#The march of the white plague

[mysterious-secret-garden]

Thomas Fitzpatrick, after John Charles Dollman - The march of the white plague, a cartoon from The Lepracaun, 1907.

At the Tuberculosis Exhibition in October 1907, it was claimed that death by consumption in Ireland was 'the highest in the civilised world'.

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This rather eerie cartoon, published in the Lepracaun in 1907, illustrates the toll tuberculosis, known popularly as consumption, was then having on Ireland. It also shows, in the guise of wolves, what was thought to be its causes. It would be many years before this scourge was fully dealt with. It was only with Noël Browne-led changes in public health provision and the the introduction of streptomycin and other antibiotics in the  late '40s and '50s that tuberculosis stopped being an omnipresent killer in the Irish context. In "The March Of The White Plague", the artist Thomas Fitzpatrick, who usually drew cartoons in a more whimsical style, created a pastiche of JC Dollman's work, a popular contemporary English artist (Text source here).

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[gothyanki]

SURPRISE APOCALYPTIC HAILSTORM

[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[munsonsmixtapes]

Paint Me

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!inexperienced!American!reader

summary: You and Benedict attend his mother's masquerade ball and the tension between the two of you is palpable.

word count: 9k

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (please don't do this) anal, fingering, finger sucking, oral (both m and f receiving) masturbation, use of the word daddy, Benedict has a degradation kink

part one part two part three part five part six part seven

March 3, 1817

You hadn’t seen Benedict since the gallery-well, more like you had seen him, but had been avoiding him like the plague since your embarrassing situation. You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him and didn’t know why you couldn’t get yourself to speak to him. Maybe it was because you had been embarrassed about just what your thoughts had contained. Because It was absolutely not appropriate for you to be thinking that way about a man who was not your husband.

All that you could think about was how much you wanted to kiss him again. How much you wanted him to make you feel as good as you did at the gallery. The way he had made you feel when he had grabbed your breast.

You had dreamt about him every night since and the thoughts were nothing but inappropriate in your mind. They all featured you both at the ball that was supposed to take place at his mother’s home where you danced the waltz together before he pulled you into his brother’s office before having his way with you. That part was a little fuzzy considering the fact that no one had ever taught you about sex. You were actually hoping that Benedict would teach you everything that you needed to know about the subject as he fucked you senseless.

Maybe you were looking forward to seeing him at the Bridgerton masquerade ball and maybe you were looking forward to Benedict ripping off your masks as he slid his hands up your dress, removing it ever so slowly and undoing your corset ever so slowly as his lips pressed to yours.

A part of you had hoped that you would have hoped that he would have shown up at your house for you like you had seen all of your sister’s suitors do, but he never did. That just wasn’t Benedict. He was more into keeping his women a secret as opposed to showing up with a bouquet of flowers and offering them to you with a bright smile on his face. That was more like his other two brothers. And maybe that was why they were both married and Benedict wasn’t.

Perhaps he was just the kind that professed his feelings behind closed doors only to ignore the woman when it came to being in public with her. And you were honestly okay with that as long as he kissed you like he had in the garden. That would have been perfectly fine in your eyes.

Your mother entered your bedroom as your lady’s maid tightened your corset and you were surprised to see her since she hadn’t really been around since your father had passed. She had been much nicer and understanding, almost as if Augustus had been the one to make her that way, but you knew that hadn’t been true. He never stopped her, but he certainly didn’t encourage her behavior.

“Here’s the dress,” she held it up and you gasped at just how perfect it was. It was exactly something you had wanted to wear and for once, she had listened to you.

The dress was a pretty light shade of pink and had a tulle overlay with white flowers all over the bottom. It was one of the most beautiful dresses you had ever seen and you were nothing but excited to put it on.

Once you were dressed and your hair and makeup were done, your mother stood behind you and you watched her smile as she rested her hands on your shoulders, looking at you through the mirror just like she always looked at your sister. Like she was actually proud of you.

“You look beautiful,” she told you and you were suspicious of her sudden niceness.

“Thank you, mother,” you nodded, unsure how to take her compliment since you had never heard her say a single nice thing to you ever in your life. She always saved those words for Lilith.

“Oh, almost forgot,” she laughed, handing you your mask. She then fled the room and you followed her to see that your sister was already waiting in the foyer. She had also been suspiciously nice to you and you wondered what sort of trick she and your mother had up their sleeves.

Her dress was very similar to yours, only it was a light blue which looked beautiful against her skin. She gasped when you descended the stairs and you couldn’t help but mimic her smile once you came face to face. She reached out for your hands and you hesitantly let her take them, still unsure what exactly was going on.

“Sister,” she said, giving your hands a squeeze. “You look positively beautiful.”

“I bet you’re just happy that I’m going to be wearing a mask so I don’t embarrass you,” you grumbled and both Lilith and your mother laughed while they each stood on either side of you, looping their arms through yours.

“You always were so funny, y/n,” Lilith said through laughs and sure, you got a laugh out of what you had said, but didn’t like it was as funny as they seemed to. Something was definitely up and you were going to get to the bottom of it.

The three of you got into the carriage and you fiddled with your necklace, thinking about the fact that this was going to be the first ball without your father. For once, you really were going to have to face it alone. Sure, you’d have Kate and Anthony to keep you company, but they weren’t family like your father was. Perhaps that was why Vivian and Lilith were being so nice. To finally make amends after making your entire life up until that point a living hell.

As much as you didn’t want to forgive so easily, you thought that it would be best to anyway, not wanting to repeat what had happened with your father. You couldn’t carry anymore guilt, the weight getting too heavy on your shoulders. You were going to be just as nice to them because you knew that was what your father had wanted, even though you wanted nothing more than to never speak to them again.

The carriage rolled up to the Bridgerton home and you realized you hadn’t been there in the few months you had been back, but the memories of the place were still fresh in your mind. You were hoping to finally see Francesca since you hadn’t had a chance to. And maybe you were also hoping to see her brother as well. Hoping that he would save a dance for you and that you’d be able to have his undivided attention as the two of you moved around the room, his hazel eyes looking into yours.

You pulled down your mask as you headed inside and were happy to have at least a little bit of anonymity even though you knew it was going to be very easy for people to figure out who you were. But still, you loved the idea of having your face partially covered so it wasn’t as obvious when you didn’t make eye contact with anyone you talked to that night.

Benedict had no intention of attending his mother’s ball until he found out that you were going to be there. He had promised himself that he was going to stay away from you so you could find someone more worthy, but fuck that. He still wanted to have his way with you and maybe that night, he’d get lucky, There was a perfectly good office that wouldn’t be in use the entire ball.

Maybe the two of you would have had time to sneak off and have a quickie before no one even noticed you were gone. He could imagine covering your mouth as you moaned as he fucked int you, not wanting you to bee too loud so your moment wouldn’t be disturbed. He had gotten a little taste of what you sounded like at the gallery and hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since. His dreams had been nothing but filthy for the past few nights and he was just looking forward to making them become a reality.

Benedict watched you enter the house and he had to hold back his gasp at how absolutely beautiful you looked. The pink shade looked so good against your skin and the mask you were wearing matched it perfectly. He then turned to your sister, who also looked beautiful, but not nearly as much as you. Lilith should have been the one he was interested in with her being the diamond and all, but if he was being honest, he thought Lilith was nothing but a fake. Someone who only cared about someone’s status and not their personality.

He had seen your sister eye him the entire season so far and he avoided that woman like the plague. Anytime she would approach him, he would make an excuse to leave so he wouldn’t have to speak to her, or worse, have to dance with her. Because if he talked with a woman, long enough, he felt obligated to do so and he had no intention of dancing with or even so much as making eye contact with Lilith.

Benedict made a beeline for you as you got further into the house, but Kate had beat you to the punch. He supposed he could have let his sister have a moment with you before he asked you to dance. Especially since he wanted you to enjoy enough of the event before he whisked you away.

“You look absolutely lovely,” Kate complimented as she took your hands and you eyed her beautiful olive green dress and her mask that matched.

“Thank you, you too.”

“Oh, thank you,” she squeezed your hands then turned to stand next to you, linking her arm with yours as you both surveyed the room. You watched Benedict cross the room to make his way towards you and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He was dressed in navy blue and had a gold mask sitting on his face. You didn’t know how you knew that it was him with his disguise, but you just did.

A smile made its way upon his face as he approached you and he wordlessly held his hand out to you. You took it and he led you out onto the floor before joining your hands and resting his hand on your shoulder blade and yours rested on his. The music changed and you both moved about the room, no words being spoken. All you had to do was look in each other’s eyes to say what you needed to.

You could see Benedict leaning towards you and for a second, it seemed like he was going to kiss you. But he wasn’t going to do that with all of those people around. He wouldn’t do something so inappropriate. But why did you kind of want him to?

He brought his lips to your ear and feeling his hot breath on your ear brought you back to the gallery. You really wished he would have just pulled you into a room and had his way with you and thinking those kinds of thoughts made you feel guilty considering that he wasn’t your husband, but not guilty enough to stop them.

“You look fucking beautiful tonight.” His voice was raspy and you tried your best not to moan at the sound of it.

“And what are you going to do about it?” You asked as he pulled back to look at him, batting your eyelashes as he did so.

