#is just misogyny again. you understand that right. RIGHT. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

viennakarma · 5 months

Text

Everything I Wanted I.

LESTAPPEN X READER (Part 1)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. I know I said it was a oneshot, but the thing got out of hand, and I had to split it in half. Soon there will be a part 2! English is not my first language, so please ignore any mistake!

Find me on Twitter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“They’re not friends, you understand? They’re rivals, and that’s all they’ll ever be.”

You stand, hugging your helmet firmly against your chest, your dad’s words louder than the ringing in your ear from the way he slapped the side of your head. You were 9 and it was your first time competing in a karting competition. You tried to befriend the other kids your age, but as soon as your dad called you away, fuming, you knew it was a mistake.

You followed your dad’s orders, and didn’t talk to any of the boys again. Max was already cold towards you, so he pretty much ignored your existence. But Charles was more talkative, and as you stopped answering him, he became taunting, annoying, but you didn’t fall behind, you used to clap back at him with the same intensity.

Sometimes you eavesdropped on their conversations, initially it wasn’t intentional, but they were always complaining about you, calling you names, and you realized your dad was right, they would never see you as a friend or equal, only as a rival.

One day you’re walking by when you hear your name in their conversation.

“Nah, don’t worry about Y/N,” Max shrugged, his accent thick, as he pointed to the side of his temple “she’s a little slow, but maybe she’ll catch up.”

You stood there, his words echoing in your head, she’s a little slow, that was a kind way to call you stupid, which, compared to the way your father called you that many times, it was much sweeter. You shouldn’t have let that get to your head, specially said that way. But then again, you were 11, and you kept hearing those words again and again in your head. You never considered yourself dumb, your grades in school were average, and whenever you had time off of karting to study for your exams, your grades became even better, a little above average.

And despite knowing that, after going back home after the competition, you spent the whole Saturday at the local library, studying everything you could find on motorsports and Formula One. You lent books on strategy, history, and even mechanics. Every spare time you had, you spent reading those books, or lending others. You didn’t want to be slow as they had called you.

After that, you stopped talking to Max completely.

“This is a waste!” Your dad shouted, and you flinched, taking a discreet step back, away from him, trying to avoid him getting physical.

You had argued with him, which made him more furious. You tried to tell him it wasn’t your fault, you were just as good at racing as everyone else, maybe better, but no one was willing to give a girl a chance. It made him even angrier.

“You had one job! You get into F4 on your first try!”

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t your fault. That they weren’t willing to give a girl a chance, even if you were better than half of the boys who made it to F4. But your dad didn’t care about any of it, he wanted you to succeed or nothing. He used to always say that anything below first place is failure.

So he decided you, at 14, weren’t worth the money he spent on karting. And he simply left. Making peace with the fact that your dad never saw you as his kid, but more like an investment, was hard.

“You’re never going to be a Formula 1 champion.” Was the last thing he said to you, before dropping you at your mom’s to never come back.

Living with your mom ever since your dad gave you up was something else. She had lost everything after the divorce, thanks to a prenup she had naively signed without knowing anything about it. So when you moved in with her, you noticed how the house was smaller than your dad’s, you two slept in the single room that was there. Your mom worked two jobs living paycheck to paycheck, and you barely saw her. But she was kind, comforting.

You soon realized that she wouldn’t be able to provide for your karting career. So you lied, you told her your dad was still paying for the karting, and you found two part time jobs to pay for racing. You mom worked so much, she didn’t notice your absence in the afternoons, when you went to work in an auto repair shop. Sometimes, on the rare occasions she was off work in the afternoons, you lied and told her you were out with friends, or studying in the library or even doing extracurriculars. You had the best intentions, you used to tell yourself at night whenever you laid awake, you knew she would blame herself or even work herself to death to provide for you.

The entirety of the next year was a constant struggle, and you worked, and scrapped and lied your way through the entire karting competition. It was one of your last chances to get into F4, and you weren’t sure you could live another year that way, without a sponsor.

When the competition ended, you were second place overall. Your kart had problems during the race and you were sad that it affected your performance in a race you could’ve won.

You walked closer as you saw a few of the other boys gathering around some adults, you eyed them curiously. As soon as you noticed who they were, you swallowed. They were probably scouts, it was very common in finals of these competitions, you were used to it. You also were used to being ignored by all of them scouts. You had tried many times before to make connections and make yourself known, maybe even meeting a potential sponsor, but they always ignored you. They weren’t interested in a girl, they didn’t care about a woman in motorsports. Your only hope was that one day you would meet a female scout and she would see your potential.

But meanwhile, there were only men, and they didn’t give two fucks about you. So you didn’t even get close enough to join, you heard Charles and Max talking with them, and you just turned around, going back to your kart.

You pulled a few tools from your backpack, working to fix the difficulties you felt during the race.

“What are you doing?” A man approached you, crouching close to watch your work. You briefly looked up, the guy was wearing sunglasses and a cap, just a normal guy, looking like someone’s dad.

“I’m fixing my steering wheel, it was a bit stuck during the race so I had to double the force used to be able to make it work,” you explained, and he nodded.

“You finished second, right? Why are you here by yourself?” The man asked.

“The other kids don’t like me very much. And they’re talking to the scouts,” you shrugged, trying not to think about all the opportunities they would get and you wouldn’t.

“You should be there, no? Meeting scouts is important for your career.”

“They’re not very interested in a girl racer. Believe me, I know.” You muttered, finishing with the steering wheel, testing to see if it was working all right. You turned, fixing your left rear tyre. The tyre wasn’t responding very well to the braking, “besides, my kart won’t fix itself, right? Look, you see how this tyre is slower to respond to my braking? It messed up with my balance during the race. I could have won.”

“Shouldn’t you take your kart somewhere to get it fixed?” The man asked, helping you unscrew the tyre.

“Can’t afford it,” you said, “I’m saving to try and get into F4, so I can’t spare any money on this one.”

You weren’t usually this talkative with new people, mostly keeping to yourself. But maybe you were missing a grownup figure in your life since your dad had dipped and your mom was always busy. And that man sounded really interested in your stuff, so it felt natural explaining to him.

“So, no one sponsoring you?” He asked, which made you look at him again, hesitantly.

“No, uh, I had one but he dropped me last year” you said, leaving out that part that it was your dad.

“You know who I am?” The man asked and you looked at him, shaking your head.

“Someone’s dad? I mean, I haven’t been introduced to all the kids and their parents yet, but you’re kinda familiar, so-” As you were babbling and trying to explain, he took off the cap and sunglasses, and you immediately recognized him, “oh my god!”

“Shh, shh” he silenced you, putting the disguise back.

“You’re Kimi Raikkonen!” You whispered, and he nodded.

“I’ll be your new sponsor, eh? What do you say?”

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he nodded.

"How do you know I'm good enough for a sponsorship?" You asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, are you good enough for a sponsorship?" He asked. He had been keeping an eye out at that very category, and you had caught his attention as seemingly smart and emotionally controlled with the kart.

"I'm the best of the bunch," you smiled at him and you won him over with that answer.

Kimi became your lifeline, in a way. His family was quick to embrace you in an affectionate way you would’ve never expected of them. They invited you for their little New Year’s party, and you eventually told everything about your life to Kimi. His wife Minttu had also taken you as one of her own and their kids liked you a lot.

Under Minttu’s suggestion, Kimi also enrolled you in language classes, so besides English, you spent the next years learning French and Spanish, and you also caught a little Finnish from being so close to them.

You kept pushing your way up from F4 to F3 and so on, but instead of climbing it steadily like the boys, you had to win two or three times more than them to prove you were worth taking the next step.

You were 16 when your paths crossed with the boys from your childhood again. They recognised you, but they never really talked to you, so they didn't this time around either.

Coming out of the bathroom you once again caught a conversation, and you stopped dead as soon as you heard your name.

“No, not really… I don’t see her like that at all- she’s- uh-” Charles was speaking, probably looking for the words in english, “-she’s more like one of the boys.”

You paused, your breath hitched.

“Yeah,” that was Max, “I don’t see her like that either. I guess she doesn’t care about the things girls her age do.”

You felt a lump in your throat, retreating back to the bathroom. You stood in front of the mirror, watching your face as the tears fell down on your cheeks. You were dressed in your regular racing day attire, cargo pants and a sweater. You didn’t wear makeup and your hair was all frizzy because of the helmet.

The next time you went to the Raikkonen residence, you pulled Minttu aside one moment.

“I want to be pretty. Will you help me?”

You two went through a long chat with Minttu reassuring you that you were pretty in your own way and you insisting you wanted to be pretty like other girls, more feminine and girly.

When you entered F2 after the winter break, you felt and looked like some better version of yourself. Minttu had helped you set a skincare routine that was already helping clear your face from teenage acne. She also took you to a hair salon, where you trimmed your hair and made a few highlights. She upgraded your wardrobe, and even if you tried to refuse saying it was too much, she said it was a Christmas gift and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Your path until reaching F1 was slow and steady, and you were a reserve driver for two years before finally getting a seat at McLaren. You knew Kimi probably had a hand in getting you a chance, but he denied every time you asked.

Kimi told you the raw truth before the season started. He and Minttu sat you down and talked about how the world and Formula 1 would expect more of you than of any other rookie. How they would stress your mistakes tenfold. How they would diminish your achievements with the same intensity. You weren’t afraid, really.

“I’ve lived with my greatest hater more than half of my life, I can handle strangers” you had laughed to the couple.

Still, Kimi taught you everything about his Iceman persona, and told you to pick whatever you wanted from it. Minttu also convinced you to start therapy, which you accepted.

The hate started as soon as you were announced. Beyond the regular misogyny, they were calling you too old to be a rookie at 24, they were questioning your abilities even with numerous championships from other categories to back you up, even with the fact that your mentor was Kimi fucking Raikkonen. But you didn’t let any of that get under your skin.

Sebastian Vettel was quickly drawn to you, and he became your first friend in Formula 1. He had been close with Kimi from the time they were teammates, and he kinda adopted you.

The guys your age didn’t want to get too close to you. The very few times they talked or walked with you, it sparked romance rumors, and soon they pretty much ignored or avoided you. You knew their intentions weren't to be mean, they were probably just avoiding problems with the media and their girlfriends or wives, but it didn’t hurt any less every time they walked straight past you.

One of those times you were going to the group press conference and all three of the guys walked past you as you tried to chat with them. Your shoulders slumped, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What was that?” You jumped at the sound of another voice. You looked behind you to see Fernando Alonso walking up to you. Up until that point, he had been polite to you.

“Oh,” you stumbled over your words, “being seen talking to me is bad press, apparently.”

“Una tontería,” he muttered, shaking his head, which made you laugh, surprised. He put a friendly hand over your shoulder and led you to the media session.

Simples as that, Fernando too became your friend.

You asked your PR manager, Amanda, to bend a few rules to make sure you would always be at the press conference with Seb and Nando or at least one of them. Most of the time, you did. But sometimes you were unlucky and had to sit stiffly through rounds of absurdly odd (and downright misogynistic) questions by yourself.

Soon you gave up on befriending the other drivers and being charming to the media. You realized the Iceman persona of Kimi looked like a good way to protect yourself from the clutches of the motorsport world. By the sixth race of the year, you gained the Lioness nickname. An agile hunter in your driving style and just as fierce in your answers.

“You’re always seen more comfortable with either Sebastian or Fernando, who are way older than you” some reporter said, “why is that?”

“I believe we’re closer in maturity age,” you said, face expressionless. You heard snickers around the room and you looked to Fernando who was visibly holding a laugh.

“So you’re saying the other drivers are immature?” The reporter pressed, but you didn’t want to talk anymore.

“No,” it’s all you answered, putting your mic down.

Everyone already thought you were arrogant, selfish, and superficial, and as you embraced your cold persona, you just fed into their assumptions. You couldn't care less, it was a good way to protect yourself, to be distant from the media who were constantly trying to drag you to the dirt.

“You mentioned the other day that you believe you should’ve joined F1 around the time the guys your age did. Why do you think that didn’t happen?”

“Because of what’s between my legs, Brian” you deadpanned.

You had to prove yourself two or three times more than the boys every single step of the way, to get into F4, F3, F2 and now F1. You made it, you were there, between the 20 best of motorsport in the whole world… and still… Still you had to hear questions about how you managed to race with a period, questions about boyfriends, questions about hair care or skin care, or whatever. You wouldn’t mind any of that if those were common questions, if they were asked of every driver, but they were only asked of you.

“I would like to express that, from now on, I will only answer questions that would be asked of the male drivers too, about the sport, about the cars, about strategies and everything that revolves around racing,” you warned one day before the end of a media conference when someone asked if your PMS interfered in your racing.

You started to not give two fucks about the media. Every time someone asked you a misogynistic question you just stared at them and put your mic down. So those types of question died down a little bit.

“Do you think you would’ve already been world champion had you entered Formula 1 earlier, let’s say at age 19/20?”

“Yes.”

Most of the guys ignored or avoided you, but your path always clashed with Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. They always hinted at not liking you in the slightest, and the media and the fans started catching up to it, throughout your rookie year. They would shamelessly shade you, and you never backed down, giving it as hard as you got.

You walked to a reporter, still using a towel to dry your face at the post race interview.

“Did you hear what Leclerc said about your move as you left the pits?” The man asked you.

“No, I didn’t. Do I look like I care about a man’s opinion?” You said, loud and clear.

You got as many fans as you got haters, especially as you messed with Leclerc’s and Verstappen’s loud fanbases. It wasn’t really on purpose, but one of them would usually jab at you in interviews, and when word got back to you, it would anger you to no end, and you would shade them back, and in an insane amount of back-and-forths until your rivalry was in articles, the news, twitter threads, and in the mind of every single reporter in a race week.

“Verstappen talked about your overtake at lap 49, he said it was a dirty move.”

“Like he did to me back in Silverstone?” Your eyes held a mischievous glint as you scoffed, “Funny, you didn’t see me whining about it back then.”

You had the best rookie year ever since Lewis Hamilton debuted. You almost reached the same overall numbers as him, getting six podiums and your first ever Formula 1 victory. You finished the driver’s championship in fifth place, over older drivers that were literal champions of the world.

The first time Lewis Hamilton really engaged in conversation with you was during the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony by the end of the season. You were proudly smiling, holding your Rookie of the Year trophy. He had been polite to you before, but he always looked unattainable, in a way. He was beyond the world of Formula 1.

“Congratulations!” He smiled at you, sitting by your side. Your heart thrumming in your chest, trying not to fangirl too much. Sometimes it was unbelievable sharing casual conversation with legends you grew up admiring from afar.

“Thank you, Lewis. Congratulations on the championship!” You said.

“I’m sorry for not realizing most of the boys were excluding you. I chatted about it with Seb, and he told me your only friends are him and Fernando.” Lewis whispered, looking genuine, “I guess I was so focused on the championship that I didn’t bother to check on you. I’m sorry, really.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you raised your trophy, “I made it, right?”

“Succeeding despite the adversities… I see traits of a champion in you, congratulations” Lewis got up, raising his flute in a toast for you, “see you around, Lioness!”

Soon the next season you realized you had a competitive car. More than the year before. As for the first few races of the season, you had a win and podiums, which put you as a contender for the driver’s championship. Unfortunately the other people competing closely with you were none other than Charles and Max. Your rivalry had died down a bit when they noticed that you only shaded them when they provoked you first. So as their jabs became few and far between, it meant your clap backs did too.

The season was as good as it could get, that is until Monza.

You had felt the problems braking specifically during qualifying and your team tried to fix it but there wasn’t much anyone could do due to parc fermé. So you spent part of the night before the race working with your strategist to find a way around your braking problems and the best way to preserve your tyres.

The data had shown it would take a bit more strength to brake, which would eat up at your tyres quicker than usual, but other than that, everything seemed normal.

You all were wrong.

As the race went on, your brakes got progressively worse, to the point that curves were taking your body strength so much you could feel your muscles sore.

“We are considering retiring the car,” Jace, your engineer said. You inhaled, trying to calm down.

