#with no casual misogyny on the side

[bklynmusicnerd]

You know I enjoy most about Andre? That is a useful man. Yes, he's easy on the eyes and interesting. But more importantly whenever he appears he actually has some useful information. We need more male characters like him and less of the useless, parasitic whiners.

[genericpuff]

yeah i don't think this is the kind of advertising rachel needs right now-

[fromtheseventhhell]

I have my criticisms regarding Rhaenyra, but my hatred for team green and their misogyny disguised as jokes makes me support her.

Real, cause they turn every critical conversation about Rhaenyra into justification for her being usurped because of her gender + her eventual murder. It's not even about the character at this point, I just refuse to be affiliated with them or their misogyny in any way, shape, or form. The way they act over a fictional character is very troubling and I wouldn't be surprised if that carries over to how they act in real life.

[leatherbookmark]

According to Ellis, women are fascinated by male strength, but they have no opinions about male beauty. Insensitive almost to the point of being blind, they have a discerning eye for male beauty not greatly different from that of the normal male. (Forbidden Colours, trans. Alfred H. Marks, Penguin edition p. 94)

oh mr mishima you would be pleasantly surprised by kpop stans. perhaps even disgusted

[slowlyfoggydestiny]

Soo it happen again huh

[lesbian-salamander]

i dont care how "corny" pokemon showdown edits are they will always be better than stupid fucking "erm... girls = sex?????" i am not going to have people try and tell me otherwise

[j-is-a-cunt]

been thinking abt misogyny and specifically how stupid but physically strong cismen use their strength to maintain places of power they don't necessarily deserve, because obviously As Men They Are Entitled To It just going off the ones i've interacted w irl, not even touching on the shit i've seen them say on other social media platforms w their whole chests...... so many just have 0 strengths that aren't "can physically intimidate/psychologically manipulate people" and are somehow proud of it because hey, at least they're not a woman, which as we all know is The worst thing a person could possibly fucking be

[yanderenightmare]

TW: dubcon, misogyny, degradation/condescension, toxic partner, gaslighting, guilt-tripping

fem reader

The first time he said you were made for him, you thought it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to you.

He’d said it with such unbothered air – so matter-of-factly – as if it were the most obvious thing, as though he was almost exasperated even to have to spell it out for you.

And you’d smiled, feeling warm and giddy. Lovey-dovey heart-eyes looking back at him with not a single second guess.

You should have asked him what he meant, though…

But you always brush such things off. Lying snugly against his side in bed, head resting on his chest with his muscled arm around your waist – watching a dumb movie on the laptop kept atop his abs.

“Tch- she’s just like you.” He snorts casually.

You barely hear it. And even then, it takes some time before you humor it.

But after your brain's bothered computing, you eventually pout –looking at the actress on the screen – sitting on the floor with tears streaming down her cheeks, all wet mascara streaks and tousled hair. 

She was pretty, but she looked nothing like you.

“What do you mean?” You ask after a little while – not having been able to pay attention to the rest of the plot. Too busy mulling what he’d said – trying to spin it positively as you so often do – but finding only far-fetched reasons, none of which sounded like something he'd bother say.

“What?” He mumbled. 

It had been a while since he’d made the comment – about half the movie already – so it was only fair.

“How’s she like me?”

He raised his brows – a bit of a double chin forming on his neck as he angled his head to look down at you.

“You know...” He brushed it off – redirecting his eyes back to the movie. The final climax was beginning.

You decide you can wait until the end. He’d just get annoyed if you talked through or paused the film now. 

He doesn’t spare you the same consideration, though – already with his hand casually running up your arm, coming to cup your tit.

He plays with it until the credits start rolling.

Closing the screen, he places it on the nightstand and climbs on top of you as though it were what both of you had been waiting to do.

“Uhm-” You protest – but he doesn’t take it as such, promptly dipping over to catch it with his lips – already pulling on his tight shirt, leaving your lips briefly to wring it off over his head. “Wait-” You interrupt before he’s back on you.

“What?” He breathes – nipping the corner of your mouth instead.

You hold his shoulders, trying to lift him off – but it doesn't seem like he even registers the effort – already buried in your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

“You didn’t tell me what you meant earlier.” You remind him.

It takes a second before he remembers, asking, “Jeez – ‘you still thinkin’ about that?”

The kisses don’t stop. Instead, they return to try your lips again.

But you’re adamant about refusing – placing your hand over his mouth and giving him a glare – the one that tells him to listen when he isn’t – one that you have to use rather often…

He takes your hand and pins it to the pillow beneath in a finger-lock – kissing your lips despite it. “C’mon~ it’s not important.” He dismisses, words slurred with different objectives.

You slant your head to the side, and his lips meet your cheek instead. “No, really. I want to know what you meant.”

His brows furrow then – visibly getting annoyed with you – the irritation also evident in his voice. “Ugh – I’s just sayin’ you’re a little…” He leans back on his heels, where he's taken to kneel on top of you – his bulge rubbing against your mound, thick and stiff.

He scans the ceiling with his chin raised, releasing a sigh before looking back down at your face and the pouty look written across it.

He chuckles a little, grabbing the chubs of your cheeks in both hands to hold you – placing yet a kiss, now on your nose.

“I’m just sayin’ you’re cute, is all.”

He starts kissing you again – his hands hot at your sides, where he starts impatiently tugging at your top, lifting it up.

“Stop-”

You push his hands away.

This time, he sighs with rust – almost growling. “I swear – only you would make a big deal outta this.” He accuses suddenly – body sagging with his head hung. “All I meant is that you’re a little…”

Your brows furrow at his grumpy mumble. Your doubt about it being derogatory only solidifying – making your voice come out sharper.

“A little what?”

He huffs again – as though you were the one being unreasonable.

“A little hopeless at times.”

You gape. “Hopeless?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, signaling for him to get off – but his hands squeeze your shoulders, keeping himself there. “You’re not getting’ me-”

“Apparently not.” You cut him off – still struggling to get yourself up.

But it takes only an effortless push from him to have your back thud against the mattress again.

“Say they were to make a movie about me, right?” He starts – ignoring the look you give him. “You’d play the love interest as a clueless damsel in distress. And I’d play the lead as the hero who saves you.”

You roll your eyes. “Right. Or, more realistically – you’d play an asshole, and I’d play the upset girlfriend who leaves you with blue balls.”

This time, you put your hands on his chest to push him off.

Unfortunately for you, he’s as steadfast as a mountain. 

“No, baby – come on.” He whines. Taking your wrists and sinking back down to your neck – kissing your collar with a tired groan. “You know what I mean.”

“Get off – I’m serious.” You put plainly now when everything else had failed. 

But only a sound scoff leaves him as he continues to touch – fiddling with your top again like before. “No. You’re throwing a fit.”

Your face is properly sour now – your voice, too. “I’m not a child.”

“Then quit actin’ like one, hm?” His hands squeeze your sides as he gruffs against your neck. “Face it, babe. You’re with me because you like havin’ someone capable supportin’ you.”

Your brows crinkle differently at the statement – softening just a bit – mainly because you weren’t sure whether to take offense or not. 

And before you can decide, he’s already adding to it, “Just like I like havin’ a cute, pouty, pretty little girlfriend cryin’ my name over every single silly little thing, too~” His voice went sweeter with the teasing – you felt the grin of it run against your jugular.

“You-”

“C’mon, don’t pretend.” He drawls. “You know I’m right.” 

You can’t really defend against it. After all – suppose – he was right...

“We’re perfect for each other~” He purrs groggily. Still laying wet lovebites to your neck. “You were made for me.” 

You don’t think it’s as romantic this time around – sounding more like a verdict.

Or a bitter truth.

“I like you just like this.”

BNHA – Bakugou

JJK - Gojo, Naoya

HQ - Kuro, Oikawa

AOT - Eren

DS – Sanemi

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: just a short lil blurb idea I had whilst procrastinating from finishing my other two WIP’s xoxo

warning: implied age gap of reader being a “young woman”, but no specific reference to Spencer’s age, I just envision this as a very post-prison thing for him to do

Listen

“Excuse me, lady, but you don’t get to waltz in here and start ordering my officers around. This your first day on the job or something, sweetheart?” The local chief of police smirks down at you, condescension dripping from his every word.

That, coupled with his casual misogyny, is enough to have you smirking right back at him.

Shocker, another old-fashioned cop assuming that a young woman like you doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s almost laughable. Almost.

“FBI Agent first, ‘lady’ second, and ‘sweetheart’? Not under any circumstances. I’m here with the rest of my team to assist you on a case that you’ve requested our help to solve. You don’t like the way we do things? Raise a formal complaint. If you want this case solved, you’ll do well to listen to the advice given. This is far from my first case, and you are far from the first police chief to invalidate that.” Your voice is the epitome of cool, calm and collected.

Naturally, that only aggravates the ignorant man in front of you. More predictable than a- well, actually, there are few things more predictable than the fragile masculinity found in a man like this.

“I’ll be happy to listen to your boss before I take any orders from a girl with a mouth bigger than it ought to be.” The local chief of police eyes you up and down, as if to intimidate you by comparing your stature to his.

Much to his surprise - and absolute dismay - his efforts are in vain. This is made clear when a quiet laugh passes your lips and you lean back against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest and looking to your left.

Moments later, as though emerging from the shadows, Doctor Spencer Reid takes the few large strides necessary to reach your side. A formidable force, exacerbated by the dark scowl that’s etched into his features and directed at the local chief of police. Having not long returned from visiting a crime scene, he had overheard the conversation between you and elected to wait before he stepped in, hypothesizing both how far the ignorance would go, and how long he would be able to hear it before seeing red.

“If you value the continued use of your jaw, I’d advise you close it and listen. Disrespect Agent (Y/N) again and this entire precinct will suffer the consequences of your ignorance.” Spencer’s threat is eerily quiet and, while unprofessional by nature, the intent is understood to the extent that even a local chief of police wouldn’t dare call it into question.

The man caught in Spencer’s glare visibly shrinks, clears his throat, and pretends to find something to very quickly busy himself elsewhere. The glare follows him until he’s out of sight.

“I could have Garcia file a report severe enough to end that man’s career.” Spencer murmurs, gaze fixed on the door that the ignorance left through.

Turning to face Spencer, you smile up at him sweetly and pat his chest, your palm against his tie when the contact snaps his eyes back down to look at you.

“I think making him ruin his briefs in the workplace is punishment enough.” You joke lightly, your words enough to cause a smile to curl at the corner of Spencer’s mouth, a silent understanding caught in your locked gazes.

Nobody disrespects you and gets away with it, not so long as Doctor Spencer Reid is around to commit verbal homicide.

[ellecdc]

it's not Christmas 'til somebody cries

Christmas Eve and the following morning with The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black family at 12 Grimmauld Place [honestly I'd been listening to this song and had a few scenes come to mind and I just thought it would be funny to see this in one of the families we all love to hate] -> 2.5k words

starring: Black Sister!reader, Sirius, & Regulus featuring: Grand-Père Pollux Black, Walburga & Orion Black, Uncle Alphard, Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus, Bellatrix & Rudolphus Lestrange, Andromeda & Ted Tonks, Narcissa & Lucius Malfoy, Nymphadora, Draco, & Matteo based off the song: It's Not Christmas Till Somebody Cries by Carly Rae Jepsen

CW: DRINKING, mentions of 'biological clocks', casual misogyny, parents guilting their children, [correctly] accusing your cousin of adultery, implied/suspected homophobia, talks about 'youth these days', modern AU, toxic/ridiculous Black family but reader and her brother's still do their best to deal with them.

Regulus rounded the corner to see you and Sirius waiting where the three of you had agreed to meet, seeing as none of you were willing to walk into your childhood home without back up.

He watched as you nodded your head towards Regulus, alerting Sirius to his arrival causing your older brother to deflate significantly in relief. 

“That is a filthy and disgusting habit.” Regulus spat, referring to Sirius’ cigarette which Regulus plucked straight from his brother’s mouth before taking a deep drag of it himself. 

Sirius scoffed and opened his mouth for what was no doubt going to be some clever quip or devastating blow at Regulus’ expense, but was saved the breath when you shoved something into Regulus’ chest.

“This is for you, Reg.” You offered in a bored tone.

“Thank you?” He replied as a question, stomping out Sirius’ pilfered smoke and taking the - seemingly full - flask from your grasp. 

“Didn’t feel like bringing your lovely husband with you?” Sirius taunted as he elbowed his younger brother in the side, earning him a derisive scoff. 

“Please. If I hadn’t already learned from Uncle Alphard, I’ve certainly learned from Andy.”

You and Sirius both offered sympathetic hums.

“Poor Ted.” You lamented.

“Tonks does it to himself at this point.” Sirius responded more flippantly. “Why does the bloke still come when he’s given nothing but shite?” 

“It’s important to offer a united front for the children.” You and Regulus chorused robotically. 

“Christ.” Sirius muttered as he pulled out a flask that matched the one you’d handed Regulus moments ago and took a swig from it. 

“Did you get the two of us matching flasks?” Regulus asked before turning to watch as you uncapped another identical flask and took your own swig. 

“I got the three of us matching flasks.” You answered breathlessly as you wiped your lips with the back of your hand. “You’ll want to keep that close, Reggie.”

“We’re playing a drinking game.” Sirius concluded as he flashed his eyebrows at him. “Happy Christmas.”

“Don’t speak so soon, Siri.” You chided quietly as you took the stairs up to the door of 12 Grimmauld Place. “You know it’s not Christmas ‘til somebody cries.”

And the three of you dared to step over the threshold as you entered your own personal nightmares before Christmas. 

“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with their presence.” Your mother drawled theatrically, alerting the rest of the already full house to your arrival. 

“Hello, mother.” You offered firmly, shooting her a look, albeit a softer one than Sirius currently adorned, both of you clearly trying to tell your mother to sod off in your own distinct ways. 

“We wondered if the three of you had perhaps gotten lost.” Your father added in way of a greeting as he all but breezed past the cluster of you in the entrance towards the study you knew he stashed his good liquor in. 

“One could only hope, father.” Sirius drawled, earning him an elbow in the side from you. 

“Sirius! Was that you, my boy?” Alphard called as he came to save the bunch of you from your parents. “And the twins, my loves; how are the lot of you?”

“We’re well, uncle Alphard. Thank you.” You replied easily, causing Sirius to scoff and narrow his eyes at you from the embrace he was currently sharing. 

“Speak for yourself, little sister. I’ve never been worse.” 

“Is that so?” Alphard laughed as he moved to give you and Regulus hugs of your own. “Why’s that? Are you finding yourselves a touch too sober?” The end of his question falling softer as he pulled a flask out from his breastpocket and shook it at you all invitingly.

The three of you smirked and pulled out your own in perfect timing, hearing Bellatrix screeching at one of the kitchen staff over something no doubt completely asinine and insignificant. 

“Bottoms up, children.” Alphard sing-songed before taking his own sip and floating further into the house. 

“The children were starting to think their aunt and uncles weren’t going to bother showing.” Lucius Malfoy drawled, smirking at the three of you predatorily as you all moved to the dining room to take your seats. 

“I’m sure little Draco was very upset that his mother’s disgraced cousins were 15 minutes late to Christmas eve dinner, Malfoy.” Sirius drawled sarcastically. “Maybe you should buy him another pony to make it up to him.”

“Sirius!” Your mother hissed at him.

“He started it!” 

“Real mature, brother.” Regulus muttered as he reached for one of the many bottles of wine lining the table and poured himself a very generous glass.

“The staff will be out to serve the wine, Regulus.” Walburga scolded.

“I’m more than capable of pouring my own wine, mother.” He responded, reaching over Sirius to pour you a glass as well as you held it out for him, causing your mother to screech your name too.

“Regulus is more than capable of pouring me a glass of wine, mother.” You repeated.

“No good, ungrateful children.” She hissed under her breath, standing from the head of the table with a dramatic flourish before storming into the kitchen where you could all hear her screeching at the staff about leaving her guests waiting unattended. 

“Does the staff crying count?” Regulus whispered under his breath; you and Sirius both offered him a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders before sneakily taking a swig from your flask, sharing a wink with Alphard from across the table who had, apparently, done the same. 

“What is the problem now, Andromeda?” Druella sighed as though her fully-grown middle child was unbearably troublesome.

“Mother, we've been married for years and I’ve reminded you again and again that Ted is vegan.” She hissed in response. Ted, for his part, looked very apologetic as he grimaced at the beautifully plated meal in front of him; the server hovering behind him with an expression nothing short of horror painting her features.

“So what is the issue?” Cygnus gruffed then, looking between the server, Ted, and Ted’s plate bemusedly. “You can still eat fish, yes?” 

“No.” Andromeda started, pinching the bridge of her nose as Ted shook his head and smiled appeasingly at the table. 

“It’s really alright.” He tried, reaching under the table to offer his wife an affectionate squeeze of her knee as he smiled gratefully at the server. “It looks wonderful, thank you.”

“That’s the problem with young folks these days.” Pollux offered rather unhelpfully. “Always making the rest of us cater to their needs.” 

“Grand-père,” Regulus started bemusedly, shooting you and Sirius a look, “that’s- we’re literally having a meal catered to us. The point of hiring a catering service is to be…catered to.”

Cygnus pished at his nephew as he picked up his own glass of wine that had since been poured on his behalf. “And the lot of you expect us to keep track of all these little things; such nonsense.” 

“I bet it wasn’t difficult to keep track of Lucy’s purple shampoo stocked in the guest bathroom for the one evening he’s going to be here.” Sirius muttered into his glass, causing you to snort a laugh that you quickly hid under a cough. 

“Something to say, Sirius?” Lucius asked darkly.

