo, Barbatos, Mephisto + two bonus characters // 3.k wc

     *disclaimer: this is written as poly!romantic mc + all dateables

not only did Mc bag the seven lords of hell, they also ended up bagging the prince, his butler, and his highest ranking noble. Yk, as they should.

a/n : we’re gonna pretend Diavolo didn’t say he couldn’t form a pact with us just bc he’s the prince/future king because I think that’s a load of shi—

It all started with you mentioning how pretty you thought Barbatos’ pact was. You said it casually- in passing- when you and the brothers had been over for tea. They were all fighting (with the exception of Lucifer and maybe Beel and Satan) over who’s pact mark looked the best when you dropped the bomb.

“Come oooon, Mc! You don’t havta pick a favorite or anythin’, just tell us which one looks the best!”

“That’s the same thing, moron!” 

“OI!”

Smiling, you picked the choice least likely to start a fight, “I think Barbatos has a pretty sigil. Solomon showed me once.” Yep- there definitely wasn’t any room to argue when they all had their jaws on the floor. 

Oh, but you sent a shock of heat straight through Barbatos, who was the last one expecting your particular reply. 

Not even the uproar from the brothers or the shit eating grin from his master could make that heat dim. In fact, it only grew stronger at the mischievous smile you sent him.

And then you showed up on the castle’s doorstep, bruised and bleeding, while crying out his name. 

“B-bar— Barba-tos! Barbatos!” it was the only coherent thing he could decipher as he watched you sob violently into his chest, fist clutching his shirt so hard he almost thought it’d rip. 

You’d been in the Devildom for so long now, it was a shock that anything could scare you this badly- but when you managed to choke out that a group of demons ganged up on you, the butler felt searing hot threads of possessiveness and rage grip at him. 

They’d touched you- hurt you. You were probably crying out for him while you fought your attackers and he didn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear it.

The final blow to his wavering resolve came only an hour later : 

“Why didn’t you call one of the brothers? You could’ve gotten fatally wounded if you hadn’t been using your magic.” He was scolding you. 

And you were smiling. “I didn’t want one of them at the time. I wanted you.” 

…oh. 

“B-rb…Ba-rb-os…Barbatos!” 

He blinked, staring at you blankly, “Huh?” Did he really just space out? 

“I said I’m sorry for worrying you and putting my life in danger. I’ll be more careful next time and call on my pacts.” 

Your pacts. Pact. “May I have the pleasure of entering a pact with you?” 

Surprised, you stared at Barbatos like he had three heads for a moment. “Me? A p-pact with me? But I thought—“ 

Barb interrupted by grasping your hands and bringing them to his lips, “If you think I do not trust you, I must ask you to think again.” 

You watched him press your intertwined hands against his chest, where his heart is, before he was leaning closer- closer than he’d ever been. 

“I trust you, Mc. Do you trust me?”

Voice nothing more than a whisper and without a trace of hesitation, “Yes. I’ll make a pact with you- I want to make a pact with you.” 

Barbatos’ eyes darkened ever so slightly as he gave you a genuine smile, “Excellent.”

Then his lips were on yours and your hands broke apart so he could cup your face while yours went straight to his hair and you could faintly feel the tingle of your new bond but kissing him felt too surreal for you to even begin deciphering where it was located. 

7 -> 8

†

Mephisto was certain he only tolerated you due to your closeness with the seven brothers and his lord- it’s all anybody heard him run his mouth about when you were mentioned. But when he got scolded by his kid brother for saying such things about you, he simply decided he had to see what everyone saw in you- and boy, was he straight up beat down with the realization. 

“Good morning, Mc.” 

Without even questioning why he was suddenly speaking to you out of the blue, you smile brightly and stop walking, “Morning, Mephisto! I like your tie, is that one new?” 

He blinks in surprise— you…noticed? “Yes, it is. I thought I might change things up every now and then.” 

“It’s pretty! Like you!” Not even embarrassed at such a bold comment, you point in the direction of the newspaper club’s office (which was opposite of the student council’s- where you were supposed to be going), “I’ll walk you to your office so we can talk some more, yeah? I don’t get to see you much!” 