You were barely holding your P5, when you saw a Red Bull approaching you. You weren’t in position to fight, so he overtook you turning in a chicane. But your brakes didn’t work as you tried to slow down behind Max’s car, you tried not going into him but your tyres locked as you tried to avoid his rear. You drove straight into his rear, making the two of you lose control of your car. You braced for impact against the wall but luckily the gravel slowed you enough that you just touched the barrier.

After checking with your engineer, you left the car and saw Max leaving his, both DNFs.

You knew of your fame of being a reckless driver, often known for risky maneuvers and overtakes, but you never dove into someone intentionally because you knew trying to take someone out would mean yourself getting taken out too. As a marshal took you back to the garage on a motorcycle, you were ready to swallow your pride and apologize to Max for accidentally taking him out.

But as soon as you stepped down from the motorcycle, Max was in your space. His face was red and his hair all sweaty and disheveled, when he fronted you, chest to chest. You knew there were dozens of cameras pointed to you, so you tried to diffuse the tension for once.

“Are you insane?! Why did you drive into me?!” He kept advancing and for each of his steps ahead, you took one back to try and explain. But he didn’t give you a second screaming all kinds of curses and blame, “you should’ve never made it to Formula 1!”

His words were like a slap to the face, and you stopped trying to apologize or explain. You put both hands to your back, inflating your chest to face him.

“You don’t get to fucking decide that! You dipshit! Who the fuck do you think you are?” You said to his face, that’s when someone from the RedBull garage ran closer and stood between you.

You watched as he was taken away from you and inside his garage. At the same time your PT found you and walked you back to McLaren.

Changing from your race suit, you tried to cool down before going to the media. You gulped down your water as you watched Charles leading the race, and getting closer to the championship than you.

“There was an altercation between you and Max Verstappen, can you comment on that?”

“He was visibly upset with the racing incident.” It was all you said, after chatting with your PR manager before stepping out to chat with the journalists.

“And what happened at that incident? Can you walk us through it?”

“Yes, uh, we’ve been feeling something wrong with our braking system since yesterday. The data showed us it would require me to be more forceful during braking, which seemed feasible. But the brakes were wearing off during the race and we were about to retire when I completely lost the brakes. I really tried to avoid him but my tyres locked and I ended up hitting Verstappen.”

“Are you sure this accident has nothing to do with the ongoing rivalry between the two of you?” You got offended by the reporter's words.

“Of course! I would never intentionally do something to put myself or other drivers at risk. I have all the data to back me up and anyone can check my onboard.”

The FIA investigated your altercation with Max, and you ended up getting an unsportsmanlike behavior penalty. Two points in your super license.

“What the fuck?! Why the fuck would I be punished for that! There are fourteen different angles from that argument and all of them show how Verstappen aggressively came on to me first!”

It got worse when you heard that only you had gotten a penalty and Max didn’t even get a reprimand.

Everyone close to you noticed how you were on edge next week. During media day your answers were short, dry, and every single journalist seemed to want to talk about the penalty.

“Yes, I do have opinions on my penalty. But no, I won’t talk about it, only the FIA’s opinion is relevant” Your words during the press conference were enough to express a little dissatisfaction and to put an end to those questions. Everyone was surprised at the fact you chose to be quiet about the whole ordeal, they were all expecting your complaints and harsh words.

When you went back to your driver’s room, you went straight to lay your head on your mom’s lap, feeling a bit down. You stayed quiet as she ran her hands through your hair softly untangling it. She knew you were upset and why, so none of you bother to voice anything, bashing in the comforting silence.

The best thing about Formula 1 was being able to retire your mom from working, now you didn’t have to worry about her burning out and she didn’t have to worry about bills or mortgage or debts. Now she had a new, bigger and better house, everything was paid for and you even gave her a credit card for hobbies or whatever she wanted. She sometimes went to the races, but she usually stayed at home, relaxing.

“I know things are hard right now,” you mom started, her voice soft, caring, “but I know you can do it, honey. You’ve faced pushback since the beginning of this dream, but you always came out on top.”

“Thank you for believing in me.”

“You will be a world champion, honey. I know it.” She smiled down at you.

You sat up as your mom removed her watch, handing it to you.

“I wanted to give it to you on your birthday, but I feel like this is the right moment,” she turned the watch, showing you the inscription that read strong woman, and you felt your eyes water, “this was my grandma’s. She gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, and now it’s yours.”

That week you got a victory, raising your P1 trophy for your mom, who was watching you with a hand on her heart, crying happy tears.

As the season progressed the championship became even tighter between the three of you. Mere points set the three of you apart, and with each week result, the P1, P2 and P3 shifted between you. It had become one of the most competitive seasons in the sport.

When the third to last race came in Qatar, you were P3 in the championship, and you needed at least P4 in that race to keep fighting for the championship. You didn’t care about anything other than getting a podium, focused on your racing mindset, no distractions. If you only got that win, it would mean getting back that P1 in the championship and you would go down in history.

You were P3 after your last pitstop of the race, you had a small window of time to take advantage of being with new mediums while everyone else was with old softs. You had to pull ahead and open at least ten seconds, so you could become first when Max went to the pits. You had the perfect opportunity for an undercut.

That was until you overtook Charles’ Ferrari for P2. You passed him easily, he hadn’t gone to the pits yet, so he had old tyres. But you frowned as Jace warned you about Leclerc trying to take the position back. He couldn’t fight against your new tyres, everyone knew that. You accelerated to open a distance, but as you went fast into turn 4, you only felt the hit to your side, making you lose control of the car.

It was barely a few seconds that you couldn’t wrap your head around, so shocked you couldn’t brake, only feeling your stomach churn as you braced for impact. The second hit came against the barriers even harder than the first, it shook your whole body, leaving you dizzy and out of breath.

You talked with Jace, telling him in a shaky voice that you were okay but out of breath, and you unlocked your seatbelts with trembling hands. After removing your steering wheel, you tried to get up but you were dizzy and your legs felt like jelly. A marshal helped you out of the car, but as soon as your feet were on the ground, you stumbled to your knees. The nausea got the best of you and you puked against your balaclava and inside the helmet. The marshals made a small shield around you, as one of them helped you remove the helmet and balaclava, still dry heaving. The marshal gave you a towel, and you cleaned the best you could as the ambulance was coming.

You looked behind you to your destroyed car.

And just like that, you had lost any chance at the championship.

You held your tears as you went through the medical procedures and examinations. The world had been muted in the background and you could only hear the noise of the crash, visualizing your ruined car, and your dreams being crushed once again.

But as you came back to the hospitality, you found your mom, and sobbed quietly against her chest.

“It’s ok, honey. It’s okay,” her voice was so soothing and the pain meds were working, so you cried yourself to sleep while she held you.

Later that day, you watched the replay of your crash. Leclerc had gone way too close to you, but in turn 4 he hit the curbs and lost control, hitting your car right in the middle, full force. Your car had spun out a lot then hit the barriers. It was lucky that you had come out of the crash relatively unharmed, it was ugly and could’ve been a lot worse, from the way you spun and the G force your car hit the barrier with.

“You’re still watching that?” Your mom’s voice sounded in the middle of the night.

“He shouldn’t have tried to fight for the position back, he didn’t even have enough tyres for that! And he was way too close, look!”

Your mom closed your laptop, putting it on the coffee table. She took your hands in hers and smiled gently.

“I’m sorry about the championship. But I’m glad you’re okay, that was one of the scariest couple of seconds of my entire life,” she whispered, teary eyed.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, ashamed that it didn’t cross your mind how worried she might have been.

“It’s okay, honey. There’s always next year, I’m sure you will be world champion. And will be there cheering for you.”

The next week in Jeddah, you felt like the world was out to get you when they put you in the press conference with both Max and Charles, as well as Lewis and Sebastian.

“Y/N, how are you feeling after last week’s crash? It looked pretty bad.” Someone asked.

“I am doing ok, thank you,” that’s all you said into the mic.

“Unfortunately, the crash ultimately took you out of the championship, what do you say about that?”

You were so tired of that question, so tired of your PR manager talking in your head about not blaming Charles publicly, despiste your desire to scream to whoever may hear that the monegasque just wanted to take you out of the competition, so he could fight only Verstappen for the championship. You just wanted the season to be over, in all honesty.

“There’s always next year, right?” You echoed your mom's words, that were also your rehearsed answer. You looked to the side, feeling Sebastian’s hand softly on your forearm, a silent show of support.

You left as soon as it was over. You knew Charles had been trying to talk to you. You supposed it was to apologize, but you weren’t having it. You were still so angry at him that you worried you’d punch him as soon as he was in your face. So you just avoided him like the plague. You didn’t want to see him, and you couldn’t afford another punishment if you acted on your anger.

“Charles has been looking for you,” Sebastian said, walking up to you as you were finishing braiding your hair for the race.

“I have been avoiding him,” you said, not looking at Seb, still focusing on your braids.

“He just wants to apologize.”

“And I want to punch him in the face, so what? We can’t always get what we want” You clenched your jaw, using an elastic band to finish.

“Y/N…” Sebastian sounded tired.

“Don’t Y/N me. I just want this season to be over, ok? The championship was in my reach, and now it’s not. And it wasn’t even my own fault. So no, I won’t see him.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything as he walked to you and pulled you in an affectionate hug that made you want to cry again.

During the driver’s parade, Fernando acted almost as a guard dog, not letting anyone close to you. You talked with him and Lewis about the crash, explaining how it felt to you.

When the season ended, you got a third place trophy during the Prize Giving Ceremony. You remembered your dad’s words throughout the entire night. Coming down from the stage, and you met with Minttu and Kimi, they congratulated you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. You looked at Charles on the stage with his P2 trophy.

“Anything other than the first is failure, right?” You sighed, eyes glued to the stage, where Max got the trophy of Champion of the World.

“What crap is that?” Kimi said, suddenly.

“My dad used to say that when I was a kid.”

“Well he was an asshole,” Kimi said matter-of-factly, “and he never made it to F1. He didn’t even make it to F4, he has no reason or power to get in your head. You were just a kid. You understand?”

“Yes, Kimi," you swallowed, feeling some kind of wheight being lifted from your shoulders. Kimi had done many great things for your life with very few words, and his succint way of being was great to pull you back to the present whenever you anxiety got the best of you.

You ended up getting the Personality of the Year award too, which was such a surprise that it worked wonders to lift your spirits and to end the season with a sweet note.

Even being in a better mood, you didn’t stay at the party too late, saying your farewell to your friends as you dropped Kimi and his wife at the hotel. You were removing your makeup after a shower when there was a knock on your hotel room door. Thinking it was an emergency, you rushed only to be faced with Charles Leclerc.

“What are you doing here?” You looked around the hall, confused.

“Can I talk to you?” Charles was still dressed in his formal attire, black tie. He fiddled with his fingers as you let him in, afraid someone might see him at your door.

“What?” You crossed your arms as you closed the door.

“I’m really sorry about the crash in Qatar,” he waited for your answer with bated breath.

“Can we have this conversation when next season starts?” You proposed. You knew you weren’t ready for that talk yet, too much anger was still clouding your judgment for a level-headed talk.

“It wasn’t my intention to take you out-” He started but you cut him off.

“Look, you’ve never liked me, I’m aware, and you cost me an entire championship, so I don’t know if I believe you.”

“It really wasn’t intentional, the accident cost me the championship as well,” you could see in his eyes that his patience was wearing thin. But so did yours.

“No it didn’t. You still had a chance even after that DNF, you just didn’t win anyway,” your anger simmered again, making you raise your voice.

“Fuck you! You treat me like this because you always felt like you were better than everyone-”

“I treat you like this?! Be fucking for real, Charles! You hate me so much you took my chance at the championship away!”

“If you had more wins during the season maybe this wouldn’t be a problem right now!”

“Unbelievable! Because you are so much better than me, all you got was second place!”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve always hated me for absolutely no reason-”

“Shut up.”

“And now you think you can barge into my room and tell me you think I’m a shitty driver? I’m not standing for-”

“Shut up!” He shouted, which was so surprising you actually stopped talking.

The both of you were breathing heavily, in one second you were sure you could strangle him, in the next, his lips were against yours and his hand gripping your hair. The kiss was nasty, all teeth and lips and tongue, his hands going down your body, pressing you into him, and your fingers tugging at his suit, ripping the buttons. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Charles’ lips found your neck and he bit into your pulse point.

“Fuck you, Charles” you said, breathless, opening his trousers and he ripped your little sleep top with his bare hands.

It was so hot as you stumbled backwards and he followed you, tossing your top behind him, you took off his shirt and undershirt and he helped you kick out your shorts.

Charles pressed you against the wall, kissing you aggressively again, and you moaned as he placed his thigh between your legs, and you ground against him, turned on, dampening his trousers with the wet of your panties. You pressed your hand against his bulge, and he groaned, pressing into you even harder, humping like horny teenagers.

You didn’t even bother to get him naked, with his trousers half undone, you just pulled his cock out, heavy in your hands. You watched his pained expression as you spit on your hand so you could masturbate him.

“Fuck it,” you moaned, knowing grinding on him was not nearly enough.

You pulled your panties to the side, and lined his cock up into you. It was so tight as he slid into you, that your eyes rolled in pleasure, and he raised one of your legs against his waist to make room for his hips. He pulled back and snapped his hips into you again, his cock stretching you so good you were shaking. You put one arm around his shoulders holding on him and the other hand you held his ass under his loose trousers, your nails biting into his flesh as you pushed him even deeper.

“Fuck, ah-” he moaned in your ear, “so hot- putain-”

The loud, wet sounds of his hips pistoning into you were obscene. You angrily bit him, his shoulders, his chest, his jaw and he went even harder, your back hitting the wall behind you, and you pulled his hair, sweat starting to form all over your body.

“Fuck, Charles!” Your moans got even louder, and Charles stuck two fingers into your mouth, muffling your sounds as he fucked you.

He was hitting the perfect spot inside you, and it was enough for you to know you would come that way. You slapped his cheek, taking out some of your anger and he groaned, going harder. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and held your neck, pressing your torso against the wall and choking you a little bit.

“I can’t hold much longer” he warned you between gritted teeth, relentlessly fucking you.

You pinched your own nipples and it didn’t take long for you to come, your cunt clenching so hard around him, it was enough to send him over the edge too.

Shaking, the two of you slid to the floor, breathlessly lying down, half naked and sweaty.

None of you said a word.

When he was ready to go again, he put you on your knees, your torso against the mattress, and he pounded into your cunt mercilessly from behind.

The third and last time was lazy, slow missionary and he held your wrists above your head with one hand, pressed your clit with the other, sucked a few hickeys around your tits and his cock pressed over and over your g-spot.

When you woke up the next morning, Charles was still asleep by your side. You went into the bathroom and showered, hoping he would catch the hint and leave. But as you came out showered and dressed, he was still out cold. So you quietly packed your bag and left for the airport.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #lestappen x reader #lestappen #Spotify

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sebscore · 1 year

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gen z!reader is this sweet, bubbly, bright ray of sunshine who could honestly do no wrong, so I'd love to see a fic where in a driver's meeting gen z!reader loses their shit and calls out the FIA for their blatant sexism and misogyny in front of everyone and everyone is shocked cause they've never seen them gets this mad before.

NO ONE LIKES A MAD WOMAN

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader (+ cameos from brundle, susie and buxton)

warnings: sexism. fia is fia'ing. swearing. my own unaccurate ruling of penalties (it's for the sake of the story, just go along with it). susie mothering. it wasn't sure to me who conducted the driver's briefing during this time so I just picked a random name from the many that I came across.

author's note: less comedic one this time, hope you enjoy it anyway!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''Alright, thanks for clarifying, Checo.'' Derek concluded, glancing down at his journal to see what the next topic of discussion was.

The director scratched his voice before addressing the drivers again. ''Uhm, we also wanted to remind everyone to be wary of what they say in the media regarding our organization,'' he stated, ''the FIA has the feeling that there have been deliberate attacks on them the last few weeks and they are willing to give out penalties if it happens again.''