“I’ve truly never had a single thing to say to you ever, Malfoy.” Sirius responded simply.

“Enough unpleasantness.” Walburga called before Lucius could volley any insults Sirius’ way, clinking a fork against her glass to draw everyone’s attention to her. 

“Does she not know she’s the source of most of it?” Regulus whispered to you and Sirius, causing your mother to screech his name. 

“As I was saying,” Walburga continued, standing tall and proud and clearly reciting a script she’d no doubt fussed over for weeks that she meant almost zero percent of, “I’m very glad to have my home once again filled with all of those who mean the most to me.” 

“S’exactly what she said to me when I tried running away at 16.” Sirius whispered to Regulus quietly. 

“The holidays are a time of family, joy, and gratitude.”

“Not the words I’d use to describe tonight, but alright.” You added, earning you a smirk from your older brother as Regulus shook his head fondly at you. 

“And I am the luckiest woman on earth to get to spend it all with you.” Walburga concluded elegantly, earning her roaring applause from her father, her siblings, her husband, and two of her nieces and their husbands whilst the rest of you offered her a few short claps before picking up your forks and knives. 

“Matteo!” Bellatrix screeched in a tone not unlike your own mother dearest, craning her neck behind the other chairs to level her son with a glare. “Do not shove peas up your cousin’s nose!” 

“I wasn’t, mum!” Matteo assured her with a cheeky smile that was missing several teeth. With that, Draco shot a baby carrot from his left nostril as Nymphadora sneered at the two of them like she’d never seen anything more disgusting than the likes of her younger cousins. You’re quite sure you remember Andromeda sneering at Sirius and Regulus in a similar manner growing up. 

“Was a kids table really necessary?” Narcissa asked then as she turned her sights away from her son and back towards the ‘grown-up table’. “The three of them could have joined us here, no?”

“Hardly seems fair to poor Dora.” You agreed. “She’s nearly twice the age of the boys.”

“Yes well, if my children would grace me with grandchildren of my own, we wouldn’t need to argue about children’s tables, now would we?” Walburga huffed.

“Mother, you hardly like us as it is, why would you want more?” Sirius asked with a tired sigh. 

“It is not a mother’s job to like you, Sirius, it is to raise you. Did I not do that?” 

“Didn’t Creature do that?” Regulus asked you and Sirius.

“Mr. Beecher was a tutor.” Your mother corrected sternly. 

“Is that what you call Mr. Dobb’s, Cissa?” Sirius taunted his cousin from across the table, causing her to scowl at him and Walburga to hiss some vague threat at her eldest son.

“At least Narcissa graced her parents with a grandchild, boy.” Druella spat at her nephew before pointing a sickly sweet smile at her youngest daughter. 

“You might want to get to it, Y/N.” Lucius drawled, and Regulus watched as you landed a steely gaze on your cousin-in-law from across the table. “Your biological clock is ticking, you know.” 

“She may not know how to do it right, Lucius.” Rodolphus added, speaking about you as though you were no longer there. “A proper lady ought to be wed and with child at this point, no?”

“Oh please, Lestrange. As though you’re any better; we all know the child you’re raising is actually Riddle’s.” You spat, setting off a bomb at the immaculately decorated Christmas table. 

“How dare you!” Bellatrix screeched, standing from her seat as though readying to launch herself at you whilst Cygnus berated you for daring to speak of such unpleasantness in front of the children.

“I’m not sure if you remember, Uncle Cygnus, but the children have their own table; that’s sort of how this whole conversation started, yeah?” Regulus added, causing your uncle’s ire to be directed to him. 

“All I wanted was to spend one lovely evening with my dear family!” Your mother wailed as Rodolphus and Bellatrix continued spitting at each other in French, Narcissa cried over what had now become a terrible meal whilst Lucius consoled her, and the older generation argued over whose children were to blame for all of this. 

You shared a wry look with your brothers and Andromeda before Uncle Alphard toasted the four of you and Tonks - both of whom pulled out flasks of their own - as you all took swigs at the merriment that could only be found at 12 Grimmauld Place during the most wonderful time of the year. 

You and your brothers - the only adults save Alphard who dared to show up without significant others or children of your own - were forced to share a room. Fortunately for you, it was your childhood bedroom, which meant you got your old bed. Unfortunately for Regulus and Sirius, this meant that the two of them were forced to share a queen sized mattress on the floor.

It hadn’t been so bad, though, Regulus had to admit. That is until the sound of the bedroom door being flung open - nearly slamming into the brothers’ mattress - and two nine years olds screaming “Happy Christmas!”’s and “Santa came!”’s in their aunt and uncles’ faces startled you all awake. 

“Draco, you weigh a tonne.” You groaned as you tried to shove your towhead blond nephew off of your frame to no avail. “What are your parents feeding you?” 

“Broccoli.” Draco sneered as though it were a dirty word. 

“S’probably good then.” Sirius grumbled, trying to hide his face under the blankets though Matteo didn’t seem particularly inclined to allow his uncle such a luxury. “Sounds as though you deserve a mouthful of broccoli; right now, preferably.” 

That earned him “that’s rude!” being shrieked in a pitch that dogs in Wales probably heard. 

“Oi. Uncle Sirius?” Matteo asked; his bony little elbow digging painfully into Sirius’ side as Regulus shoved his nephew’s bony little knees from his side.

“What?” Sirius nearly sobbed. 

“Is Santa real? We tried to ask Dora but she wouldn’t tell us.” He asked then, causing Draco to nearly shake your entire bed frame from the force of his enthusiastic nodding.

“Yeah! Is Santa a lie?” 

Sirius finally pulled the blankets away from his face; his long hair terribly mussed from having been accosted by somehow sticky little hands (even though breakfast had yet to be served) and his subsequent sheltering under the covers, lines from the pillow case still etched into his cheek and sleep still crusting his eyes as he shared a downright devious look with his brother and sister.

“Sirius…” You started warningly.

“Don’t you dare.” Regulus added as sternly as he could muster. But Regulus could tell by the maniacal smile taking over his older brother's lips that it was too late.

“Well,” Sirius started, “you know what we always say…”

You let out a moan that sounded an awful lot like “oh dear god” as you covered your head with your pillow to shield yourself from the subsequent fall out. 

“...it’s not Christmas ‘til somebody cries.”

[shellxrls]

— r. cameron / barry / reader

warnings: dom!barry, sub!rafe / unprotected anal sex / rimming, ass eating / cum-swallowing / threesome / dubcon (sex as payment) / oral (male receiving) / voyeurism

synopsis: rafe cameron x barry x gn!reader… you owe a debt to a certain prolific dealer on the cut, rafe believes he can pull a few strings to get it taken care of, you just never expected the alternate payment to be so debasing.

Barry likes to shove the noise out of Rafe. Like he can hoard the aggressive spikes of volume in his head if he really tries, bundle them into a rough package and store them safely within his cerebral cortex.

You can tell Rafe almost hates it, too eager for pleasure yet too impatient to wait, and so Barry knowingly draws it out of him — bated breaths turning into whispers of frustration until Rafe opens his mouth to spit out a harsh profanity and Barry finally decides to move. In that fraction of a second pummelling his whole length inside of Rafe and forcing out a guttural, drawn-out noise that you'd never heard from the boy before.

He locks eyes with you across the dingy space, and your pupils quickly flutter in humiliated distraction — landing on the shadows of Rafe’s back instead, fluorescents bringing out the harsh dips of darkness and paling his skin in comparison to Barry's.

You find yourself wanting to look away, every action too intimate, and every subsequent reaction too vulnerable. You were an intruder to this relationship and you felt it, like you were watching through a two-way mirror except you were the depraved bastard on the clear side, and they would never realise you were there.

You had never expected this when borrowing a favour from Rafe, his promise to get your debt waived cause he 'knew a guy' now almost a distant memory. Although you starkly remember him greeting Barry at the door, offering 'fresh meat' while their hands lingered too long to be in casual greeting.

You knew whatever Rafe was dragging you into was fated to be shady, but what you couldn't predict was the way the two stood by Barry's bed and argued in an aggressively hushed tone, Barry's calloused fingers coming to rest on Rafe's shoulders when he'd finally persuaded him into submission — “You're gonna sit right here while Rafe takes care of this debt for you princess" while guiding you into a yellowed plastic chair, settling you down with wink.

Now you were forced to watch, to listen, and to feel while Rafe — your dealer and the most high-strung, misogyny-fueled, cokehead you'd ever met — took dick from a man jut as pretty as him in a grimy trailer.

"Feelin’ good about volunteering for her debt now babyboy?" Barry grins, gripping Rafe by the jaw and bringing his face up to be conflicted between looking at you or the man behind him, he settles on Barry, who then decides to thrust into him particularly harshly to which Rafe only lets out a useless garble, "shittt, my bad, forgot that you turn into a dumb slut for some dick."

Sweat was dripping down your collar now, beads building up against your temples alongside a painful pulsing in your lower stomach. Barry noticed, too observant for his own good and yours too — "Yeah y'can touch yourself pretty girl," it comes out a bit strained, a stray tendon in his neck tensing at what you assumed was Rafe tightening around him, "bitch down here seems to like the idea."

It wasn't so much a prompt as it was an order, funny thing about the way Barry could manipulate tone, must've adopted it in the army, next to the ability to stare so hard you could feel his eyes drill holes into your skull.

"I ain't gone' say it a third time."

Subtly, you nod, swallowing your anxiety and dropping clothing to the floor until you can see Rafe wrapping a quivering hand around himself, eyes glossy while Barry is momentarily too distracted to dismiss him.

"Well shit, Rafe, keeping the prime cut to yourself I see," Barry raises his eyebrows in a chuckle, stilling inside of Rafe and clutching a hand by his bicep to match his lecherous smirk.

"Brought her by as soon as I could bitch, now move, fuck," Rafe groans, trying to push himself further onto Barry who only grapples his leaner hips into stability.

"Nah." Now towards you, having changed his mind about your positioning, he asks "C'mere."

Rafe whines when you get up, subtly grinding his hips and pleading for your gaze with his own, searching for remission and hoping you'll be kinder than Barry.

Barry instructs you to kneel by his feet. You’re now eye-level to where he sits inside of Rafe, twitching and pulsing while rafe constantly trembles with restlessness.

"Rafe's gonna cum very soon, you wanna know how I know? He's got that screwed up bitch face like he's gonna cry—" he's addressing you directly, completely disregarding Rafe's aching form on the bed and humiliating him with this dissection of his features, undisclosed to anyone but Barry at this point, "An' I'm gonna go pretty soon after him. Thing is, I don't want to get my sheets dirty with alla that, so you're gonna do me a favour and clean it up before anything spills."

Nodding, you feel his gaze intent on you again, unwavering. Remaining on your knees, you move so you can tongue at Rafe's dick — his nose red and his lips wet, face watery and flushed from the buildup while he stares down at you.

Once Barry starts thrusting again, you wrap both hands around Rafe, one circling his base and steadily jerking him off, whilst the other cups his balls, your mouth simultaneously sucking on his tip and drawing tight circles around the flushed slit.

"Fuck, 'm close," he groans, twisting up into your mouth, "f—fuck Barry 'm so close, 'm gonna cum."

Until you're swallowing round his girth and Barry's coaching the both of you through it, one hand tangled in your hair to push you down and the other stroking Rafe's shaking thigh.

Before you pull off Rafe you can still feel him throbbing in your mouth, and when you finally do Barry tugs you to your feet, forcing you into a sloppy kiss.

Tongue warm in your mouth and licking the remnants of Rafe off your gums, which is what finally gets his stomach to tense and flex when he finally cums himself, spilling into Rafe while grabbing a handful of your ass and painfully digging his nails into the flesh as he does.

He shoves you back down to kneel before Rafe when he's done, "Go on, prove yourself useful f'me and I'll consider that debt paid off hmm?"

Complying, you shyly bend your face towards Rafe, stretched out and leaking, tonguing the twitching muscle and cleaning up whatever Barry had left.

"S'too much, too much," Rafe swats at the empty air, curling into himself and flaring his ribs in overstimulation.

"You beg for it like a fucking girl so now you're gonna sit here and take it like one 'kay bitch," Barry rubs the skin around his cheek, patting it in domestic mockery despite Rafe's snot and tears.

In only a few more minutes Rafe cums again, dick leaking miserably on his toned stomach in rhythmic spills. Barry runs a finger through it, making Rafe shudder, before bringing it to the brunette's mouth and forcing two curved fingers inside — hooking them through his uvula and forcing it down until he starts gagging.

"Hope babyboy here didn't drop you off, think he'll be staying with me for the night."

"I can find my own way back," while already grabbing your things to head out — the taste of both men still sickly prevalent on your tongue.

"You ever need more favours you tell Rafe to call me a'ight," Barry whistles as you walk through the door, simply responding back with a murmured confirmation.

[hollyseb]

I DO

Mob! Bucky x Reader - Forced Marriage AU

Warnings: swearing, violence, misogyny?, sexual content (MINORS DNI)

3.2k words

Summary; Bucky, a member of the mob, and the daughter of his enemy find themselves entangled in a complex relationship.

No fucking way.

Your throat tightened. The reflection in the mirror portrayed a stranger—pale complexion, vacant eyes.

“You look beautiful,” Nat reassured you, placing her steady hands on your bare shoulders, but you’d never felt so appalled. She was trying to comfort you but fell on deaf ears.

Your gaze dropped to the dress. It fits you perfectly, especially with your hair trailing down your back.

You wanted to rip it all off.

“Nat”, your voice meek, tears threatening to fall.

"I'll be by your side through it all, and if that mystery man dares to step out of line, well, a broken nose wouldn't hurt," she attempted a smile, but it faltered. Your best friend gave your shoulders a final squeeze.

Today is your wedding day.

As you found out yesterday. Yesterday. You seethed, manicured hands clenching.

“How could this happen to me, Nat?”, you asked through gritted teeth, the reality of the situation setting in.

Nat's gaze softened, her eyes filled with a sadness you couldn't bear to meet. "We both know why," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, the truth of her words like a knife to your heart. Your father's illicit dealings had finally caught up with you, dragging you into a web of deceit and manipulation from which there seemed to be no escape.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I be so naive?

And so, you became a pawn in your father’s game. An object to be bought, owned and sold off at will.

It was all a show of power. You cross me, and I’ll rob your daughter of the rest of her life. You were nothing more than collateral damage.

———————————

As Bucky adjusted his tie in the mirror, the reflection staring back at him was that of a man with a steely resolve, a predator poised to strike. His jaw clenched with determination, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

“One last drink before you’re hitched?” Steve smirked, pushing a whiskey into his best friend's hand.

Bucky sent him a sharp look. “Come on Steve, you act like I'm not the one calling the shots here”, the glint in his eyes portraying a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

In a swift motion, he downed the alcohol and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His throat burned. He lavished the feeling.

“Marrying a woman you’ve never even seen?” Steve's grin widened, his tone holding a hint of scepticism.

Bucky dragged a hand down his face. “All part of the game, my friend” he responded cryptically, a flicker of anticipation glimmering in his eyes.

“You never know, pal, she might be a knockout”, Steve teased, a veiled reassurance towards his friend.

”Yeah. Fat fucking chance, as long as Pierce knows I can take everything he holds dear, I’m a happy man”

With a nod of agreement, Steve raised his glass in a silent salute. "I'll drink to that," he said.

———————

Deep breaths.

You felt nauseous.

You stepped into the aisle, honing your vision on the figure standing by the altar. He had his back to you but, he was tall, broad and masculine.

Ripping your eyes from the man and planting them on your feet. Just make it down the aisle without tipping over.

Bucky turned to face you. Holy shit. His surprise was palpable. He wasn’t expecting this. You knocked the breath from his lungs. You looked beautiful. Your dress moulded perfectly to your body, skin glowing. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

You felt a cool hand press against the small of your back.

“Hey”, a deep voice whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

A response far too casual for the situation at hand.

His hand moved to your waist, guiding you to face him and look at him. Fuck him. You knew this was a stupid, stubborn attempt to maintain some form of control, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

That was until he placed a finger under your chin, his touch surprisingly gentle. Oh. He is gorgeous. Sculpted face, baby blue eyes, pink lips. His touch was far too gentle for someone so evil.

“H-hi”, you stammered, your voice portraying the nervousness you felt.

Bucky’s smirk only widened at your response, as if he found amusement in your discomfort. It was infuriating. He was drinking in your wide eyes and aloof expression. You were so innocent. He almost felt bad for inviting you into his world. Almost.

He wanted to devour you.

”Well…aren’t you a sweet little thing”, his finger tilted your head back as he unashamedly raked his eyes over your features, with an almost predatory hunger.

You forced a sweet smile, concealing the disgust you felt at his patronising comment, “get your fucking hands off of me”, you retorted sharply.

Bucky’s smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, before being replaced by amusement again. “Such a filthy mouth for a pretty girl… I’ll sort that out for you”, he replied, his grip on your chin tightening.

You snarled at him, resisting the urge to clock him in his cocky face.

It was almost humorous, the way the interaction looked like a loving husband whispering sweet nothings to his wife, when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

The vows went by in a blur, all words sounding muted and unreal, until the time came to kiss the man you met half an hour ago.

Bucky couldn’t look anymore gleeful, revelling in your discomfort.

“Come on honey, I promise I’m a fantastic kisser”, he taunted, arrogance in his smirk.

You opened your mouth for a retort, but his lips landed on yours before you could protest. You hated how he was so gentle, caressing your cheek while his tongue ran across your bottom lip.

Damn it, he is a fantastic kisser.

Pulling away, you forced yourself to compose, concealing the turmoil within. He was so gentle, as if he was afraid you’d break in two at his kiss. Bucky’s touch held a power over you. You despised it, but it was overwhelming.