“I can’t tell you when there are so many people around.” You felt your heart race in your chest as you realized what he was insinuating. You had always been taught that sex was something that happened between a married man and woman and now here you were, offering your body to Benedict on a silver platter when you were nothing to him except someone he could use.

Before you could register what you were doing, you pushed his arms off of you and took off for the nearest room you could lock yourself in. You pushed through multiple groups of people to get to the outside of the circle everyone had formed around the dance floor. You turned to see that Benedict was following you and opened the first door you could find.

You closed yourself in the nearest room which just so happened to be Anthony’s study. You took a deep breath as you tried to collect your thoughts, feeling them all swirl around in your brain. It was all becoming too much to take. You couldn’t be in love with him. You didn’t even know what love looked like since everyone around you didn’t seem to show you any.

you felt tears well up in your eyes as you turned your back to the door, knowing that you had really fucked everything up this time. There was someone who wanted you, but you were so caught up in your insecurities that you couldn’t even let him love you.

The door burst open causing it to hit the wall with how much force was used. You whipped around and there was Benedict, looking like he had just run a mile. He was breathing heavily, his shirt was unbuttoned and his hair was a total mess.

As soon as he caught sight of you, he made a beeline for you, taking you into his arms, letting out a contented sigh that he had finally found you. A grin broke out on his face and normally, that would have made you melt, but not this time. You were not going to be another one of his whores.

“Benedict, you need to leave now.” You couldn’t bear to see him. You needed him so badly and knew it was wrong to engage in that kind of activity without being married, but you had already done so, so what was one more time? So he had to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.” You knew he was telling the truth. He was so stubborn. More so than you, in fact and you knew that he really wouldn’t leave the room until you told him the truth.

“I have nothing to say.” You had so much to say, but none of it was appropriate. It was pure filth and it sat on your tongue, begging to be uttered to him, but you couldn’t do it. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you ran. We were having a great time and you left with no warning. Again. I think I deserve an explanation.” He did, but you weren’t going to give him one. You couldn’t. Not without telling him the truth and there was no way in hell that you were doing that.

“I’m not telling you anything. I would like to be alone so please leave.” You pointed to the door and you seemed to be just as fired up as you were at the gallery. He liked the side of you. The side that liked to get a little mean and authoritative.

He leaned down so that his face was just inches above yours, a devilish smirk forming on his lips as he spoke.

“Make me.” Oh, you were going to make him. There was no doubt about that.

“Fine.” You began to push on his chest, put he just leaned forward, his hands meeting the desk as he did so, caging you in.

“Benedict, please-“ he cut you off by pushing your dress up. He sat you on the desk and spread your legs wide to get a good look, looking up at you with a devilish smirk as he caught sight of your sopping wet cunt.

“Look at you, darling. Been thinking a lot about me, huh?” He winked. “Well, no wonder you’re so frustrated with me. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.”

“What are you-“ your sentence was cut off by his pants dropping to his ankles, your eyes widening as his cock came into view. God, he was huge. You weren’t able to stare at it long because he pounded it into you, causing you to make a sound you had never made before. And Benedict loved hearing it, deciding that it was better than he could ever imagined.

“So tight,” he chuckled. “But don’t worry, you’ll be so loose by the time I’m done with you.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead then thrusted in and out of you and watched the way your mouth opened wide as you let out another moan. One hand gripped your waist as he put his hand over your mouth, not wanting you to get too loud and ruin your good time before it had even really started.

“You have to be quiet,” he said harshly and you just nodded. “Can you be quiet for me darling? I promise the next time we’ll do it somewhere more convenient because you have no idea how much I want to hear you scream my name.”

He continued to pump in and out of you, his eyes moving down to your tits, hypnotized by the way they moved underneath your dress. He decided that he really needed to see them. He wanted to watch them bounce as he fucked into you again and again.

He pulled your dress over your head and tossed it behind him before reaching for your corset, untying it without even seeing it because he had done that exact thing more times than he could count. Once it was off, he took in your bare chest, deciding that they had looked even better than he imagined in the many dreams he had about you doing the exact thing you had been doing right then. But he wasn’t dreaming then. You were just a dream.

“You look-“ he cut himself off, feeling drool collect in his mouth as he thought about it sucking on your tits. But he didn’t do stuff like that. He just fucked. There was no foreplay or lead up. That wasn’t who he was. “Fucking heavenly.”

Then why did he want to kiss you until you were both breathless then fuck you soft and slow, making sure that you enjoyed every single moment? Who was he becoming because this definitely wasn’t the version of himself that he had grown to know.

He wiped the thought away and pounded into you, pushing your back onto the desk, as he moved everything out of the way, letting it all crash to the floor, not even caring that it made a loud clatter. He fucked into you, as hard and as fast as he could, trying to fit all of himself inside you and watching your eyes water as you managed to take every single inch of his dick. He continued to pound into you, watching you come completely undone as he fucked you roughly, watching your back arch as you moaned loudly, the sound becoming music to his ears. You collapsed onto the desk and he scooped you up into his arms, watching your head fall back as he desperately tried to hold you there, making sure that you were still okay to keep going.

“Can’t go dumb on me yet, darling. This is only the appetizer.” That broke something in you and you pressed a kiss to his lips before urging him to continue. He pushed you back onto the desk and kept you there, pinning you to it by your wrists as he continued to pound into you, watching you eat up the way he was fucking you, moaning when he wanted you to and arching your back in just the right moments.

He felt himself reach his climax and let out moans of his own, your name falling from his lips as he did so and you felt yourself become a goddamn puddle at hearing him moan your name. He then pulled out just in time to watch a mixture of your slick and his cum leak onto the floor and he had to hold himself back from licking up every last drop, not wanting any of it to go to waste.

Benedict pulled out of you and motioned for you to turn around. You did as he asked and he bent you over the desk, slamming his dick into you, pressing his chest to your back as he rested his hand on top of yours, lacing his fingers through yours, giving them a tight squeeze. He continued to pound into you as you leaned against the desk, already feeling tired from the activity, but you were going to hold out as long as you could, wanting to feel the other ways he was willing to scandalize your body.

Benedict continued to pump in and out of you as roughly as possible, feeling around for something in particular and smiling to himself when he found it. His hand found a mirror that was sitting on the desk and he turned it around, pushing it to sit in front of you and tilting it backwards so he could see you just right.

“Look at how good you’re taking me,” he commanded, his tone still soft despite the way his hand was gripping yours with such force.

He took you by your chin and forced you to look in the mirror, him watching nothing but you as he pounded his dick into you and you were able to see how undone he was able to make you.

Your mouth widened as you let out another moan and you had to admit that you were kind of loving seeing yourself like that and your eyes shifted to Benedict who was looking down at you like he wanted to eat you whole.

“So good,” you whined and he continued, elated that you were being vocal about how much you were enjoying yourself. If you hadn’t, he would have put the whole thing to a stop, your comfort being his number one priority. Sure, he liked the degrade you, but only with your consent.

“See? Look at you, taking it like the little whore you are.“ He pounded into you once more and you reached your orgasm, your moans the loudest they had been and Benedict was quick to cover your mouth once again.

He gave your ass a slap and you let out a yelp at the stinging sensation, but that didn’t mean you didn’t like it. In fact, you wanted him to do it again and again until your skin couldn’t take it anymore.

“What did I tell you about being quiet?” He asked through grit teeth. “Am I going to have to teach you a lesson about what happens when you disobey me?”

“Please,” you whined and he just smirked at you through the mirror. He grabbed onto your necklace and gave it a tug, causing a choking sound to escape your throat. You felt your cunt get even more wet at the feeling of the necklace pressing into your skin and became concerned that you enjoyed the feeling.

“Yeah? You like that, whore? Like it when I choke you like this?” He pulled a little harder and you noticed the pressure was relieved, looking into the mirror to see that the necklace had broken in his hand. Benedict looked at you apologetically then tossed the necklace aside on the desk. He’d buy you another one later.

He pulled out of you and turned you around to face him, pushing you against the desk as he pressed his lips to yours in a rough kiss. You gasped into his mouth then sat there, pliant to his kiss as he took what he wanted from you. You moved your lips with his hesitantly, unsure of whether you were doing it right.

“That’s right, darling,” he encouraged. “Just like that.” His lips continued to move with yours, rougher but slower, taking his time like he had so much of it even though it was only a matter of time before people started to look for you.

Benedict cradled your face in his hands, pressing his thumbs into your chin, pulling down on it so he had more access to your mouth. He slid his tongue inside and let it swirl around yours, loving the sounds it was pulling from you, loving the feeling of your hot breath on his lips as you moaned his name.

“Benedict,” you did your best to moan quietly and he pulled away, looking down at you as lust glazed over his eyes.

“No,” he shook his head. “As long as we’re in the bedroom, you call me daddy.”

“Daddy,” you repeated, the word in that context feeling foreign, but you didn’t hate it.

“Just like that.” If fucking you was always going to be like this, then Benedict was definitely going to get rid of all of his other whores.

He took two of his fingers and buried them inside of you, making sure to cover your mouth as you let out a moan. He pumped into you and the sounds you were making sounded delicious even through his hand that was muffling them.

“So good, daddy,” you whined and Benedict’s cock twitch at that. You were so hot and you didn’t even know it.