One day he caught you taking care of his little brother and the feelings just intensified. 

“Now, now, none of that. You’ll make your eyes all swollen-“ you wiped away the boy’s tears, “and then your little head will hurt-“ your hand ruffled his hair playfully, “and we can’t have that, can we?” 

Mephisto watched you carefully doctor his brother’s scraped knee, not noticing his feet were moving until he was right beside you.

Smiling at the excited ‘big brother!’, you glance up in acknowledgment before placing a bandaid over the injury. “All better!” You kiss his knee, giving him another on the forehead before helping him stand. 

And as you and Mephisto watch the younger demon run off with a wave, he can’t help but feel the slightest bit miffed at the kisses you’d given said demon. It must’ve shown too, because—

“Oh, ‘Phisto,” you couldn’t stop giggling, even after you’d grabbed his face and pulled him down, “If you want a kiss, all you have to do is ask.” 

You kissed him on the cheek, patting it afterwards, before leaving with a grin (and leaving him behind with a blush and a hint of possessiveness). 

Not even a full week after that, Mephisto quickly decided that you simply couldn’t go any longer without it. 

“Form a pact with me.” He stamped down the urge to shuffle nervously under your surprised stare, “..please?” 

Your expression slowly morphed into a giddy smile, “I’d love to make a pact with you, ‘phisto.” Feeling the familiar warmth of the forming sigil, you beamed at him. 

He could feel it too; the bond threading itself together— his first (and only) pact. “Mc…” his tongue felt like lead but he knew what he wanted. All he had to do was ask. “May I have a kiss?” 

“As many as you want.” You sounded breathless as you brushed over his lips with your own, connecting them eagerly once he grabbed onto your hips. 

He nearly jumps when you grab onto his tie, though he steels himself and pulls you even closer, not daring to break the kiss for more than a couple seconds at a time. Now that he’s felt this…Mephisto doesn’t think he can live without it. 

8 -> 9

†

Your pact with Diavolo, while he truly wanted to have that relationship and bond with you, mostly happened due to childish jealousy. He’d dealt with your happy ramblings about your pact with Barbatos for months, but then…

“Another pact? With Mephisto? How ever did you manage that?” 

Either you didn’t notice the strain in Diavolo’s voice or you simply didn’t bother pointing it out, your smile stayed as you hummed happily. 

“I didn’t really do anything. ‘Phisto just came up to me all of a sudden and asked to make a pact.” 

“He asked?” If Diavolo wasn’t bothered before, he sure was now. Mephistopheles in a pact? It was simply unheard of, and now, he was the only demon in your group without a pact with you. “I see…”

It was such a petty feeling, because truly, he was thrilled for all of his friends— Diavolo just felt undeniably left out despite no one treating it that way [but him].

“I swear if the four of you stubborn bastards don’t take a break, I’ll make you!” giving a deadpan stare, you crossed your arms and stood in front of the demons seated at the student council table. 

Mephisto relented immediately, having heard of what exactly you can do with your pacts, and chose to go get some coffee. Lucifer- after a quick staredown- followed the noble, but not without leaving a kiss on your hand in silent ‘thanks’. Barbatos and Diavolo, however, remained in their spots.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Mc, but we really must finish; these are documents for RAD’s-”

“Barbatos. Take a break.” you watched his hands release the papers involuntarily, smiling at his incredulous stare, “At least go eat something. Please.” when Barb reluctantly stood from his chair, you turned to Diavolo and leaned to rest your forehead against his. “Just because I can’t make you, doesn’t mean you’re exempt from this. Up- come on.” 

And while his heart was practically beating out of his chest at the care you showed for him, that ugly jealousy still churned inside him at the clear display of difference in your relationships between him and the others. 

Everything finally bubbled over the day you confessed to him :

“Apologies, Mc, but could you…repeat that?” 

Ducking your head to hide the flush of your cheeks, you fiddled with your fingers, “I like you, Dia- if that wasn’t already obvious, and Barbatos and a few of the others agreed that I should tell you and ask if you’d like to date me too…”

Diavolo answered a bit too fast and desperate for his liking, “Yes! I-I mean, yes, I would be overjoyed to be in a relationship with you, Mc.” 