The reception blurred into a whirlwind of congratulatory embraces and forced smiles. Every glance from Bucky sent shivers down your spine. He was everywhere. A hand on the small of your back, an arm draped across your waist.

As the night wore on, you found yourself cornered by Bucky, his presence suffocating. His whispered promises of a future together sounded more like threats, each word tightening the knot of discomfort in your stomach.

“Is it time for that broken nose yet?” Nat whispered into your ear as you snorted at her comment, your first genuine smile all day.

“I’m ready whenever you are”, you replied, before taking her into an embrace. Her presence was a lifeline in the chaos of this ceremony.

Even after your moment of solace with Nat, Bucky's presence loomed like a dark cloud. His eyes followed your every move, logging everybody you spoke to, as he watched with an adverse gaze.

Unable to bear his suffocating presence any longer, you slipped away from the crowd, seeking refuge in the quiet solitude of the garden.

The cool night air enveloped you, offering a brief respite from the whirlwind wedding. Sitting on the wooden bench, you closed your eyes, simply focusing on breathing, before being unsurprisingly interrupted.

With a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, Bucky leaned against the stone wall, the faint glow of a cigarette illuminating his features in the darkness.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with a hint of his streetwise charm.

"Yeah? Well, I’m fine," you replied curtly, refusing to show any vulnerability in his presence.

Bucky's smirk widened, the glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Sure you are," he said, his tone teasing. "But just in case you need a hand getting rid of any unwanted guests, you know what to say."

“Nobody’s watching here, you know? You don’t need to keep up this facade”, you replied, more angrily than you’d expected.

Bucky’s expression darkened at your accusation, a flicker of hurt crossing his features. “Facade? Come on, darlin’ you know me better than that”

”Do I?”, your voice echoed, not ready to submit to him.

He took a step closer, his movements fluid and deliberate. "Yeah, you do," he replied, his tone edgier now, devoid of its earlier teasing edge. "You think I’m doing this all for me?"

You found yourself unable to make eye contact with the mobster, “I think this is a game… where I’m being used as a pawn”, you confessed, a sadness in your voice.

Bucky was taken aback by your raw vulnerability. He lifted your chin with his forefinger, as he did in the ceremony, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were a cocktail of remorse and sincerity.

“A game? I won’t lie, doll, I’ve done things that I’m not proud of”, he swallowed hard, grappling with the actions that had led to this moment, “but I wouldn’t drag you into this twisted world simply to be a pawn”.

You fought internally, unsure of what to believe.

Bucky stepped back slightly, his eyes raking over your features as his finger drew an arc over your jaw. "I know this ain't the ideal situation for either of us," he began, his voice softer now, tinged with a hint of regret. "But we're in this together now."

Your features softened and you let yourself relax into his gentle touch. The voice in your head stressing about how dangerous this man was began to quieten. You needed this comfort.

"I want you to know," Bucky continued, his words measured yet genuine, "that I ain't gonna let anyone hurt you. Not while I'm around."

"Thank you," you murmured, the weight of the day's events finally beginning to lift from your shoulders. "I appreciate that."

Bucky offered you a small, understanding smile before gesturing toward the door leading back to the reception hall. "Come on," he said gently, "let's get back inside.”

Bucky flicked his cigarette into the darkness, the ember glowing brightly before fading into nothingness.

As the night wore on, the exhaustion of the day's events began to weigh heavily on you.

“You ready to call it a night?” Bucky asked, sweeping a stray hair behind your ear.

His eyes were fixated on yours until you replied with a simple nod.

You began saying your farewells to the guests, making sure to hug Nat especially hard. You eyed Bucky as he seemed to be having an enthralling conversation with a man you recalled being introduced to as Steve. You made a mental note to ask him about his friend.

You let Bucky guide you into his mansion, down the large halls, to the bridal suite. Everything was gorgeous, sophisticated and modern.

You hadn’t let your mind trail to what your wedding night would bring, you found yourself wondering whether he’d even stay in the same wing as you.

As you and Bucky stepped into the dimly lit room, the air was hot with anticipation, charged with the unspoken tension between you.

As you turned to face him, ready to bid him goodnight and retreat to your separate quarters, Bucky's gaze met yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness that took you by surprise.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" His voice was low, almost hesitant, betraying the confident facade he often wore. There was a hint of uncertainty in his words, a vulnerability that made your heartache.

It was a bold move, really, you both knew it. For a request you were so sure you would’ve declined earlier in the day, you found yourself taken aback.

“Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "Yes, you can stay."

As the door clicked shut behind Bucky, you felt anticipation in the air. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes tracing the contours of your figure with a certain hunger.

“Let me take off that wedding dress," he murmured, his words laced with desire. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to resist him, daring you to deny the attraction that pulsed between you.

Your head was spinning, the way he bounced between sincerity and domination.

For a brief moment, you hesitated, the thought of shedding the symbol of your forced marriage felt like an admission of defeat, surrendering to the forces that had brought you to this moment.

The primal hunger in Bucky’s eyes convinced you, with a hesitant nod, you faced your back to him and pulled your hair over your shoulder.

Bucky’s fingers delicately worked the fastens on your dress, his gaze transfixed on your back. You felt yourself becoming conscious, truly realising for the first time that this man was going to see you at your most vulnerable.

Sensing your apprehension, the air shifted, “you’re doing great, sweetheart”, he murmured, “Tonight, it’s just you and me”.

You eased at his words, as the fabric pooled at your feet in a cascade of silk and lace.

With a tender smile, Bucky reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek with a feather-light touch. “God, you’re beautiful”, he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

His words warmed you from the inside out. There was something more than desire in his gaze. It ignited a fire in you that threatened to consume everything in its path.

In the dim light of the room, you could see the raw hunger in Bucky's eyes, the longing that burned like a fire deep within his soul. But beneath the hardened exterior, there was a vulnerability—a longing for connection, for intimacy.

You doubted he was some sort of blushing virgin, especially with the stunt he pulled at the altar, but it was hard to believe he looked at other women like this.

“W-will you… are you going to…”, you faltered, not quite knowing how to ask him the question.

”Going to what, doll?”

“You know… it’s an arranged marriage. Are you planning to…see other women?”, you ventured, your voice hesitant, uncertain of how to broach the topic.

Bucky's gaze softened as he sensed the gravity of your words, his expression shifting from one of intensity to one of attentiveness. He reached out, gently grasping your hand in his, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand.

“I understand why you might have doubts, especially given the circumstances," he began, his voice calm and reassuring. "But I want you to know that I take this marriage seriously. This isn’t a game to me. You’re my wife".

His words carried a weight of sincerity that eased some of the tension in your chest. "I won't deny that my past may have been... adventurous," he continued with a wry smile, "but when it comes to you, I'm all in. I won't be seeing other women. You have my word."

“O-okay”, a small smile playing on your lips.

“And just so we’re clear”, he added, a playful glint in his eye, “you’re not allowed to see other men either”.

You rolled your eyes at that, your smile widening.

Bucky's eyes softened as they landed on your lips, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his own. "You've got a beautiful smile, you know," he remarked, his tone unexpectedly sincere.

As you met his gaze once more, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes sparkled with a warmth that mirrored your own.

“Thank you," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling the electricity between you intensify with each passing moment. The hunger in his eyes mirrored your own.

With a boldness you didn't know you possessed, you reach out to him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as you draw him closer. The air crackles with tension as your lips meet in a searing kiss, passion and need colliding in a heady rush of sensation.

His hands pulled on your hips, desperate to get you impossibly closer. Your head was spinning.

Bucky gently walked you to the bed, falling onto the sheets when your calves knocked the frame. He ate up the gasp that escaped from your lips hungrily.

“Fuck. I want to devour you”, he murmured against your lips, before taking your bottom one between his teeth. You could only gasp in response as he rolled it.

Bucky’s hands grabbed your wrists, gently placing them above your head. A stark contrast between his gentleness and dominance. His lips trailed down the curve of your neck, nipping and tucking, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You arched against him, a soft “B-Bucky” escaping your lips.

Bucky released a guttural moan as you bucked your hips into the muscular thigh positioned between your legs.

”Easy, sweetheart”, he whispered, his voice husky with desire. “I don’t want to overwhelm you”.

Bucky's hands trembled slightly as he fought to restrain his desire, the urge to lose himself in the moment almost overwhelming. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to control the primal urges that threatened to consume him.

His hands, which had been so commanding just moments before, now moved with a feather-light touch.

"I need to slow down," he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice strained with effort.

You placed a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch, “we can slow down, Bucky”, you whispered reassuringly, your eyes filled with concern.

Bucky's struggle was like a battle raging within him, the conflicting desires tearing at his very core. He was used to being in control, but with you, he felt a primal urge to let go, to surrender to the passion that threatened to consume him.

But he couldn't. Not yet. Not with you.

He looked into your eyes, his own filled with gratitude and longing. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice tinged with relief. "I just want to make sure I'm not pushing you too far, too fast."

He’d never cared for the women he’d taken to bed in the past. There was something about you, an innocence he wanted to preserve, but simultaneously fuck out of you, make it his own.

“I’m okay, I promise”, you reassured him.

“No…it’s me. I want to lose myself in you but… I won’t be able to control myself. I want to do this right”, he admitted.

You caressed his face with your hand, letting a silence fall over you and your husband. He traced circles on your bare skin with his fingertips.

Bucky's arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a warm embrace, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. Feeling the weight of the day finally catching up with you, you nestled into Bucky's embrace, allowing the rhythm of his steady breathing to lull you into a peaceful slumber.

Bucky drifted into a calm sleep, the calmest he’d had in months, until the shrill ring of his phone shattered the silence. Groaning, he fumbled for the source of the disturbance, his hand eventually finding the cold metal of his cell phone on the nightstand.

"Steve?" Bucky muttered, his voice thick with sleep as he answered the call, his mind struggling to shake off the fog of slumber.

"Yeah, it's me," Steve's urgent voice crackled through the line, cutting through Bucky's drowsiness like a knife. "We got a problem”.

Bucky sent a glance to your sleeping form, the sheets pooling around your waist, with your chest lifting rhythmically.

He ran a hand down his face and groaned, not wanting to leave you. “How bad is it?”, he asked, debating whether to throw the phone at the wall.

“Bad enough”, Steve replied grimly.

——————————

Taglist!

@casa-boiardi @winterslove1917 @writingpastmybedtime @thealyrs @kandis-mom @blackhawkfanatic @scott-loki-barnes @mrsevans90 @melsunshine

[just-some-random-blogger]

Safe Keeping | 2

Part 1 2 3

"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut (dub con, primal play, PIV, rough sex), emotional unavailability, The Hound being abrasive, canon typical casual misogyny, baby fever, typos, etc.

A/N: you guys, i dont want to edit the summary from p1 so i wont. also for future me here are the asks i got for this fic [x] [x] [x] which is like 🤯 cos i thought id get 5 notes on this tbh HAHAH originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds

I refused to leave my chambers when I woke.

Not only had I cried myself to sleep, but I had woken with puffy eyes and ended up crying all over again. I was glad that my doting handmaiden was so fiercely loyal to me. Lucy didn't think my weeping childish. She was understanding and eternally on my side. I am immensely grateful for it; I don't know what I would have done without her.

She helped me bathe and dress and eat, then entertained me with gossip from the servants. For a while that was enough.

As the day passed though, my thoughts muddled and left me restless. I could not do anything but obsess over the fact my husband left me after wifing me up.

"Do you think he will come back tonight?" I mutter as I stare blankly at my reflection on the mirror.

Lucy ceases combing my hair and takes my chin in her fingers. Paired with a hand on my shoulder, she silently urges me to straighten my back from my seat. I do just that. She smiles at me through the mirror, "my lady, if you wish it, I will look for him and make him come to you."

I release a breath, "don't be ridiculous."

"I am not being ridiculous," she sets the brush down, "I am being serious."

I feel my throat tighten. My lips quiver but I refuse to break down in tears again. I shake my head rapidly, unwilling to speak, for I knew I would crack if I did.

Lucy frowns in concern then kneels down on my side, grabbing my hand, "my lady, I would die for you."

I screw my eyes shut and break into a whine, "please-"

"I owe you my life," she clasps my hand with hers and brings it to her cheek, "you freed me from my chains. You clothed me, fed me, and showed me kindness none of my masters have ever shown me before," she looks up at me with a solemn expression then repeats, "I would die for you."

I shake my head and lean into her, "live for me, Lucy. I've forgotten what's it was like before you and I don't want to remember."

She kisses my hand and presses her forehead on mine before standing, "I shall do as you command."

She stands behind me and gathers my hair back. She strokes my locks and offers me a smile through the mirror once more. I smile back at her this time around.

The comfort she offers me finally seeps through me as she massages my shoulders.

"I pray the gods will swiftly bless me with a child so that I will have other things to do than await my husband so helplessly and forlorn."

"Well, you said that he pleasured you," Lucy tilts her head, "women who have not been pleasured still bea-

Lucy is cut off by the crashing open of the door. She and I both whip back, hearts in our mouths as we stare at our Lord Clegane, who was staring right back at us.

"What's wrong with you?" he demands. The metal of his armor clanks. I eye the one Lucy tidied to the side, the one I undid the night before, and turn back to him. His brown eyes look at me with such intense accusation.

I feel my hands tremble. I cannot for the life of me find the words to speak. 

What did he even mean? How could he ask me this?

"No one has seen you all day," he says, "have you not left this room once?'

"She 'asn't," Lucy snaps, "milady has been feeling-"

"I wasn't talking to you, wench," the Hound does not turn to her when he says this. His eyes are very much still fixed on me, "I'm talking to my wife."

My wife. I look away. That's right, all that I am now is forfeit to him.

I gasp and turn back when I hear him marching over. Lucy places a protective hand on my shoulder and I find myself cowering into her touch. I clench my jaw and gulp when he stops in front of me.

He gazes upon me for the longest second of my life. He furrows his brows, "what's wrong with your fa-"

I flinch when he reaches out to my cheek.

Instantaneously, Lucy tightens her grip on me and blocks him, and Sandor cuts himself off and recoils before he can even touch my skin. He steps a few paces back then clenches his hand as if he'd gotten burnt.

We both evade each other's gaze. Sandor's eyes finally land on Lucy, "has she been crying?"

Lucy's blood boils. She hisses, "yes," then harshly pronounces, "milord."

Sandor turns away and twitches. He rolls his shoulders back and stretches his hands. He knocks on his chest plate. He looks to no one when he asks, "are you hurt?"

Lucy takes no care in masking her scoff or sigh. I take her arm and she watches me shake my head disapprovingly.

I do not look at anyone when I reply either, "I cannot say I'm not... lord husband."

A thick silence builds in the room within a moment.

When I dare too look at the Hound, he is already looking at me and suddenly speaks, "leave us, wench."

I turn to Lucy. She does not move an inch.

I give her an urging shake, but she is steadfast in her spot. Our Lord Clegane turns to her and grinds his teeth, "you will find I do not make habit of repeating myself."

I shoot up from my seat when Lucy presses forward and quips, "and you will find that I will not allow you to treat milady like this."

"Lucy!" I admonish, yanking her back.

Lucy glares daggers at him as I attempt to pacify and persuade her to leave us. Her eyes do not leave him as I sweep her out the room. I instruct her to walk around the gardens for a while then close the door after.

I press my back against the wooden surface as I look back to the man I was now alone with.

Sandor watches me expectantly. I do not say a word, for I did not know what he wanted to hear.

He finally breaks the silence, "you walk well enough."

I am dumbfounded by his choice of words. I dare not respond when I feel my lips quiver; instead, I nod quickly.

Sandor deeply furrows his brows. He shifts on his spot and chances a step in my direction, "why didn't you come out your room then?"

I lick my lips and shake my head. I turn away from him and mutter, "do I appear like I am in the state to be walking around when I look like this?"

"Like what?" he draws nearer.

I whip my head, "THIS!"

Sandor stops in his tracks. He looks at me, expressionless, "this what?"

I scoff in disbelief, feeling tears immediately soak my face. I whisper, "look at me."

"I am, with both eyes."

"And you see nothing?" I mutter shakily, "feel nothing?'

"Should I feel something?"

My chest sinks; it feels like it's caving in. He might as well gut me and spit on my bones. I turn to my feet and wipe my cheeks, "no. I suppose not."

Sandor curses under his breath. He rips at his collar, suddenly feeling his armour weigh down on him. He feels unbelievably hot. He clears his throat, "it hurts."

I look up at him.

"It hurts the first time, usually," he clarifies, "or in times you're not wet enough." He nods, "you were wet enough."

My entire being burns at his words, at his nonchalance. My face is searing in embarrassment and shame.

I want to scream at him, want to hurtle into him and demand to know why he left me, why he was so removed, but then I find the answers in my head. It dawns on me that he acted carelessly because he didn't care. He didn't want this. He didn't want me. All of it was forced. And so I hold my tongue.

Instead, I calmly explain, "my hurt is not bodily, Sandor."

Sandor's stomach rolls at the sound of his name.

"I was," I turn to space between us, "hurt that you left me. And-" I shake my head as tears rush from my eyes, "I've realized now that it's wrong of me to be."

I put a brave face on in spite of my weeping and hold his stare. The man is as stoic and hard as ever. I scoff at myself for feeling this way.

"Worry no longer, Hound," I open the door, "I will not cause you trouble again."

I step back and make way for him to exit.

He looks at me for what feels like an eternity then marches out the door.

"And have you-"

Lucy and I gasp and turn at once.

"-named it yet, Lady Clegane?"

I chuckle guilty, "Lord Varys."