The drivers looked at each other, confused by the sudden declaration that the FIA has been receiving ''attacks'' from the drivers. ''Can you give an example, because I think I speak for everyone when I say that I'm confused.'' George spoke up, the others nodding along to his question.

Derek flipped through his papers, trying to find the notes his colleagues had given him regarding the ''offensive'' comments that had been made against them.

''Oh, here,'' he put on his reading glasses, holding the piece of paper farther from his face, ''the comment they're referring to was one made by… Y/N at the previous race.''

The young woman's head sprung up at the mention of her name, clueless as to how she could have upset the FIA. ''What? W-what did I say?'' She managed to stutter out, all the eyes on her making her feel uneasy.

''Uh, you were asked about the diversity in the sport and you said, and I quote: 'The FIA should do more regarding women in motorsport, there are still many things that need to be changed.' End quote.'' Derek answered her, putting his paper back in place.

Y/N frowned at the man. ''I don't see what's wrong with that, to be honest.'' She told him, failing to see how the FIA would feel this was a ''deliberate attack''.

The director sighed, already getting the suspicion the woman would not be happy with what he was about to say. ''Certain members of the board were offended by your words, because they saw it as you accusing them of being sexist.''

The silence in the room was deafening, every single person awaiting Y/N's reaction to Derek's clarification. The drivers took a glimpse at her, trying to read the indifferent expression on her face that didn't give much away about how she was feeling.

''They think I'm accusing them of being sexist? What I meant was that they should take more actions in encouraging young girls to get into racing- I don't understand how that would correlate to me calling them sexist.'' Her usual cheerful tone was replaced by a monotone voice that almost scared some of her colleagues.

Derek took a deep breath again. ''Well, they felt like you were insinuating it and they are offended by the alleged insinuation.''

''Just because they are offended doesn't mean they're right.'' She bit back, not missing a beat.

''I'm simply delivering their message, Y/N,'' the director told her politely, wanting to remind her that he's not the person she should be upset with, ''anyway- if you go up there and apologize for your comment, they're considering leaving it as a warning for you and also the others.'' He finished the list of notes they had given him.

The reaction from the room wasn't one he was expecting; absolute outrage.

''She shouldn't apologize for that neither should she be penalized for it.'' Sebastian was the first one to speak up, directly looking Derek in the eye.

The drivers agreed. ''Yeah, it's called freedom of speech.'' Max added, also not seeing why Y/N should go down there and say sorry to the members of the board.

''Like I said earlier, I'm simply delivering their message.'' Derek repeated himself, feeling the tension and frustration growing in the small space.

''But don't you see how ridiculous this is?'' Sebastian rebutted, hoping the man at the front could at least agree with them and say that it was indeed a weird request.

Derek shook his head. ''I'm just the middle man, Seb,'' he sighed, turning his head towards the quiet female driver, ''Y/N, make it easier for yourself and go up there after the meeting, you don't want to receive a penalty for something like this.''

''I'm not apologizing.'' Her voice comes out strong, not in an aggressive way, but in a manner that lets everyone know she's not backing down. ''Give me as many penalties as you want, I'm not accepting them.'' She crossed her arms, indicating she was sticking to her words, almost stubbornly.

The other drivers looked on proudly, glad she was standing by her belief and didn't give in simply because it would make everything ''easier''. Lewis gave her a nod, subtly letting her know he supported her and had her back.

''Alright, then that will result in a fine of a number that is yet to be determined.'' Derek picked up his pen and wrote down that she would not come by their office, already knowing his colleagues wouldn't be happy with it.

''Just so you know- I'm not paying that.'' Y/N said, matter-of-factly.

Derek looked up from his journal. ''If you refuse to pay the fine, we can either add a grid-place penalty or a time penalty.'' He recited the rule as if he had done it a million times before.

''Derek, this is stupid,'' Kimi decided to voice his opinion, ''the race shouldn't be affected, because of a comment she made that had nothing to do with racing in the first place.'' He defended her, allying behind her stance to not accept any of the penalties they give her.

''I'm just doing my job, Kimi.''

''I also want to just do my job, Derek, which is racing, but these ridiculous rules to silence me prevent me from doing that.'' Y/N argued his response, just wanting him to see her point of view.

The director's hand went over his face, seemingly wiping his agitation away. ''No one is trying to silence you, Y/N.'' He quickly answered.

''That's why all the other drivers receive penalties whenever they question the FIA, right?'' Her comment must have shut him up as he solely put his pen down without saying another word about the matter. ''Yeah, that's what I thought.''

Y/N felt her presence wasn't longer necessary as she stood up from her chair, ready to leave the room and join her engineering team in preparation for the upcoming race. However, Derek felt different about that. ''The briefing isn't over yet, Y/L. Sit back down, please.''

''I'll see you at the next meeting, Derek.'' She ignored his plea and walked towards the door.

The director stood up from his desk at the front. ''Y/N, if you leave before it's done, the board will-''

''The board can kiss my ass.''

''Y/N Y/L RECEIVES A 20-PLACE GRID PENALTY AHEAD OF THE 2021 SPANISH GRAND PRIX DUE TO DAMAGING REMARKS AGAINST THE FIA''

''FIA RE-EVALUATING Y/N Y/N's PENALTY AFTER BACKLASH''

''FIA SUSPENDS GRID PENALTY OF Y/N Y/L DUE TO AN ERROR''

The day after the driver's briefing had been quite eventful to say the least. As soon as the FIA announced that she had been given a penalty, the backlash from drivers, fans and reporters started.

Lewis had condemned their decision claiming it was based on nothing and that nothing about her comment was an attack on the organization. His teammate, Valtteri, followed him in his opinion stating: ''Drivers should be able to say what they want to say, she doesn't deserve a penalty for that.''

Sky Sports F1 reporter, Martin Brundle, also came to the driver's defense. ''If we're going to punish drivers for stating their opinions, we might as well get rid of the entire sport, especially if what they're saying isn't far from the truth.''

After finishing P5 in the race, Y/N spoke to Will Buxton in her post-race interview. ''You must be very happy with your result today, considering you almost had to start from the very back of the grid.''

''I'm content with today's race, obviously would have loved a podium but Mercedes was better today,'' she chuckled, ''yeah, it wasn't fun waking up to that news, but I'm happy that it was reversed and the support I received was just- wow, I'm very grateful for everyone.''

''According to some sources, it got pretty heated in the driver's briefing on friday- would you like to clarify?'' Will asked her.

A sarcastic laugh left her mouth. ''I would just like to forget about it, moving on is the best thing to do right now.'' She smoothly avoided the question, figuring she shouldn't make the FIA more mad by airing out all their business.

''Alright, thank you so much for talking to us, Y/N and congratulations on your race today.'' He nodded, bidding her goodbye.

On her way back to her team's hospitality, she was stopped by none other than Susie Wolff. ''Lewis told us what happened during the briefing- I'm very proud of you for standing up for yourself, not everyone could have done that.''

''It was so awful, Susie,'' Y/N hugged the older woman, ''it's like they just wanted to give me some sort of punishment- I don't even want to know what would have happened if I went down there by myself.'' Susie rubs her back at her words, also not wanting to think about what could have gone down.

''It's okay now, honey,'' they pulled apart, Susie's hand staying on her shoulder, ''by the way- did you really say that the board could kiss your ass?''

Y/N laughed at her question, excitedly nodding her head. ''At first I wanted to say something like 'the board can stick that penalty right up their ass’ but I needed a cool getaway so I opted for something shorter.''

''Atta girl''

taglist :: @i0veless @missskid @missthem @rosesintj @evans-dejong @thehistoryone @dreamycloudsworld @formulazeesworld @muushmeg @topguncultleader @the-great-adventures-of-me @love13tter @xcharlottemikaelsonx @kiwisa @starkwlkr @nora_moon @princesselle2111 @valluvsu @thatsadsmallchild @babyyoda89 @milkbreadforlife @fxllfaiiry @hc-dutch @its-ash-not-grey @princessbetsy123-blog @mehrmonga @nyenye @screechingtrashkid @ahnneyong @holybatflapexpert @itsnotgray @beautycinders @scuderialavender @rowansshit @uhhevie @revengze @nylaslife @majx00 @multi-universe21 @jaydensluv @isasalom @gentlemonsterjennie1 @appledashhh @breathinfive @lighttsoutlewis

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#f1 fic #f1 fics #f1 x reader #formula 1 fic #f1 x oc #f1!drivers x fem!driver #f1 female driver #female f1 driver #formula one fics #formula 1 oc

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grison-in-space · 3 months

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honestly so much of the way we conceptualize autistic special interests is predicated on there not being anyone who shares them with us? and like. have you met humans. have you talked to any autistics. because lots of them are pretty interesting actually! and autistic people are often pretty good at infecting you with their interests so that you share them too even if you're not as motivated to fixate happily on them for their own sakes!

huge whorls of autistic-generated human communities exist, and people who aren't used to autistic people never seem to realize that Yes Those Are Also Autistics, often because people are used to autistic special interests occupying some very limited contexts like Computers because Computers were a big new societal innovation and community spinning up right when people also started thinking about autism as a Distinction Among Humans. Also Pokemon. And the Internet. Nineties kids know what I mean, eh?

anyway here are some heavily autistic communities that allistic people never seem to realize tend to concentrate autistics and be driven by them:

every non-commercial domestic animal fancy ever, including dog, cat, pigeon, chicken, and horse people; also includes a fair chunk of the commercial kinds but there are slightly less of these

fandom of any kind (for some reason--it's misogyny--no one seems to realize that this also applies to female-slanted forms of fandom focused on storytelling and modification as well as male-slanted ones that involve information curation)

religion. especially any kind that involves any kind of organization--less the charismatic ones that involve manipulating other people, more the kind that draw people interested in the way that religion works. less/more is not all/none.

kink and sexuality generally and also gender. we think a lot. it's a problem. and we get snagged on stuff. plus sensory shit ties into everything. just saying. e v e r y t h i n g.

academia. look we get. we get interested in things. if you get interested enough in things people call you an expert and sometimes they give you money. money is nice. it lets you buy more objects of special interest.

acting. we wear masks all the fucking time and we get caught up in it. which makes you think about structure, eh?

comedy. ditto.

building shit. admittedly the allistics have largely noticed that engineers concentrate us by now but it has taken a surprisingly long time to realize that this also applies to other, older crafts.

fibercrafts and textiles. what about "we like textures and also figuring out how things work" is a surprise to you. also math. again the answer to how the allistics keep failing to notice this one is "there's lots of ladies in there."

I bet I'm missing plenty that I'm just not thinking of but my god, man, look at how many of these things touch us! look at how they shape our understanding of one another and ourselves! how cool is that

#neurodivergence #autism

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rushtoprove · 1 year

Text

our little secret

part one: revelations

pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader chapter: 1 rating: teen and up word count: 4k+ summary: aemond promised to take you as his wife when the time was right and you had no reason to doubt him. but when news of his engagement to cassandra baratheon is announced, and your name is left ruined by his nightly visits to your chamber, you have no choice but to flee from the shame you have brought upon your family and to run from the man you love. but not all is as it seems warnings: sexual references and nsfw scenes. period typical misogyny and course language. chapters: 1 / 2

From the moment you were born, you were told your only importance was how successful your marriage would be for the furtherment of your family. Your older brother would inherit your father’s titles and his lands, but all you had was a dowery that you could not touch for it would belong to your future husband. You were told that the only skills you needed were to please the men around you in hopes that they might take a liking and to learn the customs that make a good wife.

“Your future depends on tonight. Every eligible suitor shall be at this ball, and you must present yourself perfectly. Do not let your family down.” You felt your mother tug your hair with extra force as she readied you for the great feast to honour the king on his name day.

“Yes mother.” You whispered, desperate for her to approve.

“We have spent much gold on this dress so do not make it needless. We will not have you come back without a suiter again.” Taking in the bright blue silk that pressed tightly against you, forcing your chest to push up further than you thought possible, you bowed your head in obedience. You wished to tell her that every other gathering only presented halfwits and morons, but you would never dare speak to her that way. She would tell you to be grateful that the men had looked at you and that their house name would provide stability and protection. She would curse you for being ungrateful and spoilt, making it much easier to simply keep your mouth shut.

“I shall make you proud mother.” You wanted to. Gods, all you wanted was your family’s love and gratification, but you would not be looking for a suiter tonight. You would not allow the Lannister lord to sneak you to the gardens to talk, nor would you allow the Baratheon boy to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. The cousin of the House Strong would not be allowed to read you his poetry and you would certainly not allow the first-born Tyrell to steal a kiss is the dark. No one would court you, for you were taken. You just needed time to explain it to your family. They would not understand just yet.

“Come. You are ready for them to see you, and what a sight you are.” Submissive to your mother’s order, you stood and followed numbly behind her. The walk to the hall was a blur of noise and colour. Your father always had to be leading, standing tall in front of the courts. You all belonged to a small house, nameless years ago, but your father had built his power through his cunning ways. But as powerful as he considered himself, your house was still a small one meaning you were one of the first to enter the hall. Not many were there to see your entrance, but your father kept his head high and his strut powerful. You admired his dedication to the role.

“I am sure your mother has told you what is expected of you tonight.” His fierce gaze did not waver as you quickly ducked into a curtsey.

“Yes father.” Your family had told you of their expectations since you came of age, but they had fallen into the habit of repeating it whenever they were with you. For a year, you had remained without a suiter and your family were blind to the reason. They thought you too plain to keep any man’s interest, and too dull to be admired.

“Good girl.” No one suspected it you who was keeping the admirers away. That you would tear up the love letter’s that would arrive in the aftermath of these feasts, or that you would decline the company of countless men without fail. Some even found themselves threatened with fire and blood, but it was not you who terrorized them so.

“The Lannister Lord was quite taken with you after Princess Helaena’s name day celebrations. Perhaps try and make him remember that affection.” Your brother tried to spur you on affectionately, hoping his advice would help you. Again, you simply bowed your head and cast down your eyes.

“Here., He comes!” Your mother hissed, quickly reaching out and tugging your cheeks to brighten them. Your father instantly stood to attention while your brother quickly squeezed your arm in fondness. Not one cared that Jason Lannister was a year older than your father.

“You shall shine bright tonight little sister.” He whispered in your ear before nudging your forward. Your whole family bowed in respect for the higher born lord, but he paid no attention as he shamelessly stared at your breasts.

“Ah my little dove! You disappeared so quick the last time we met! I thought to never see you again!” Without permission, he pulled your hand roughly to his lips. He may have been more considerate if he not already drowning in his cups.

“My apologies Lord Lannister.” It was challenging to not turn up your nose in disgust and turn away from the proud bastard, but you remained passive under the gaze of your blood. He was still yet to look at your face.

“I hear the royal family are meeting so they shall not be attending for a little while longer. Let us dance to fill in the time.” You wanted to decline, but your heart squeezed at his words. The smallest reminder and you were caught in your own mind. Senselessly you agreed and repressed the shiver that ran down your spine as he grasped your waist and dragged you to the centre of the dancefloor. Other couples joined to line up beside you and Jamie Lannister finally lifted his gaze from your chest, only to stare at Cassandra Baratheon’s beside you. You watched as she lowered her gaze and giggled, slyly looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. She was good at this little play. The music jolted everyone to attention, and you slowly moved to the beat, dreading the feeling of Lord Lannister’s hands in yours. It was not his touch that you wished to feel right now. You only cared for the touch of another.

“King Viserys Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Prince of Dragonstone! And his wife Queen Alicent of House Hightower!” The dance was holted and the courtiers fell into a silent bow as the announcement was made. You felt your breath catch and against your will, your neck craned to find a glimpse of who you had been desperate to see.

“And their children! Prince Aegon Targaryen, Prince Aemond Targaryen, Prince Daeron Targaryen and the Princess Helaena Targaryen!” The family stepped forth into the hall, hands clasped behind their back as they walked straight through the parted crowd. No one dared to look too long, out of fear they may disrespect the royal family, and you too kept your eyes firmly downcast. You heart grew louder in your ears as the echo of footsteps grew closer, before stopping altogether as you gazed them walking in front of you.