“Yeah? You like when my fingers fuck you?” He asked and you nodded, white knuckling the desk once again, almost afraid to touch him, also most as if his body was off limits. “You can touch me, darling. In fact, I encourage it. Want you to scratch up my back.” He helped you lean into him, giving him more access to your cunt, your legs pressing tightly against his wrist as his fingers continued to fuck you.

You removed his shirt as best you could, the thing only hanging off his arm since you didn’t want him to remove himself from you. Your hands scratched up and down his back in reaction to your pleasure and he let out a whimper as your nails met his back, wanting you to bring some of his skin with them.

Your head fell backwards as you reached your second orgasm, but Benedict kept his fingers inside you, hoping he could get you to your third one of the night. He gave you a few more pumps before removing his fingers, slowly moving them up to his mouth. His tongue fell out and he gave his fingers a slow lick, watching drool collect in your mouth as you watched him, your eyes glazing over with lust. He had you right where he wanted you.

“Want a taste, darling?” He asked and you nodded, your eyes widening as you did so. Benedict stepped forward, tilting your chin up, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he stuck his fingers into your mouth. “Give ‘em a suck,” he instructed. “You know you want to.”

You sucked on his fingers and he swore he was going to cum right there, watching you scandalize his fingers. He had made countless women come undone and he was afraid that you were doing the exact same thing to him and you weren’t even aware of it. His little shy girl driving him absolutely wild and having no clue what she was even doing.

“Lick them clean.” He stuck his fingers further into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag. Your eyes watered as you gagged a little more and he pulled his fingers out a little bit, but you grabbed his wrist and put his fingers further into your mouth, almost down your throat and your eyes watered more as you gagged again, but you didn’t want him to stop. His fingers fucked your mouth and you sucked on them, licking your slick clean from them.

“Yeah? Like it when I make you gag, huh? Like the way my fingers feel in your throat? You look so pretty wrapped around them, darling. Bet you’d look even prettier wrapped around my cock.” You nodded at that, desperate to know just what he tasted like. “Wanna suck me off, darling?” He took his fingers out of your mouth so you could give a verbal response and you nodded again.

“Use your words.” He grabbed onto your face and forced you to look him in the eye. He squeezed your cheeks so tight that you felt a little pinch, but you hardly minded. In fact, you didn’t mind at all.

“Want to so bad, daddy!” His cock twitched again at that and he decided that needed you to suck him off right then or he swore that he wasn’t going to make it. He let out a whine as cum spilled from his cock and you looked down at it, feeling drool pool as you thought about it in your mouth.

“Look at you, so needy for me.” He wiped the drool from your chin and removed his hands from your face. “On your knees.” His tone was now more forceful but you liked it. You loved being told what to do and the degradation that came with it.

You got onto your knees and came face to face with his leaking cock and Benedict grabbed onto the edge of the desk, pressing the backs of his thighs into it as you looked up to him for instruction.

“What do you want me to do, daddy?” You bat your eyelashes and Benedict’s cock hardened right there, loving the way you looked so innocent but about to do something so filthy. The juxtaposition was driving him wild.

“Gotta take me into your mouth first. Put your hand at the base,” he said, his tone soft again. You grabbed onto the base just like he told you to and took him into your mouth and he swore he was going to come undone right there just by seeing your lips wrapped around him. He was convinced that was the prettiest you’d ever looked.

“Okay, now you gotta use your tongue. Swirl it around the head.” You did as he asked and he shuddered, throwing his head back as he let out a whimper but looked back down at you, the two of you maintaining eye contact as you licked up every last bit of his cum. “Now give it a suck.” You gave the head a suck and Benedict let out a loud moan at that, quickly covering his mouth as soon as it left. There was no way you hadn’t sucked a cock before. You were just so good at it that it just wasn’t possible that you were doing it for the first time.

You licked and sucked on his dick and you loved watching him come undone for a change. You watched him white knuckle the desk as he threw his head back, moaning your name over and over, causing your cunt to become a mess, feeling your slick pour from you as his delicious sounds met your ears.

“So good. Swear you can do this any time you want.” You were definitely going to take him up on that offer.

You removed your hand from him and just when he thought you were done, you grabbed onto his ass, pushing his dick as far as it would go into your mouth, desperate to have all of him. He looked down, his mouth falling open as he watched you take every single inch of him into your mouth. Your eyes were watering and you were staring to gag, but that wasn’t going to deter you.

Your tongue swirled around wherever you could reach as you continued to suck on him, watching his knees buckle as you hit just the right spot to make him absolutely lose it. Your fingers dug into his ass cheeks and he let out a yelp, wanting you to cause so much damage that he could look into a mirror and see bruise marks from how hard you were digging your finger tips into him.

“God, fuck, I’m gonna-“ his sentence was cut off by a huge wad of cum hitting the back of your throat as he let out the loudest moan of the night, surely on the verge of making people want to enter the room because of the disturbance.

He folded in on himself as you took his dick out of your mouth. He looked up at you and took your face in his hands again, looking at your glazed over eyes.

“Swallow,” he instructed, his breathing still labored. You did as he said and felt the cum go down your throat as he push your mouth open to make sure that you had actually swallowed it and looked down at you with that damn devilish smirk that should have been illegal.

“Good girl,” he gave your cheek a pat then got onto his knees in front of you. He pushed you roughly so your back hit the floor and he was quick to spread your legs, looking down at your pussy, ready to get a taste for himself.

“You look good enough to eat, darling. And I’m fucking starving.” He licked his lips slowly, looking down at your cunt as if it was a full course meal and he hadn’t eaten in days.

He went to remove your shoes and socks as slowly as he could, watching you whine for him, wanting to edge you now since everything else had happened so quickly. He slowly got your shoes off and took your left leg gently in his hands, removing your socks as slowly as he could, watching you beg for him as you did so which only made him move slower.

“Relax, darling,” he hushed you. “It’s going to be okay. Daddy’s going to take care of you in a minute.” Your socks were removed and he grabbed hold of your ankles, pressing feather light kisses to your left leg, complimenting you as he did you, telling you just how pretty he thought you were. This was going to be the main event, so he was going to have to put on a show.

Once he got to the top of your thigh, he hovered his face right above your cunt, taking a sharp inhale of your scent before giving the thing a slow, long lick causing you to arch your back just like he wanted.

“Just a second. You really need to relax,” he told you harshly. “I’m clearly working here.” He kissed up your right leg and you were so desperate for the feeling that you slowly inched your way down to your sopping wet cunt, needing to get your release.

You stuck your fingers up it just like Benedict had and you let out a moan, causing him to pause his loving on your leg. He slowly turned to you and looked down at your hand placement, his eyes widening at the fact that you were so needy that you felt the need to pleasure yourself. Maybe he’d like to watch you instead.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, immediately removing your fingers from yourself, but Benedict stopped you, putting his hand over yours and guiding it back to your entrance.

“No, keep going,” he urged. “Wanna watch you.”

“You want to…watch me? I thought you wanted to-“

“Well, I’ve changed my mind,” he cut you off, his tone becoming harsh again and your cunt was becoming more needy for attention by the second. “Wanna watch you make yourself come undone. Now stick your finger back where they were.”

You did as he told you and stuck your fingers back up your cunt, trying to remember what Benedict had done earlier. You pumped in and out and he watched you with hungry eyes as your fingers fucked you, your eyes shutting tight in pleasure as you came undone at your own touches.

He was becoming jealous. Jealous of your fingers, desperate to lick them clean. Desperate to have another taste of you, wanting to be the one to give you that kind of pleasure. But he was getting so hard watching you that he was willing to wait until you came.

You moaned at the feeling, whines getting caught in your throat as you imagined Benedict’s tongue lapping up every last bit of your slick, telling you just how good you tasted as you pulled on his hair as hard as you could.

Just as Benedict was getting into it, you removed your fingers from yourself and his mouth watered at just how wet with slick your fingers were. He leaned over without a second thought and gave them a suck, swirling his tongue around them to get every last bit before removing them from his mouth.

As soon as he was done, he shoved his face into your cunt and you let out a gasp as his nose brushed it. He took no time to lick a stripe from your slit to your clit and you grabbed onto his hair and gave it a yank as he lowered himself to the floor, draping your legs over your shoulder as he did so.

He moved his tongue up and down, giving you a taste before pulling back a bit, causing you to let out another whine. You were just too easy to tease and he was always going to take the opportunity to do so.

“There’s no need to get greedy, darling.” He smiled up at you and you reached down to your cunt again, but Benedict grabbed hold of your wrist and gave it a tight squeeze, his eyes filling with anger.

“Stop acting like a spoiled brat or I’m going to leave you to finish the job yourself. I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Now be quiet, darling, I’m about to do my best work.” With that, he buried his face back into your cunt and took no time to stick his tongue up it, pulling a moan from you as you gave his hair a yank.

His tongue hit just the right spot and your back arched in absolute euphoria. You yanked his hair again and let out your loudest moan yet, reaching your third orgasm for the night which even for Benedict was a record. He should have known that he could make you cum every single time. He was just that good.

“Benny,” you screamed and Benedict stopped at that. You had never called him that and why did he kind of like that more than being called daddy? Daddy was his go to, but with you, it was different. He liked your nicknames for him.