The man nods to me in regard, "good morrow to you."

I curtsy to him, as does my handmaiden. Lucy lifts her skirt as inconspicuously as possible in hopes to block what was behind her.

Varys catches this and waves his hands, "there be no need for that, my dear. The stray is an obedient one, isn't it?"

I share a look with Lucy before we step back and reveal the dog behind us. Daisy was panting and wagging her tail. She had her front paw bent, for it had been broken and healed that way. I had a maester examine it. In the end, he said it was pointless to put a split because it would not fix her leg and Daisy just kept chewing it anyway.

Daisy closes her mouth and sniffs the man.

"Ah," Varys smiles at the creature, "may I pet it?"

Lucy nods and eagerly explains, "she's Daisy; she is incredibly sweet, milord."

Varys cheerfully scratches the crown of the dog's head.

Though he laughs, my own face contorts into an opposite expression, "please make no note of it to my husband."

Varys looks at me exaggeratedly, as though he was offended.

I continue, "she makes me happy."

"One does not need to be told that to know," he presses his lips together. He links his hands, "I imagine you must be rather heavyhearted since the arrival of your womanly bleeding."

I drop my gaze upon hearing this. The master of whispers truly knew all. Lucy turns to me, then back to him, "milord, it's not proper to mention these things."

Varys measures my reaction before turning to Lucy, "yes. I suppose one such as myself has no business speaking of such things." He raises a finger, "still, if you should ever need assistance with that or your stray, know that my services are available to you, my lady."

I smile at him and nod, "I thank you for it, Lord Varys."

With that, he walks away.

"Do you think he will tell him?" Lucy asks as she grabs my arm.

I sigh and turn Daisy.

I've only had her for few days but she's given me purpose. I named her Daisy because she turned up from a bush of daisies while I read in the gardens. I was shocked, puzzled with how she got there, and a little scared she would bite me. When I noticed her injury, I figured she must be very weak and offered her food. She had my heart the moment she licked my fingers.

It was fate, I figured. I had not read in the gardens since the Hound berated me for it, and she came out of nowhere. When I imagine what would have happened to her if anyone else found her, I dread to think of the fact she could have been struck dead. The gods must have sent her to me, to remedy my sorrow and fill in for the absence of my Hound.

I was meant to save Daisy, and she was meant to save me.

I shake my head, "I'll have someone keep her tonight."

The Hound stops in his tracks when he witnesses what he does from afar. A blazing fury engulfs him as he watches two women walk away. The guard, who was spoken to, ogle their figures as they did.

Sandor laughs under his breath, but of course, nothing about this situation was funny to him.

He immediately charges when the guard is left alone, stupidly attending to an open crate-- he'll fucking bash it into his skull.

The guard goes back to his post and spots the approaching giant. At first, he is unfazed by the Hound but fear quickly finds him when he realizes he was heading straight for him.

He does not speak. The Hound simply grabs him by the chest plate, lifts him up and slams him on to the stone wall. He was angry-- worse, he was irrational.

"Why was she speaking to you?!" he snaps, "what business do you have with her?!"

The guard does not waste a second in spilling his guts, "Lady Clegane paid me to watch her dog!" He sounded like he was about to piss his pants.

"What?!" he seethes.

"The crate! The crate! There's a dog in the crate!" 

Sandor shoves him away and walks toward the crate. Lo and behold, the Hound sees the mutt, fur a light shade of brown, tongue out as it pant, right arm curled up.

He draws his sword.

Lucy and I head back to my chambers after eating supper. Our chattering is abruptly cut when he step in and see the Hound's hulking figure.

To say I am shocked is an understatement. I am terrified. He has not come to my chambers since the day after our wedding night, and now, here he was after Lord Varys confronted me. I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat, "my lord, I-"

"Don't you have one too many dogs now?" he growls.

Lucy is unable to hide the sound that leaves her mouth. My eyes begin to water as trepidation rips up my neck. I whisper, "Sandor."

Sandor flinches. He huffs, "what were you doing with it? You playing dolls with it, girl?"

"I saved her!" I explain with a shaky voice. "I fed her, gave her water-"

"Its leg is broken. You keep it in a crate. It's mercy for me to kill it."

Lucy gasps. My stomach drops and I run up to him, "no. Please. Please, tell me you didn't-"

I start when I see something move on the bed. I let out a shaky breath when a bark echoes in the room. I had never been more relieved to see Daisy than now.

Sandor growls, "OFF!" He marches to the bed and charges at the her. I shriek and grab his arm, holding him back. Of course, I nearly shoot forward for what was my strength against his? Still, he turns back to me and huffs. Daisy jumps down the bed and comes to my side.

Lucy grabs her and leads her to the corner of the room.

I continue to beg, "please, don't kill her. Please, I beg of you."

"You pay the guards to watch the mutt," Sandor yanks his arm away; the action hurts my hand. He seethes, "you're better off selling the bitch to a butcher as pig food."

I wail, "it was only this time! I have kept her with me since before." I drop to my knees, "please, I will ask nothing more of you," hot tears burn down all the way down to my chest. "I beg that you just let her live."

Sandor steps back and looks down at me. I can see how pathetic he thinks I am at this moment, and yet I find myself unable to care.

"You will ask me nothing more, aye?" he scoffs. His lips curl, "don't you want a child?"

My expression drops.

"You would rather save the bitch than have a babe?"

I am unable to speak. 

Why is he doing this to me?

"Well?!" he demands.

I screw my eyes shut when some of his spit sputters to my face. I turn to the floor, "she's been keeping me company in your absence. She's-"

"Ah, so that's why she feels so comfortable on the bed. You sleep with her."

I look up at him, about to explain that she sleeps on the floor and has never done that before. I do not have the chance.

"Well then keep your stray," he scoffs, "and have it fuck a babe into you."

The Hound storms off right after.

He grips his hand and his hilt as he marches away.

He should have killed it, he shouldn't have hesitated. The only reason he did was because it didn't flinch at his sword. The mutt was so dumb it had no fear. It even propped on the crate and tried sniffing the steel. Brainless.

His insides feel like they were boiling.

He knew the little girl would weep if he killed it, yet he didn't and there were tears anyway. He curses loudly. It reverberates in the hall.

He should have killed it.

Now it was too late.

"I see you make friends even with stray cats now, my lady."

I look over my shoulder after the cat I was petting runs off because of the voice. Lord Baelish comes up to me, sparing a quick glance to the orange feline that jumped down the wall. He turns back to me with a smile, "pardon me, Lady Clegane, I did not mean to frighten the kitty."

I shake my head, returning a soft smile. I wrap my arms around myself, still not entirely used to the light fabric and freeness of the dresses I've been wearing lately, "it's alright, my lord. The cats do not like people."

Baelish walks in front of me and smiles wider, "they must see you their goddess then."

I shake my head and give a soft chuckle.

"Where is your hound?" he asks.

I stiffen.

He clarifies, "I mean the one with the broken leg."

I release a breath and look out to the view, "I had my handmaiden bathe her."

"Mmm," Baelish looks out to the view with me, "thus why you sought the cats."

A breeze brushes past us.

I do not turn to him, but I know he turns to me. He speaks, "one such as you should not be left alone or unaccompanied."

"Why? Would you hurt me, Lord Baelish?"

He chuckles, "and risk getting mauled by the Hound? I would not."

I watch as a flock of birds fly overhead.

"Other things perhaps," he says.

I do not respond to him.

A moment passes with nothing but looking and silence.

I feel his hot breath when he sighs deeply, "I remember clearly the day I first met you."

Baelish speaks my first name and it's enough to finally make me to turn to him. In truth, my name sounds foreign to me. Who I was has been long overshadowed by Lady Clegane... or, more accurately, the Hound himself.

"You were a vibrant flower. Your fragrance wafted through the room the moment you stepped in," he says, taking one step closer. "Being around you was a privilege; conversing with you, a prize."

I blink at his words, taking in the lines of his face, "and now," I clasp my hands together, "I've withered away, have I?"

His Baelish-blue eyes appear to be solemn. My lips part when he takes my hands in his. He speaks under his breath, "you are more radiant than ever."

I do not move an inch.

"Take heart," he speaks my name again, "hounds are crushed under heels of goddesses."

I pull away from him and shake my head, "do not speak blasphemy with me."

He laughs, bringing his hands behind him, "ever devout and god-fearing." He raises an arm, "shall we part ways by the stables? I will be heading out of the keep."

I debate for a moment. Ultimately, I offer polite smile and decide to agree.

We walk with no sense of urgency. I never knew Petyr to be one for small talk, and so I am surprised that he asks me about my dresses. In truth, I really shouldn't have been.

"Your dresses are Dornish, are they not?" he raises a brow.

"Dornish-like," I clarify, "it was my usual tailor that made my new dresses. I feared if I asked a Dornish tailor for a modest silhouette, I'd be colder than I am now."

We share a soft laugh.

He shrugs, "the style suits you still," he smiles. "Undoubtedly, the Dornes would love to dress you in their more traditional clothing."

I purse my lips and raise my brows, "wouldn't you like that, Petyr?"

He chuckles, slightly in disbelief by the casual referral. He raises his hands, "I said the Dornes. I am not Dornish, my dear."

When we reach the stables, I stop in my tracks, not because we're about to depart, but because his words freeze me in my spot.

"Surely, our Lord Clegane finds it hard to keep his hands off you."

I do my best to stay neutral, to not give myself away. Baelish holds back a smirk.

"Wouldn't you like to know what me and Lord Clegane get up to?"

Baelish laughs, "if I'm being honest, I do."

I roll my eyes at him and nod dismissively, "farewell, my lord."

He nods back with a chuckles, "and you, my lady."

I promptly head to my chambers after this. As I walk on, however, I remember that another day has passed with me not seeing Lord Clegane. I am unsure if it was deliberate or coincidental, but it was the fact either way.

It had been a handful of days since my monthly bleeding passed. I was never a regular bleeder, and when it came this time around, it stayed longer than usual. I was glad with his absence then, in not needing to explain myself to my him. The moment it had finished, however, I expected I would at least see him once.

I did not.

This lead to my decision to be more... seductive.

And, well yes, or course, he yelled at me and told me to have my bitch fuck me instead-- truly, there was a large pit of dread in my stomach because of this, but people say a lot of things in anger, things they don't mean. He could not have meant that.

I rub my belly, willing the dread away.

I refuse to believe he meant that.

I suck in a breath and decide to head to the king's chambers.

Besides, I've been assured over and under that men really like making babies.

My breath hitches when I catch sight of the Hound, guarding the door. I see him do a double take when he spots me, and yet he gazes into space in the end.

"Good evening, my lord," I curtsy at him.

He grunts with exasperation, "what are you doing here?"

"I wanted," I measure my words carefully, "to request you not stay out late tonight."

The man turns his head fully to me, "what?"

I feel my throat itch. I clear my throat, "I was hoping that you come to my chambers before too late."

Sandor shifts in his spot. He eyes me up and down. I feel like I am being burned alive under his gaze.

He looks away and shifts back in place.

I open my mouth but I don't get to speak at all.

"Dog. Dog! Come inside, I-" King Joffrey calls but then ceases when he steps out of the room and sees me. 

I immediately curtsy, "my king. Good evening."

Joffrey raises a brow and demands to know why I'm here, referring to me by the house I was born into.

I offer him a smile, "I wanted to speak to my lord husband, your grace."

His face contorts in deep bewilderment. He opens his mouth and raises a finger, "why would you come h-" he turns to the Hound and stops himself. He breaks into a laugh. He laughs so hard that he clutches his stomach, "oh!" He wheezes, "oh, I've forgotten about that!"

King Joffrey calms down with a sigh. He from to his Kingsguard then to me, eyeing my attire. He chuckles under his breath as his eyes rake me down, "I see your wife has dressed to seduce you, dog." His looks up to my face, "or wouldn't that make you bitch?"

I do not respond for a moment, put on the spot by his malice, but then my wits finally meet me. I curtsy to the king, "I am what my king makes me to be."

Joffrey laughs airily. He shakes his head, "my, dog," he turns to his guard, "I've truly matched you well," he pats his shoulder plate, "too well, in fact."

He then retreats into his chambers, calling out as he did, "you're dismissed, dog. Breed your bitch as you like."

The door slams shut.

I release a breath once the king leaves, clutching my belly as I did so.

Sandor does not move an inch from his spot. He does not look at me.

I begin to get nervous all over again. I try, "husband?"

"You think I'll answer to your whistle just because you're dressed like a whore?"

My face hardens. I look away from him. I mean I expected as much.

I swallow the lump in my throat, "I only wanted to please you-"

He scoffs.

I look back at him, "I will dress more modestly if it is what you'd like."

"I'd like not to see you whoring around."

I am unable to withhold my scoff, "I am what my lord makes me out to be."

The Hound finally spares me a glance. I glare at him as I curtsy, "apologies for the impertinence." I turn on my heels and walk away. My anger and vexation gets the best of me. I cannot help but jeer, "if my dress angers you so, take it off me then."

Sandor shifts on his spot.

I continue down the hall.

His lips curl as he growls lowly, "run."

I do not hear anything but my own grumbling.

"Run, little girl!" he barks, making me jolt and turn back to him with a scowl. The irritation is apparent in my face as I stop at the end of the hall, "what?"

The Hound begins to march over. My heart races as I hear him warn, "run, if you know what's good for you"

I begin to shuffle back.

"I'll tear that shit off your body when I catch you."

I break into a sprint at the sound of his threat.

I don't look back. I heave heavily as I rush down the halls. I don't hear him chasing after me, though once I'm far, I see him treading fast as the times he's dragged me by the arm. My stomach flurries with anxiousness and regret.

When I reach my chambers, I mentally debate whether or not I should lock the door. I gulp at the idea of him breaking it down. I decide I do not want a memory such as that to be branded into my brain.

I gasp when he bursts into the room. I grip my skirts from the edge of the bed where where I sat.

The Hound locks the door before walking over to me. He grabs my shoulders and shoves me down on my belly.

I squeak when he grabs my skirts and rips it all the way up my ribs. He scoffs, "fucking parchment."

I hear him grab something by my vanity. I do not dare to look at him. I proceed to hear him undo his armor and his clothes.

I hear a pop. I yelp when he grabs my smallclothes and yanks them down. I groan into the cushions when I feel his fingers toy with my folds.

"Don' fink you nee' vis," he speaks like something was in his mouth. He pulls his hand away and suddenly the smell of my lavender oil assaults my senses. I hear a squelch. Something is thrown to my side; it's my vial.

I squeak when he grabs my hips. He sighs, "you're ready on your own." We both make noises when he begins to thrust into me. The Hound growls, "little girl likes to be chased."

I am shoved into the cushions. My entire body tenses.

"You want to dress like a whore," he taunts, "I'll fuck you like a whore."

His tempo is brutal and harsh. He does not relent or give me leeway. It's strange and shameful that my body even feels tingles of pleasure.

I cannot help the screams that rip out of my throat. Had I not been faced down on the cushion, I fear that I would have woken the dead.

I call out his name when he hoists my hips up. My toes could no longer touch the floor. He begins moving faster. My hands dig into the sheets. I feel my eyes water.

The Hound howls. He shoves me down and suddenly my feet are on the ground. He plunges deep, it makes my eyes roll back. His thrusts become increasingly irregular and after with a few more slaps, he stops.

I catch my breath, thanking the gods he's shown mercy.

I whine when I feel him pull away. I gulp and shift on my spot. I anticipate his next movements. I hear a rustle. I lift my head up and look back at him, confused by the sight of him tying himself up.

Was... was it done?

"Don't think to have that dress mended, girl," he pants as he grabs something from the floor. I roll on my back, feeling uneasy because of the wetness between my thighs. I watch him unlock the door and slam the door on his way out.

All hells were breaking loose. King's Landing was under attack, the castle was on fire, and Stannis Baratheon was winning.

All the women and children holed up in the queen's retreat chamber spilled out to gods know where.

My mind was racing, yet all I could think was: run, flee, Lucy, Daisy, Hound.

I was already running. I was already fleeing. I was doing both with Lucy in my grip. I had Lucy, but I did not have Daisy.

We were running up to my chambers. I left Daisy there, my poor Daisy. We were fleeing up the stairs in haste, sparing no time to catch a breath.

I had no idea what we were to do. We could bar the door, block it with our bed. Lucy and I could manage it, I think. Was it a good idea? Would it guarantee our safety? There was only one way we'd know.

I quickly open the door and lock it once Lucy and I are inside.

We take a moment to finally catch our breath. Lucy grabs my arms and I grab hers. I can feel her shaking. I rub her skin, "it will be alright. No harm will reach us here."

Lucy shakes her head, "milday, you and me both know that's not true."

My heart shatters when I catch the way her eyes water. "Shhh," I pull her into a hug, "have I ever failed you, Lucy?"

She seals her arms around me and whispers, "no."

"Nothing will happen to us," I rub her back, "I will protect you."

"And I, you," she pulls away, "as will Daisy," she wipes her tears before they fall, "and the 'ound."

We scream when we hear a voice in the room. We press our back against the wall and turn to the bed. A figure is sat on the floor by its side. What was said was, "your mutt is stupid."

Lucy and I clutch each other for dear life. I recognized that voice. I muster the courage to tiptoe towards the figure and breathe out shakily when I confirm the presence, "Sandor?"

The man turns to me as we walk up to him. Sandor had Daisy on his lap. She looked up and blinked at me before closing her eyes. She was being pet a bloody hand and did not mind at all.

"She was jumped on me when I walked in. She looked excited," he turns to Daisy, "stupid bitch. Anyone else would have chopped her up."

I find myself releasing a breath of relief. Here now was Daisy, and Hound. I had nothing left to think about.