“But?” you squinted, knowing something was- and had been for a while- on his mind. “What’s wrong? You’ve been like this for weeks.”

“Nothing is wrong, I just…” Follow his heart or follow the rules? “I just want to be in a pact with you like all the others.” he averted his eyes, feeling childish when he spoke those feelings aloud. 

You only giggled, “That’s it, huh? I would love to enter a pact with you, Dia. Wait- are you even allowed? As the prince and future king, I mean?”

As soon as you agreed, his hands were already cupping your face, “I don’t care-” his lips finally, finally met yours as his feet began moving, walking you backwards until you hit the wall, “-I decide what I want and I’ve wanted you for so long, been jealous of the others for so. long.”

With the pact etching itself into your skin, you couldn’t deny him anything in that moment, completely enamored with the way Diavolo was practically begging for you, still, even though he already had you. 

9 -> 10

+bonus

When Simeon fell completely, wings black and horns protruding from his head, he desperately needed something to ground him while he worked through his new body and new status. 

“They’re so pretty, Si.” You were brushing through his wings softly, smiling at the contrast it brought to your glittery nails, “Your horns, too.” 

Simeon shifted, nervous despite your words at letting anyone else see his new form. “Do you really think so?” his spine straightened at the feeling of your lips pressing kisses down his back. 

“I do. You’re so beautiful- angel, human, or demon.” Nuzzling your head into his neck, you smiled against the skin, “In fact, I’m going to have to fight off so many demons just to keep you to myself.”

That made him chuckle, body relaxing into yours easily, “Nonsense…that might be quite a sight, though.” 

Adjusting wasn’t hard— he thinks he had an easier time at it than the brothers, but he couldn’t help but feel something was missing.

It was difficult to not fiddle with his outfit, but in Simeon’s defense, this was his first time at one of Diavolo’s formal parties as a demon— and the first time everyone saw his demon form. 

Tsking, you gently slapped his hands away and re-straightened his shirt. “Don’t pay any attention to the staring. You’re just too pretty to look away from.” 

He knew it was because, in all technicalities, he was a fallen angel, even if he’d been human before this. But he also knew that if anyone was an expert in unwanted spotlight attention, it was you. 

“I’ll try not to, thank you, Mc.” Simeon smiled at your pleased expression, “May I have this first dance?” 

As the night went on, he watched you dance with the other nine demons (and with the other members of Purgatory Hall). Everything was like it always was- nothing changed after he became a demon. Still though….

“Simeon!” you called out with a bright smile, hand waving him over to join the dancing circle you, Mammon, and Asmo had created. 

He felt as if there was something absent in him, something he couldn’t describe. “I’m coming.” 

Finally, Simeon figured out the missing puzzle piece. 

Laying with you, clad in only your underwear, always brought him a sense of love and tranquility. He simply couldn’t get over how vulnerable and exposed you were willing to be around him.

“Siiimeonnn~” you sang, laughing when his eyes fluttered sleepily. Your fingers carded through his hair, making him hum in delight, and you hummed right back at the faint feeling of his nails tracing over your pacts. 

He continues to trace the slightly raised skin, not thinking too much about it until you mumble something about how he’s always had a fascination for the marks adorning your body. At that, Simeon sits up quickly, all traces of tiredness gone.

You follow his lead worriedly, “Simeon? What’s-”

“Make a pact with me. Please, Mc, please, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more- I knew something was missing when I became a demon and now I know it’s because everyone else is bonded to you but me. I couldn’t have that with you as an angel or human but I can now. Please, Mc, allow me to be selfish just this once.”

“Oh, Si…” there was an undeniable warmth blooming in your chest. “You never needed a pact to feel bonded to me— you’ve always been perfect the way you are.” 

Simeon let out a shaky breath, allowing you to shift closer while his heart thumped wildly in anticipation. 

You moved even closer, and closer still, until you were practically in his lap. “You can be as selfish as you want with me. I’m yours, and now-“ your lips brushed, “-you belong to me, in turn. I’m honored you trust me enough for this, Simeon, of course I’ll make a pact with you.” 