He removed his face from your cunt and licked up every last bit of slick he could reach from his face then placed himself on top of you, pulling you in for a filthy kiss, swirling his tongue around yours before pulling away.

“Did so well, darling,” he complimented as he wiped some of your baby hairs from your forehead, admiring the way you looked up at him with hearts in your eyes as if he didn’t just do some of the filthiest things to you that would have sent any normal woman running.

“Got one more in you? Promise I’ll be gentle.” He brushed some more hair away from your forehead and pressed a gentle kiss to it.

“One more,” you slurred and Benedict knew he didn’t have long until you were too far gone to consent so he was going to have to work quick.

“Wanna be on top?” He asked and you nodded enthusiastically. If he was being honest, he just wanted to see your tits bounce again as he fucked you senseless.

Benedict laid on the floor and you straddled his waist, situating yourself onto his dick, you both letting out moans as he entered you. You reached out and covered each other’s mouths as you began to ride him as he coached you, telling you exactly what to do.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Just like that. A little faster now.” You bucked your hips into his, back and forth and Benedict was hypnotized by the way your tits bounced up and down as you rode him, finding himself wanting to know what they tasted like, wanting to feel your back arch into him as you pulled one of them into his mouth, giving it a rough suck.

“Love riding you, daddy,” you whined and Benedict knew he was done for. Hearing your pathetic whines mixed with his nickname was making him lose his goddamn mind. It was so unfair how fucking how you were and how so unaware you were of it.

“I know, honey,” he managed to get out through labored breaths. “Look so pretty when you’re riding me.”

“I thought I looked pretty with your cock in my mouth,” you bat your eyelashes and he knew that you knew exactly what you were doing. You were beating him at his own game and you didn’t even have to try.

You could see him staring at your tits and decided to have a little fun of your own. Two could play that game. You leaned over and moved up so that your tits were hanging in his face, moving them back and forth as you watched the drool dribble down his chin.

“Know you wanna suck on them.” Benedict’s eyes widened as he realized that he had created a monster. “Want to do it so bad, don’t you?” You asked. “I can see you drooling baby, now open up.” Benedict opened his mouth with no hesitation and his lips wrapped around your nipple, giving it a suck as he licked a stripe across it, causing you to gasp.

He sucked and licked as his hands moved to your back, pushing you farther down onto him so he had more access to you. He pulled the thing between his teeth and gave it a pull, eliciting a moan from your lips that was particularly higher pitched than the other ones. He had you right where he wanted you, pliant to his touch as he worked his magic.

“Benny,” you whined. “So good, Benny. Need more.” He bit down harder and you practically screamed at the sound, covering your own mouth this time, wondering how no one had caught you yet.

He quickly moved onto your other nipple and didn’t even work his way up to the bite, just going for it, pulling another loud scream from you. Once he was done, he pulled away, wanting to get a good look at your tits shining with his spit, the bruises already forming around your nipples.

“Are you going to stare at my tits all night or are you going to finally fuck me, Mr. Bridgerton?” You raised an eyebrow and that did it. He pushed you to the floor and pinned you there, pounding into you as he his hands moved to your wrists so you couldn’t move.

“Watch your mouth or it won’t end well for you.”

“Oh? And what are you going to do to me, daddy? Spank me?”

“Maybe later if you’re a good girl and listen to me. Right now, I’m going to absolutely rail you.” He pumped in and out the fastest he could, knowing that he was running out of time since the ball was ending and knew that Anthony would make a beeline for his office to work on paperwork like he always did late at night. If he caught the two of you, he’d have Benedict’s head.

He managed to finish inside you one last time as he heard the chatter of people leaving, letting himself actually moan because everything was so loud that people definitely wouldn’t have been able to hear him. Your moans mixed together as you felt him release and he pulled out of you as he heard someone stomping down the hallway.

You both hurried to put your clothes back on and Benedict helped you put on your undergarments, your hearts racing because you were convinced you were going to get caught. After you were good to go, Benedict took you by the hand and slowly opened the door only for it to creak loudly in the silence of the house.

You both cringed at the noise but he still pulled you out of the office but quickly pushed you back in, shutting the door behind you.

“He’s right behind me.”

You gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ll handle this.”

“How?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. You just run when I say to.”

“Yes ma’am.” You let go of his hand and slipped out the door only to literally run into Anthony causing the two of you to fall to the floor. Anthony was quick to pull you to your feet and you moved him further to the side so he wouldn’t see his brother slip out the door.

“What were you doing in my office?” He asked, and you were able to come up with something on the spot which was surprising to you since your mind usually went blank.

“I was just…looking for the bathroom.” Anthony definitely wasn’t buying that and needed to find out what was really going on.

“Y/n, what-“ as soon as you noticed that he was trying to get the truth out of you, you dropped to the floor and clutched your ankle.

Benedict took the opportunity to slip out of the room and head up the stairs as quickly as possible and you put on the performance of lifetime, pretending that you had hurt your ankle. God, he was so going to fuck you good for saving him like that.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Anthony asked as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

“My ankle,” you told him, tears welling up in your eyes. Anthony went to lift your dress but you pushed his hand away, not wanting him to see that you defiantly had not hurt your ankle. You watch Benedict ascend the stairs and decided that your work was done.

“Where does it hurt? Do you need a doctor?” Worry was written all over his face and you were trying to figure out how you were going to get out of your lie and get to Benedict who was waiting for you in his room, desperate and needy for your wet cunt. You stood up from the floor quickly as Benedict stood at the railing waving you over.

“Would you look at that,” you laughed nervously as you moved your ankle back and forth, showing Anthony that you were actually just fine and he just stared at you, not fully believing whatever you were hinting at. “I’ve made a miraculous recovery.” There was something weird going on and Anthony was going to get to the bottom of it, even if he wasn’t sure that he wanted to.

“Where’s the restroom?” You asked, a sheepish smile making its way upon your face and Anthony eyed you, not quite sure if he should have asked you what was going on. He didn’t think that it was his business and you didn’t seem to be in any danger, so he supposed that he could let it slide just this once.

“Just down the hall.” He pointed to the right and you made a beeline in that direction.

Once you were gone, Anthony shook his head and opened his office door, a gasp escaping his lips as he took in the state of the room. Every single thing that had been on his desk was in the floor, some of them broken. It looked like someone had broken in and he had absolutely no idea how it could have gotten like that when he knew that no one had entered the room the entire night. Unless…

Something wasn’t adding up. Had you trashed his office or worse, had someone harmed you while the ball was going on? He supposed that would have explained why you had been behaving so oddly. Or maybe you really had just been looking for the bathroom. He trusted you and had hoped that you wouldn’t have done something like that to him. The whole thing was giving him a giant a headache and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. That was, until he noticed a necklace on the floor under his desk, catching the light of a diamond necklace. He hadn’t recognize it, but maybe it was Kate’s. That would have been the only person who would have had any reason to enter the office.

Anthony pocketed the necklace then turned off his lamp, deciding that he would eat with the mess in the morning. It was too late and he was too tired to wrap his head around what could have happened during the party. Once the lamp was off, he made his way towards the door and opened it, looking around for you, but he supposed you just left and hoped that you had gotten home safely.

As soon as Anthony’s office door closed, you raced up the stairs to meet Benedict. He took you into his arms and pressed a kiss to your waiting lips before leading you to his room. As soon as the door was closed, Benedict pulled you in for another kiss, taking no time to lick int your mouth, his hands pushing up your dress up, but you pushed him away. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he wasn’t going to blame you for not wanting it. Maybe the moment had passed.

“What’s wrong, darling? Do you not want to fuck me anymore?” He jutted out his bottom lip and maybe earlier you’d have fallen for it, but not now. Not tonight. You were now aware of his game and had every intention of beating him at it.

“I didn’t say that,” you bat your eyelashes again and he was convinced that you knew exactly what you were doing now.

“Then what do you want? Name it and it’s yours.” Benedict expected you at least think about what you wanted, but you spoke before he could even take a guess.

“I want you to beg.” Pardon? You wanted him to what? Had he heard you right? Because there was no way that his little innocent darling was actually asking him to beg. That was his job. He figured you had at least had a few more rounds in you before you started ordering him around.

“What was that, darling?” He asked, leaning down so that his ear was right by your mouth. “I couldn’t quite hear you.” He could hear you quite well, but wanted you to repeat yourself with confidence.

“I said I want you to beg.” Your voice was the loudest he ever heard you and he loved how confident you were around him. How you were able to tell him exactly what you wanted and he’d give it to you on a silver platter.

“Y/n, what-“

“Down,” you pointed to the floor in front of you. “On your knees.” Benedict quickly obliged and lowered down onto his knees. His hands took yours and he pressed a kiss to each one.

“Please,” he begged and you almost gave it in right there, but wanted more. You wanted him to be on the verge of tears. You wanted him to be practically sobbing as he begged for you to bed him.

“I need a little more,” you told him and he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into your stomach, pressing kissing to it.

“Please, please, darling. I need you,” he whined and you pulled his head away from you, tucking your finger under his chin and lifting his head to look at you. The devilish grin was now yours and he wasn’t sure how long he could last with his cock tenting in his pants.

“Gotta look at me when you say it, Benny. Wanna see your face when you cry out for me.” And the student became the master. That was it. He had nothing left to teach you.