“They better have poured my wine.” You heard Prince Aegon moan as he came to walk past you.

“You drink more than a Braavosi seahorse.” The sound from Prince Aemond was something you often longed to hear and left goosebumps all over you. The deep voice was enough to have you blushing, thinking back to the scandalous things he had whispered to you the very night before.

This was your secret. Aemond Targaryen, the second prince to King Viserys, and the proud rider of the fierce dragon Vaghar, was your lover. Every night he would take the secret passage to your chamber and claim you, over and over. He would worship your body and be floored by your mind while praising the gods they had sent you to him. He adored you, and you him. But it had to remain your little secret. Your family would not believe you would be able to capture a prince, no matter how high they wanted you to marry.

That’s why you prayed no one saw him extend his finger to brush through your hair as he walked by you.

“Please! Be relaxed!” The king laughed. Releasing a breath, everyone went back to standing straight and watching as the Targaryen family took to their seats. King Viserys began a speech, thanking all those who had come to attend his celebration, and you tried to pay attention. You truly tried. But Aemond had yet to move his gaze from you, leaving you blushing and trying not to make eye contact for too long. It had been a year since you had given yourself to him, and yet it still left you dizzy as if it the first time you received his attention.

“Aegon sure loves his cups.” You had forgotten that Jason Lannister remained in your presence and flinched as he whispered into your ear with his foul breath. He leaned against you, making you almost buckle under his weight in shock. It was impossible to miss the way Aemond’s gaze darkened. You tried to politely move away from the man, but you could not leave your position without him falling to the ground. For the rest of the speech, you tried desperately to ignore the weight, and the smell, of Lord Lannister and instead tried to remember something else to take your mind of it.

Watching Aemond draw his goblet to his lips, you remembered the feeling of his tongue making its way down your naked form, the feeling of his mouth on your most sensitive parts. The feeling of ecstasy as he made you crumble beneath it for the fourth time that night. The memory of last night made your experience much easier to bear.

“Now let us dance and be merry! Let us have some music!” The band were quick to restart the song, and everyone scrambled to take their places. It was a flurry of skirts and elbows, everyone desperate to fulfil the wishes of the king. You were dragged to your spot by Lord Lannister, who you did not know could even stand straight. Quickly readying yourself, you paid no attention to who lined up beside you.

“Thank you for dancing with me.” A sweet voice laughed beside you, as you flattened your skirt and pulled at the cuffs of your sleeves. You felt ridiculous in such heavy layers during the summer, but your father thought keeping the coverage would show your purity.

“Anything for you sweet sister.” With a jolt, your head swung up to see Aemond standing proudly, leaving Jamie darkened by his shadow. You had yet to see Aemond dance in public as he had only danced with you twice, privately, and under the influence of too much wine. His eye remained staring at you, and you couldn’t help the smile that crossed your lips. Only you would have noticed the way his lips also curved upwards.

“Princess Helaena. Prince Aemond. It shall be an honour to have you as our dance partners.” Lord Lannister was breathless at the sight of Aemond, as may often were. The respect he had gained from his fighting skills and philosophies often either intimidated or attracted the court. You quickly bowed in agreement.

“A pleasure.” You whispered. Helaena simply giggled before holding out her hand to her younger brother. You mimicked the move to Jamie and watched Aemond tense as your hand was squeezed much too tightly. The band began the music once more and everyone began moving in sync. You did not allow yourself to get too close to the Lannister, but the moment you spun into Aemond’s arms you felt yourself be pulled flush against the prince. The proximity could easily be seen as a part of the dance, but everyone was blind to the way both your bodies were alight with the familiar feeling of desire.

“I do not intend to spend too long here my love. I do hope you intend to leave soon.” His voice was hushed as he pulled your body up and spun you around to the dance.

“Whatever my prince desires.” You breathed out as your mouth leant close to his ear. He spun you so that your back was pressed tightly to his chest and lifted your arm to trail his fingers along.

“You know what I desire. Make sure your servants make your bath than retire for the night. I will take care of the rest.”

+++

It was not two minutes after your maids did retire that night, that the hidden door into your room swung open widely. You had no time to prepare before Aemond had you wrapped up in his arms and his hand tangled into your hair.

“You look fucking delicious in that dress.” He moaned as he moved his face to bury into your chest. You laughed and tried to push him away mockingly but took delight in the way he pressed his lips tightly against yours. You sighed at the feeling and cherished the way you felt him relax in a way that he would only do for you.

“You may take me as many times as you like tonight Aemond, but I need to bathe first. Jason Lannister spilt his wine all over me.” You cursed that you had to break away from his kiss, but the stickiness of your skin was unbearable.

“I should have cut him down right then and there. How dare he touch what is mine?” Aemond hissed but you both fell silent. How was he to know? No one was aware of your arrangement yet. Aemond first needed to gain permission from his family to have you as his wife, a proposition which you had accepted long ago. It was hard to find the right time, however due to the king’s ailing heath and rising tensions amongst the royal family. You did not mind. You would wait a lifetime for him.

“Come and join me my darling. I want to wash your hair.” You ignored the heaviness of the room, and instead walked backwards while guiding him by his hand. He smiled lovingly at you and brought your hands to his lips.

“I crave nothing more.” When you reached the tub, he moved to stand behind you and began to unlace the back of your gown. He could not go two seconds without kissing the back of your neck.

“Pay attention! The bath will get cold.” You tried to reprimand him, but your eyes screwed shut in pleasure to which he took great delight. It took longer than it should have, but when you were both finally bare you watched as he lowered himself into the water. His eyes raked over your naked form as if he was seeing it for the first time.

“Moulded from the gods.” He breathed out in reverence. Once upon a time, his attention was overwhelming. Now you were filled with nothing but bliss. You joined him but kneeled before him instead of laying against his chest.

“Do come closer I might catch a chill.” He frowned, making you giggle as the steam that rose from the almost scorching water almost made it impossible to see one another.

“Not until you are as bare as me.” Biting your lips, you placed your hands on your thighs and stared at him expectingly. Aemond held your gaze for some seconds, before humming begrudgingly.

“Fine. But you take it off. I wish to use my hands elsewhere.” Crawling forward so you leaned on top of him, Aemond grabbed your hips and quickly nipped at your shoulder.

“Ow.” You cried out in fake shock as your hands moved up towards the back of his head. Fumbling around, you loosened his eyepatch enough so that you could slip the leather off his head. He did not break eye contact as his missing eye became exposed, and in its place a perfectly carved sapphire. Delicately running you finger down the side of his face, you pressed a small kiss on his scarred eyebrow.

“Perfect.” Your sigh was enough for him to pull you down to him and yet again pull you in to a feverish kiss. Aemond allowed his hands to clutch desperately at your body before flipping you over. Holding your breath, you felt both your bodies submerge under the water, but he refused to break the kiss. You cried out in shock and could not stop laughing as you broke through the surface.

“Are you trying to drown me?” You giggled as you pushed your soaking hair from your face. He smiled lazily at you as he reclined back into the bathtub, slowly tugging you with him.

“Well, you needed me to soak my hair for you to wash it did you not?” With an eyebrow raised expectantly, Aemond pushed forward the rosewater left behind for your own hair. No one would know the way Aemond was behind your closed doors, and you were devoted to keeping it your little secret. You moved to sit behind him and allowed his body to relax into yours as you began massaging your fingers a top his skull. It was a comfortable silence as you washed him and with closed eyes, Aemond moaned at your touch.

“I must admit something to you.” He only spoke once you had rinsed his hair and his voice was nothing more than a whispered.

“What must you confess?”

“I discussed my future proposal with my father.” Your fingers stopped for a second, before hesitantly running down the fallen strands.

“What of it?” You whispered. You were no fool. You knew that the royal family would not simply allow their son to marry such a lowborn lady. But you could not help but hope for dear life that they had.

“I have requested that I chose who I shall wed. And he has agreed.” Pushing Aemond forward, you stared at him with widened eyes.

“You jest.” You glared at him but could not slow your beating heart. Shaking his head, Aemond clasped your hands together with sincerity.

“Not of this. I have given much to my family. This is all I have asked for and he says it is to be granted.”

“You're making a fool of me.” Pushing Aemond away, you quickly climbed from the bath and wrapped yourself in a gown, concealing yourself from his gaze. He was quick to follow, calling for you as he followed to your bedroom.

“You think me a liar?” Grasping your shoulders, he turned you to face him. His heart broke at the sight of the tears that had fallen down your cheeks.

“You are a prince. You will not be allowed to marry me.” You tried hard, but a sob racked your body and you desperately tried to spin away from his sight. His hands firmly kept you facing him.

“I told you long ago that I would marry you. And when have I ever broken a promise? We are made to fit against one another my love. Without you I would lose half my heart, half my soul! I will not allow you to be taken from me and I have made it clear to my father! He has agreed! I swear it on my mother’s soul! You shall be my wife and you shall be the mother of my children! I would not jest of my love for you.” You could not speak for all that left your mouth were cries. Bundling you up in his arms, Aemond tightly pressed himself to you.

“You are my love. My light. If I am not with you, I shall die the most painful death, I just know it. I love you. I promise you this. You shall be my wife.”

You believed him.

+++

The next day, you found yourself nervously pacing your families' quarters, awaiting your father. You brother stared at you as if you were a mad woman, but your mother was too caught up in her own excitement. She could not believe her husband had been called to a private audience with the king.

“Gods. What could it be about!?” She clutched her pearls as she too paced around the room. Your brother simply sat upon the couch, amused by the women in his life.

“I hear the master of coins is to retire. Perhaps father is to be offered the position.” He put forward the idea casually, but your mother burst into hysterics at the mere thought. You, however, knew what was being said. You had wished Aemond had given you time to explain to your family the relationship you shared with the young prince. It would surely come as a shock.

“WHERE IS SHE!?” You father’s voice shook the doors from the mighty boom. Everyone jumped in shock.

“What...”

“WHERE IS THAT FUCKING WHORE!?” The very words struck you and you felt your insides crawl. You were instantly nauseas. You knew if you were truly engaged to a prince your father would have wept with pride. Doing your best to suppress your dread, you assured yourself.

Aemond had promised.

The doors burst open, and everyone watched in horror as your father strode in and grasped your shoulders tightly.

“You wench!” He cried out before tossing you towards your brother. He leaped to his feet to catch your stumbling form.

“Father I...”

“You have shamed this family! You have RUINED YOURSELF! YOU ARE TARNISHED! WHAT SANE PERSON WOULD WANT YOU NOW! YOU FOOLISH FUCKING WHORE!” You father’s words cut deep, and you instantly began shaking. Desperately looking between your family members, you felt your breath quicken and your mind began to race.

“Lord husband? What is the meaning of this?” Your mother cried as she moved to grab his arm, but your father simply twisted from her and pointed his finger close to your face.

“Your whore of her daughter has bedded Prince Aemond! The word has gotten to his father the king!” Your mother shouted in disagreement, but you felt your brother’s supportive grip loosen.

“Father please I...”

“He has banished you! He has requested I take you from the Red Keep this very instant! He says he is ashamed of such debauchery taking place beneath his ceilings!” You cried out at his words, and tried to stumble away, but your father would not allow you.

“There must be some mistake!” Your mother tried to protect you, but your brother spun you to face him. Wiping away your tears, he looked at you in sympathy.

“What did he promise you?” Your father shouted at the question and quickly took to pacing the room.

“He loves me.” Your voice was a whimper, leaving you unable to defend yourself against your father's onslaught.

“He desires you little sister. He is incapable of love. He is a man with royal tastes. He is just like his brother.” You began shaking your head at his mocking words and struggled to free yourself from his tight grip.

“You do not understand! He loves me. He promised he would...” You began sobbing before you could finish the sentence making your brother click his tongue in pity.

“Do you not see? You’ve been tricked. Did he promise your marriage? He is an heir to the throne! The marriage of a Prince is a political matter. You think he would simply be allowed to choose you as his wife? What would you offer the throne? You are a fool. He has tricked you sister and left you shamed.” You moaned in disagreement at the taunting before yet again trying to break his hold. Crying out in anger, you began kicking backwards.

“You do not understand! He has been promised! He is to marry me!”

“He has fooled you. You are disgrace by his actions.”

“No! I must see him! He has requested my hand! He asked his father to marry me!” You heard your father scoff at the words, and soon he began laughing hysterically. The noise made your heaving chest rattle even louder and you desperately shook your head.

“He is not here you wretched fool! Listen to your brother! His marriage has been planned for months now! All the court knows! Everyone but you because you have been too busy hiding yourself from the truth of the matter. You have acted as a lovesick fool and now our family name must pay the price.” The mocking was met with your desperate rejections, but your body began to weaken.

“No.” You whined out in anguish.

“Aemond Targaryen has ridden with Lady Cassandra Baratheon.” You whimpered now, still shaking your head at your fathers' cruel words.

“Please.”

“For he wishes to ask her father for her hand directly.” Collapsing to the floor, you became numb to your mothers' sobs and your brothers tuts. Your father leant down to your crippled form and roughly took your chin so that you had no choice but took look at him.

“Yes. Prince Aemond is to marry. And you are to be banished from his sight for the rest of your years. You are ruined my daughter. You are a shame on the family name. There is a carriage that is to take you on a ship, and from there you shall sail to Dorne. You shall live away from the mess you have created. Perhaps it mercy the king has sent you away from the scandal that shall no doubt brew. You are an embarrassment and a fool. We hope to never see your whore of a face again.” Your father’s cruel snarl shook you, but you felt yourself falling further and further into a depression.

You thought of Aemond’s promise. You thought of his laughter and his kisses. You thought of the feeling of his hands on your skin, his lips on yours. His whispers of their future. But everything seemed to be crumbling inside your memory. How had you allowed him to lead you on for over a year? Had it all been an empty promise?

Did he ever truly love you?

next chapter

#aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #aemond x y/n #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction

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xzaddyzanakinx · 6 days

Text

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Eleven: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink (Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, spitting, cumplay, nude vids, exhibitionism? If you squint, cockwarming, crying during sex(not dacryophilia),oral, no condom PiV, protected PiV, dick piercing, knife, blood, violence, gore, murder, drugs, GEN. SMUT[Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Ghost has his fantasy fun, Anakin is spiraling, chaos ensues [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Date

August 24th continued

“Shh shhh.” Came from an odd voice, you hadn’t seen your attacker yet, having been swept up from behind.

You kept trying to yell, to spit out the gag as you fought him. His right hand coming back up to hold your head still and your mouth shut.

“Shut up.” He growled. “Just calm down.”

Your muffled words came out angrily, letting whoever had you like this have a piece of your mind despite them being unable to understand a word of it. Even as he started talking again you kept fighting, kept yelling to no avail.

“It’s me.” His distorted voice finally beginning to register. “It’s just me, calm down. It’s Ghost, it’s me.”

“Huh?” It came out as an awkward grunt, but he seemed to understand as you slowly stopped thrashing.

“It’s just me. It’s Ghost.” He repeated, a gentler tone now that you’d begun to calm yourself.

“Just take a deep breath through your nose doll. You’re gonna make yourself hyperventilate.” He chuckled, watching your chest heave with the effort of your labored breathing.

“If I take out this gag will you scream?” He asked, the cool plastic of his mask touching your heated cheek.

You shook your head no, then yes when he asked you to promise to it as well.

He pulled the fabric from your mouth and shoved it in his back pocket, letting you catch your breath while he loosened his grip on you slightly.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” You spun around the very second he gave you that bit of freedom and smacked him in the chest while you whisper shouted.

“A lot.” He shrugged, both hands up and out to the side as he tilted his head.

“Don’t be a smartass right now.” You chided.

“I’ll be a smartass whenever I want, princess.” he snickered, grabbing your upper arm and pulling you with him into the recessed entryway to one of the buildings beside you.