And although your lips have met in this dance time and time again in the past, and will surely do the same in the future, it still sent shivers down his spine and heat to his face. 

When his hands move to trace your pacts out of habit again, his is the first he finds- guided by your own hands- and devils does that make Simeon’s head spin; he’s finally complete.

10 -> 11

++extra reverse!bonus [no specific demon form]

For someone with 72 pacts and ongoing shameless attempts at getting Lucifer into one, it surprisingly didn’t occur to Solomon once you became a demon (in his defense, he was more focused on your well being and adjustment). 

“You need to stop scratching, Mc. I know it itches, but you’re going to get an infection. You’ll get used to them eventually.” 

While he was lecturing, you were practically boneless in his lap, keening as he softly rubbed your horns and applied ointment on the irritated areas. 

“Are you even listening to me?” He huffed in false annoyance, feeling a smile fight its way onto his face when you whined at the loss of his touch. 

Nudging your head against his hand, you stubbornly huffed right back. “Yes. Don’t be mean- feels good. You're so sweet to me…” 

“Don’t get used to it, darling apprentice. You’ll learn how to do this yourself eventually, too.” 

And while you did in fact get the hang of caring for your own demon form, you simply enjoyed when he did it instead. 

“You know, each of the ten demons you have wrapped around your finger would jump at the chance to help you.” 

You hummed in agreement, curling in on yourself at the blissful feeling of Solomon grooming your extra appendage(s). 

He lifts a brow, “And yet I’m still called, why? No complaints here of course, but I am curious.” 

“Want you.” Stretching, you shift onto his lap to be closer, “Don’t you want me anymore, Sol?” 

Solomon inhales sharply, tilting his head so you have more room where you’re nipping at his pulse point with your sharpened canines, “Of course I do, Mc.” 

The lightbulb finally goes off in his brain when he catches you glaring at his bare upper body, to which he’s all too happy to oblige you : 

“What’s with that look?” Based on the tone of his voice, he very well knew what said ‘look’ was for. 

You bared your teeth anyway. “You’re mine.” nails scratched over the pacts on his lower stomach as your hands gripped and prodded at every small inch of bare skin you could see. 

Solomon wanted to see just how possessive a new demon could get. Did you have those instincts yet, especially since he was already yours beforehand? “I am. So why don’t you prove it?” 

“Gladly.” Your voice came out as a low growl, hands finally coming to a stop when your fingers brushed ever so slightly below his belt. “I think mine will go riiight…here.” You pressed down over his pelvis firmly. 

He tried not to stutter, “o-oh?” but he could feel the blush snaking up his face. 

“Make a pact with me, Solomon. ‘S not fair you have so many marks but mine…mine’ll be the prettiest, though…especially on you.” 

“Fuck- yes, I’ll form a pact with you, Mc—“ Solomon’s back arches at your pact etching into his skin, having forgotten the feeling, but the knowledge that it’s yours makes it all the more better. 

“mine, mine, mine. Is this proof enough, or do I need to prove it further?”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I can't explain why but damn I'm so tiredddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you approach the capital, you can’t help but poke your head up to admire the domes of the great castle and the high towers. The gates stand open as the party advances, in wait of their new liege and lord. You shield your eyes against the sun as you gaze at the silhouette of the mighty architecture. 

“May as well get a good gander,” Bryce says, “doubt the kitchens are any more glorious than the ones you know.” 

“Mm,” you retract your gaze and sigh, “suppose. But they will still be new to me.” 

“Not all that is new is wondrous,” he girds. “For as much as I’ve seen in this world, it is the familiar that keeps me sane.” 

You nod and let the cart rock you. Ahead of you, the horses tread over rocks and dirt, wagons bounce and creak, and some servants walk afoot to ease the cramps in their legs. You lean lazily on a chest and fold your hands in your lap. It will at least be nice to stay beneath a proper roof again. 

The streets of the city are crowded with faces. They do not holler for you but you can hear the raucous uproar ahead as the king and queen ride between the citizens. There are even more black and grey soldiers stationed along the roads, awaiting your arrival. 