I walk up to him, kneeling on his side. He turns to me. I examine his face, dirtied and bloodied, "are you hurt?"

He looks at me for a moment. I watch him slowly raise his hand. He cautiously touches my cheek. I clutch his wrist in my hands. He swipes his thumb on my skin, "save your tears." I didn't even know I shed them. "None of the fuckers got close enough to try."

He draws his hand back. He grunts as he gets to his feet. Daisy moves back, wobbling on her three legs; I move back too.

"Take your valuables," the Hound grunts, "we're fucking leaving."

I pull my head back. I watch the man survey the room.

Lucy runs up to my side and she wipes my cheek with her skirt. She watches the red collect on the fabric and wonders who it belonged to. She wagers it's not from her lord.

I shake my head in confusion as Sandor grabs a satchel and stuffs my jewelry in it, "I don't understand. Aren't you going to fight?"

"Fuck the fight," he quips as he shoves objects down and raids through the drawers and closets.

Lucy finishes wiping my face. I walk off and grab all my hidden pouches of gold. I hand it to Sandor, "what about the king?"

"Fuck the king," he takes the pouches and stuffs it into the bag, "fuck him especially."

Sandor then chucks the satchel to Lucy, who grunts when she catches it.

"The stupid fuck's done nothing but fuck around," he picks up Daisy, propping her front legs on his shoulder, "no good thing's come from that fuck." He takes me by the hand and mumbles, " 'cept for one."

He releases me only to unlock the door and hold me again. He does not let me go until we reach the outside of the keep.

The whole lot was in disarray; dead bodies, debris, and fire littered the scene. He hands me Daisy, and I struggle slightly to carry her, considering she was not a small breed. He walks not too far off and brings a wandering horse over.

It's a wonder we do not encounter anyone on this side of the castle, more so that we find a horse.

Sandor takes Daisy and puts her down before helping me mount the steed. My stomach rolls with how his touch lingered on my thigh once I was on.

Next, he took the satchel from Lucy and handed it to me. He then eyed her when she stepped forward, as if debating whether or not he wanted to bring her along. Before she or I could speak up about it, Sandor is already helping her climb up behind me. Lucy takes the satchel from me and eyes him after. He rolls his eyes.

He picked up Daisy and tried handing her to me. However, she struggled too much and could not fit in my arms, so he cursed and threw her back onto his shoulders. He grabbed the horse's reins and started walking.

"Fucking bitch, fucking wench, fucking horse, fucking war, fucking-"

[bunny-jpeg]

girl's place - simon "ghost" riley

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader rating: 18+ summary: You remembered playing with matches as a child. You also remembered playing with lighters as a teenager that was paired with the occasional shoplifting. You weren't a problem child, but you had you niches of delinquency.

And somehow you ended up in the military. While most were in active duty, you found comfort on base working in the offices. Most of the day was spent filing paperwork. But unlike most of your fellow soldiers, you had a shadow. Or perhaps a ghost.

If the military didn't scrub away the delinquent behaviour that lingered from youth, Simon Riley made sure you were next to saintly.

tags: pwp, power dynamic, rough sex, punishment, spitting, spanking, degrading, a touch of misogyny (aka a lot of it), mean!ghost, breeding kink

a/n: okay, i want to apologize to feminism...

join my discord! (18+)

You remembered playing with matches as a child. You also remembered playing with lighters as a teenager that was paired with the occasional shoplifting. You weren't a problem child, but you had your niches of delinquency.

And somehow you ended up in the military. While most were in active duty, you found comfort on base working in the offices. Most of the day was spent filing paperwork. But unlike most of your fellow soldiers, you had a shadow. Or perhaps a ghost.

If the military didn't scrub away the delinquent behavior that lingered from youth, Simon Riley made sure you were next to saintly.

-

You knew you were in trouble the moment you stepped foot in your ghost's quarters. Simon was there in his baklava, a tank top that showed off all the toned muscles of his arms, and uniform pants. It was probably as casual as he could get.

He was reading something you didn't get the title of before he put it down and rose from his desk. You could see the assortment of weapons, mainly knives on the desk. It made you swallow nervously.

  ”Hello, love.“ He said as he approached you. He was so much bigger than you, not only in height but in sheer size. It always put him in the more domineering position.

  ”Hello, Simon.“ You replied.

You could feel his smile under the mask. You shifted from one foot to another. He took you by the chin and made you face him.

  ”A little birdie told me that you've been misbehaving.“ He tilted his head to the side, “You know how I feel about bad girls.“

Your eyes darted in another direction, ”It wasn't even that bad.“

He chuckled softly, ”Getting a little too aggressive with the new recruits is quite bad. I heard a few had to go into the infirmary.“ He paused for a moment, ”You should be in your office doing your paperwork. Not training the new men. You're simply too small.“

  ”I'm not that small.“ You tried to correct it.

He replied, ”If not small then weak. If they got a good right hook in then I'd have to go kill someone.“ He then added, ”Look at me when I'm talking to you.“

You had no choice but to look at him once more. He stroked your cheek with his thumb, then pulled his mask up which was followed by him leaning down for a kiss. He further invaded your space and made you feel smaller. Weaker, even.

You moaned into the kiss, it was firm. But not wet and messy. He wrapped his other arm around you and pulled you close to him. With your bodies pressed together, you could feel his erection in his uniform pants.

  ”Simon.“

  ”It's sir tonight. You don't get the privilege of using my name when you're being a stupid girl.“ He growled. He really didn't like you out of the office and possibly in the line of danger.

You whimpered in response and you leaned into him for another searing kiss. You wrapped your arms around  him and kept your eyes closed as you kissed him. You whimpered when his grasp tightened once more.

When he pulled away and put the mask back up. Those hard eyes stared down at you. He waited for a moment before he reached behind you and grabbed the meat of your ass.

  ”Now are you gonna be a good girl, or stand there?“ You could tell he was raising his eyebrows. He used both hands to grab at your ass, then he left a quick smack across the cheek. “Get to it.”

You scurried to the desk and pulled down your pants. Which left you bottom half bare except for the pretty pink panties you wore. A drastic difference between the uniform pants you wore and the delicate underwear that was underneath them.

But only he knew you wore them. You said they were comfortable, but he believed that it was because you liked to tease him. The little secret you shared.

He was close behind. And from behind you, he grabbed your throat and pulled the panties down to your knees. He then guided you forward. Some of the paper on the desk was shoved to the edges to make room for you. You felt a heat run through you as you were manhandled.

It was him trying to send a message, you were simply a weak little girl. And you had to listen to the much bigger, stronger man. Even when he tried to teach you this lesson, it never seemed to stick. You were dead set on defying, Simon.

Such a silly girl.

He kept his hand on your throat, the calloused fingers remained firm on your skin. Not enough to bruise you, but enough to keep you in your place. Once again, a reminder.

He was the dominant one in the relationship. The one who wore the 'pants'. You didn't have to worry your little head about anything while he was around.

You just had to sit there and go 'yes, sir'. And let him fuck you silly once in a while.

  “You've been a bad girl, lovie.” He said in your ear, “You go around with your head held high. You think you're above it all, that you are Miss Wonder Woman who can do it all.” He chuckled darkly in your ear, “But I know better.”

You swallowed, “Simon.”

  “No, no.” He said, “I know you better than yourself. You've been told your entire life that you can do anything you put your mind to. That you're unstoppable. No man can clip your wings.” He slapped your ass, the sound filled the room.

You let out a whimper.

  “I know what you want. Tired of proving yourself. Tired of fighting to be the top dog. I'm pretty sure if I told you I bought us a little place in the country, you'd have your bags packed by the count of four.“ His voice was low, in contrast with the loud noise of his slaps.

Your cheeks grew warm from his words. Inside of you there was a war waging between him being right and him being wrong. But you'd never admit to him that he was right. You'd branish your teeth and prove your worth till he fucked the drive out of you.

  ”You know I'm right. You'd be in the car by the count of ten.“ He chuckled once more, ”Living out in the country, away from this. You'd be my wife, my little doll I kept safe at home. No need to play with the big boys when you can play house all day. Isn't that what most women want?“

  ”No.“

  ”Liar.“ He laid another slap on your ass, ”You know I hate liars.“ His voice was laced with venom, a hot rush went through you as he tightened his hold on your throat a little more.

  ”I enjoy my job.“

  ”But you'd enjoy raising my brats more.“ He replied.

The thought of him breeding you made your stomach flip and your pussy grow wetter. You felt flushed in the apples of your cheeks as he continued to swat at your ass.

He kept you pinned in place, he knew that he held power over you. You were just a dumb little girl trying to play with the big boys. But he knew better.

He laid a few more smacks across your ass as he continued his dirty talk. He wanted to make you as flustered as possible before he put you in your place.

  ”Poor little girl who never got the attention she needed, comes crawling to the biggest man on base and has him fuck all the girl power shit outta her. Makes her a dumb little doll droolin' on my cock. You should be at home makin' me dinner.” His voice was hot. It left you  trembling.

You tried to form a comeback but your mind drew to a blank. Your heart was racing and your ass was sore. You felt your body tremble from the situation you found yourself in. If your head was clearer you would've fought back with whatever he said. But instead you were second guessing yourself if he was right.

  “Yeah, you know I'm right, girlie.” His voice was dangerous and low again. He could probably hear your heartbeat, “Ra ra girl power cannot kill the idea that your place is between my legs, in a home I bought, raising the kids I put in ya.”

  “Simon.”

  “Don't start. You'll never win. So accept it, let me be the big strong man. You can be the cute little homemaker I fill up every evening.” He purred as he massaged your ass cheek with his strong hand, “Pretty girls like you should be kept dumb. Keep ya young.”

You let out a small whimper as you felt him grab into the muscle of your ass. His grip was hard and left you trying to buck away from him. But from the grip on your throat, you weren't going too far.

  “I could take you out.” You gave one last ditch effort to prove him wrong. You were stubborn like that. Like when you were told to stop playing with matches. When someone told you 'no', you doubled down.

He squeezes your throat once more and pushes you down onto the desk. Not hard enough to knock a tooth out, but enough to physically put you in your place. He laughed. It came from deep in his chest. Your comment HUMORED him. He leaned over you, his clothed cock up against your back. He was dangerous now, “Stupid little girl. They all think like that, but yet I'm still here. Everyone thinks they can kill a ghost. But not even a man could do it. What makes you think a silly little girl would be able to? I bet if I fucked you hard enough, you'd forget how to even hold a gun.”

You swallowed and squirmed under his rough touch, “Fuck you.”

  “Oh no, girlie. I'm going to fuck you. And I'm going to make sure that it all takes. Hard to be on the field when you got two little Riley boys inside of ya.” It was almost  a threat.

And yet you were aroused.

He rubbed his cock up against your ass more. Some of the wetness from your pussy smeared against the front of his uniform pants. He shuddered in response, he too was getting aroused.

He had you by the back of the neck now to keep you pinned to the wood of the desk. Under his rough touch, where you belonged.

  “I know you better. I know you want that kind of life. I know you hate this, that's why you're always actin' up. So I punished you, the only one who'll stand up to you. Maybe I should breed ya sooner rather than later. Leave you all achy and sore because my brats won't give you a moment of peace. Then you leave the army and move somewhere quiet to raise the hellions. But we're not stopping at two.” He let go of you to undo his pants, “I'm thinkin' closer to five. Something to keep your hands full.”

You stayed still as he got his impressive cock out his pants. You trembled as he rubbed it up against you, occasionally brushing against your pussy. You whimpered pathetically, which only made him chuckle.

   “Stupid girl.” He said.

  “Please.” You whimpered.

He smirked under the mask, “You'll learn.” Then with one hand on your neck and the other on his cock. He guided his length into your sweet sex.

You tensed up and shifted as best as you could to make the stretch more bearable. It still stings every time. It felt like it pushed your organs into your throat. Especially when he was battering your poor cervix.

He groaned, it came from deep in his chest as he felt your tight heat around his cock. It felt so good. It was a rush he couldn't find anywhere else.

  “See, a nice hole to fuck. A nice womb to breed. Now stay there and let me do all the work. Just try not to wake up the whole base by being a loud mouth whore.” His voice stung but it only made the slick between your legs grow.

Simon was something else in the bedroom. When he had you under his thumb like this. You felt your eyes roll back a little from the sheer force of his thrusts.

  “Fuck.” You moaned.

  “That's it, that's my girl. My good girl. See you don't have to be runnin' around like a lost puppy. You just need me to fill your holes and make ya feel good.” His voice was low and gruff. It made you hot all over.

  “Please, Simon.” You arched your back as his pace became brutal. You clawed at the wood of the desk and felt his hard cock bully against the end of your pussy.

 “I wanna mark ya, inside and out.” He said, “Keep ya nice and fat with my kids.” He chuckled as he pulled the mask up once more and began to kiss at your neck. His hands were on your breasts over your shirt.

He toyed with them, large hands massaged them. You let out a small noise from the tiny bit of pain he caused you. You arched your back more and held onto the desk tighter.

The sounds of sex filled the air between you two as he fucked you bareback. He was so domineering, so strong that it made you a little weak in the knees.

  “You're mine, lovie. Mine to fuck, breed, own.” He grunted, “No need to think with that head of yours when you got kids to chase down. At home, safe and sound. Where you belong.”

You whimpered and tried to come up with a response. But it was near impossible to come up with something when it felt like his cock was nudging up against your broca area in your head.

  “Please.”

He chuckled darkly, “That's what I thought. Good girl.” He continued his rough pace. The desk creaked under the both of you as he held you tightly against him. His hands grabbed at your breasts further.

You wondered how dark the bruises would be on your chest.

  “I can't get enough of you. That's why I have to keep ya safe. Keep you bred like a good girl, you'd like that wouldn't ya.”

  “Simon, ah!” You whimpered as you felt pleasure course through your body. You felt trapped between his thick body and the heavy wood of the desk as he battered against your womb.

He kissed your neck once more, “You'd look so good. Knowing I take care of everything. You just have to sit there and look pretty. Cook me some meals, put the kids to bed and stop this little goal of being the best.”

You swallowed. When he praised you like this, when you behaved you were his good girl. When he was able to soak your insides with his cum, you were his favorite girl.

He'd only breed a good girl. Not the delinquent you once were. He wanted a proper wife, who'd raise his kids RIGHT. He watched your back arched and came to the conclusion that you COULD behave.

You just needed a full womb first to reach your potential.

The two of you continued to fuck. You let out small moans as your body was used like a toy. Simon made sure to make you feel good even if it felt like he was moving your stomach into your throat.

  “Good breedin' girl.” He purred, “I make you good, silly girls like you need to be kept bred so you keep out of trouble. But don't worry, I'll make that happen. Nothing won't fix ya like a couple of kids and a big house.”

You whimpered and he turned your head to him so you could passionately make out. He rutted against you and your body screamed for him.

You gasped into the kiss as he grabbed your hips one more time. The sound of the desk scratching against the floor mixed with your noises and the general noises of sex was all you could hear in the room.

  “Please.” You moaned. You had been told your entire life that you could do anything. That you were invincible. Nothing could stop a powerhouse like you. As Simon said, ra ra girl power. But a part of you deep in your core wanted to be a dumb little housewife, servicing a husband and keeping the babies taken care of.

You moaned into the kiss once more before he pulled away and grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head back. He leaned in and took in your scent.

  “I want to ruin you for other men.” He said honestly. His own primal urge to breed with the little girlie hanging around the base.

If he didn't breed you and kept you taken care of, then a worse man would. One who didn't know every inch of your skin, or didn't understand what your true intentions in life were.

But he'd take care of you, that was a promise. Nothing was going to stop him from taking what was his. And if he kept your womb nice and painted, then no other man could do it. He'd make sure you reeked of his cum at all times.

  “Ah!” You gasped.

  “Good girl.” He purred.

You felt pleasure begin to run through your body. Your body ached for him. Your legs trembled as he continued to thrust deep into you. It was a good kind of pain, the kind that left you panting.

  “Fuck.” He grumbled, “Fuckin' good girl for me.”

  “Please, Simon. Ah! Breed me.“ You groaned in response. The feeling was becoming overwhelming and left you in a state of euphoria.

You two panted and groaned as your bodies moved together. You held onto the wood and let him do as he wished with your body.

After all, he knew better.

With a few more hard thrusts, you both finished at the same time. You could feel his hot cum deep in you. You whined as you went flat against the desk, your brain felt like it had broken in half from the intense feeling.

Simo slowed down and laid on the last smack on your ass before he pulled the mask down. He held your hips and gave one last push inside of you to make sure it was all inside of you.

He chuckled and pulled out, ”Good girl.“ He said, ”Now take it all and make me a few brats. If not, we'll just keep trying'.“

His breathing was heavy as he pulled you away from the desk and got your underwear over your ass. THe drips of cum that spilled out made a dark patch on the front of the panties.

Your head was in a daze, your hair a mess. You couldn't even keep your mouth fully closed. He pushed back your hair and pulled you into his arms.

  ”Alright my stupid little wife, why don't you come back to your senses before I send you out.“ His hand dipped back into your pants as he played with your clit.

Maybe he'd need to take you a few more times before it all took? That didn't sound like a bad idea. Keep you out of the office and in his bed till there was no choice but for you to get pregnant.

A shiver ran through him at the thought. He agreed with himself. That did sound like a good idea.

Anything to keep his dumb little girl nice and bred.

xoxo, bunny

[radio-writes]

I Don't Know if I'm Real Without You

— Part 2 of 2 (Read Part 1 here: What is Left of Me Without You)

Synopsis: He didn't love you, but he needed you—that's what he said, at least. He needed you to show him just how deep your devotion to him really was.