“What are you doing?” You squeaked, feeling a bit of panic despite knowing you were still probably… mostly, safe with him.

“Taking these off.” He said, dropping to his knees after pushing your back flush against the wall, yanking your panties down until they pooled at your feet.

“Gods wait! No!” You shrieked, pushing at his shoulders, he stood up immediately and gripped your cheeks tightly.

“I thought you agreed not to scream.” He growled.

“That was before I knew what you were doing!” You argued back, poking him in the chest.

“Shut the fuck up and let me have what I want alright?” He scoffed. “Don’t argue with me.”

“I have every right to argue with-“

He cut you off by shoving the bandana back in your mouth with a disappointed slow head shake and tsk. He flipped out his butterfly knife in a showy spin, ending with the blade pointed down so he could stab and drag the sharp metal through the center of your panties, ripping them off and shoving them and the knife back in his pocket.

“Now, should I get out the tape or do you think you’re capable of behaving like a good girl?” He asked condescendingly, the blacked out eyes of the mask staring up at you as he crouched down again.

You nodded, but he need clarity.

“Yes, you’ll be a good girl?” He asked, receiving a nod in response.

“You won’t touch me?” He asked, you shook your head.

“Not even if I take my mask off?”

That made you freeze, almost gaging on the fabric as you gasped. His mask? He’s taking off his mask? Is he showing you his face?

“Don’t get too excited. You aren’t seeing me.” He laughed, standing up and producing a roll of electrical tape from his pocket.

“Gimme your hands.” He said annoyedly as you jerked away from him. “You hesitated, I’m taping your wrists together.”

“Shame I can’t trust you to keep your promise.” He sighed, flipping you around and taping your wrists together tightly.

“Poor little boyfriend shouldn’t trust you to keep your legs closed either.” He snickered, you could hear the smugness in his tone even through his filtered voice.

You scowled but didn’t make an attempt to fight when he pushed your back against the wall again, dropping to his knees and flipping up the skirt of your dress.

“Leg up little doe.” He commanded, smacking your outer thigh and guiding your leg to hook over his shoulder.

“You make a move to see my face and I’ll send some of those pretty pictures to your boyfriend.” He warned before you felt his mask come off and drop to the pavement.

He took a deep breath in, his nose pressed firmly against your cunt, breathing you in and sighing in relief like a smoker does with the first cigarette on their lunch break. You noticed something then that you’d not had the opportunity to notice before. He had at least one nose piercing, you could feel the hoop dragging across your pussy lip as he pulled away.

Immediately after he went in for what he really wanted. His tongue darted out, licking a long and slow stripe up your core. A gravely tone groaned at the taste like he’d missed it since his last time.

The tip of his tongue circled and teased your clit, flicking over it quickly while his lips wrapped around it with gentle suction. You felt his arms moving and the sound of something else hitting the ground, then two warm fingers pressed against your opening.

Gathering up your slick and spreading it around before gently inserting them, slowly sinking them as deeply as he could. He didn’t pump his fingers like you expected, instead he moved his finger tips in broad swipes back and forth across your spongy front wall. The pressure of it paired with the work of his mouth created a bloom of heat in your stomach, slowly spreading throughout you as he devoured you with expert skill.

You never imagined this was were you’d end up. At no point in your life, not even in your wildest thoughts and dreams would you have guess that you’d be in an alley, hands taped behind your back, gag in your mouth, with a fully anonymous stalker lapping away between your legs.

Even less likely that you would’ve imagined enjoying it.

But damn… you were. You were enjoying it alittle too much, so much that you weren’t sure that the gag would be enough to keep you quiet. Ghost’s free hand slipped farther up your dress and pinched your side with leather fingers to quiet you.

He kept his hand there, squeezing and rubbing his thumb back and forth soothingly, lulling you into a state of relaxation as you let him do all the work. As if sensing your mind wandering off to that lovely little place, Ghost worked alittle faster with his fingers and nibbled ever so gently on your clit as he kept it held captive between his lips.

You’d give anything to have the use of you hands right now, to grip him by the hair and shove his face into you as you ground on him. All you could do was let out a muffled whine and nudge him with the heel of your foot, hoping to pull him closer with your leg.

He obliged but pinched you again just for his own self satisfaction. A humored puff of air leaving his nose when you let out an annoyed grunt, he shut you up quickly by changing his tactics from back and forth to long pressurized circles on your front wall, pressing firmly against it until you shook and whined. Your leg pushing him closer, this time of its own accord as you tensed up.

With nothing to hold onto, no way to disperse your pent up energy, all you could do was buck helplessly against his tongue and fingers, letting out an embarrassingly desperate and muffled scream from behind your gag.

He moaned while removing his fingers and wiped them off on the inside of the back of your dress. Ghost laved at you in long, lazy strokes as he cleaned up your messy cunt and soaked inner thighs.

He reluctantly put his glove back on, as well as his mask, rising up from beneath your skirt to tower over you.

“Turn around, face the wall.” He said, the filter voice low and crackly.

You nodded, obeying immediately and were rewarded with the removal of your bindings. His knife slicing through the tape with ease, after closing it and tucking it away he inspected them to make sure he hadn’t hurt you, letting you have free range of movement after a moment.

Your hand flew to your mouth and you attempted to pull the fabric from between your lips but his firm grip caught your wrist.

“I’ll tape you right back up.” He warned. “I made you scream and I plan on doing it again.”

His chest pressed against your back, pinning you to the brick wall, uncomfortably but not painfully. His mask pressed against the side of your face and one of his hands squeezed and kneaded at your breasts, his other fumbled with his belt.

You heard his zipper come undone just before he flipped up the back of your dress. He dragged his precum covered tip along the soft flesh of your ass, his breathing changing slightly.

“You can take out the gag for now.” He said, watching you pull it out and cough.

“Y-you gotta- just wait-“

“Shhh I’ve got a condom.” He laughed pulling it out and showing you before ripping it open and rolling it on.

“Spread ‘em baby.” He cooed, kicking your legs apart and pulling your waist away from the wall slightly.

“Ghost-“ you breathed out, starting to panic. “Ghost I can’t, we can’t.”

“You can’t, we can’t…” he chuckled. “I can though.”

He hummed, pressing the tip against your dripping entrance, you couldn’t stop yourself from pushing back against him lightly. The movement was almost unconsciously made, but it was enough of an invitation for him to accept.

“Deep breath baby.” He breathed out, pushing inside slowly and letting out a groan that sounded almost pained.

“Oh…” you whimpered, biting your lip. You were determined not to show how much you truly loved the way he fit inside, like he belonged there despite everything else.

“Fuck… this, this is mine.” He growled, thrusting up into you slowly but hard each time his hips met your ass.

“N-no.” You shook your head, a quiet disagreement leaving your lips.

“Seems like it’s mine.” He growled, “Don’t it, doll?” He asked rhetorically, rolling his hips against you to drive home his point.

“Anakin’s.” You whined, clenching your fists tightly as your forearms kept you from scraping against the wall.

He growled but said nothing, just changed pace to a brutal deep stroke that had his cockhead kissing your cervix with every thrust.

“He f-fucks me better than this.” You gasped.

“Oh does he?” Ghost laughed loudly.

“He does…” you whined as he reached up beneath your dress to cruelly pinch and twist your nipple.

“Shut up before I put that gag back in.” He snapped.

“Jus’ being honest.” Though you couldn’t hide the way your body was responding to him, to the delicious roughness he was treating you to.

“That’s enough.” He barked, his hand leaving your breast to grip your hair tightly, tilting your head back.

“Ow!” You squealed, not expecting him to react like that.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. I felt it.” He snickered, smacking your ass as he pointed out how your cunt clenched around him when he tugged your hair.

“But-“

“Close your eyes.” He commanded.

“Wait, why?” You questioned, trying to look behind you.

“Because I fucking told you to.” He snapped, pulling your hair harshly.

You whimpered and complied, feeling a leather hand come up your throat, stopping with two fingers resting on your bottom lip.

“Bite.” His voice so low and sultry the voice modifier struggled to pick it up, the crackle of it, the possibility you might hear his real voice if you could just get him to talk quietly enough, just made you more excited.

You bit down on the tips of the fingers, de-gloving his hand. You were tempted to open your eyes even the tiniest bit, hoping for a fleeting glance of his uncovered flesh. Though he anticipated your thoughts before you could enact them.

His other hand hooked the thumb into the side of your mouth, his palm and fingers splayed out against your face to protect you as he rested the forehead of his mask against your other cheek, effectively pinning your head in place.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he reached between your legs and pinched your clit, making you yelp.

“Stupid girl.” He laughed. “Just be still and enjoy it.” He groaned, his cock bullying your insides as his fingers did the same to your clit.

“You want to cum don’t you?”

“Uh huh.” You whined, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Then behave.” He growled.

He drilled up into you, the confined space echoing the smacking of wet skin against skin. His breathing heavy, unlike yours that came in short gasps and sharp intakes of air between squeaky whines.

“Listen to you, pretty little moans.” He laughed. “But you’re pretending you don’t love how I’m fucking you.”

“Acting like anyone else could make you feel like this.” He grunted, punctuating each word with a particularly deep plunge of his length.

“He can!” You whined in protest, squirming beneath him. “Love it when he fucks me.”

“You wanna cum? Keep talking like that and we’ll see how long I make you wait.”

“D-don’t care.” You slurred, his thumb in your mouth making you drool from the side of your mouth.

“Okay.” He laughed, removing fingers from your clit and slowing his thrusting.

“N-no!” You whined, reaching down to grab his hand and stop him. As you gripped his hand you felt two chunky rings on his hand, though you were unable to tell which fingers they belonged to.

“Now you’ve done it.” He growled.

He withdrew from your swollen and needy pussy, hastily pulling up his boxers but not bothering to fix his pants. He twisted you to the side and bent you over, and let go of your face in favor of gripping your hair tightly again.

“Brace yourself bitch.” He growled, his gloveless hand pushing up your skirt again and bringing his palm down on your asscheek hard, a resound *smack* followed by a loud moan that surprised even you.

“Does princess like a little pain with her pleasure?” He teased, bringing his hand down on your ass again.

You didn’t answer, just focusing on biting back another moan when he waled on you twice in quick succession.

“I asked you a question.” He growled, yanking your hair and forcefully lifting your head.

“Yes.” You hissed, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the pain, but mostly the humiliation of having to admit that you liked it, that you wanted more.

“Good.” He chuckled, roughly bringing you up to stand on your own two feet again.

Ghost shoved his fist back into his glove with his back to you, wordlessly pointing at the wall. So you obeyed, turning around with your eyes downcast and shameful.

“Lift up your skirt. I wanna see my handprints.” Ghost’s voice came out low and crackly through the modifier.

You did as he asked, both hands pulling up the fabric in the back, exposing the red welted handprint on your right asscheek. He took a sharp inhale of breath as he looked you over, his sneakers crunching on the pavement as crouched down a few feet behind you.

“Say cheese.” He snickered, snapping a picture with the flash on.

“Damn, look at that baby.” He whistled, standing up and pressing himself against your back, his hard cock throbbing through his boxers.

He showed you the picture, the flash showing off the sheen of slick that coated your inner thighs, something he was extremely proud of.

“You should get that tattooed.” He sounded almost serious when he suggested it, only solidifying the sentiment by adding: “I’ll pay for it.”

“Im not getting your handprint tattooed.” You snapped at him.

“No? What about my teeth?” He asked, audibly gnashing his teeth together behind the mask.

“You’re ridiculous.” You scoffed, “I can’t-“

“If you’re gonna be a brat then shut the fuck up.” He growled, shoving the bandana back in your mouth. Your hands instinctively went to pull it out but he only laughed and swatted them away.

“I’ll tape you back up.” He warned you again. “But it’d be a lot easier to fuck you if you could hold on to me.”

He grunted, picking you up and supporting your weight with one arm while his free hand pulled his length back out from his boxers.

“Gonna hold you like this okay?” He said in a gentler tone, spreading your legs wide and out to the sides of your torso, his hands gripping you firmly in the crook of your knees.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not gonna drop you.” He grumbled.

“Now arms up princess.” He commanded, shrugging his shoulders twice to prompt you to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Watch.” He growled, looking down where your bodies would connect, his cockhead sliding back and forth through your slicked swollen folds.

“Gods thats fucking gorgeous.” He groaned, pushing into you slowly.

He was making sure you saw every inch of him disappear inside, the position you were in allowed you to feel, see, and hear everything. Amplifying the squelching of your cunt, providing the perfect angle for him to bully your pussy in just the right ways, and giving you an unobstructed view of your illicit act.

“Been thinkin’ bout fucking you like this for so long.” Not even his modified voice could hide his desperation and longing.

“So goddamn pretty.” He choked out, thrusting up into you, his hips slapping your inner thighs. “All laid out for me, this pretty pussy being so damn needy for me.”

“Look at you.” He breathed out, his voice a bit shaky. “Just look at how wet you are, fuck.”

His leathered fingers dug into your flesh, the rough surface of the brick picked and tugged at your dress. It bit into your skin, adding an element of consistent pain that you weren’t expecting, but had no complaints about.

“Do something useful and play with your clit for me.” He chuckled, watching as you helplessly took the beating he was doling out.

You nodded quickly and followed orders, your fingers putting pressure on the little nub. You rubbed quick circles, feeling the already tight coil in your stomach constrict again, getting tighter and tighter as he built you up to orgasm.

“Oh… feels good huh?” Ghost laughed, rolling his hips against you.

You answered a muffled ‘yes’, your eyebrows pinched together tightly as you concentrated on the warm, fuzzy feeling that bubbled just under the surface within you.

“Shit.” He grunted leaning forward and drilling into you while letting out a desperate, barely modified, high-pitched whine.

“Gods this pussy’s just too damn good.” He groaned, leaning back again to watch as he felt your stomach tighten.

“You gonna cum for me?” He asked.

You were having trouble remembering to breathe, how did he expect you to form a coherent enough thought to give him a simple nod in response? You made pitiful whimpering noises, stopped in their tracks by your gag every time. Though it seemed to be enough of an answer for Ghost.

“Damn right.” He doubled down, thrusting up in a brutal pace that made your nipples harden and your back arch.

His fast paced movements not only pushed you both closer to the edge, but also pushed the hem of his hoodie up. It was slowly riding up from where he’d tugged it down to his hips.

“Fuck.” He groaned. “Eyes up.” He barked, his annoyance at the situation was palpable in the way his thrusts switched from calculated and precise to messy, angry snaps of his hips against your thighs.

“Don’t you fucking test me girl.” Ghost growled, pressing your legs alittle harder against the wall when your eyes darted downward again.

Your pussy fluttered around his throbbing length, squeezing him tightly while your fingertips bit into his shoulders through the thick fabric of his hoodie. Your whines and moans matching his desperate breath.

“Jesus- look at me damnit!” He barked your eyes snapping up to stare into the black holes of his mask. “Cant listen to simple instructions, are you stupid?”

You shook your head, immediately responding to his insult in a futile attempt to defend your intelligence. You could almost hear the smile behind his mask when he felt your cunt squeeze him alittle tighter.

“You might not have been dumb before, but you sure as hell are now.” Ghost grumbled, determined to exploit your newfound enjoyment of his humiliation. “Stupid bitch. Legs all spread for me, moaning like a fucking pornstar and drooling over my cock.”

“So fucking stupid that you like it when I insult you.” He laughed, “Poor little girl turned into a cockwhore the first time a real man fucks her.”

“All you’ve got in that tiny brain of yours is me.” He said and of course he was right. He was always right.

“There we go. Atta girl baby.” He breathed out, watching you fall apart against him. Leaning forward just a bit while your hand worked faster between your bodies.

You glanced down momentarily and caught just the tiniest sliver of black ink on the pale skin of his abdomen. His reaction was immediate; his right hand tossing your leg over his shoulder and his torso pressed against yours.

You heard a click and snap just before feeling something sharp and cold poking the side of your neck. Your eyes widened when you realized he’d pulled his knife on you, or maybe it was because the quick switch-up in angles and the dangerous position you’d gotten yourself into excited you enough to make you come undone.