As you wind up to the royal castle, the noise grows tantamount. At the walls of the grand structure, clusters of people threaten to crush the party between their writhing bodies. It takes some time after the king’s entrance for the luggage to make way into the courtyard. 

The carts depart around the back of the castle as the horses make way for the stables. You climb out as Bryce lurks around, dismounting Daisy with a grunt as he rubs his lower back. You glance over at him as the other servants quickly fall into work. 

“Maid,” he calls to you before you can follow suit, “no doubt the queen will need to wash away the road before she faces the hordes.” 

He beckons you forth with his gauntlet and you diligently near him. He hands off Daisy to a castle servant and carries on inside. You scurry beside him as he stops and gauges his surroundings. He is not versed with the corridors but he presses on unimpeded. 

You turn back a few times before you reach the great hall. It is crowded and chaotic. The soldier strides through without pause. You nearly grab onto him just to keep from being lost in the stirring of soldiers and servants, and the tittering lords and ladies in their colourful garb. 

Up the stairs and a few questions grunted to his comrades, Bryce takes you down to a set of chambers with yet another soldier before it. You’re let inside without question. You find Queen Jazlene before a steaming basin as another servant cleans her face. 

The queen scrunches up her nose and swats the lady servant, the maid still in the former king’s colours; burnt autumn orange and goldenrod yellow. 

“Watch my eyes, you moron,” Jazlene chides and jabs her nail into the maid’s ribs. 

“My lady, I didn’t mean--” 

“I am a queen, not a lady,” Jazlene hisses, “be gone before I have your teeth knocked out of that stupid mouth of yours.” 

The other maid wrings the cloth and steps back on her heel, chewing on an apology before she spins to flee. As she nears the door, she notices you and gives a panicked look. You reach to take the cloth from her before you go to the queen. 

“Your highness,” you greet her and dip the cloth back in the steaming water. “Would you like me to put ribbons in your hair?” 

“Mm, I suppose,” she tilts her face up and closes her eyes, “once the dirt is gone. By gods, I hate traveling.” 

You gently wipe along her hairline and trace the outline of her face. You delicately but intently clean away the errant dust and streaks. You drape the cloth over the brim of the basin and turn to the table. 

“And would you like your lips painted?” You intone. “Your highness, I do think your natural tones are beautiful.” 

As you peek back at her, her eyes open and she stares at you. Her nostrils compress as she inhales. She puts her head straight and looks at her reflection. 

“Do you think so?” She touches her cheeks. 

“Yes, I do, if you line your eyes, they might appear bigger but they are so lovely and dark already,” you compliment. 

She hums and tilts her head, turning her attention back on you, “it’s you.” 

You lower your head, “your highness?” 

“You’re always flitting around like some bird,” she sniffs, “suppose you are not so... agitating as the other. Yes, ribbons and some kohl. Then I will have one of the former queen’s gowns. They have delivered her wardrobe to me.” 

“Yes, your highness,” you say and go to work. 

You settle into your usual lull. The queen sips from her goblet as you twine ribbons with her curls, a halo around the crown of her head as coiling strands hang down to her back. She looks even more immaculate than you’ve seen her before. 

She calls for a dress and you bring her several options from those strewn across the large bed. She chooses the lavender and you help her into the light silk. You relace it to account for her lither figure, the former queen having some extra years in her hips. 

When she is dressed, she twirls before the mirror. She stops and sets her chin straight and glares at herself. She arches a brow coyly. 

“I cannot wait to see Lady Florence,” she scoffs, “she will choke when she realises I am her queen.” 

You linger by the wall, blending into the tapestry as she sighs and eyes the glass affectionately. She primps herself and spins again. 

“Well then, I must be overdue,” she goes to the door, “I must go to the king and show him I can be his queen.” 

You open the door for her and follow her out. The soldiers outside glance at her but do not move or speak. Bryce comes up beside you as you trail after Jazlene. She struts to the end of the corridor and is stopped by another guard at another door. 

“Do not think to stop me,” she spits, “I am the queen,” she flicks her fingers in his direction, “don’t be absurd.” 