Warnings: abusive relationships, power imbalance, some misogyny, heavy manipulation, gaslighting, murder and violence, physical injury to reader, major character death(s), angst

Tags: married, one sided romantic love, Alastor x Reader, female!reader

MDNI

"Why, just the other day a green fuzzy caught sight of another stiff by the river! Poor green egg went green in the face!" A laugh track followed the voice on the radio.

Alastor sat on the couch as he riffled through his briefcase, making sure he had everything he needed today.

"What poor taste," You commented absentmindedly from behind him. "Is that really any way to start off a Sunday morning?" 

Alastor let out a distracted hum at your words. He hadn't really been paying you much mind. A lazy smile simply played on his face.

Just one body? Seems they missed the other two friends it had in there.

"Well, it takes talent to entertain, my dear. Something these hacks clearly lack," He said casually, waving a hand at the radio's direction. 

"And speaking of stiffs! We've got a fresh one today, folks—" The host's voice was chipper as it came from the radio.

Alastor sat a little straighter, as if on instinct.

"Darling, do you mind fetching my script?" Your husband spoke over the hack radio host. "Seems I might have forgotten it in our bedroom." 

"Not a problem, dear," You replied almost instantaneously. Your hand landed on his shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze before you left the room. 

Alastor stood up, cooly making his way towards the radio as he turned the volume down slowly. 

"Glue stuffed in his mouth, chilled off, and absolutely tattered by nails, people! Brutal new body found behind the local—not so secret—juice joint!" The radio continued, but Alastor's smile remained calm despite the gruesome news.

His eyes stayed at the doorway you left through, making sure you had actually gone.

There was no need to sully your little ears with useless chatter like this. You were much more use to him all oblivious and naive, so he'd prefer to keep you that way. 

When the radio host finally finished talking about his the most latest victim, Alastor turned the volume back up to how it was. He made his way back to the couch, hands gathering his script neatly into his hands from the top of his briefcase.

He chuckled to himself before calling out to you. "Never mind, dear! The little bugger was at the bottom of my case this entire time!" 

He wasn't the type to forget these things. He was always so organized, sometimes to a fault.

And you knew that.

And Alastor knew that you knew that.

But he wasn't worried. You'd never doubt him. Whatever pesky little thought you had related to him, you'll just brush off easily.

He'd made sure of that.

Alastor heard you playfully scold him, your soft laughter rung through his home.

"—I guess you can say he really nailed that Chicago overcoat!" The annoying little shit on the radio joked just as you entered the room.

Alastor spared it one quick glare before his sight fell on you once more. You didn't seem to care for the joke much, but your eyes did linger on the dials of the radio for a second too long Alastor thought.

"Does the radio seem a bit louder to you, Al?" You asked him.

Ah, he must have turned it back a tad bit too far.

He looked at you with faux confusion. "'fraid I don't know what you mean, dear. Why would it be louder?" He stood up, closing the briefcase in front of him and straightening out his collar. "But I do have to split now, darling, or the ol' big cheese would have my head."

Your eyes met his warm chestnut ones. Alastor could practically see the way you brushed away your silly concerns in your head, a soft smile once again gracing your lips. 

He knew you were confused as to why his boss supposedly needed him at work on a Sunday.

He knew you wanted to ask why.

He knew that, at least some part of you, didn't fully believe that he was headed off to the radio station. 

If you were smart you'd have listened to it.

But you were his wife. 

So you simply nodded in understanding, moving closer to where Alastor stood. You made to grab for the suit jacket that still hung on his arm but the tall man was quick to pull it high above your reach.

"Not so fast there, darling." He teased, smiling down at you.

"It's cold out, dear. I'll help you put your coat on," You insisted, small, delicate hands reached up for the jacket.

Alastor stepped back from you, briefly tapping his fingertip against your nose. "And who said I was in any hurry to cover up this lovely new shirt my wife got for me?" He teased, snapping the suspenders he wore against the crisp white shirt.

He simply adored it when he made heat color your soft cheeks. He loved seeing proof of his effect on you.

His eyes drifted to the clock behind you, his smile straining just a tiny bit when he realized what time it was.

He'd miss his mark if he wasted any more time here.

"In any case, darling, I really do have to dash," He smiled back at you, already heading towards the door before you could say anything else. "But do keep yourself free, baby. I'll be back before you know it." He shot a wink at you.

He grabbed his hat from the coat rack and plopped it neatly on his head, then he was out the door in a second. 

Alastor let out a short, tired breath.

Sometimes, he did find your love to be a bit tiring. But he supposed, at the moment, it was still worth much more than the hassle it caused him.

He hurriedly strolled down the street, smiling and greeting everyone that passed by him politely. His ego stroked just a little bit with every flustered dame.

He didn't care for any of them, but he never grew tired of knowing the charming effect he had on people.

Alastor tried to clear his head of you as he hopped into a taxi. He laughed as the cabby recognized him almost immediately, but he didn't pay the man any mind as he yapped about how much of a fan he was.

Instead, he found that his thoughts have annoyingly strayed back to you. He's found that you've been so persistently present in his mind lately.

One would think that sounded so romantic, that he was a cold man finally falling for a sweet little thing.

But in reality he was weighing his options.

You've always been so behaved, so meek.

He found you endearing, that much was true.

You were great company, after all. You loved the same music he did, kept up with his dancing, and sang so beautifully along whenever he tickled the ivory keys.

You dressed up to compliment his style, even if it wasn't to your comfort. Smiled at all the wretched people, even as they gossiped behind your back. Perfectly prepared and happily ate every dish he liked, even stranger ones you found hard to stomach.

Because you shaped yourself to be his partner. You did everything and anything that you could to gain his approval.

And that was indeed endearing. The lengths you went to, just to hear a simple praise from him.

Alastor used to wonder if there was ever a limit to it, but as the times flew by he realized you were just too happy to rewrite even your own logic just to stay by his side.

And it was also true that you were a brilliant cover.

As a taken man, there were much less people prying into his life as opposed to when he was an eligible bachelor. And no odd rumors ever spread about him thanks to how behaved you were.

People saw him as soft, gentle, caring. Because a violent, murderous, psycho could never keep a delicate little thing like you as his wife, could he?

Yes, you definitely had your perks. That much he already knew.

But you've been so restless lately. So oddly, insistent on being by his side more. 

He'd tried to talk it out of you. Whispered how he was so lucky that you weren't like other wives. How you trusted him and respected his space. How you didn't nag him like a terrible partner would.

And it worked...for a while.

Until you've been fixated on getting the darn basement door open, at least. Somehow, you had it stuck in your brain that opening that stupid lock would have proved your worth to him.

You've been visiting that mug of a shopkeep at the locksmiths so often that Alastor just simply had to get rid of him already. He returned the useless tools he sold you last time too of course. He didn't quite like others making a fool out of what was his.

Only he could do that.

The cab stopped by a rather classy bar, the driver letting out a low whistle, going on about how they also wished that they could live up the big life.

Alastor tipped him generously, bidding him a great day as he stepped out.

He tossed his jacket on quickly before he adjusted his bowtie in the reflective glass window of the building. This was, he thought, his second favorite part of it all.

For such a detached man, Alastor loved many things.

He loved meeting his victims for the first time in person. The thrill of so many eyes on him as he clasped their clammy palms in greeting.

He loved talking to them, watching their eyes light up as he mentioned what they wanted the most. That moment where he knew he had hit the nail on the head and found out exactly what made these scum tick.

He loved using it against them, luring them to a false sense of security.

And, his absolute favorite part, he loved dragging the sharp edge of his knife against the skin of their necks. The lovely shade of red bleeding down their stiffening bodies.

He just can't help but love—

"My darling?" A voice—your voice—rung out in the dark alley. 

There wasn't time. There was no time to hide the body, toss the knife, flee from the scene.

There was no time to come up a with a story, a lie, a cover.

Because you were right there, standing in the alley with him. His blood stained hands and the corpse by his feet plainly in your view.

Even with the blood smudged on the lenses of his glasses, he could see the fear in your eyes, the gears turning in your head as you tried to process the scene in front of you.

It's a real shame. Earlier today he had decided that you still had more purpose to serve him. That he could still put up with you. That he would still be able to stomp out whatever stubborn will riled you up lately.

Clearly that wasn't the case anymore.

"Now, now, dearest," He started, hand reaching out to you as he held the knife still in his hand.

Your feet moved, but to Alastor's shock you ran to him.

Your panicked eyes took in the violent red that stained the pristine white shirt as you took his outstretched hand in both of yours.

"We should go," You hurriedly whispered, fearful eyes met his confused ones. "You can't be seen here."

You tugged him along the streets, careful to keep yourself in front of him as you tried to hide most parts of him stained with red.

Alastor's eyes were wide, his long legs working on their own as he tried to understand what exactly was happening.

"Dearest?" He whispered to catch your attention. "I just chopped off a man, you know that, right?" 

Your steps didn't falter as you hurried along, but you didn't turn your head to look at him either.

"Yes," You responded. The tight knot against your throat kept you from saying anything more.

"I sliced his throat open," Alastor continued to prod more. "His blood is all over me, in fact."

You whip your head around in urgency. You meant to shut him up. You meant to warn him not to talk so loud, that you couldn't be too sure who could be around to overhear.

But when your fearful eyes met his calm, warm, sweet, ones you ended up swallowing against your dry throat. Adorning a shaky smile instead.

"And I'm sure you did it to keep yourself safe, dear." You said, although it seemed as though you were trying to convince yourself of that.

It was as if a light bulb lit up in Alastor's head. He finally understood what was happening. He fought against his own body to keep himself from smiling as he stared into your uncertain eyes.

"I knew you'd understand," He feigned a sigh. His hand, that was previously unresponsive in yours, curled its fingers to hold onto you. "I knew I would be safe with you, my darling wife."

Alastor noted the way your stiff shoulders slacked at his words. As if you were waiting for his praise; as if you were waiting for that little bit of confirmation to fully push away all those pesky, silly, little doubts you held.

As if you were begging to have the slightest bit of reason to cling onto, to prove that there was no cause to leave your spot beside him.

"If anyone asks," You said softly, your hand reached out to wipe away the little bit of blood on his cheek. "I'll tell them you came home early to me. You did promise that you would come back quickly, anyway."

Alastor smiled down at you, letting himself lean into your touch as you seemed to love it when he does. "I am so lucky that you love me, doll."

You continued to lead him down the streets, sticking to less lit areas as you did so.

Alastor couldn't stop the grin from spreading widely across his face.

Because you did love him. You loved Alastor with all your sanity it seemed, but he was, unfortunately, far too happy to take advantage of that.

It was a huge weight off his shoulders really. 

Alastor enjoyed the hunt, the kill, but the clean up? Not so much.

While yes, he did enjoy tricking people into eating up his stories, misdirecting them this way and that, silently mocking how clueless they were. It was still such a pain to have to constantly make sure his stories were air tight. 

He didn't have to do that anymore, though. Not when all his darling wife had to do was smile shyly at people and hint that he was back home all night busy with more usual pleasures.

It wasn't even that hard to convince you to let him stay out late, hunt to his heart's content.

It was all just bad, terrible people. Scum of the earth. Dangers that could hurt you, or others. And Alastor, the dashing, selfless, secret knight in shinning armor was willing to dirty his hands if it meant keeping people safe. He'd taken on the burden so everyone else didn't have to.

Your husband, a great, tragic hero.

And besides, it's not like he asked you to kill someone. All you had to do was lie a little. Nothing grand, nothing elaborate—he wasn't so sure you'd be able to handle it after all—just smile, and hint, and spread a few insignificant white lies. 

It was easy enough, wasn't it?

And your little love for him did everything else. Your own lovesick mind fought your instincts without Alastor even doing much of anything else.

You convinced yourself so quickly that all this blood, all this violence, all this murder, just made your husband an even greater man.

Ah, he truly did love the way you loved him.

You were with him now down in the basement—Alastor conveniently finally figured out how to open the stubborn padlock—and if he was being honest, he never really imagined you joining him here.

Well, not alive anyway.

You watched him as he neatly packed the most latest body into a bag and burn the gloves he used during the act. Going through his simple routine to make sure he could continue to get away scot-free.

Alastor noticed how your eyes always averted from the corpses, insistent on staying on his form instead. He didn't really mind it, but oh did he enjoy that little spark of fear you worked hard to stomp down whenever your glance landed on a limb or two. 

He heaved the bag over his shoulder, before finally fully turning to you. "Well, let's get a move on, shall we, darling?" He smiled cheerfully, motioning with his arm for you to head up the stairs first.

You were glad to do so it seemed, you always were. You didn't have to watch your husband dispose of bodies, but Alastor found it rather cathartic how you've now started to cringe away from the basement door, after weeks of pestering him over opening it.

A little lesson, he thought. Well deserved. 

And look how behaved you were now again.

The walk to the nearby woods was uneventful. Silent. Routine.

Unlike the first time around he dragged you along. You kept wondering and wondering until you finally asked out loud how Alastor knew the streets so well. How he knew where to go where no one would see him. The man you saw him kill was the first one, wasn't he?

He laughed at your unsure smile, brushing your worries off with the flimsiest excuses. How he'd been home late so many times already because of work. How he just preferred to take the quieter roads so as to decompress from all his adoring fans—fans who weren't you.

And it was enough.

Because you foolishly trusted him. You wanted to believe him, and so you did.

Alastor hummed cheerfully as he continued to shovel dirt over his most recent victim. He was certainly far enough into the woods not to care too much about being overheard, anyway.

A sudden soft beeping noise joined his melody, and he looked down at his—rather expensive—watch.

"Would you look at the time! I hadn't realized it was already so late. Time surely flies when you're saving the world, right, darling?" He looked over his shoulder at your unsure form.

You stood hunched over, your back against a tree, and your arms wrapped around yourself, a fair distance from the man burying a body.

Your eyes avoided the hole in the dirt as you painted a strained smile on your face. 

Saving the world.

Alastor could practically see the way you tried to remind yourself that that is what your husband was doing.

"It's hard to keep track when you've got a lot do," You vaguely answer, choosing your words carefully.

It's not that you worried Alastor would do anything to you. But you were, unknowingly, cautious of any single thing that could trigger any more silly concerns within yourself.

Alastor hummed in response, his eyes staring at the mangled corpse he threw in the ditch. "They'll be looking for me at work if I don't show up soon, though." He thought out loud. "But I can't exactly leave this rotten stiff like this, can I?"

He sounded troubled. He looked troubled, with that wrinkle between his brow.

A good wife would soothe him.

A good wife wouldn't stand around watching her spouse do all the hard work.

He didn't need to say it though, not that he had any mind to. You heard his voice in your head regardless. 

Your timid, unsure voice spoke up. "I...I could stay behind and continue burying it?" It sounded like a question.

One that it seemed like you hoped the answer was no. 

Except you'd be a horrible wife for thinking that. You should be praying that he'd say yes.

After all, a good wife would do anything to help her husband.

Alastor froze for a second, his eyes catching yours from above his glasses before he adjusted them up his nose. 

Then you were rewarded with a smile.

"My darling wife, always so helpful," He cooed, walking towards you. He dropped the shovel to the ground and wrapped his arms around your waist, almost lovingly.

Alastor could feel how fast your heart beat in your chest, almost fighting to get out. "But I could never ask a lovely doll like you to do such a dirty job like this." He tsked as he looked down at you.

"I can handle it, my dear," You responded, eyes bright with stars at his praises. It was almost as if you'd forgotten what exactly it was you were agreeing to.

Alastor pretended to think for a moment, but his eyes caught sight of the watch on his wrist and decided he didn't exactly have time to enjoy playing with you more.

"Only if you promise not to get caught, my darling." He smiled down at you, and you quickly nodded, promising you'll do a good job and meet him at home.

He pressed his cold lips chastely against your forehead, and left you with a corpse in the woods to bury.

But it's just that, anyway. Nothing too much to ask for.

It's not like you killed him.

And he was probably a horrible person to begin with.

Right?

You brushed away the heavy, gnawing feeling, as you met the glassy unseeing eyes of the corpse in the ground.

Alastor surely knew what he was doing. And you loved him enough to do this simple thing to help with that.

Just as you shoveled in one patch of dirt to cover the man's eyes, you heard a loud gun shot echo through the early morning woods.

You jumped out of your skin, cold hands gripping the shovel as the sound rung out.

Your heart was at your throat as goosebumps littered your skin. 

Alastor.

You ran. You barely registered your own body moving until you felt the cold air whipping against your face as your legs carried you to where your husband went.

Worry. It all but consumed you, as your blood rushed loudly in your ears and your heart pounded.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

Please—

You didn't know what you were doing. You didn't recall it. You didn't feel any of it.

You remembered seeing your husband's body collapsed and bloodied on the forest floor.

You remembered seeing someone with a gun standing panicked over him. 

But no, you didn't remember when you ran at the culprit.

You didn't remember the feeling of stabbing the shovel into their side, nor the warmth of their blood as it splashed on your cold skin.

You didn't remember bashing the steel against their skull with all your might; the metal dented and morphed as it disfigured the man's face.

You didn't remember screaming until your throat was raw. You didn't remember the tears scrolling down your bloodied cheeks. You didn't remember the horrible, unbearably cold, ache in your chest.

You didn't remember staring down the barrel of a shaky gun.

You didn't remember dying.

All you remembered, was the feeling of Alastor's warm arms embracing you as he pressed his welcoming lips to your forehead. 

And how you knew you'd never feel it again.

At least, you didn't think you would.

You blinked in confusion as you stared up the man—thing?—that caught you in their arms like a bride.

"I guess someone ought to rewrite those wedding vows because death didn't seem to do us part!" It laughed. Its voice sounded as if you were merely listening to it from a radio.