He watched, shaking his head slightly while you convulsed against him, suffering through the pleasurable pain of one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with you?” He panted, “I can’t even threaten you without your pussy getting drenched.”

His thrusts became desperate and needy, having taken care of you first, he was quick to follow. He let his knife fall to the pavement with a clatter so he could wrap his hand around your neck instead.

“It was hot though.” He chuckled, pressing his chest against yours as his hips stuttered, he filled up the condom with a low, reedy groan. Slowly thrusting into you a few more times before reluctantly pulling out.

“Close your eyes and don’t you dare think about opening them. I’ll knock your fucking lights out, you hear me?” He growled, his mask nuzzled into the crook of your neck, he felt you nod in agreement so he gingerly guided one of your legs back to the ground.

Leaning back to ensure you kept your promise while he tugged his hoodie back down and tucked away his cock. He then carefully helped you down, laughing at the way you wobbled on unsteady legs as he zipped and buttoned his jeans, fastening his belt hastily.

You pulled out the gag and took a long gulp of fresh air, trying to process everything that had happened. It felt like hours had gone by but as you checked your phone you realized it had only been about twenty minutes.

“C’mere little doe.” Ghost said softly tucking his knife away in his back pocket. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah.” You swallowed hard and complied, letting him wrap you in a comforting hug.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” He asked, even quieter.

“You want to walk me home?” You asked in surprise.

“I’m going to regardless of whether you say yes or no. Do you want me to walk with you or do you want me to hide out in the shadows like I usually do?” He asked, swaying you slightly in the embrace.

“Walk with me.” You answered quietly, too tired to pretend you didn’t want his company.

“Good girl.” He nodded, releasing you partially.

Keeping an arm slung around your shoulders he guided you down the dark alleyway and back out onto the sidewalk. With his hood up and his head down, you walked together silently, listening to the city night sounds while the weight of your situation pressed down on your chest.

Diary Entry: August 25th

I’ve went and got myself into a fucking problem again. Will I ever learn? Probably not.

My need to keep you placated enough that you won’t absolutely despise me when you find out who I am… kept me from fully fulfilling my fantasy. Everything we did was perfect baby, that’s not what I mean. I just mean I’m gonna have to do it again and hope you’ll forgive me later.

Not to mention how DIFFICULT it is to fuck you as myself now that I’ve learned a few of the little things that make you tick. I wanna rip into you, I want to devour you whole, I want to fuck you so hard that the ER nurses will be jealous when they’re bringing you back from the stupor I put you in.

Gods, I didn’t think I’d ever see you splayed out on the wall like that for me but I’m so fucking glad I did. Ever since the first time I thought of it I haven’t stopped. So beautiful, you’re so beautiful. How can I be expected to not be wholly and fully obsessed with you when you’re so perfect?

How am I supposed to pretend that I don’t want to press a blade to your throat while I make love to you nice and slow, in my bed? Christ… I knew you’d show Ghost a different side to you, but I didn’t expect you to like that. Not at all.

It’s got me wondering what else you’d like. If only I wasn’t so worried about your opinion of me, maybe then I’d test some things out.

Also, your opinion of me… you little brat. You’ve stopped writing about me in your diary. It’s like you’re trying to make me angry. Do you think that’ll get you what you want?

It won’t.

You see one little sliver of skin and you think you can cold shoulder me into giving away who I am? I’m not finished with my fun yet. Maybe if you’d listen to me you’d get what you wanted sooner.

But no. Of course not. You are a brat after all, whiny and needy and stupid enough to think that misbehaving will get you anywhere.

Have you met me? When have I ever let you get away with shit before?

I’d like to scrub that image from your brain. I’d like to yank out the memory of my rings too, did you have to grab my hand like that? You’re stupid, but I’m a fucking moron. I should’ve put them in my pocket like I normally do. I was too busy trying to get where I needed to be to properly prepare.

Sloppy work Ghost… or Anakin. Both. Sloppy.

I took out my snake bites. I took out my cock ring. I haven’t had my tongue ring in for quite a while now, have you ever seen me with it? I don’t think you have…

DATE

August 26th

Anakin’s tongue had just invaded your mouth, swirling and caressing every centimeter of yours that he could comfortably get to. His lips caught against yours in a sticky, loving, slow kiss.

When a knock at your door rudely interrupted your make-out session on your couch.

“Fuck.” He groaned, patting your hip to signal for you to get up from his lap. “Can you get it baby? I don’t think the delivery guy wants to see my boner as much as you do.”

“Yes I’ll get the door.” You laughed, covering your mouth while you glanced over your shoulder at him, his hand down the front of his sweatpants to reposition himself.

“Hey.” you smiled, opening up the door to greet the pizza guy, a short scruffy looking dude with dark circles and stubble.

“Hey hon.” He grinned, “you paid online right?”

“Yep, sure did.” You nodded, holding out your hand with some ones. “I always tip in cash though.”

“Ah, thanks.” He smiled, taking it from you and tucking it into his pocket.

“Um… can I have the pizza now?” You laughed, holding out both hands awkwardly.

“Oh shit, yeah.” He awkwardly handed it over with a blush to his cheeks. “Sorry, got distracted… you’re just really pretty.”

His voice was quiet and small as he ogled over your body, all the way down to your fuzzy pink slippers, his eyes soaking in the image of your white cropped tank top and baby blue silky shorts, a pajama set Anakin had bought you not too long ago.

“Oh uh…” You stuttered nervously, looking over your shoulder you saw Anakin making a fast approach to the door.

His arm wrapped around your waist, one large hand splaying across the exposed skin of your stomach. His lips placed a chaste kiss to your shoulder before he turned his head and nuzzled into your neck, leaving a wet and sloppy kiss to the tender flesh. It seemed like he just couldn’t help himself as he pressed his cock against your ass, he needed this guy to not only know you were taken, but also to feel as uncomfortable as he could manage.

“C’mon princess,” Anakin’s voice low and gravely as he unashamedly staked his claim over you. “I’ve lost my appetite for pizza, found something else I’d rather eat.”

“S-sorry I’m sorry.” The delivery guy stammered, turning quickly with a red faced, shocked expression as he hightailed it away from your door.

Anakin’s other arm looped around your waist, pulling you back into the apartment, his foot coming up to kick the door closed while he laughed.

“Anakin!” You squealed, wiggling out of his grasp and setting the pizza box down on the kitchen counter. “Poor guy, you’ve traumatized him.” You giggled.

“His fault.” He shrugged, pulling you back against him with one hand on the back of your neck.

“Shouldn’t have interrupted my kisses, shouldn’t have flirted with my girl.” He mumbled against your lips, his other hand growing tired of caressing your breasts through the fabric of your top.

His grip on the back of your neck tightened while his free hand tugged up the hem of your top, pulling it past the swell of your breasts and exposing the sensitive flesh for his mouth to latch onto. His lips left yours in favor of pulling and sucking on your hardened nipple, not leaving your other unattended, his fingers working away by pinching and tweaking it.

“Damnit… Anakin.” You whined, pushing his head back.

“Don’t interrupt me sweetheart, I told you I was hungry.” He chuckled.

“For pizza!” You yelped, his teeth gently but unexpectedly bit down on your nipple.

“That was before some twerp tried to sweet talk my baby.” He growled.

“Hush, no one could ever sweet talk me away from you.” You breathed out carding your fingers through his hair.

“Oh? Is that so?” He asked a bit sharper in tone than he normally used with you.

“Of course Ani.” You whispered, eyebrows furrowing in a bit of confusion. What was he talking about? There’s no possible way he could know about Ghost.

He looked up at you from his point of attack as he slowly rose to his feet. Hooking his fingers under your top, he pulled it up again, prompting you to lift your arms so he could take it off. You let him, seeing a shift in his eyes from desire to feral need; a need for possession.

“Let’s get these off.” He whispered, dragging his tongue down the length of your abdomen, his hands helping you step out of your panties and shorts.

He placed a gentle, warm kiss to your mound before straightening himself up again, grabbing the pizza box and the back of your neck again to walk you over to the couch.

With the pizza box on the coffee table, he stripped down bare and opened up the curtains of your big living room window.

“What are you doing?” You asked with a slight laugh.

“If someone wants to look at you, then they can look while I’m balls deep inside.” He said, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer while he settled himself on the couch with his legs spread comfortably.

He held you steady with one hand on your waist, leaning forward to trace a wet circle around your navel with his tongue while his fingers spread your folds to run his fingers through and gather up your arousal.

“Turn around baby,” he said softly. “Sit on my cock like a good girl okay?”

You straddled his thighs backwards, his thumbs peeling your asscheeks apart to get a good look as your glistening cunt opened up and took his cock like it was made just for him. His cockhead breached your entrance, the thick metal ball of his jewelry massaging your inner walls while he held you still so he could slowly thrust up into you with short strokes.

“My pussy.” He breathed out, pushing in alittle deeper. “So fucking wet and I didn’t even have to touch you first. All it took was a good kiss huh?”

“Y-yeah.” You nodded, your hands on his knees to keep your balance.

“That’s right.” He nodded, confidence dripping from his voice. “Now settle down on it.”

You lowered yourself slowly, taking in each tortuous inch until he was fully sheathed inside. The position making you feel full in ways you hadn’t before, it put a fair amount of pressure against your front, adding an extra bit of stimulation. You tried to rock back and forth on him, expecting him to want you to do exactly that, but he stopped you.

“No.” Anakin was gruff when he spoke, “You sit still, don’t move unless I tell you to. I think you need a reminder of who you belong to.”

“Oh… okay.” You nodded rapidly, your pussy contracted around him, earning a dark chuckle from the man behind you.

“Now let’s eat.” He said nonchalantly, gesturing for you to get a slice of pizza for the both of you while he picked up the remote and selected a slasher film.

“Really?” You asked in surprise.

“Yes really.” He scoffed, “I’m hungry, as much as I’d love to be able to sustain myself off your pussy, I can’t.”

“You’re impossible.” You shook your head, leaning forward while he kept ahold of you so that you could retrieve a slice for the both of you.

“Thanks sweetheart.” He said, casual as ever after taking a bite.

He rested his chin on your shoulder and his idle hand on your stomach, rubbing his thumb across your skin soothingly, despite his palm putting a bit of pressure there.

Despite your boyfriend being, like he said: ‘balls deep’ inside you, your thoughts kept drifting to Ghost. You knew somewhere in this room there was a camera, and somewhere out in the world there was a man seething in anger over what you were doing.

Sitting naked, curtains open, spread out and speared on your boyfriend’s dick while you both ate pizza and watched a movie.

You found it harder and harder to sit still, feeling uncomfortable not only from the thickness lodged in your cunt, but from the all seeing, all knowing gaze of Ghost. It only got worse when Anakin’s hand drifted down a bit further to tease and flick your clit.

“Ani please…” you whined, trying your very best not to squirm.

“Please what?” He asked, chewing a bite as he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

“It’s not fair.” You complained, “don’t touch me if you’re not gonna let me move.”

“Excuse me?” His voice deep and dangerous as all his movements froze.

“W-what?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder to see a scowl on his face.

“Repeat yourself.” He asked in a stern but calm tone.

“Well I didn’t- that’s not what I meant I-“

“Say it again.” He prodded.

“It’s not fair?” You whispered, avoiding the part you knew he was referring to.

“Nope, not that.” He said, tossing his half eaten slice of pizza back into the box and doing the same to yours.

“Don’t touch me?” You asked, your voice not coming out nearly as collected as you attempted for it to.

“That’s what I thought you said.” He grunted, removing his hands from your hips and lacing his fingers together behind his head.

“If you wanna move, move.” He challenged. “Just don’t expect any help from me princess. This is all you.”

“What?” You squeaked.

“You told me not to touch you.” He shrugged.

“Anakin! I didn’t mean it like that!” You whined, slowly rising and turning around to face him.

You stared for a minute, distracted from your original mission by the sight of his cock throbbing, coated in your slick, the pretty blushed tip hugging the top ball of the jewelry you loved so much.

“If you want it so bad then get on it and fuck me.” He laughed, a big smug grin on his lips.

“Well, sorry that I find my boyfriend extremely hot.” You snorted. “You’re just so… yummy.”

“Yummy?” His smile only getting bigger as you fueled his ego.

“Mhm.” You nodded, a little smirk on your lips as you put your hands on his chest to balance yourself while you slowly sunk back down on his length.

You couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief from being full of him again. When it came to Anakin you were insatiable, he knew you like that back of his hand, every touch, kiss and movement was choreographed to your liking.

Now he was going to make you work for it after all this time of letting you be a pretty little pillow princess? How unfair.

“Yummy.” You said again, starting to rock back and forth on him, circling your hips and rising just slightly. “You’re so pretty.”

You leaned forward, kissing his chest and snaking your hands up into his hair, tugging lightly but focusing on gentle fingertips carding through his hair. Your lips took a path straight up the column of his throat, hot, open mouthed kisses placed back to back along the inked skin.

Dragging your tongue along the underside of his jaw and enveloping the small black stud on his earlobe with your lips, sucking on it only to pull away.

“C’mon sweetheart you can do better than that.” He groaned, obviously fighting an internal battle with himself, his muscles flexed in his forearms as he squeezed his hands together tightly.

“I like it like this.” You sighed, riding him as slowly as possible, letting your head fall back as you teased him by touching yourself.

“Oh- fuck, baby…” he whined, watching as you cupped both your breasts and pulled at your nipples in sync, putting on a show for him.

You felt his cock twitch at the sight of you taking charge over him, reminding you of the first time you he ‘made love’ to you. His face was pitiful and pained, he looked so needy.

“Poor little Ani.” You teased, poking out your bottom lip.

“Baby please, fuck me for real.” He huffed, trying not to buck up into you.

“I don’t know how, I forgot. You spoiled me for too long.” You giggled, bouncing on him just a bit faster for only a few seconds.

“Gods-“ he gritted his teeth together so tightly you were worried he might crack a tooth. “You can do it princess, c’mon fuck me.”

“Like this?” You asked sweetly, your voice innocent and teasing.

You lifted and pushed back down on him faster, a bit harder, while still circling your hips. Hands leaving your breasts in favor of cupping his face and tilting his head back slightly.

“Y-yeah that’s it.” He nodded, sucking in his bottom lip, tucking it behind his top row of teeth as he closed his eyes tightly.

“Better?” You whispered, your hands leaving his face to return to his chest, pinching his nipples just to see how he’d react.

“Christ-“ he sucked in a sharp breath of air, his eyes flying open to look down at your hands, your fingertips squeezing the little hardened nubs. “Shit sweetheart…”

“You like it?” You asked him with a bit of surprise.

“I-yeah I think I do.” He chuckled, choking on air when you leaned down and enveloped one between your lips biting down like he’d done to you.

“I take it back… I know I like it.” He breathed out shakily.

With newfound confidence you rode him in earnest, soaking in every moan and whimper he let loose and letting it fuel the fire in your belly.

“That’s it, just like that.” He grunted, his head resting on the back of the couch as he moved his arms down, flexing his hands at his sides to keep them busy.

You slowed down to tease him, to hear him whimper. And he did, he looked up at you like you’d kicked a puppy when you broke your rhythm that had him hurtling toward the edge.

“Why?” He hiccuped, his eyebrows knitted together while he tongued at his lip piercings anxiously.

“Cause I wanted to.” You giggled, taking pride in the way you had him under your thumb.

“Brat.” He grumbled, “c’mon fuck me, you know how to fuck me baby.”

He was loosing patience and loosing it quickly. He thrusted up slightly and stopped himself from doing more by groaning loudly and biting down on his fist.

“You wanna cum?” You asked, low and seductive.

“Goddamnit.” He sucked in a sharp breath when you purposely clenched around him rhythmically, licking at his nipples again.

“Yes, please, please I want to.” He whined, covering his eyes with his arm.

“You want to? Or need to?” You teased him, nipping at his Adam’s apple.