The man lets her through as she tugs on the latch and his dull eyes stare past her. She hardly has the effect she thinks. People do not admire her so much as they tolerate her. 

She sweeps into the chamber as you wait outside. Bryce lets out a gritty breath and taps his fingers on his sword pommel. He chews more of the sweet leaves he loves so much. Jazlene emerges with a doe-like look. 

“Where is the king?” She exclaims. 

“He has gone to address the people,” the guard picks at his teeth. “He tired of waiting--” 

“Do not tell me about the king,” Jazlene snaps on the soldier, “ugh, let us find my husband. How can he think to face my people without me at his side?” 

She storms onward and you can only follow. She will no doubt need wine sooner than later, though you wish she might take more water or milk instead. Bryce keeps your pace slowed as he makes little haste. 

As she descends the steps, you can hear the king’s voice. The crowd is hushed, almost hypnotised as he speaks from atop a chair. Somehow, he is both overwhelming and unassuming. Jazlene shows as she sees him. The crowd does not move out of her way as they are rapt in his words. 

“...do not come as conquerer, but as liberator,” he declares, “I am not here to suppress but to unite. Our kingdoms, forged together as one, can attain glory. Peace. Joy. Our people needn’t suffer the droughts or frost rot without relief. By coming together, we will join summer and winter in harmony,” the king holds his sword, the tip on the armrest of the wooden chair, “to you lords who stayed loyal to Waleran, I do not seek retribution. You only did your duty and served the king you put an oath to. You had no part in his violations upon myself. I am aware you could not rein in your greedy master. You will keep what is yours, as by rights, but you will swear fealty to the new crown.” 

King Geralt looks around the hall, “I have spoken to the farmers and the peasants, I have seen the beauty of your lands. I wish not to ravage it but to build it. You will not have only from me writs and declarations, you will have fields sown, you will have harvests reaped, you will have coin in flow, and you will have full bellies.” 

He raises his great sword over his head. The large weapon could be held only by two-hands in anothers grasp but he lifts it effortlessly. 

“I saw how your king tucked tail when he saw me on the field. After you good lords followed him to battle and sacrificed your men and your blood. He could not stand and fight, but many of you did, many of you not here today. I will not let their souls be spent in vain,” he pauses and his golden eyes rove around the room. He points his sword suddenly towards you but not quite, at Jazlene, “I have taken a summer wife.” He curls his fingers to gesture her to him. People swivel to see her and clear the path to the king, “a winter’s king must have a summer’s queen, if our kingdoms our to rise anew.” 

Jazlene sways before she gets her footing. She moves forward, chin high as she lets a grin break out over her face. She looks this way and that, gloating as she goes to her husband. He steps down as she approaches and he takes her hand. He helps her up on the chair herself and she seems almost confused by the act. 

“Queen Jazlene of Debray,” King Geralt proclaims, “she will return with me to the Hinterlands to see that order is kept across our realm and perhaps, the next time I look upon you all, I will have an heir to present to you. A young prince to lead us into the sun ahead.” 

He raises Jazlene’s hand as she fawns. The crowd breaks out in racket, voices swelling to the rooves as you’re jostled against Bryce. The lords and ladies, servants and soldiers, throw up fists and hoot and holler. 

The king brings his sword up again, silence falling at the gleam of its silver blade, “but first, a feast!” 

The fervour is even louder as the hall explodes in glee. You hear it ripple out the doors into the crowd without and like an ocean, the tides carry through the courtyard and front gates, streaming into the city. Peace has come and old grudges cannot take the shine from the gift of a king’s mercy. 

⚔️

“Your highness, we heard of what happened on Stag’s River,” an earl, you think he said his name was Kelvan, “it was a brave stand. Admirable, even standing upon the other ridge.” 

“You were there?” King Geralt muses, “mm, how fortunate our paths did not cross.” 

“Indeed, your highness,” the earl agrees, “I must admit, I dreaded it.” 

“But here we are, alive, together, as allies. It is all I ever wanted.” 

“And we knew it. We knew it, my liege, for when you let our men march back at all, we saw your grace,” Kelvan smiles. 

“Yes, but I have only ever admired your lands, never had I wanted to ruin them,” the king assures as he looks over at his wife. 