“Darling, please,” he begged as he took a big swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so, choking back tears. His hands stayed on your waist as his hands rubbed up and down them. “I promise I’ll be a good boy.”

“Oh, I know you will be,” you gave his cheek a pat before pulling him to his feet and he was having a hard time standing up, but he got there eventually. He pulled you into his arms, making sure that you were flush to his chest before pulling you in for yet another kiss, this one softer than the others.

Your hands slowly moved to his shirt and you unbuttoned it as his lips moved with yours, your tongue swiping along his bottom lip. He opened up and you let your tongue scratch along his roughly.

You got his shirt open and pushed him onto the bed, lowering yourself on top of him as you removed your dress in one swift motion before capturing his lips with yours once again. You removed your corset and let your body be flush with his and he loved the way your tits felt pressed against his chest.

Your hands reached for his breeches and you unbuttoned then pulled them down, his cock springing free, just as hard as it had been before. You settled onto his cock and began to ride him, moving slowly, your fingers digging into his chest as his hands moved to your waist. You watched him beneath you, his eyes on yours as let out moan after moan and he wondered how you had gotten so good at it after only riding him once.

“Know exactly how I like it, darling,” he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Yeah? You asked, your nails scratching down his chest. “So glad I can please you, Benny.”

“Could do this all night,” he said, his hands moving to your ass and you let out a yelp as he dug his fingers into them. You took his hands and pulled them up to your mouth, giving them a gentle kiss.

“No, Benny,” you shook your head. “We’re going to do it my way right now.”

“And what’s your way, hm?”

“Soft and sweet.”

“Darling, you’re definitely sweet, but you’re not soft,” he let out a chuckle and you proceeded to ride him, picking up your pace, but not exactly doing it how he was liking it. He didn’t mind, though. As long as you were on top of him, he didn’t care what you did.

He let out a moan as your hips bucked against his and you watched his back arch in pleasure as he reached his orgasm, his hands squeezing yours for dear life as he finished inside of you.

“Christ,” was all he had to say as he ejaculated inside of you, his back hitting the mattress as he let out a loud exhale.

You got off of him then lowered your body down onto his, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss. Your hands reached for his once again and you intertwined them, letting them rest together on the mattress.

Your lips moved down to his neck and licked a stripe across it, wanting to know what it tasted like. It was salty from the sweat and you liked the flavor on your tongue. Benedict talked you through giving him a hickey and you did exactly as he instructed and just by his moans, you could tell that he was coming undone underneath you.

“So good,” he whined. “You’re a fast learner.”

“Well, I’ve learned from the best,” you told him as you pulled away to get a look at your work, the skin a reddish purple and shining with your spit. Benedict pulled you down onto him and flipped the both of you over so he was the one on top and he moved your sweaty baby hairs down off of your forehead as a smile broke out on his face.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Miss l/n,” he said as he pressed a final kiss to your lips before pulling the covers over your bodies. He pulled you to his chest and placed a kiss to your forehead and you both closed your eyes, having no problem drifting off to sleep after all of the activities you just took part in.

“And the same goes to you, Mr, Bridgerton.”

You dreamed so peacefully that night, the only thing in your mind being Benedict and the beautiful life you could have built with him. You were hoping that after all the things that you did together that he’d make you his wife even if it was just wishful thinking.

[bucknastysbabe]

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW//age gap, grooming, manipulation, no one is properly nice, Criston being crazy, Targtower!reader, canon era, anxiety and panic attacks, sibling strife, Alicent is tired, isolation, angst, sad ending, innocence/corruption kink, slight religious kink, v!fingering, oral, frottage, pnv!sex, lots of tears, I was emo okay and no I did not rush the ending no I did not-

WC: 9.5k (idk what happened oops)

Taglist: @arcielee @bambitas @aemonds-holy-milk @lovelykhaleesiii @starogeorgina @fallingintoyourlilaceyes @sugarpoppss2 @fairysluna @jamespotterismydaddy @elaratyrell

Being Alicent’s second daughter, the third of Viserys, your political pawn status was minimal in youth. You minded your own and listened, a constant shadow behind your mother. The queen was your idol— she was strong, devout, and loved deeply. It was your siblings who were willful, dragon blood coursing through their veins that made her fraught.

Somehow it felt you didn’t get any dragon blood. Your egg had refused to hatch, your eyes an ugly dark purple. The worst was that you had red hair. The hair of the Hightowers. You'd been born too late and too plain it seemed. The feeling of being strange led to shyness plaguing you. Hence why you’d clung to your mother’s skirts, she made you feel safe and beloved. Any closeness with your siblings dissolved as time wore on. Alicent apparently didn't mind, even if her child was manufacturing her own isolation.

Aemond devoted himself to scholarly learning, training in the yard, and flying on Vhagar. Helaena seemed to rather keep to herself, stitching beautiful works and catching her lovely insects. Aegon— he embraced hedonism and you’d leave it at that. You had been close with Daeron when he was a babe, loving on your little brother. Then Alicent sent him to Oldtown.

Ser Criston and your mother seemed to be the only presence you were around most of your childhood. You loved the white knight dearly, he’d bring you little gifts and swing you around as Alicent prattled on about something. He was so handsome and chivalrous, always a kind word upon his lips. Just the thought of the oath-sworn knight made you grow flushed and giddy.

You’d hide behind Ser Criston's white cloak when your father occasionally took interest. Viserys seemed annoyed at your shy demeanor, asking Criston to bring you to him. It was dreadful, he was decaying and his rotten smile was frightful. You would weep and shake, turning toward your mother or Criston. Looking for an escape.

The king would frown. He sniffed, “Here Cole, take the girl, Hightower as they come hm?”

Criston’s jaw clenched before he sighed, “Come on princess, we have appointments to keep.” You had grabbed his hand and left— ignoring Viserys' muttering. It brought a feeling of uselessness to your young heart. At least Daeron was bettering himself in Oldtown. The Kingsguard scoffed, “I wouldn’t appreciate sitting in his lap either. He will always have eyes for your half-sister, do remember that. Your mother has your interests in mind.”

“I understand, Ser Criston."

When Alicent was sleeping or tending to the matters of the realm, you oft sat with Ser Criston as he guarded the queen. He would tell you about his youth in the Dornish Marches, harrowing tales of battle and blood. One time as a child you grew so frightened you hopped in his arms. He laughed and petted your hair, “You’re alright, no vulture kings shall get you. Not with me here.” His smile was bright, and his brown eyes lit with humor.

You hid a picture you’d drawn of you all grown up, a beautiful maiden holding hands with Ser Criston. A dragon would be there too. Fantasies plagued your innocent mind, courtly love between a princess and her loyal white knight. Nothing like the isolation and tension that brought strife to your family. Everything was perfect and happy. Everyone loved each other. Stupid, stupid, silly you.

As you matured into the early stages of womanhood, your shyness and frayed nerves did not abate. In fact, fits of crying and shaking began to afflict you. Tourneys, balls, and weddings made your stomach turn and hands grow clammy. The Maester had given a tincture for fits and fears such as these, citing a ‘hysterical disposition.' The tincture was diluted milk of the poppy.

You were half-dazed and daft but no longer weeping through an entire feast. Small victories.

At three-and-ten you visited Dragonstone, bonding with the gorgeous Silverwing. As you flew around the island, tears streamed down your face. It was beautiful, so very beautiful. When you landed, your white knight and mother clapped, proud of their favorite princess. Even Aemond gave a word of applause. Rhaenyra watched with a strange look, further back. You refused to acknowledge her, you had heard all you needed to know about your elder sister.

Later, Aegon had japed with a sloshing goblet, “Ah, I was beginning to think you were a bastard dear sister. Maybe a lord will take an interest now.” Ser Criston had cuffed the lad on the ear at that, Aegon squeaking an apology.

The knight consoled you afterward, gloved hand tilting your chin up. His dark orbs bore into your own, his thumb swiping your tears. He stated intently, “Never, never for a second think you are not true-born. My princess, you are just beginning to blossom, you’re Targaryen as they come. I will defend that claim until my death.”

Your heart skipped a beat, tears welling up as you hugged the older man, thanking Ser Criston for his kindness. He was stiff at first, then gloved hands came to rest at your shoulders. He called you blossom after that, the pet name never failed to make your cheeks flush. Alicent took great pleasure that you had kept to their sides instead of wandering off to find whatever to abate the stress of being Royal. She would sniff occasionally, "Do remember what white signals, virtue."

Ser Criston named you the Queen of Love and Beauty at six and ten, a tourney Otto and Alicent schemed for you to get a suitor. Although the suitors were cracked in the helm and knocked on their ass. Criston was rather vicious this tourney, winning the melee and joust. You chose not to dwell on the blood splattered on his shiny armor, for it caused wicked thoughts. He grinned with red lips, offering the crown.

Aegon rolled his eyes, quipping something foul as he guzzled his wine. Viserys had apparently glared at the knight, mouth twisting. You smiled and blushed, feeling like a silly child again. The handsome marcher was consuming you more and more. Eyes that saw you wholly, his little blossom.