“Sweetheart,” he growled, “please.”

“Aw Anakin, you didn’t answer my question.” You pouted, slowing down slightly.

“Fuck!” He grunted, his face heating up at your self satisfied giggle. “I need to. I need to cum, please!”

“See? Just needed to answer a simple question.” You cooed, returning to your previous pace.

“That’s real fucking rich coming from you, little-“ He held his breath, stopping his words from coming out, instead letting out a whine that bordered on a sob.

“Please.” He panted, “princess please just- faster.”

“Well since you asked so nicely.” You said with a smug grin, complying with his request and moving just a bit faster.

“Make me cum.” He gritted out, baring his teeth and trying not to grab you, both hands hovering at your waist. “C’mon fuck the cum out of me sweetheart, you can do it, you know how to do it.”

His words had you falter in your movements, he sounded so desperate, so needy, he was able to make you feel desired in ways no one else ever had before and it made you want to give him everything he needed and more.

“Fuck this shit.” He growled, gripping you tightly and ramming up into you, making you gasp and hold onto his shoulders for dear life.

“Takin’ too damn long, not doing what I asked, teasing me…” he grunted, driving up hard and fast. “Can’t stand it anymore.”

“Fuck… yeah scratch me.” he chuckled, feeling your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you hiccuped for air. “Mark me up princess.”

“God you feel so good.” He let out a shaky breath, his forehead in the crook of your neck. “Play with your clit, cum for me.”

“M’not gonna last much longer baby.” He whined and you thought you felt something hot and wet drip down onto your skin.

“Ani?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Hmm?” He sniffled, not lifting his head.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, wishing he’d slow down and look at you. “Are you crying?”

“Damnit.” He hiccuped, nodding his head and letting out a long held breath against your flushed skin. “Fuck… m’fine.”

“But-“

“Shhh- shut up.” He said quietly. “Just- just need you.”

He trailed kisses along your skin, sucking at the crook of your neck and nibbling there, doing his damndest to give you a massive hickey. You didn’t have the willpower to stop him and ask him to pick another place.

“I need you, need to feel you, need to be with you.” His voice shook, as he whispered into your skin, his lips grazing against your earlobe with each word.

“Don’t ever wanna lose you.” He pulled you flush against his chest, fisting your hair and squeezing your middle tightly as he leaned back, taking you with him. “You’re my girl, mine.”

“Fuck.” He sobbed, clutching at your body, at any piece of you he could reach as he relentlessly thrusted up into you. “Shit, shit, shit I’m gonna cum.” He breathed out, hot and heavy.

“I-I… baby I love you.” He confessed, a pitiful whimper leaving his trembling lips as he pulled back enough for you to see his red rimmed eyes just before he devoured you in a kiss.

He moaned into your mouth, holding you tightly as he fucked his cum deep inside your cunt, the shock of his confession, the confusion of his tears and the warmth of his seed coating your walls had you coming apart at the seams along with him.

You didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know what to feel, guilty that’s for certain, but otherwise? You were an emotional wreck. All you could do was kiss him. Kiss him and touch him and ride out your high in little movements while he tries to catch his breath and wipe his tears.

“You don’t have to say it back.” He whispered, pushing your sweaty hair away from your face. “I just needed you to know.”

“I-it’s not that I just… are you okay?” You asked gently, climbing off him and letting him cuddle you up next to him and wrap a blanket around the both of you.

“I’m fine sweetheart.” He nodded, pressing his nose into your hair and breathing in the scent of you. “I got overwhelmed I guess.”

“It’s a big feeling and I feel it extra big for you.” He said softly, petting your hair and scratching your scalp lovingly.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You nodded, laying your head on his chest and feeling his warmth. “Big, big feeling.” You whispered, trying to hold in the flow of tears that threatened to burst out for several reasons, some including Anakin and some including someone else.

Diary Entry: August 26th

I ask myself again: will I ever fucking learn? No. The answer is no, I will not.

Let’s listen the things I did horribly wrong last night shall we?

I should’ve just decked the pizza guy like I wanted to. I would’ve if it wouldn’t have scared you.

I almost called you something I shouldn’t.

I cried like a little bitch baby. What the hell was that Anakin? What kind of guy cries (not the good kind of tears) while he fucks his girlfriend? Not me! Not me, that’s not me! God that was so fucking stupid, I can’t believe I did that. Worried you like that. I just couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop it.

I couldn’t stop myself from telling you I love you either.

So. It’s safe to say that I’ve officially lost my shit.

You didn’t say it back. Why didn’t you say it back? Am I not enough? Have I split you in half like I’ve done to myself?

Maybe you just think it’s too soon. I mean, really it is for any normal relationship. But our relationship isn’t normal at all. You could paint it and position it any way you wanted and it still wouldn’t look right.

You can’t leave me. Please, please, please don’t leave me. I don’t want to scare you off. I can’t… I couldn’t live without you. So I can’t see you as Ghost until I’ve sorted myself out. No matter how badly I want to.

I probably shouldn’t even see you as myself until I’ve taken care of my head.

DATE

August 27th

Anakin laid flat on his back, the furniture in his living room pushed against the wall so that he could spread out like a starfish on the soft rug. He told you he worked tonight even though he didn’t. He told you he’d see you tomorrow even though he wasn’t sure that he would. He told you he loved you even though you didn’t say it back.

He had spent every minute since you’d fallen asleep last night researching and compiling information about a guy neither of you knew. He had spent every second manually breathing to keep himself centered and calm enough so that he wouldn’t shake with anger as he read each new tidbit of information.

He had everything ready. He was ready.

Anakin sighed and stood up slowly, brushing off imaginary dirt from his black jeans. Stopping near his living room window to pick up his small black backpack, then he climbed down the fire escape toward the more populated, less watched area of the city.

The place where you go to get meth on the street corner. The houses where the windows are cracked and the front porch light flickers. Where the night noises make you walk alittle faster, hold your keys alittle tighter.

The place where a police officer’s druggie son gets away with selling pills to highschoolers.

His freshly bought throwaway Goodwill sneakers crunched against the crumbling sidewalk, a small paint-chipped house came into view. Anakin had walked this far without seeing a single soul since he’d tied a certain bandana across his face. And of course when he’s within 30ft of his destination some half dressed middle aged man with a beer gut is out in his front lawn walking his tiny mutant chihuahua.

Anakin kept his head down and walked straight past the house he was meant to be at. Grumbling about his luck and how he didn’t have time for any more delays. Deciding to take the back way and hop the fence instead of entering through the side basement window like he’d originally planned.

After his extra 5 minutes of walking he’d looped around to the correct house’s backyard and scaled the the rickety wooden fence with a little more noise than he wanted.

“At least the idiot left his door unlocked.” He mumbled, looking at the back door that was propped open with a rubber boot. The screen door closed but without a handle or latch.

He walked in, the screen door creaking open with a loud screech that had Anakin cursing himself for not bringing his WD-40.

“Kyle?” A slurred and drunken voice called out from somewhere in the living room.

“You’re like a whole hour early man.” The pizza delivery guy, Joel Hampton, choked out as he flicked cigarette ash into a tray on the coffee table.

“I’m right on time.” Anakin’s voice came from behind him, both of his hands coming down on his shoulders to lift him up and out of the recliner.

“Jesus! What the hell?!” Joel kicked and tried to wrestle himself away from Anakin, clumsy and halted half-movements that only had him stumbling.

“Where’s your gun?” Anakin growled, flipping out his knife and dragging Joel across the dirty laminate floor by his hair. “I know you have one. Where is it?”

“Fuck man! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Joel yelped, Anakin’s knife blade pressed against his throat.

“You have a pistol.” Anakin repeated, his face coming down to get on Joel’s level, “Where. Is. It?”

“W-why? Why’re you doing this? If you want drugs I’ll give ‘em to you man!” He squealed, Anakin yanking him back to his feet and steering him toward the kitchen.

“Oh how convenient.” Anakin chuckled, dragging Joel over to his kitchen sink and pushing his head down in the dirty water sitting stagnant with the night’s dishes.

Joel flailed his arms, landing and elbow to Anakin’s ribs that only served to piss him off more, so he pulled him from the water and tossed him to the ground watching him sputter and gasp for breath.

“Where is it Joel?”

“How do you know my name?” He coughed, slinking back across the tile to corner himself against the cabinets.

“Your dad’s name is Fredrick Hampton, he just got a promotion down at the 5th precinct. Your mommy Linda is a cashier at the Quik-Stop down the road, where you do your week day deals to the kids from the highschool. You got mono and were in the hospital for a week last year and your family dog died two months ago.” Anakin listed these things off like he’d been rehearsing it. “And yesterday, you delivered pizza to me and my girlfriend.”

“N-no, no you’re that guy?” He squeaked.

“Yeah. I’m that guy.” Anakin said. “Now, give me your gun and I’ll make this quick or don’t and I’ll make it messy.”

“You’re gonna kill me over that?” He sputtered, trying to stand up. “I didn’t even do nothing!”

“I was bored anyway.” Anakin snapped, throwing a strong right hook to Joel’s cheek.

“Do you think it’d be more believable if you killed yourself or if you got jumped by some druggies in your own house?” Anakin snorted. “I’m fine with both. You’re gonna die either way.”

“Kill myself?” Joel spat on the tile, holding his jaw, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“Your gun you fucking idot.” Anakin barked, “are you daft? I need your pistol to blow your fucking brains out, it’s not like you’re using ‘em anyway.”

“Do you want it slow and painful or quick and easy?” Anakin asked angrily, “C’mon I’m giving you a choice, that’s a thing I do now, don’t make me regret it.”

“Neither!” Joel yelled, finally getting up and sloppily throwing a punch to Anakin’s gut.

“Really?” Anakin laughed. “Alright.”

“S’okay I like it messy.” Anakin whispered tossing his knife on the kitchen table and picking Joel up by the back of his head and the center of the back of his shirt.

“Kyle’s supposed to be here in an hour?” Anakin asked casually, bringing Joel’s face down on the wooden table top hard enough to push it across the room.

“Plenty of time.” Anakin brought the heel of his shoe down on Joel’s fingers hearing them crunch in a satisfying way.

“Goddamnit!” Joel pulled his hand back and held it to his chest, groaning in pain and red in the face from holding his breath.

“Get up,” Anakin chuckled, “don’t want daddy to think you went down without a fight do you?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m flattered, but I have a pretty girl for that.” He grunted as he sent his right foot swinging directly at Joel’s mouth, the toe of his shoe coming back bloody.

Joel spat out blood onto the floor, his uninjured hand going to touch his split lip and feel his bottom row of teeth.

“What do you what man?” He cried out, his face a picture of pain painted red as his bloodied finger tips felt his jaw and cheek.

“Nothin’.” Anakin shrugged, picking up a chair and tossing it on its side, bracing himself on the table to jump down on one of the legs to break it off.

“Ooh look.” He laughed, shaking the splintered chair leg in Joel’s face, “Got a screw in it.”

“Come on, Joel.” Anakin groaned kicking him in the stomach. “You’re not making this any fun for me.”

“You’re a fucking psycho!” He grunted, curling up into a ball to protect his middle.

“Don’t you fucking call me that.” Anakin gritted out through bared teeth.

“You don’t know me!” Anakin shouted, bringing the chair leg, screw side down on the man below him, over and over again, red blooms soaking through his light blue shirt.

“But I know you.” Anakin kneeled down gripping Joel’s hair and slamming his face down against the tile, blood spurting from his nose and sending him into a stupor.

“Where’s it stop for you huh?” Anakin asked, pinning his arm in place on the ground with one knee on Joel’s elbow and slowly, so, so, slowly bending his arm back.

Feeling the tension of his muscles and the protestation of his bone Anakin gritted his teeth, holding Joel’s arm by the wrist just before the breaking point.

“It’s not enough for you to go around selling drugs to kids, you hit your girlfriend about four months ago and wound up with a little domestic that your daddy took care of for you.” Anakin grunted, snapping the elbow joint with a loud crunch and crack followed by a sharp scream from Joel that Anakin quieted with a foot to the face.

“So here I am,” Anakin hefted Joel up who weakly attempted to stand on his own two feet while Anakin held him under the arms and dragged him back into the living room, kicking him squarely in the chest down onto the glass coffee table. “getting rid of your dear old dad’s biggest disappointment and getting my fix in so I can be the best man I can for my pretty girl at home.”

“Now Joel, before you pass out...” Anakin crouched down and grabbed his jaw, slapping him to rouse him enough to pay attention, “I need the code to your lockbox.”

“W-will you leave me?” He slurred, drooling blood from the corner of his mouth, “Alone? Leave me alone?”

“Yeah sure.” Anakin shrugged.

“4-2-0-7” Joel panted, trying to get up and scoot away from his attacker, picking up shattered glass in the meat of hands, shards falling from his battered back.

“Whoa buddy slow down,” Anakin laughed, picking up the lockbox from beside the recliner and opening it up, shoving cash and as many baggies of various pills as he could into his pockets. “hold this for me.”

He tossed the lock box down on Joel’s chest and stifled a laugh at the pitiful choked sob that left him, the weight of it knocking the air from his lungs while Anakin trudged over the scattered glass.

He tossed the couch onto its back, swiped the various items on the kitchen counter off onto the floor, kicking it around and smearing blood over the counter top and cabinets, he grabbed his butterfly knife from where he’d tossed it aside, as well as a dirty skillet from the kitchen sink.

Smearing blood on the side of the skillet, he swung it like a bat at the wall in various places before making his way back to Joel who was fumbling with blood slicked fingers on his phone.

“Oh you stupid, stupid man.” Anakin snorted, snatching it from his hands he checked the screen and saw he hadn’t even been able to unlock it.

He tossed it up and swung his skillet-bat, a loud *Prrringg* rang out before it clattered to the ground somewhere near the hall to the back door.

“You said you’d leave.” Joel whimpered, holding his hands over his face.

“I lied.” Anakin said contempt dripping from his lips from behind the black bandana, tilting his head to the side.

“Hope you understand, I gotta beat the shit out of you with a few different things before I kill you.” Anakin sighed, “All this trouble when you could’ve just told me where your pistol was.”

“Shame.” He grunted, bringing the sharp edge of the skillet down on his ribs, arms, and legs.

“Please,” Joel wheezed, clutching at his side with his mangled arm tucked underneath him. “you don’t have to do this man, c’mon I ain’t done nothing to you!”

“I know I don’t have to, I want to.” Anakin pulled down his bandana for the first time during this attack just to flash Joel a smile.

He tossed the skillet somewhere to the right of them, grabbing Joel’s ashtray from beneath the shattered remains of the coffee table, cracking it over the back of his head.

“Shit, I hope you didn’t spend too much on that.” Anakin chuckled. “S’not real marble, look at that. Split right in half.” He tsk’d.

“Shall we end this now?” He took a deep breath, flicking out his knife.

“Why’d you do all that… just to kill me?” Joel cried, “don’t do it, please. I’ll- my dad, he’ll fix it okay?”

“I did all that, for fun.” Anakin said, gripping the knife firmly in his leather gloved hand, jamming it between Joel’s lower ribs, clamping his free hand over his mouth to muffle the blood-curdling scream he let out.

“Your dad ain’t fixing shit.” Anakin snorted, “he’s gonna be glad to be rid of you.”

“You’ve got another brother, nice guy. Works at the bank,” Anakin whistled lowly as he pulled out the blade at watched the blood gush out. “your dad wouldn’t admit it to your face of course; but I imagine he’ll be relieved when he hears the news.”

Joel sputtered and coughed up blood, gurgling the fluid in his open mouth as he choked. Deep crimson ichor drowning him from the inside.

“You’re making a mess.” Anakin grumbled, switching the grip on the blade. With one hand wrapped around the handles, the other palm on the end to put extra weight into the next motion.

“Hey.” Anakin nudged him with him knee, “open your eyes.”

The second he complied Anakin sank the blade straight into the brown of his iris, a shiver running over his flesh when he heard the *pop* when it pierced through.