“He is a brave and good king,” Queen Jazlene praises as she puts her hand over the king’s. 

Lord Kelvan’s lips ripple, “mm, yes, I have not seen your father yet. If I shan’t happen upon the Duke, you will send my regards.” 

There’s an edge that makes you uneasy. You see how Jazlene bobs her head, “so I shall.” 

She doesn’t seem to notice the tick of resent in the earl’s cheek. How odd it is that they are so fond of the invader and yet their own kith and kin, they cannot help but revile. You’ve heard the whispers swirling already. It was not King Geralt who betrayed these people but this snakish woman and her blood. 

“Wine, girl, now,” Jazlene snaps as the early departs back to his seat. 

You stand against the wall, just behind the bench she shares with the king. You come forward with the jug reserved only for her, nearing between the shoulders of the royal couple. Before you can put the spout to brim, King Geralt’s hand catches the swollen belly of the ewer. 

“Perhaps you might have some more lamb before you indulge further, wife,” he girds. 

“It is a feast,” she slurs, “I am only celebrating. With you,” she touches his sleeve, “my king.” 

“I see that,” his voice is low but firm, “yet you are a queen and your subjects are watching.” 

“I can stomach my wine,” she sneers. 

He huffs and wraps his hand around the bottom of the handle, just below your grip. He wiggles it away from you and sets it on the other side of his plate. Jazlene lets out a childish gasp. 

“It is just wine,” she snivels. 

King Geralt runs his fingers along his collar, “we are having a good night,” he says as he peers out on the crowd, “please, let us not make a scene.” 

“I am not making a scene. I am the queen and I want more wine,” she insists. 

He faces forward completely. You stay as you are, trapped in their indecision. He blocks the jug with his elbow and she claps her hands on her lap and kicks her feet.  

“Perhaps you should have some of that wine,” she mutters, “it might make you kinder.” 

The king doesn’t reply and instead greets another lord; one who introduces himself as the Count of Bress. As they speak, Jazlene leans back on the bench and tugs your skirt. You look down at her. 

“Find more wine,” she growls, “and don’t be obvious about it.” 

“Your highness, but the king--” 

“I am your master, not him,” she snarls and nudges you harshly, “be away before I lose my patience.” 

You dip your head and notice how the king’s head turns towards his wife. You don’t look back as you critter off quickly into the shadows. You might be better to take your time and tell her you could not abscond any more wine. If you wait long enough, it might even slip her mind, as so often her desires fade into the next. 

[wannaeatramyeon]

The Crew Heads with Reader: Board Games

G/N. Silly. 4 small scenes. (Jake Kim, Eli Jang, Johan Seong, Samuel Seo)

Bro Code | Dinner | Shopping | Television | Gacha | Board Games | Suits

"What the fuck?" Samuel glares at Johan who returns it with equal hostility.

"It's a word." Johan spits, arms crossed and defiant.

"Use it in a sentence."

"I'm going to kilp you."

"Johan will kilp you," Jake chimes in.

"Samuel will be kilped by Johan," Eli adds.

"Almost," you say, "But Johan I don't think that's a word-"

"3 to 2, overruled!" Jake grins, totting up the points from the Scrabble board. "Ok so that's triple word score too for God Dog. Fuck... he's in the lead."

.

.

"I just said you can't play a +2 on top of a +2 card!" Jake moans, looking at the stack of cards in the middle.

"Says who?" Johan asks, because that rule is stupid

"It sounds like bullshit but-," Eli scrolls on his phone, looking for a source. "Uno officially. The cards can't stack."

You lean over his shoulder, read the rule with your own eyes but disregard it anyway. "The fuck do they know."

"5 to 0, draw your cards asshole." Samuel leans back, smug when Jake add another 6 cards to his hand.

.

.

"You're cheating!" You screech as Jake freezes like a deer caught in headlights.

"No I didn't!" He holds up both hands in surrender. He absolutely did not cheat.

"You grabbed an extra 100 won, I saw you!"

"I didn't!" Jake protests his innocence.

"I saw him too," Eli says as Johan and Samuel both nod vigorously.