Later in the evening, many lords or heirs were at the feast for your sake. They did not seem interested, casting wary looks. You decided it was partly your nerves and shy nature, the glaring knight at arm's length was no benefit. You made one connection that night with a son of the Arbor, a sweet-faced Redwyne lad. His name was Meryn, that was the extent you knew. Grandsire seemed to be pleased with your choice. Criston's dark eyes lingered in your mind. Meryn had dark green eyes and straw-blonde hair. He would be alright if you had to, Meryn was courteous. You swallowed down bile at the thought of living so far away.

You’d become so struck with Cole you had begun to lie awake at night, purposely ignoring the desire that coursed through blue veins. He had said that a true, chaste maiden did not give in to carnal pleasures. Your mother said that self-pleasure was sinful and wicked. You'd read the Seven-Pointed Star, the Stranger would fondly take fornicators down to the seven hells.

You agreed, feeling sinful if your womanhood ever throbbed. Innocence remained a quality of yours, Viserys liked to call you his Septa daughter to Daemon. You’d rather be a Septa than a whore. Aegon had doomed himself already. You hated when he spoke so vulgar at the table, you had to look away in disgust.

Aegon crushed your entire world, in fact. The pair of you had ridden to the Dragonpit to ride Sunfyre and Silverwing. You rode in silence, Ser Arryk and Erryk behind on guard. The stilted awkward air between Aegon and you seemed to thicken as the Dragonpit loomed closer. Your elder brother blurted “Are you still infatuated with that preening peacock Cole?”

You stiffened and stared, aghast, mouth agape.

Aegon’s full lips smirked. He laughed “Oh, you still are. I forget you follow him and mother around the keep like a shadow. You’re six and ten, you don’t want to fuck a lordling? Or are you saving it for Ser Cole?”

“Stop it, he’s kind and a good knight. You should respect our Kingsguard, he keeps mother safe.”

Hot tears began springing at your eyes as Aegon laughed harder, that horrid shrieking giggle. One of the Cargyll’s snorted. Aegon always made you feel so silly and childish. You sniffed angrily “What are you getting at Aegon?”

“Sorry sister, sorry, it’s just- hah! It’s just your white knight’s cloak has been likely been dirtied since I was born. You do know the rumor don’t you?”

Your heart began to patter uncomfortably against your chest. Ser Erryk always carried your medicine— you did not wish to take it as you were trying to fly. Aegon leered with a grin. He spoke in a low murmur, “He hates our dear half-sister so, we know that. Rumor has it Cole sullied his oath as he took her maidenhead. She spurned him later. Then your ‘white knight’ beat Laenor’s fop lover’s face in wrath at her wedding.”

Your legs and hands began to grow numb from sheer panic. You cried, “No, you are lying! Why would you say such dreadful things?” Shakes began, as tears leaked down your red cheeks. The prince noticed your state and sighed, “No one knows if he truly did. 'Tis not strange he became mother’s sworn sword after one night hm?”

Your vision swam. No, no, no— you couldn’t believe that. Ser Erryk rode up next to you, beckoning you to open your mouth. He yanked you onto his horse, chiding Aegon, “Shut your mouth about that, you know how she gets. I have to return all the way to the keep!”

The prince shrugged, offering a weak apology, face a rude smirk.

Ser Erryk sighed, “He’s a prick. Talk to your mother about Ser Criston. Back to the keep we go, just relax.” You felt like your chest had compressed into a tiny box, shaking and panting. It couldn’t be true. You would speak to your mother immediately. The tincture began to soften your muscles, eyes lolling as you slumped onto the Cargyll twin. Erryk murmured, “Can’t wait for this shite show with the marcher.”

You were still in a hazy lull, the movement of the horse and Ser Erryk’s familiar lilt leaving you in a poppy-laden stupor. He’d ridden into the courtyard, carrying your limp frame into the castle, barking at a squire to take his horse. You mumbled, “Mother, need her.”

“I know, princess.”

Ser Criston’s voice made your poppy laden eyes flick upwards. The knight demanded, “What the hell is this? Did you dose her with the entire phial? Where’s Prince Aegon? Give her to me.”

Ser Erryk bit back, “She asked for the Queen, Ser Criston. Not you.”

You nodded softly, Ser Criston’s brows pinching together, his lips thinning in anger. He snapped, “I’ll take her to the Queen, give me the princess. Seems you can’t follow the maester’s directions, Ser Erryk.”

“No. Trust me when I say this Cole, Aegon brought this on. He was telling your ‘blossom’ all about,” the man whispered something to the marcher. Criston’s face paled, a stricken look over his features.

The door opened without further protest, Ser Erryk laying you upon the plush settee, curtly nodding. He exchanged words with the Queen. Criston remained outside the door, dark gaze peering from afar. Your mother’s wide eyes and familiar green dress hovered in your vision. She stroked your hair and sighed, “Dear girl, what did Aegon say?”

Your sluggish hand gripped her own, glazed eyes meeting brown. You whimpered “Tell me he was lying. Just tell me Aegon was lying about him.”

Alicent’s lips pursed, turning to gaze at the lingering Cole. She ordered, “Ser Criston, please shut the door.” Even through the medicinal haze, the man looked downright fearful. The door shut with a soft click. Your mother’s attention was back on you, kissing your forehead.

“About who? Take your time.”

You moaned in anguish, “Ser Criston. He broke his oath to be with her?,” you sobbed, “He lies, he can’t, mother please!”

Alicent’s eyes flicked to the door once more. She bundled your frame into her arms, lifting your limp body up. Her soothing voice murmured, “Ser Criston is a good man. He loves us dearly. He is sworn and would die for us, my dear.”

You wept, “Tell me the truth.”

“He had a moment of weakness. Ser Criston was merely a few years older than I and Rhaenyra. She manipulated his good heart and bewitched him. That is all. He did not break his oath.”

You stared at your mother, unsure if she was lying while the pristine image of Criston darkened. Was it hurt? Jealousy? Childish affection gone wrong? There was nothing to do but softly weep in your mother’s arms before sleep took you. Supper was provided when you awoke, only Alicent caring for you.

She never lied to you before. Your mother cherished you too much to lie.

Right?

You faced Ser Criston again. The ache in your chest throbbed— but you would give him grace. He was devoted and good to you. His worried look made the apprehension die down. The knight grabbed your shoulders, eyes piercing as he frantically spoke, “Blossom, my princess, please. I have been distraught for days. What can I do?”

You stared at him, mind conjuring a response, feeling like a bratty child overreacting. His leather gloves squeezed again to draw your attention. It took everything in your weak heart not to babble and weep. This man was sworn to chastity and the Faith, yet you craved him like nothing else.

“Aegon just shocked me. This is a lot to process. I-I didn’t know anything about that, oh, ordeal.”

He seemed to sag, guilt wracking his handsome features. Ser Criston pulled your small form inward, chin atop your head. He murmured, “It is a stain that shall never be washed. Your mother saved me. I grew stronger from the failure. It pains me more now that you have learned the truth after so long. I should have let you know.”

You nodded against the steel plate of his chest, resigned.

You let him hold you— unsure of your intense feelings. The Red Keep was a web spun of lies. Even Ser Criston was caught in the horrid trap. You would remain to trust him, his affair with Rhaenyra was before you were even a thought. Still, your gut churned with uncertainty.

Criston murmured, "I shall never fail you again, sweet blossom."

You had distanced yourself from Ser Cole, protecting your own heart selfishly. He was upset and had been striving to gain your once devoted affection. It wasn’t hard to avoid him as war came in on Dragonback. They plotted and planned, too busy for Helaena to mourn. Aegon was raging at all times. You remained in your rooms, nervously awaiting Syrax or Caraxes to show on the horizon. Dracarys. Dracarys, the voices sang in your head.

They were always in the Council Chambers.

You’d been in your room, feeling madness creep at the edges of your mind. Shadows in the corners, fire on the horizon. A knight stood guard outside day and night, sometimes your mother would come sup with you. All she could do was tiredly ramble and apologize. You held her softly one night as she cried, how alone and useless she felt. You could empathize with that. At least in your room, you were safe from those fits. Sometimes.

Then your grandfather left. Criston was now Lord Commander and Hand of the King. A small ceremony was held in the throne room, Aegon strutting around like a peacock. You knew he was as scared as the rest of the Keep. Alicent sighed to you, “My darling, stay strong, you must.”

The man you had grown up with, the fancy of your girlhood, looked frightening with his chain of gold hands, lips curled up in pleasure. His eyes flicked toward you, entrancing. The newly appointed hand smiled with pride. You looked down and away, shaking hands clasped together. There was no reason for tears about this. Yet, the titles muddled and twisted your preferred concept of the loyal white knight.

War had truly begun with armies on the move around the realm. Criston, Aegon, and Aemond set off to Lord Staunton at Rook's Rest.

After the incident at Rook’s Rest, Criston returned colder, Aemond with the crown, and Aegon charred half to death. The now powerful marcher was paired with his protege, they could conquer and perhaps win this war. You were frightfully alone again, Alicent moved into Aegon’s chambers. Nothing new you supposed, yet your heart hurt.

About a week after the return, you were summoned to the Hand’s Tower. Criston sat at the desk, war plans drawn up. His hair was shorn, a beard grown in. The soft part of you ached at his bruised and nicked face. You awkwardly curtsied and murmured, “Lord Hand.”

“Don’t call me that, Ser Criston is fine,” he said, a hint of aggravation to his hoarse voice.