No, wait. Sure the thing that caught you also laughed, but you could have sworn you heard a whole crowd do so as well. Strangely, almost like a laugh track.

It's sharp yellow teeth showed proudly as it grinned down on you, and you couldn't help but cringe away a tiny bit from fear.

What are you? You wanted to ask, but you knew better than to be blunt.

You wouldn't want those nasty paper folk to catch wind of Alastor's little wife being rude—

Except. Were you still his wife? Where was he anyway? Where were you?

The thing that held you laughed cheerfully as it gently set you down onto your own feet. "Darling, I will never get enough of how easy you are to read," The thing said, twirling it's cane—microphone?—in it's hand before it leaned on it to study you. 

You got a strangely familiar heavy feeling in your gut, but before you could think much of it, your arm was looped through its as it pulled you along to a shop window.

"It seems you're a tiny bit confused, my darling," It said with a bright smile. "It's alright, you weren't always the brightest bulb in the room, but you certainly made up for it with your passion." It chuckled, once again a laugh track following its words from seemingly nowhere.

You felt the tip of its microphone at your chin, tilting it so that you'd turn your gaze from him to the shop window.

You almost jumped away, like an animal not recognizing itself in the mirror.

It took you a minute to realize that you looked at your own reflection.

You even waved your hands around and tilted your head to make sure it followed your movements. To make sure this was real.

You looked nothing like yourself. Hell, you looked nothing human.

"Truthfully, I'm a little offended, dear." The thing beside you spoke up, now turning to his own reflection as he adjusted his bowtie and dusted off his red pinstriped suit. Something oddly familiar.

"It took me less than a second to recognize you, and you still seem to not even know who I am." It said, glancing at you from the corner of its bright red eyes.

Your gaze trailed up to the top of its red hair, seeing two small horns—at least that's what you thought they were. 

"The devil?" You asked cautiously, still confused. "Am I in Hell?"

It let out a hum at your response. "One of two. I suppose it's one of your better shots, my dear." It said.

It turned to face you, suddenly leaning down close, so as to have it's mouth right by your ear. Your body freezes on instinct as it spoke.

"Must I really bed you again for you to remember me, darling? Or would watching me bury another body be enough to jog your memory?"

You leaned back, only enough to catch a look at the thing's face. The knowing eyes that seemed so warm, so inviting, so charming, despite how monstrous they looked. The smile that seemed incapable of falling.

The familiar feeling that brewed in your gut.

"Alastor?" You asked, your now clawed hands reached up to caress his cheeks, and the thing—your husband—leaned into it. His eyes briefly closed.

"Took you long enough, really." He said, a joking exasperation in his tone. 

The thing—your husband, you had to remind yourself again—abruptly pulled away, his tone bright and cheery as he began to drag you along the streets with a heavy clawed hand on the small of your back. "Now enough of that! Time for more important business, darling!"

"Wait, Alastor? How? What?" You stammered, attempting to pull away to take a second to breathe and clear your head.

The hand that guided you slid to the side of your waist, pulling you tightly against it's Alastor's side. "Ah, my darling thing. Always so slow on the uptake." He shook his head as if he found it adorable. "We're in Hell, dear!"

The words rang loudly in your ears, your heart sinking to your stomach.

"And we have important business to take care of, yes indeed!" Alastor continued, not letting you process a single thought. "And for this, I'll need a partner I can trust! I'll need a partner who I can rely on! I'll need someone absolutely devoted to me." His eyes met yours but he saw how the alarm still outweighed his words.

His eyes narrowed, lowering his face abruptly to yours, to the point where you could feel his breath on your skin. He wanted your attention, all of it, and didn't really care all that much about what else you had to think about.

"Hellooo? Anybody home?" He joked, tilting his head as he saw your eyes come back to focus on him. "Ah, there you are, dear. Thought I lost you for a moment."

You supposed you could think things through later. Even if Alastor looked terribly different now, this was still your caring husband after all. And he needed something.

A devoted parter? Was that what he said?

"Well, you know I'm always here for you, Al. Whatever this plan of yours is." You tried to paint a smile on your lips as you always have.

"Oh, but how exactly do I know that?" Alastor stood back up to his full height, his head tilting as he smiled down at you.

Your brows furrow. You don't quite know how to tell him that. You swore you've done so much for this man, and yet when trying to think of an example, none came to mind.

You cooked and cleaned and looked pretty for him? Spent time with him? Loved him? Lie for him? Hide a body for him? That's just what a good wife would do.

But you supposed—you think—you killed for him.

"I avenged you?" It came out more of a question than an answer. "I killed for you."

Alastor didn't blink as he responded. "Then do it again."

Your mouth ran dry.

Had you heard him correctly? Was it a joke?

You waited for the laugh track to play but none came.

"What do you mean...exactly?" You asked with a nervous laugh, your lips straining to keep the smile.

"Kill for me again," Alastor casually said. He turned, eyes locking onto a random demon further down the street you walked along on. He raised his microphone to point at them, turning his head—unnaturally—to face you again.

"Like that one. I suppose he'll do." His tone was still as cheerful as ever.

You follow to where he pointed, eyes hesitantly looking at the creature. 

You quickly looked back up to meet your husband's gaze. That feeling was there again.

And you weren't sure if it was the fact that you just died, or the sheer lunacy of the request, but you finally realized what it was.

Doubt.

You doubted Alastor.

"Why?" Your voice was small. "Is he a bad person too?"

Alastor rolled his eyes. "Hell, if I know dear. I've only just seen him now. But we are in Hell, you know?" His shoulders casually shrugged as if he didn't really care. "So, maybe?"

You tried to hide the tremble in your voice. Tried to hide how you doubted him. "But I already killed for you. Why do I need to prove my devotion even more?"

"You killed out of passion, darling. It hardly counts." He laughed, as if you were being so silly.

You're left with even more questions when Alastor grabbed your wrist, and you melted into shadows before re-appearing right in front of your supposed victim.

"What the fuck?" They exclaimed, jumping back.

"Good day, good fellow! The name's Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, quite the pleasure!" Your darling husband stepped in front and forcibly shook the confused sinner's hand.

Alastor waved a hand in your direction to showcase you. "This right here is the Mrs., and she'll be killing you now."

You flinched as Alastor's voice further distorted.

Black tentacles wrapped around the now thrashing demon. And to your horror, you realized they came from your still-grinning husband's back.

His red eyes now consumed by black as he looked down at you expectantly.

"I...I don't have a knife." You avoided his eyes and looked away.

Alastor's head tilted. "You have claws now, dear."

You felt bile raise to your throat at the idea of ripping some stranger apart with your own hands.

"It'd be terribly difficult if these clothes get stained. Who knows where I could get new ones in...Hell." You had to spit the word out. "A-and, we're out in the open. Anyone can see us, there might be police here o-or their friends and family."

"You won't do it." Alastor cut off your rambling, more of a statement than a question.

You didn't meet his eyes.

You heard him sigh in dismay. "Well, it's alright, my dear. I suppose I knew your love for me had its limits."

Your eyes widen in shock, head whipping to look at him in panic. There was disappointment in his gaze as he looked away from you. Even as his smile remained painted on his lips, you could see how he seemed to shrink away from you.

"That's not true!" You half yelled, ignoring the struggling demon still held off the ground. "I'd go to the ends of the earth for you. I'd give up my life for you. I followed you to Hell, even! How could you even think that my love for you isn't boundless, Alastor?"

"Because it isn't." He sighed, his clawed hand gripped his microphone tight as he started to walk around you. "You say you'd do anything for me, that you'd give everything up for me. But I'm asking you for something so simple, and you couldn't even do that."

Your shoulders stiffen, you try to turn your head to follow him around. "This is not simple, Alastor." You said, a tinge of hysteria creeping into your voice. "You're asking me to kill someone for you, again."

"Wrong." Your husband said in a rather, sing-song manner. A jarring buzzer effect played at his words.

"I'm asking you to kill someone who is already dead." Alastor explained, barely paying mind to the sinner who now just looked very uncomfortable. "And you're already in Hell."

He looked at you as if you were stupid not to have put this together yourself. "He won't lose anything. You won't lose anything. There is nothing to give up with this tiny request of mine."

He stopped walking in front of you, but a greater deal of distance away now than when he started.

"And yet you can't even do that, my love."

You glanced down at your hands—your claws—in uncertainty.

That persistent feeling—doubt—swallowed you whole as you stood there willing your body not to move.

You should stop.

Run.

Never look back.

But instead your body moved toward the sinner; sharp, shaking, hands hesitatingly sinking into their flesh.

Once. Twice. Thrice. You couldn't be useless to your husband.

Their muffled screams sounded so far away from you, even as they yelled right by your ears.

You felt it.

Their skin giving way and the blood dampening your clothes each and every time you sank your soft, delicate, clawed hands into him.

The feeling of your long claws coming into contact and tearing through whatever bone or muscle stood in their way.

The awful, gut wrenching, guilt that swallowed your chest.

You hated it.

Alastor's hand clasps affectionately at your shoulder as he watched you cheerfully. Enjoying the conflict in your eyes as your heart died with every drop of blood that spilled from your hands.

"I think I may have just fallen so deeply in love with you, my dear wife." He cooed into your ear.

And your chest didn't flutter, or grow, or skip a beat like you had thought it would at those words.

But it's probably just the guilt, right?

It's just because so much has happened that you couldn't process anything.

Because you still loved Alastor, didn't you?

You loved him with your very soul, but he was a liar, and you may have finally started to see it.

Taglist @lil-bexie / @mizukikyong / @amurtan / @fokrilove / @fairyv-ice 

[s-lverwing]

02. VEIL OF BETRAYAL

pairing. aegon targaryen x velaryon (targaryen)!reader x maelor targaryen (aegon’s twin).

summary. queen alicent subtly weaponizes your buried fears against your deep sense of duty. And the twin brothers only deepen your sense of sin. Forbidden desires rarely earn the favor of destiny’s eyes.

word count. 5.3k (sorry, again…. why am i yapping so much). ao3 link

warnings. angst, mommy issues, targcest (niece and uncles?), toxic relationships. heavy pinning. kind of infidelity? religious guilt. internalized misogyny. bastardphobia? no aegon here. english isn’t my first language and i haven’t read the books.

a/n. it starts right after the end of chapter 1. please if you’re enjoying this leave a comment, reblog, whatever u want 🐛. and i plan to read fire and blood because i feel so dumb searching things on google…

— previous chapter

The hallways of the Red Keep stretched endlessly before you, each step feeling more distant, as though the very ground beneath your feet was slipping away. A high-pitched ringing filled your ears, drowning out everything but the erratic thudding of your heart, which seemed to shake your entire being. Your vision was blurred, and you scarcely registered Maelor’s firm grip on your arm, steadying you as you nearly stumbled down the stone steps.

A whirlwind of thoughts raced through your mind, yet it was impossible to grasp a single one. The summons from Queen Alicent had been unexpected, unsettling, a sharp contrast to the routine of your days. Rarely did the queen seek your presence — or was in your presence, except during the formality of dinners or the fleeting moments when she entered the room in the middle of a conversation with King Viserys. There was an unspoken distance between you, one that you could never bridge despite your strange fondness for her; in a way you pitied her. But in truth, you always wanted her to be fond of you, perhaps that was why you often found solace in the Sept.

The heavy doors of the Queen’s chambers loomed before you, guarded by Ser Criston Cole. He ushered you and Maelor inside, and as the doors closed with a resounding thud, the world seemed to narrow into a single point. The unease in your stomach grew sharper, cutting through the fog of your thoughts.

“Your Grace,” you murmured, curtsying as you met Alicent’s gaze. Her eyes, cool and assessing, flickered over you, taking in your tear-stained cheeks and the redness that rimmed your eyes. Maelor, standing at your side, addressed her with the casual ease of familiarity, “Mother.”

Alicent’s expression shifted to one of mild concern, though there was an undercurrent of something sharper, as she spoke: “Were you crying? Where have you been? Has something happened?”

The questions hung in the air, and for a moment, you struggled to form a coherent response. But before you could speak, Maelor’s arm snaked around your shoulders in an uncharacteristic gesture of closeness, silencing you. His touch was not comforting.

“I found her with Helaena,” Maelor said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing as she studied you. There was always something disapproving in her gaze, as though your very presence was a source of irritation; even when she was the one requesting your presence. You were an unwelcome reminder of things she preferred to forget—of the king’s favoritism, of a lineage she loathed. You were a symbol of her husband’s neglect of his own children, and worse, a bastard who had inherited Valyrian’s traits, in contrast to your bastard brothers. She preferred to be dead before marrying her sons to a bastard, but then again, she had no saying in those matters, because Otto Hightower made the decision for her.

She pursed her lips, her displeasure barely concealed. “But why were you crying?” she pressed, her tone dripping with mock concern. She savored this moment, relished the opportunity to remind you of your insignificance. She enjoyed every opportunity she had to remind you of your place, and oh how lost you looked since your mother left you here.

Her voice laced with false sweetness as she continued, “What could possibly have happened to you, dear?”

Her use of the word “dear” was nothing but a mockery, a blade wrapped in silk. Your gaze hardened as you looked up at her through your lashes, the hatred simmering beneath your skin, barely contained. Alicent noticed the defiance in your eyes, and it only seemed to amuse her.

“I—I just tripped,” you lied, your voice barely audible as you cast your eyes downward.

“Oh, then we shall have the maester—” she began, but you cut her off, your voice gaining strength.

“—That won’t be necessary, Your Grace. I am fine.” You paused, forcing yourself to meet her gaze, your heart pounding as you asked, “Why am I here?”

Alicent rolled her eyes, a gesture so dismissive it stung like a slap. “We have been discussing your future with your mother,” she said, her voice clipped and filled with irritation, as though the matter of your life was an inconvenience to her. “It’s��� complicated.” She sighed, but her eyes burned with barely concealed anger, as if your very existence was the complication she wished to be rid of.

“Do you mean I will be sent to Dragonstone?” you asked, a sliver of hope creeping into your voice. The thought of leaving the Red Keep, of escaping the suffocating presence of the queen, seemed like a distant dream. Even when you dreaded the idea of marrying someone like your bastard brother.

But your hope was dashed when Alicent let out a choked laugh, echoed by Maelor, who tightened his grip on you, as though claiming you as his own — because he knew what was about to come. “No,” Alicent said, her eyes flicking to Maelor’s hand on your arm, a spark of something unreadable flashing across her face before it hardened once more.

The heavy doors to the chamber swung open, and you jumped at the sound, your heart leaping into your throat. Otto Hightower entered the room, his expression one of barely contained satisfaction, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. But on his face was a ghost of a smile.

“It’s good to see you both already pleased with our decision,” Otto said, his voice smooth and calculated, a half-smile playing on his lips as he looked at you, his eyes gleaming with unspoken intent.

Though you longed for the warmth of a father’s care, Otto’s gaze offered none of that, in this moment. It was cold, calculating, and beneath his veneer of a somewhat paternal concern lay something far more dark. You could never quite see through his intentions, never quite discern the web of schemes he wove around you all. Yet, despite the unease he inspired, a part of you still craved the safety of his approval, blinding you to the danger lurking beneath.

You pushed Maelor’s arm away, taking a small step back, your mind rushing as you tried to make sense of what was happening. “What decision?” you whispered, your voice trembling as a deep frown crowned your stare. Your eyes, still red and glossy with unshed tears, darted between Otto and Alicent, searching for answers.

Otto regarded his daughter for a moment, a silent exchange passing between them before he turned his attention back to you. “It is a wise decision,” he began, his tone patronizing, “to unite our families… for you and Maelor to marry… each other.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Your breath caught in your throat, the room spinning as the weight of the announcement pressed down on you. “Maelor?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, the name tasting like sand on your tongue. Your gaze flickered to Maelor, who was grinning. “Don’t I have a say in this?”

“Go on,” The hand of the King said, his voice a smooth command, cutting off whatever protest Alicent might have offered. She looked as though she might be sick, the thought of you marrying her favored son turning her stomach. How could a bastard like you dare to consider herself more worthy than Maelor?

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you summoned the courage to speak. “I—I think it would be wiser to marry me to Aegon,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your hands trembled, slick with sweat, as you feared they might see through you, see the truth you tried so desperately to hide. But there was no outcry, no immediate suspicion. Otto raised an eyebrow, and Alicent clutched her stomach, her face a mask of disdain.

“I am in the line of succession,” you continued, your voice a bit steadier now, though your insides twisted with dread. “I am the heir to the throne. It would be wise to marry me to the King’s firstborn son.”

Alicent’s scoff sliced through the tension, her eyes hardening with resolve. “Aegon will be married to Helaena,” she declared, the decision already set in stone. “She needs to stay close to her home.” Her tone softened slightly, as if explaining something that should have been obvious; but it also held the love she has for Helaena.

It was your turn to clutch your stomach, feeling the bile rise as fresh tears threatened to spill from your already swollen, red eyes. Your entire world was spinning. Every sacrifice you had ever made now seemed in vain, and it felt as though the Gods had turned their backs on you, rejecting your prayers. It wasn’t the loss of Aegon you feared, but the storm brewing on the horizon—the political games, the power plays that had once been distant now felt inescapable, you were always a pawn. And betrothal was far more than just a political arrangement. It was a prison sentence.

You weren’t ready to be caged within the Red Keep, churning out heirs year after year to secure the bloodline. Your mind scolded you for ever listening to Aegon’s empty promises. Promises of choice—lies, all of them.

“Maelor suggested—” Alicent began, but you cut her off.

“I have a petition,” you blurted, the words tumbling from your lips before you’d even fully thought them through. The ringing in your ears grew louder. The words barely registered in your own mind.