"What, owning most of the properties on the board isn't enough for you?" You say, jabbing a finger in Jake's chest. "And now you're cheating?!"

"But I didn't-"

"I don't want to play anymore!" You throw your cash in the air, standing up and stepping over the Monopoly board as the rest of the guys follow suit.

"But... I didn't." Jake mutters, looking at the mess of cash around him.

Ok. So he didn't cheat. In fact, you know for certain that everyone else did. It's just expected with a game like Monopoly. No-one becomes rich fairly with capitalism.

Poor Jake however, did play fair and square, ended up lucky with the community chest and chance cards which led to him owning the majority of the properties.

All of you, getting more pissed off by the minute but not wanting to admit defeat, slithered your way out of it by accusing Jake and throwing him to the wolves.

You promise to make it up to him, somehow. But you are not losing at Monopoly.

.

.

"Are you blind?" Johan growls when Samuel's hand comes down on the 9 that landed on top of the 6.

"Fuck off," he mutters, retreating and putting his own card down - an 8.

"I think Snap might not be for Samuel," Eli grins, placing a King face up, as Jake agrees that Math isn't Sammy's strong suit.

"Easy mistake," you shrug, rising to his defence. You have definitely done something similar many times. Not with these guys though.

You've never played Snap, that simple card game, with them. For good reason-

"Snap!" Jake shouts, hand slamming down after he places another King on top of Eli's.

The table legs creak, then with a sickening crash, collapses under the force of his power. The four crew heads and you are left sitting around a mess of splintered wood, spilled drinks and ruined cards.

"Oops."

Samuel rolls his eyes. "Well done, moron."

-And that's why you don't play Snap.

[scripted-downfall]

I swear, with every danmei book I read, the protagonist gets ever more oblivious. I mean, I started out with Wei WuXian of all people, sitting there not knowing that he's pining over his best-bro-bestie (who's also pining over him) until he decides ya know what? marriage bow time! Because that is a completely logical progression!

But then! There's Xie Lian! Who has a mfing Calamity-level ghost pining over him for 800 years --- casually building elaborate temples for his celebrity crush while said disaster god burns down his house --- and who makes out with Hua Cheng "fOr SpIriTuAl PoWeR" on the regular, and who regularly runs across strange characters with one eye covered, a strange red-based colour scheme, and a strange devotion to him, only to run into a certain strange one-eye-covered, red-schemed, devoted Ghost King... and who not only doesn't connect the red-coloured dots, but also comes to the completely sensical conclusion that see how well I can resist the wily temptations of *women*? clearly, the only reason I can't resist the wily temptation that is Hua Cheng is that Guoshi never considered that hot men exist! and also regularly tries "not to bother him" while the latter is vibing --- in the literally vibrating sense --- in Paradise Manor waiting for gege to ask him for help.

AND THEN. Because that! Wasn't! Enough! There's fucking SHEN QINGQIU. (I'm finally reading SVSSS! I finished book 3 and am tracking down 4 now!) Who spends three fricking books simping after Binghe like there's no tomorrow (which, to be fair, he doesn't think there is) because oh holy shit, he's such a white lotus, look at how pure and handsome and powerful, oh god oh fuck, yes he's going to kill me but at least I have the honour of being killed by The Luo Binghe, I'm so lucky, holy shit, wait why isn't he putting together a harem of women?!?!? he's plenty hot and powerful and badass enough??!?!?! and also insists to the very end that oh, no, sir, I'm completely straight. As a ruler. I invented rulers, actually. Because of how straight I am.

AND THEN!! IT SOMEHOW GOT WORSE?!?!? Because I made the mistake of starting The Husky and His White Cat Shizun. And Mo Ran is... well, he puts the "moron" into his name, that's for damn sure. I mean, at least he knows he's into guys from the beginning, but like. My guy. You cannot sit here and say "Obviously, Chu Wanning and I shared a deeply intense hatred" and then wax poetic about how hot and elegant and calm and composed he is for two paragraphs with any degree of credibility At All.

(I'm Thriving. Never before have I had four fixations unlocked at once. My sanity is struggling, but my mind is buzzing and the world is fast.)