“Sorry, Ser Criston,” you apologized. He seemed like a different person sitting where your grandsire once sat. He beckoned you over, closer and closer until you were at the edge of the desk. He looked tired, sad, and beleaguered by his position. You murmured, “You requested me Ser?”

He sighed, leaning back in the supple leather chair. Criston’s eyes were achingly wet as he stated, “Do you still despise me so? All I think about is you, your safety, and how I can keep my blossom alive and well. After Rook's Rest, I began to remember my priorities."

You whimpered softly, the months of being alone and overlooked had taken their toll. You missed him dearly. Taking a few sighs, mouth quivering, you whispered. Whispered only so you may not sob. Your dress was bunched up by your distraught hands. Inwardly, you cursed yourself for being weak.

"I have been so…isolated. I don’t leave my room and all I can do is stare at the window and...and and hope I don’t!”

You clamped your jaw shut as your voice grew higher with emotions. Hot tears ran down your cheeks now— brought on by the outburst. Criston made a soft noise, pleading, “Blossom, come here. To me. You know how I hate to see your tears.”

It embarrassed you how fast you climbed into his lap and wrapped your arms around his shiny armor. The man cooed, cradling your frame and nuzzling your hair. His hands gripped into your curled legs— you didn’t care. It felt so good to be with him.

“There we are, poor princess, why are you crying blossom?”

His dark brows were pinched in concern, gaze quizzical in nature. You refrained from staring at his lips. One of his warm hands pressed into your back, rubbing up and down. You focused on that, tucking your face against the warm crook of his neck.

“Take your time princess, I’ve got you. Too sweet for this dreadful world.”

Ser Criston’s soothing words and hands, his gentle tone could almost lull you to sleep. It felt like an hour had passed, soaking in the moment. You blinked a bit, feeling syrupy sweet in his arms. He asked “Blossom, are you feeling better?” A soft little jerk of your head was the response before you pulled back to look at him.

“I feel better, thank you Ser Criston. I grow fearful,” you frowned at your words, “More fearful than usual.”

He cocked his head, seeming to mull over the words. The man sighed, “I haven’t done a good job of prioritizing your protection. These are arduous times.” Criston thumbed your cheek, sliding down to tilt your chin up. He murmured, “Tell me the truth. I feel a piece of me has returned. You cannot spurn me again, I need you my blossom, more than anything to keep going.”

His agonized eyes and the tiniest little warble at the end of his sentence melted your fears. This was Ser Criston— he’d done right by you, only second to your mother. Even then, he knew you in a way others didn’t. Something behind the mad little princess who cried at feasts. Criston saw qualities none seemed to perceive.

Making eye contact you admitted, “I missed you too. I- I had a hard time coming to terms. I was sickened with envy, picturing that…my sister, having Ser Cole’s heart,” you placed a hand over the white cloak on his shoulder, “I know it was a mistake now. I grew up thinking you were, Gods, the knight out of tales. Gallant and true. It was swept out from under me and I behaved as a child. You're only human.”

Criston’s jaw gritted, frustration crossing his features. He hissed, “If I could take my honor back from that viper I would. But I chose to be fooled, a young idiot. I know what it feels like to be truly loved now. Unconditionally.”

He licked his lips, “Knowing that I hurt you, hurt me. I prayed and prayed. I don’t know if I can be that knight for you, my dear blossom. But I can be the knight that gives his life for you, his heart and soul. You were merely hurt, I can understand why. But the Seven answered my prayers," he beamed, "You’re still here, with me. As it should be.”

Unconditional. He wasn’t wrong. You’d love Criston even if his cloak was stained black. He loved you. Only you. Prayed for you. Your heart swelled, pumping with excitement. At least that's what it seemed he said.

“Oh, Ser Criston, I, I love you.”

His face morphed into a pleasant look, eyes alight with happiness. You moved to straddle him, pressing yourself closer, your cheek pressed to Criston’s dark stubbled one. The knight rumbled, “I love you, innocent love for my little bud, now a blossoming young woman. You’re mine, to cherish and to love. Understand that. Just us.”

He squeezed your waist as you sighed, “Yes, yes Ser Cole, I am yours.”

“My perfect little Princess, the Gods are smiling upon us.”

You nodded along, smiling helplessly, more tears welling as your lips pecked his cheek. Criston turned his head to gently capture your lips, a chaste little peck. You shivered in his embrace, smiling as your noses nuzzled. He was chivalrous was he not?

Soon after you had spoken your feelings for Ser Criston, he wanted you moved into the Hand’s quarters. Said it was safer and you wouldn’t have to stare at the dreaded horizon that brought many a nightmare and fumbling for your tinctures.

It was done quickly, your garments and belongings now intertwined into the man’s quarters. He had the Lord Commander’s room too and pledged to sleep there for your comfort and honor. The knight was sweet and kind, letting you sit upon his lap as he wrote letters, amended decrees, and even kept you there when Aemond arrived to discuss battle.

Your brother looked shocked at your presence, a thin brow arching. He huffed, “Sister, I believe it would be best if you left us to the battle plans.” You nodded, the ingrained behaviors to follow orders hadn’t dissipated. Criston held you tight on his lap, remarking “She’s family. You think your sister to be a turn cloak?”

Aemond grimaced and sat down, his hair swinging as he glared. The crown of the Conqueror laid upon his brow. The crown that belonged to ailing Aegon. Criston poured some wine and handed it to the stiffened Prince Regent, opening the discussion.

You merely sat back and listened, your knight occasionally asking for your opinion. “I don’t know why you would not seek the high ground there,” you offered while pointing to the Westermen’s location. Jason Lannister would be slaughtered. You read up on historical battles now and then.

Aemond’s scoff and Criston’s noise of contemplation shut you up. You knew you were here to please your knight. Make him feel comfortable and less alone. You padded off toward the bed as they talked into the night, ignoring Aemond’s sharp questioning.

A kiss on your lips awoke you, blinking the sleep out of your eyes. The marcher seemed irritated and sleepy, now clad in a white shirt and thin breeches. He sat upon the downy bed to pet your hair, muttering, “Ignore your brother. He thinks he is the king right now, is all. But the hand pulls the strings.”

You shrugged, “He sees me as a distraction I suppose.”

Criston nodded, dark eyes rolling as he gruffed, “You are my motivation, blossom. He will learn to embrace your presence. Now, I have had a long day. I wish to hold you,” his face grew soft, “Is that okay with you dearest? Say no and I shall leave.”

Scooting over you pulled back the warm blankets, Criston crawling in with a sigh. You cuddled into his frame, the marcher flipping you around so he could press the length of his body to your own. He sighed in your ear, “Much better. Soft and sweet. Thank you for trusting me." He placed his chin on your shoulder, humming in contentment, tanned arm wrapped around your stomach.

The voices of the past screamed at you. So be it.

Criston now laid by your side every night, gentle and kind. He'd awaken you with a kiss and that saccharine smile. You fell deeper and deeper in love. His touches grew more frequent, keeping you by his side around the keep. Any snide comment was met with an equally acrid reply.

You'd been invited to sit in at council meets. Your mother seemed surprised, rushing to you, hands clamping down on your arms. She whispered, "What are you doing here? You should not listen to this, it shall give you a fit." You indicated the satchel at your hip and replied, "Ser Criston said I could come along, since I am able of mind and body I should have a say. He has stuck up for a Princess when everyone else has discarded me."

You did not mean to come off as harsh. Ser Criston's affections had bolstered you as of late. The dowager queen's eyebrows raised as her lips turned into a pursed frown. Alicent bit out, "Are you his kept woman now? I raised you better than this." Your mother drew closer to hiss, “Ser Cole loves you. Ser Cole is overstepping his boundaries as the Lord Commander. Lord Hand Criston sees you as his pretty little pet. Do take heed, princess.”

You frowned, chest tight with hurt, childishly scoffing, “Ser Criston cares for me. You’d rather sit and plot than visit your daughter? I’d like to visit Helaena with you, mayhaps Aegon. Don’t lecture me, your grace.”

Aemond called the council, breaking up the heated moment between you and the green queen. You took a seat to the side, watching and listening raptly. Alicent’s eyes flickered between you and Ser Criston, displeasure upon her pursed lips. He eyed her back, furrowing his brows. They had known each other so long the pair could speak without saying a word. Aemond and Lord Lannister prattled on. Worry began to pool in your belly, a shaky hand shifting to the pouch on your waist for comfort.

You could glean the wracked state of the Realm from the terse meeting. Daemon was at Harrenhal and men were gathering. The Hightower host led by a relative and Daeron approached from the south. Cregan Stark’s winter wolves were coming with a cold vengeance and desire to die in glory, grizzled grey beards that they were. You swallowed, mind a bit scattered pulling the pieces together. A crazed Greyjoy was on the loose and the Triarch had been called in. All-out war.

The meeting was adjourned. Aemond would leave soon for Harrenhal. Criston would join him later, much to your fear. Your white knight immediately came to your side, holding your elbow tenderly, “I must have…some words…with her grace. I’ll see you back in the tower?” You nodded, eyes panning toward Aemond getting an earful from your mother. Nerves began to prick— you kissed Ser Cole’s cheek and nodded. He smiled softly, gloved hand caressing your cheek as he murmured, “Sweet girl, relax, it will be fine.”