“You’re in no position to make petitions!” Queen Alicent shot to her feet, her voice sharp.

“I am in a position! I am in a position to demand everything!” Your voice rose, cracking under the weight of your frustration. “Wasn’t I born to be queen? Am I not the heir to the Iron Throne?” The room seemed to hold its breath as you threw down your claim. It wasn’t that you lacked faith in your mother’s right to the throne, but Aegon’s claim was backed by the laws of the Andals. You knew this, and that knowledge fueled your desperation to secure your own survival—to make yourself indispensable. If you were no longer necessary, you were expendable. Or at least know that the council isn’t planning to murder you.

Alicent’s eyes flared with rage, but there was something deeper there—a flicker of recognition, maybe even regret. You saw it. For just a moment, she wasn’t the Queen but a woman who had once been in your position—trapped by duty, by the demands of others. Now, like you, she was no longer warm, no longer kind. You could see the shadow of her younger self in her expression, the version of Alicent who still had hope, who hadn’t been tainted.

No one spoke, and the silence only fueled your resolve. You pressed on, your voice stronger now, staring at Otto. “Wasn’t I obliged to learn about politics and war strategy while other highborn girls spent their days gossiping and learning how to be meek and pretty? Have I not been loyal to this crown, to the realm?” You shook your head, the injustice of it all burning in your chest. “If I’m not to marry Viserys’ firstborn son, then I deserve more than this. I won’t be handed off to a second son without something in return. I want a seat on the council.”

“You insolent—” Alicent began trying to defend his son, now long forgotten in the room. But you cut her off again.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Your voice sharp now, like the edge of a blade, as you whip your head at her. “I fear what happens when Viserys dies. I know what war can bring to women and children. I’m protecting myself.”

Otto Hightower, who had been watching the exchange with a measured expression, finally spoke. “We can find you a spot,” he said, his voice cool, knowing full well the futility of it. A woman on the council—someone to be seen but never heard.

“It’s settled, then.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you held your ground.

“Leave us,” Alicent ordered, waving you off, her face pinched with frustration. She couldn’t hide her disdain for what had just transpired, but she knew as well as Otto did that there was little choice in the matter. You obeyed, turning on your heel, but not before noticing the weariness in Alicent’s eyes. She had once fought battles like yours and lost.

When the door closed behind you, Alicent turned to her father, her voice barely above a whisper. “Wouldn’t it be easier to marry her to Aegon?”

Otto shook his head, his expression unreadable. He understood what Alicent couldn’t bring herself to admit.

Easier, yes. But more dangerous.

There was something deep within you, a growing ache in your heart that no tale, no scripture, no ancient word of wisdom could ever soothe or shake off. The fire of guilt simmered beneath the surface of your soul, consuming you in its relentless heat. Even though you knew your suffering was nothing compared to the horrors others had faced, you feared—feared with a trembling certainty—that if war descended upon you, it would tear you apart. Not just in body, but in spirit. And where would that leave you? What would become of your heart, your mind, your soul?

Once, the future had been so clear. When you were younger, when Aegon barely noticed you, it was as if the path was already created. Everyone knew you were born to marry him, and there was a certainty in that—a weight that was lighter back then. You had been kind, proper, untouched by the cruel realities of the world around you. But now? Now, you were torn between rival claims, between lovers. It all felt so fickle, as if the life you had lived in the Red Keep was nothing but a distant dream.

You had wasted years trying to inch closer to Alicent, clinging to your faith in the Seven as though it would redeem you, as though it would make you worthy. Faith had consumed you, shaped you, made you believe that if you followed the path laid out by the gods, you would find peace. But peace eluded you now, and even the Seven-Pointed Star that hung heavy around your neck, the same one you wore as a brooch on your chest, could no longer protect you from your own self. In truth, you felt as if only pushed you down.

And whenever you looked at Alicent, it was as if you were staring at a reflection of your own turmoil. Her eyes mirrored your own fears, your own doubts. She had been shaped by duty, by faith, and by the expectations of others; by her father and by her husband’s expectations. In her, you saw what you could become, if you weren’t careful—a woman trapped in the chains of politics and piety, whose heart had been suffocated by the weight of sacrifice.

As you walked inside the Grand Sept, the echoes of your footsteps echoed through the empty space. Your dark green gown, grand and ostentatious, clung to your body, suffocating you in its fine silk and embroidery. It felt like a cage, like chains that bound you to your place in this world—a pawn in the endless game of power. The gods you had once prayed to now felt distant, indifferent to the turmoil swirling in your heart.

The Sept felt colder that day, its vastness more unwelcoming than usual. The chill seeped into your bones, making you feel as though the very grace of the gods was pushing you away, disgusted by your presence. Yet, deep down, you liked to think they had never truly been on your side. Perhaps the gods had forsaken you long before, or perhaps they had never cared for you at all. A bitter thought twisted in your heart—what if you had lived your life faithless, like your mother? Would it have spared you from this constant weight of guilt?

Your mother, so free of the shackles of this, had birthed bastards without shame. Would she regret it now, or had her love for them eclipsed any regrets she might have had? You had always known that she loved them more than she would ever love you. That’s why she had so readily accepted Viserys’ petition to leave you behind in the Red Keep. And even when she fought for you, it hadn’t been enough.

If you could strip it all away—your title, your duty, your faith—you would. You would tear it all from your skin and live as something other than this pawn. But now, it was too late. Too much had been said, too many decisions made. The gods had never offered you a choice. They had only demanded your obedience.

And Helaena—sweet, kind Helaena. How could you ever look into her face again, knowing the truth that gnawed at your soul? You were still in love with her soon-to-be husband, the father of her future children—their children. The thought made you sick with guilt, twisting inside you like a dagger. How could you stand before her, with this secret festering inside you? How could you ever offer her a kind word again, knowing that you longed for what was now hers?

Your hands felt clammy, slick with sweat as you knelt before the stone altar. It was cold, unyielding. Before you, candles flickered, their small flames struggling against the drafts in the Sept. You reached out with trembling fingers, lighting one of the candles. But your mind was blank. No prayer formed on your lips, no words rose from your heart. There was only the hollow silence of your thoughts and the suffocating weight of guilt.

“For everything that comes…” you began softly, a whisper so faint it would be lost unless someone stood right beside you. “Make Viserys’ sayings align with the Andal’s law…”

A chill crept through the Sept, a cold breeze brushing over your uncovered elbows and across your face. You shuddered, closing your eyes, grasping for the comfort of prayer. “Keep us away from our own madness… keep me on your path…”

Your whispered plea hung in the air, fragile and wavering like the flame before you.

“Does it ever help?” The somber voice shattered the silence, startling you. Maelor’s presence, unexpected and intrusive, made you jump, and the delicate flame of your candle extinguished with a soft hiss.

You didn’t turn around. The weight of his voice and the meaning behind his words made you uneasy. You could picture the expression on his face without seeing it—a hyena-like smile, sharp and calculating, masked beneath that smooth charm.

Why had he followed you here?

You reached up again, intent on lighting another candle, even though the act felt futile. The gods felt distant, absent. Rejection was all you could feel in this cold, hollow place.

Before the flame could catch, Maelor’s hand gently caught your arm, his touch soft but firm. He knelt beside you, his presence unsettling yet strangely familiar.

“You fear madness?” His voice, softer than expected, lacked the mockery you had anticipated. It was almost… tender.

You didn’t meet his gaze, eyes fixed on the unlit candle as your chest tightened with frustration. “Don’t you, Maelor?” Your words were sharper than you intended. “The stories—”

“Gods, you sound like Viserys,” he muttered, scrunching his face in mock annoyance. The sudden shift in his expression, the familiar way he said it, broke through the heaviness of the moment. Despite everything, a faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

“I think I spent too much time with him when I was younger…” you whispered, your eyes fixed on the flickering candles, their soft light casting shadows on your troubled thoughts. “Aren’t you afraid?”

Maelor’s smile was gentle, though his grip on your arm tightened, an attempt at grounding you. “What can truly happen to us?” His voice, warm and reassuring, echoed through the cold stillness of the Sept. “Sometimes things are bigger than us, yes, but I think we both knew what we were meant to be since we were children. We rarely get to make our own choices, or follow our own desires.”

His words mirrored the ones you’d spoken to Aegon so many times before—reminding him of the weight that came with being the king’s firstborn. When you had said it, it was always with a sharp edge, meant to cut, meant to hurt him.

From Maelor’s lips, it didn’t feel like a reprimand, but a shared burden. He wasn’t the heir, he wasn’t the one with a crown awaiting him, and yet he understood the constraints of being born into power. His words carried no bitterness, just quiet acceptance of a fate neither of you could escape.

You turned your gaze toward him, noticing how the candlelight softened his features, making him seem even more distant from the sharpness of court life.

You couldn’t bring yourself to voice the thoughts clouding your vision.

“I never wanted this for you,” Maelor said softly then, filling the silence.

“It doesn’t matter now… I don’t think it makes a difference,” you replied with a half-hearted smile, trying to mask the turbulence within.

“I know I’ve always been hiding behind Aegon’s shadow—”

You cut him off, the words spilling out before you could fully control them. “I’m sorry for what I said, Maelor. It wasn’t my intention to… offend you.” Your smile faltered into a pout, a gesture of regret that seemed to offer little solace. Maelor’s gaze was heavy with pity, his eyes reflecting a depth of sadness that made you feel even more isolated.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he whispered, his voice carrying a resignation that matched the flicker of the candles ahead. For the first time, his focus shifted away from you, absorbed by the soft, wavering light.

“But I do, of course I do, Maelor,” you insisted, your voice trembling with an urgency that bore a resemblance to his mother’s fervent pleas. “You didn’t deserve to be treated so cruelly… I wasn’t thinking—”

“I’ve always been second, in everything and to everyone. To Aegon. To the crown. To my mother… even if she seldom shows it. And now, to you,” he confessed, his tone devoid of sorrow but carrying a weight that seemed almost indifferent.

His words struck you with a force that was almost physical, like a harsh slap to the face. You had always believed that he was favored, that his place was secure, but Maelor had always lingered in his brother’s shadow, where his errors were forgiven with ease. “That’s not true…” you whispered, struggling to reconcile the depth of his pain with your own perceptions.

A smile crept upon his face as he turned to you again, his eyes glistening with a blend of melancholy and mischief. “You’ve always known where you stand, since we were children. You know where your heart and allegiance lie, and it’s with him.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lied, your voice trembling and barely audible against the stone walls of the Grand Sept.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said softly, his hand moving from your arm to gently cup your face. His touch was unexpectedly warm and tender, a stark contrast to the coldness of the stone around you. You felt an involuntary shiver, a deep, unspoken longing stirring within you, urging you to indulge in his embrace.

“It’s no use,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the harsh reality. “Because whatever you want doesn’t really matter now. And it doesn’t change what I want, even though I know my place.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, a surge of heat flooding your insides. Your mind raced, struggling to ground itself in the present moment, both physically and mentally. But it was futile as his thumb gently traced your cheek, a touch so light it felt like a ghost’s caress. The sensation made you want to pull away, to put space between you. Despite your lack of interest in Maelor—he was, after all, Aegon’s twin—an unbidden thought lingered: if you couldn’t have the first, perhaps you could have the second.

“Maelor,” your voice trembled, a whisper caught in the fragile space between you. Words failed you, leaving you paralyzed with uncertainty about what to say.

His face drew even closer, your eyes widening in a mix of apprehension and anticipation. “What can happen to us?” he murmured, his voice sweet and barely audible, the question hanging in the air.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words emerged. Your mind was tangled in a web of guilt and desire; Maelor’s touch was achingly familiar and inexplicably comforting. His eyes searched yours, not for an answer, but for some sign—any sign—that you wanted him to leave.

His breath was warm against your heated skin, and his lips were tantalizingly close. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though the burdens of your life were lifted, leaving you both enveloped in an equally forbidden and sacred space

In the quiet of words and stares, the gods keep watching.

You closed your eyes, resting your forehead against his. Your heart raced, thudding violently in your chest. You felt as if you were suspended in time, teetering on the brink of something both exhilarating and terrifying. As Maelor’s thumb brushed softly against your lower lip, a shiver ran through you, igniting a warm, electric sensation deep within your core. The restraints of duty and guilt seemed to melt away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of longing.

Forgetting your place, you dared to lower your face, your lips brushing his own with a tentative softness, almost as if testing the waters. But the blood in your veins surged wildly, and the fragile tension between you both shattered in an instant.

He deepened the kiss, his desire unmistakable, and you allowed it, welcomed it. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him—and not only did you let him, you crumbled beneath his touch, surrendering to the warmth of his light hold. The desire that had long lain dormant within you stirred, taking form, your fingers instinctively tangling in his auburn hair. Every inch of your body responded to him as though awakened, alive with a hunger you hadn’t realized dwelled so deep.

The world around you seemed to dissolve into shadows, the sacred walls of the Sept now tainted by the weight of your shared desire. The sanctity of this hallowed place stood in stark contrast to the sinful pull between you. The air was thick, heady with a tension that felt both forbidden and intoxicating. Maelor’s hand slid down the curve of your back, his fingers tracing each delicate bone of your spine with agonizing slowness, as if testing how much you could bear before you broke. He drew you even closer, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, as though he, too, was consumed by this fire. His lips ghosted over the hollow of your throat, enough to make your breath stutter in your chest.

“Maelor…” the sound of his name slipped from your lips, nothing more than a trembling whisper, heavy with guilt and need. It sounded like a prayer, a plea. You couldn’t tell if the word was meant to halt him or urge him on, but either way, it left you exposed and vulnerable.

His hands tightened their grip on you, his lips pressing harder against your skin, teeth grazing your collarbone with a sharpness that made you shudder. You could feel yourself coming undone beneath his touch, unraveling like a thread pulled too tight. This wasn’t meant to happen—not here. Not with him.

He kissed the seven-pointed star hanging from your neck. His fingers found the edge of your dress, slowly gathering the fragile fabric, lifting it just enough for his hands to slide beneath and wrap around your naked thighs. The feel of his warm hands, soft and insistent against your bare skin, sent you spiraling. You hadn’t imagined this would ever happen, let alone now, in this place, under the watchful eyes of the gods. And yet, as his hands roamed higher, guilt momentarily dissolved into the air. A choked, breathless moan escaped your lips, betraying your deepest shame, and instinctively, your hands flew to grasp at his clothes, clutching at his waist—not to stop him, but to anchor yourself.

“Maelor…” His name slipped from your lips again, barely more than a sigh, the sound drenched in breathless need. His fingers dug into your flesh. You knew it was wrong—so deeply, impossibly wrong in every sacred sense, yet with each passing second, you found yourself yearning for more. Every touch, every stolen breath, only made you crave the sin even more fiercely, as though the very act of transgression bound you tighter to him.

His hands stilled on your thighs, as though savoring the moment, while his lips found their way back to your neck, pressing softly against your skin. He lingered there, feeling the wild, uneven beat of your pulse beneath his mouth, as though testing just how far you would let him go. Your hands trembled as they clung to him desperately, fingers twisting in his clothes like a lifeline, like you were to combust into nothingness if you let go.

“I–We shouldn’t,” you murmured, but your voice faltered, weak and thin, lacking any true conviction. You knew it, and worse, so did he. Maelor was no fool.

His head tilted slightly, just enough for his breath to tickle your ear, his voice a soft whisper. “Then tell me to stop,” he challenged, his tone thick with temptation.

But the words refused to come out.

They lingered on the edge of your tongue, trapped behind the weight of your own desire. The silence that stretched between you was louder than any confession you could have made. You couldn’t stop him, and in that moment, you realized you didn’t want to.

The moment stretched, suspended in a breathless stillness. His hands slid further beneath the fabric of your dress, inching slowly higher until they reached your waist. There, his fingers caressed your skin with a softness that both quickened your pulse and made your heart race ahead of any coherent thought. The gentle press of his hands against you was enough to make your body ache, silently begging for more. In that suspended moment, your body screamed to surrender, every nerve alight with the need to give in—but your mind, though fragile, still fought desperately to hold on.

Then, in a single heartbeat, when his grip tightened possessively around your waist, the weight of everything you had been ignoring crashed down on you with brutal force.

You pulled back sharply, your breath ragged and uneven. “We can’t… Maelor, we can’t do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you forced the distance between you. Shame and desire swirled together in your chest, leaving your skin burning with the memory of his touch, each place his hands had been still aflame. The ache of wanting him, and the guilt that gnawed at your soul, tangled so tightly that you could hardly breathe.

His eyes searched yours, confusion flickering in their depths before he slowly released you, his hands falling to his sides. Yet, despite the distance you’d forced between you, the raw desire in his gaze lingered.

“I—” he began, his voice thick with unspoken words, but you shook your head, cutting him off before he could finish.

“Not here. Not like this.” Your voice wavered, fragile and trembling, each word tasting of heartbreak as it left your lips. The weight of what you were saying felt like it might crush you, but it had to be spoken. “It’s the only thing I have left…” The final words came out as a whisper, laced with pain, as though this last shred of control was all that tethered you to who you once were, and to the vows you had sworn.

— next chapter

a/n part 2: god how i LOVE to yap …. i’m sorry for no aegon in this. i’m thinking so many thoughts right now. i have so much to say… but i feel like nothing’s happening… anyways. and i don’t know how far i want to take this, because i was writing the blood and cheese scene and then i saw crazytom’s art of jaehaera and jaehaerys and i don’t want to kill him… so i don’t know. and also i wrote something of the reader and their dragon bonding but where the hell am i supposed to put that? so maybe i’ll add like an extra scene or something :3 because i thought it was cute.