“Figured you’d wanna see something pretty before you died.” Anakin grinned, putting his full upper body weight into the knife handle, driving it in as far as he could manage.

“Gross,” Anakin stood up, watching with a grimace as Joel seized, red foam oozing down his chin until he finally stopped convulsing. “fucking nasty.”

Anakin plucked his knife from the eye socket and cleaned the blade on the one unblemished patch of fabric of his victim’s shirt, tucking it into his back pocket. He surveyed the area, ensuring he’d created a believable enough scene, once he was satisfied he walked toward the backdoor, purposely shuffling and sliding his feet across the laminate to avoid full, solid foot prints.

“Hmm.” As he reached the end of the hall he spotted a large mason jar of change, he just couldn’t help himself from smacking it off the small entryway table it sat on, enjoying the sound of the coins scattering across the floor.

“Nice.” He grinned, a little pep in his step as he jumped to the grass from the top step.

In the corner of the backyard against the fence, Anakin pulled off his gloves and switched out his clothes and shoes, shoving the drugs, cash and dirty clothes into his bag.

He hopped the fence and walked as casually as he could down the sidewalk. Unable to wipe the smile from his lips, he was practically giddy, having gotten the biggest adrenaline rush he’d had in a long, long time. He felt free, he felt like a dark cloud had been blown away by a summer breeze. He felt like he could reach up and run his fingertips across the night sky, collecting up stars like pretty rocks to bring home to you.

He felt different. He felt changed. He felt alive.

And gods forgive him, he felt horny.

Part Twelve

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just-some-random-blogger · 8 months

Text

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-"

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merakiui · 4 months

Text

simply business.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, slight nsfw, misogyny, power imbalance, workplace misconduct, abuse of authority, ceo azul, secretary jade note - you'll do anything for this job. mr. ashengrotto wonders if there are limits to your anything.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Ashengrotto. Thank you for making time for me today. I can’t begin to imagine how packed your schedule is,” you admit with a gentle laugh.

Just as you practiced with Trey and Riddle, you shake his hand firmly and confidently. Even if most of your poise is feigned to hide a mountain of anxieties, it manages to fool the CEO of Mostro, for he mirrors your amiable greeting with one of his own. Or maybe he sees right through your act and is choosing to remain quiet. You’re not going to think too deeply about that.

“The pleasure’s all mine. You have no idea how startled I was when your application found its way on my desk. Why, I thought I was dreaming.”

If he brings up childhood memories, talk about it. Why not? Trey advised hours earlier, serving you and Riddle individual slices of strawberry tart. Friendship is just as good a connection as the one made through sweets.

Which is very solid guidance coming from a baker.

Even so, she shouldn’t rely solely on past connections. In business, that means nothing if the connection itself isn’t stable and worthwhile enough, Riddle, ever the realist, added with a grimace. We should know. We went to school with him.

Hey, don’t sweat it. You’ll do great, Trey added when he noticed the despairing look you’d given your tart. I’ll bake you something to celebrate, so do your best, be yourself, and bring home good news.

With his and Riddle’s encouragement, you had been so certain of your abilities before, in which you proudly proclaimed you’d get the job and charm Azul in the process, but now you’re not sure. Standing here in his office, thirty-something stories in the clouds, you can’t escape the suffocating fear as it saps the oxygen from the room and renders your lungs vacant.

“I aim to surprise.”

“And surprise you have. Pleasantly, might I add.” He motions for you to sit, to which you comply and lower into the seat across from him. A mahogany desk separates you from a sparkling future. Your gaze pans from him to the man standing a few inches behind, a clipboard and pen held in both hands. Standing isn’t the right word, actually. With his height, all lithe limbs dressed darkly, he looks like a bodyguard ready to escort you to your execution should you make the wrong move. You can handle one pressed suit, but another is too much. And this one looks even more intimidating than Azul with his sharp, stoic stare. “Pay him no mind. Jade’s merely here to make note of our discussion.”

“Ah, I see. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jade.”

He nods his silent acknowledgement, two-toned eyes filling with light.

“Shall we begin?” Azul gathers a few documents, straightens them, and then dives right into the rigmarole. “I must preface this by stating our past friendship has no influence on my decision or the outcome of this interview.”

“Completely understandable,” you blurt, trigger-happy with agreement.

Don’t be a yes-man, Riddle’s words from before float through your head, stern like a parent. You’re human, not some gear meant to strengthen their corporate machine. If they can’t see that, then that’s no environment for you.

“I… Actually, it feels a little awkward talking like this,” you add with a nervous sigh. “With the stakes being so high and everything… It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, but I’m happy you’re doing well for yourself. Oh! I’m not saying that to butter you up or anything! That’s my honest opinion.”

He chuckles. “I’m also pleased to see you again. Although going forward I would like to keep this matter separate from the task at hand.”

“Right. Sorry. We got off topic.”

He flips through the papers—likely your resume and application and any other information he has on file—and hums. “It says here that you have experience managing an online platform. Would you care to elaborate?”

“Oh, that. It was for my friend’s family business. He’s a baker. The shop has a nice reputation in the neighborhood, but they don’t really have any social media presence. My friend and I thought his family could benefit from a website and a Magicam account, so we put both together. I was in charge of creating and managing the website.”

“I see.”

You notice Jade scribbling something and your heart drops into your stomach. “S-So I have experience in design and…stuff.”

Relax. Don’t pay attention to him.

“Then may I assume you’re passionate about photography and graphic design?”

“Very.”

“It’s good to have an eye for aesthetics. I can clearly see that from the samples you submitted. Your portfolio is impressive.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ashengrotto. I take pride in all of my work.”

“In that case, would you mind walking me through your portfolio?”

“I’d be happy to.” You scoot closer to his desk without thinking, gesturing to the prints he’s laid out for you. “That’s the website I designed for my friend. He wanted something simple, family-friendly, and easy to navigate. I had to appeal to both customers from the neighborhood and customers who might be visiting for the first time. Finding a balance was a little difficult, but I made it work after lots of dedicated effort.”

He gestures to another sample and you delve into the lore behind it. This carries on twice more before he indicates his satisfaction with a beaming smile.

“Aren’t you diligent?”

The delivery is more backhanded than you’d care to hear, but you choose to brush it aside. “Thank you.”

“Your baker friend… Are you employed?”

“Oh, not currently! It was just a side gig. A one-time thing.”

“Is that all?”

You open your mouth to reply and then stop. Did you hear him correctly? “Is… Is what all?”

“You may not work for him in that capacity, but you might in another capacity. ‘One-time things’ could snowball into—”

“It didn’t and it never will,” you interrupt. You realize your error seconds later and smooth out the abrasiveness in your tone. “My apologies. I meant to say that I’m not affiliated with him in any of those ways. I’m merely a friend who helped out where she could. Nothing more and nothing less.”

Azul hums flatly, as if disappointed. Jade scribbles. You swallow mounting dread.

What was that about?

“Very well. Moving swiftly on… Can you tell me about yourself? What drew you to this job?”

“I’ve always wanted to manage a social media account for a business like yours. There are so many branches. I think it’d be a very fulfilling experience.”

“Is there a particular branch you’re interested in?”

“Definitely one of your restaurants. I’ve worked with food websites and accounts before, so I have the necessary qualifications you might be seeking.”

“Social media is no easy task. It can be stressful to manage any platform in which you have a following. With that in mind, may I ask how you normally handle stressful or challenging situations?”

“I don’t get stressed very easily. I’m normally very level-headed.”

Liar. I’m so stressed right now. Sweating like crazy and everything!

As if listening in on your thoughts, Jade drags his pen across paper.

“But in the event that you might face such a situation?”

“If such a thing were to occur, I’d take a step back, analyze everything objectively, and see what I can do to mitigate the stress or difficulty that’s cropped up. If it’s a team effort, I’d gather everyone involved for a meeting so that we could discuss together.”

“And if it was an individual effort?”

“It depends on the severity of the stress. If it comes down to it, I’d have no problem notifying my supervisor or manager of the issue firsthand. The sooner you’re made aware of something, the easier it is to draw up a plan of action, right?”

“That can be true, yes.” Azul shuffles his files. “How would others describe you? From the perspective of a friend, perhaps? Or a spouse? Are you married?”

That’s…way too personal. Is that even an interview question? So far he’s asked everything Riddle went over in our mock interview. What’s up with this sudden shift?

You force a stiff laugh. “Not married yet, no…”

“Do you plan to be?”

“Um… I…don’t know. I’m focused on my career right now.”

“Ah, a career woman. Most women your age often settle down. Not you, though. Ambitious thing, aren’t you?”

Your lips twitch into the beginning of a scandalized grimace, but before you can allow your tactful façade to slip you hurry to paste an unruffled grin on your countenance. “I’m passionate,” you smoothly correct. You don’t miss the way Jade’s pen halts before he continues his duty as scribe. “If I may, Mr. Ashengrotto, did you not say you wanted to keep work and personal matters separate?”

“Forgive me. I was only testing you.”

Just what kind of test is that?

“O-Oh. Well, I hope I passed.”

“With flying colors.” He clears his throat. “Now then, what motivates you, Miss (Name)?”

“My friends and family. Myself. The food waiting for me at home.” He quirks a slight smile at that. “I always strive to do my best.”

“A fine attitude to have.”

“Mhm! I like what I do. Every day’s exciting and I love a good challenge.”

No, I don’t. I almost cried on the way here. This is too much of a challenge for me. I didn’t even think I’d get an email back from you…

“You seem like quite the optimist.” He straightens the papers once more and then clips them together. “I appreciate your insightful, honest answers.”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, right! Of course! Thank you for your time.” You practically jump out of your seat to shake his hand.

That was good, right? It felt so fast, but I did well. Right?

“If I may ask one final question…”

“Sure thing!”

Azul smiles. “Just how badly do you want this job?”

More than anything. I need this job. I’m unemployed and desperate. Please, Azul. You have to help me out.

Obviously you can’t phrase it like that, even though the spineless side of you wants to.

“I…would benefit greatly if I was hired. Working for you and your successful company would be an amazing honor.”

“Is that right?” He releases your hand. “All right. The job is yours.”

You blink at him, shocked. “Wait. It is?”

“On one condition.” Azul sits back in his plush office chair. It’s the expensive type. The one with cushions and reclining abilities. “Strip for me.”

Your blood crystallizes in your veins; your heart almost stops. “Excuse me?”

Surely he didn’t just say that. Surely he meant to say something else. Something like…strip all of your worries and accept this position? Your eyes drift over to Jade. He blinks back at you, a razored smile hidden behind his clipboard.

“If you’re willing to go to extremes for this job, prove it.”

“Mr. Ashengrotto… I…” You laugh, but nothing about this is funny. Bile rises in your throat, scalding with sickening acid. “I…”

“Go on then.” Azul waves his hand impatiently, deceptively youthful features twisting with annoyance. “I haven’t got all day.”

Your hands curl into fists, and you dig your nails into your palms so roughly that you break skin. He can’t be serious. He really can’t.

And yet he’s watching you like he expects it.

Again, you look to Jade for help. He lowers his clipboard. “It’s not polite to make one wait, Miss (Name). We pride ourselves on timely efficiency here.”

“But…” You swallow thickly, your hope slowly waning. “But this… This is absurd! I… You must be joking. I can’t possibly—”

“You can,” Azul interjects. “If you want this job, you will do just as I’ve said. Well? The choice is yours. I’ve played my hand.”

Warmth drains from your person until all that’s left is creeping cold.

Oh, you think with devastating resignation, it’s this kind of management. So this is how everyone survives here.

Inhaling through your nose, you steel yourself. Your fingers twitch towards the buttons on your blazer.

“Will I truly get the job?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” you ask, dreading the answer.

“On how far you’re willing to go.”

“C-Can he leave?”

Azul glances at Jade, a sticky smile spreading his lips wide. “Oh, you’ll hurt his feelings with that. How cruel. I can already see the tears brimming in Jade’s eyes.”

“Heartless,” Jade echoes with a sniffle.

You school your scowl into something friendly. “I… I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable with him here…”

“And you do with me? I’m flattered, but our past has nothing to do with this. I’m grateful you bothered to give me a Valentine every school year, but those days are behind us. So stop wasting my time. It’s money, and every second you spend stalling is a Madol lost.”

Your lip trembles, but you don’t cry. You won’t give either of these rotten monsters the satisfaction.

“H-How much do I have to undress to get the job?” You toy with a button, regret pooling in your stomach.

It’s not worth it. I should leave.

You should, but can you?

“We’ll see. I’m feeling generous today, so your fortune may just be favorable.”

Hopeless, you shut your eyes, exhale a defeated breath, and harden your features into something unshakeable.

I’m sorry, Riddle. I’m not a gear here. I’m not even human.

Slowly, while holding unbreakable eye contact, you undo each button on your blazer. You shrug out of it seconds later, dropping it to the floor unceremoniously. Azul and Jade follow your movements like expert predators ensorcelled by prey.

Here, in this hellish bathyal zone, I’m just a whale fall.

From there, you move to your blouse next. You untuck it from your pencil skirt, allowing the fabric to fall freely. Deft fingers work at the buttons, traveling further down until there’s nothing left of the garment protecting your nudity. That, too, joins the slowly forming heap on the floor. The action leaves both men transfixed, and they eye your lacy white bralette as if attempting to sear the sight into their retinas. At one point, Jade decides to write something down. You fondly contemplate all the ways in which he should die.

“Will that be all?”

“Keep going.”

“Haven’t I done enough?”

“If you have room in that mouth to voice complaints, you can stuff it with my—”

You yank your pencil skirt down, silencing the sin that was ready to spill from Azul’s lips. Jade doesn’t muffle his snicker. Again, you fantasize about pushing him out the window.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

With trembling hands, you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra. It’s peeled from your chest then, exposing your tits for their ravenous leering. Their silence says enough. After what feels like an eternity, Azul stops you when you start to slide your panties down.

“I’ve seen enough.”

“On the contrary, I’ve yet to have my fill.” Jade smiles at you, hiding behind his clipboard like the coy bastard he is.

You stand there, clutching your bra so tightly your knuckles ache. “Is… Is it over?”

“For now.”

At that, you fall to your knees, wrap your arms around your chest, and suck in great gulps of air. Fixing your stare on the floor, you find yourself unable to meet his azure hues. If you do, you may just vomit. Footsteps click their way over to you. He pauses; you can feel his gaze burning through you. And then his fingers ghost over your bare shoulder, dancing like playful puppets.

“You start Monday. Bright and early,” Azul says. There’s a detached, clinical edge to the fluff. “I expect wonderful things from you, Miss Marketing Manager.”

As if his words have materialized to topple you—to shatter what’s left of your dignity—you almost collapse. Your arms shoot out to catch you; your palms press against the icy tiles. Still, you don’t cry. Jade’s leather shoes enter your line of sight, which immediately dries your ducts. You don’t have to look to see the satisfied smirk sharpening on his lips because you hear it.

“I must thank you for the entertaining show. Perhaps you should have considered a career in acting.” He drapes your blazer over your shoulders for added effect.

It’s the loudest fuck you in the quietest sentence.

I hope you die a million painful deaths, you despotic, disgusting dickhead.

When you finally stagger out of the building—fully clothed and gutted—dropping thirty-something floors from heaven to the sensible earth below in a compact lift, you fish your phone out of your bag. You’re moving on autopilot when you press his contact. Trey answers on the third ring.

“I was waiting for this call. So what’s the news? Am I baking a celebration cake or a consolation cake? I’m ready for either one. Just say the word.”

The tears are already streaming down your face. You wipe them away, smudging your makeup in the process. “No consolation needed. I… I got the job…”

“See? I knew you’d get it. This’ll be the best celebration cake you’ve ever tasted. Just you wait and—hey, you okay? You don’t sound good.”

You open and close your mouth, unable to pull a reply from the dry depths of your throat. For one minute, Trey listens to your soft, hiccuping sobs. “I’m just—” you sniffle— “I’m so happy… I can’t wait to eat cake.”

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #n/sfw

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