You may have dropped some of the diluted milk into your wine, hands shaky. You were going mad waiting, waiting, waiting. Mind-spinning rationalizations appeared to ease the rising panic. Your mother had no say anymore, it was Aemond and Criston in charge. If Aegon wasn’t bedridden he likely would not care. Ser Criston would not leave you, he loved you, yes.

The door swung open, clattering against some furniture, startling you upon the settee. Criston was pissed, anyone could see as much as the vetted knight masked his emotions. His eyes were dark, jaw clenched and his teeth audibly ground. He stopped in his tracks, running a hand through shorn hair. You warbled “Criston?”

His furrowed brow and wide eyes turned to you, sighing and stalking forward. The knight dropped to his knees, hands cradling your cheeks. Criston fumed, urgency to his tone, "You’re mine. You shall do as you please. I shall do as I please. I have the right, I'll leave my position as Kingsguard if the oaths are displeasing, you understand sweet girl? I need you to understand you’re my Princess.”

You held his gauntlets to nod, eyes wide upon his visage.

“Say it for me. Say it so I know it to be true. Now.”

Your eyes glossed over with tears. He was in quite the mood. Criston's dark eyes were wet, and desperation laced his roughed voice. Your hands curled around that cold chain of hands, lips frantically moving, “I am yours. Your princess. Nothing shall change that. I swear it on the Seven. I swear it on my heart.”

“I godsdamn love you blossom,” he growled, taking your lips roughly. Criston pressed himself into you, dominating the kiss. His hands moved down to your rear, jerking your hips flush to his own. You cried out, the dark-haired man swallowing the noise, tongue lapping against yours. His lips were insistent, and needy, leaving you breathless. You'd never felt Ser Criston so rough with you, it was intoxicating.

Shivering at his gruff words, you could not help from sliding your arms around his plated neck to moan. Criston pulled back, murmuring, “No one shall keep you from me, I’ll fucking kill them. I may do as I please now.” His lips trailed down your cheek, jaw, to your neck. All you could do was whine as he sucked and nipped little marks, big hands massaging the flesh of your ass. He nosed further down to your décolletage; greedy hands pausing at the neckline.

Lust-blown eyes met your own. You nodded, panting, “Please. Please. Take me as you wish.” His eyes scrunched shut, mouth swollen and wet as those covetous hands of his jerked your dress down, carelessly tearing the silky fabric. You yelped, never having been exposed like this, nerves sparking like wildfire. Criston’s lashes fluttered as he groaned throatily.

“Oh- fucking seven hells, precious girl,” he almost whined, nuzzling into your breasts. You seized up, unused to the carnal touches. Criston yanked off his black gloves to grab handfuls of the tender flesh, still on his knees for you. That seemed to abate the ever-looming presence of your neuroticism. He was submitting, lavishing lush kisses on your fiery skin.

You tightened your legs around his armored waist and cried out when calloused thumbs began to tenderly circle around your budded nipples. He watched your face, lips curled and eyes ever hungry. Criston murmured, “Sweetling, so responsive. Never had your pretty teats touched. Good, good, only me.”

You nodded in haphazard jerks, Criston pulling at one nipple and playing around with your other breast, big hand massaging. His kissing grew closer to the darker skin, lips closing around the bud. You mewled and squirmed, head thrown back to moan. He hummed around your nipple, flicking his tongue across the peak. Criston grew rougher, nipping before pulling off with a lurid pop.

The knight growled, moving onto your other breast. A shiver wracked your frame, your swollen peaks exposed to the chilly air felt like a white-hot line of arousal bolting down between your legs— throbbing and uncomfortably slick. You babbled, “Ser, Criston, Criston, wha-what?”

He chucked darkly, suckling a mark on your sternum. Criston hummed “You like that? Little princess needy for her knight?”

“Love, oh, love it, thank you,” you simpered.

He rasped, nose nuzzling into yours, “Of course…I take care of my blossom don’t I? Sweeter than sin.” His hands placed themselves atop your smaller ones, brown eyes begging. Criston breathed "Blossom- wanna feel you, help me out of this dreadful cage?" Once again mute- you began to unbuckle straps and buttons, exposing more and more skin.

"So good to me. Divine, ah, don't know how I was blessed with an angel."

You helped him out of the chest plate, leaving Criston to undo his white and gray gambeson. You were carefully putting the pieces on his armor stand, the man humming your name. Looking back, Criston smiled softly, his scarred and tanned torso exposed. He beckoned you over, cocking his head in surprise when you dropped to your knees.

“What are you doing, your grace?” Criston's lips curled up in amusement, dark orbs searching your serious expression.

Holding those inky eyes, you helped his boots and thick socks off. Criston threw his padded tunic to the side, cheeks growing flushed. He softly murmured, “Answer me, a Princess should not be on her knees like this.” His hand cupped your cheek, a smirk mirroring your own. You quipped, “Is it bad to be on my knees for you? I am merely serving an important man to the realm.”

You watched his face darken, eyes catching a glint to them. He swallowed, hand on your face tightening. Criston rasped “Is that it? Just merely service? Dirtying your knees like a woman of the night. Does my blossom want to be bad? Behave wanton and licentious so? Forget your maiden's day vow, hm?"

His words made your face grow warm. It was as if he was speaking your fantasies aloud. For once to not be the strange princess— nervous, wrong shade of hair, and overtly pious. No, you wanted to let go. No more being held back by others and your own swirling fears. Ser Cole soothed those aches. You wanted the keep to whisper more about how the littlest one was openly Ser Cole’s pretty blossom, driven from her mother’s teat at last.

“I- I want to make you feel good,” you murmured with blotchy cheeks. It was not necessarily a lie, but if you began to ramble about the lustful feelings you feared you may not stop or disgust the man. That simply couldn’t happen. Not after how far you have come with him.

“You lie to me blossom,” he teased, “I know exactly what you want. What you crave. To think the old king thought you to be a Septa. C’mere then, no more games”

You watched him unlace his light breeches, exposing his dark curls and full prick. A moan slipped from your lips at the sight, lust pounding your body in waves. The knight's cock was heavy and flush, the dark tip weeping. You squeezed your thighs in excitement, licking your lips. Criston’s tan hand jerked at the taught flesh, rumbling, “Needy little blossom.” It was almost funny how he stated it like a simple fact, yet you were on the edge of combustion.

“Y-yes! Please, want it so, want to be your bad girl, the bad princess…please,” you grew shy again after blurting out, “I- in m-my mouth Ser.”

Criston’s expression changed from playful to predatory, dark eyes narrowing a bit. He rasped, “Mhm, filthy little thing. I shouldn’t encourage this behavior. Especially as your protector.” As you shuffled forward to grab the thick flesh he stopped your hand, his amusement facing heady desire. You sulked, “Wanna learn so I can please you Ser.”

Ser Cole seemed content, enough to lean back on one arm, eyes roving to your tits and wide eyes. His other hand stroked himself one more time before shoving two fingers to your lips. You opened dutifully for the intrusion, eyes rolling back in bliss.

Criston’s princess was a dream, a godsdamn dream. He pressed the pads of his fingers down on her tongue, watching her shiver and whine. He soothed, “Settle now, I’ll teach you how. But I need my sweet girl to settle down. Focus on my fingers. Nothing else.” She nodded, wet lashes upon her cheeks now. Her hands were neatly placed in her lap.

He took the still moment to reflect, idly rubbing his cock. She was well trained. Helaena was the same in her mannerisms unless she grew distracted. Before Criston even remotely began to have romantic feelings, his blossom had always held him ensnared. She was horribly timid and clutched to Alicent’s skirts, then began to seek him for comfort. The white knight earned her trust with a trinket he bought in town. A small Yitish jade dragon— to place upon her bedside table. She still had it there, pristine and well-kept.

Criston was not sure when his protective nature slid into desire. It began with jealousy, perhaps around her name-day celebration and resulting tourney. Alicent and Otto were looking for a mate. Something twisted deep within his chest. Criston did not want the sweet thing to leave the castle. Get wedded and bedded by some callous lord or idiot heir.

Her smile after he routed the competition brought great happiness to his heart. That twisted thing in his chest swelled with a possessive pride that soared past his normal feelings for Alicent's children. He hated the feast. The princess was shyly speaking to a young Redwyne lad. The Arbor was too far away for his liking. Yet nothing panned out. He couldn't beat a boy for being kind.

Criston strapped his back bloody and raw for a fortnight as penitance. He could not imagine being a snake slithering around waiting for her. He already knew she held affection for him. Thus prayer would work, and he would be a good, pious protector. Alicent made a small comment and he withdrew from being too close. Those woes seemed to be gone by the time she turned eight and ten— leading to now.

The sweet, blossomed woman was dozing around his fingers now. Criston purred, "Such a good princess, just likes to be bad. That's okay, you deserve it, so kind for helping me out." She softly whimpered and drooled as he pressed upon her tongue.

"Gorgeous, being good for me."

She whined in response, pretty lashes fluttering. Criston almost lost her affection once. That dreadful day with Aegon and Ser Arryk telling him to stand down. He could have wrung his neck. But fear overcame the anger. The knight knew she mustn't gain access to that horrid secret. Criston prayed and prayed and prayed, mutilated, and prayed that Alicent would keep the truth hidden. Something in the uncomfortable hairshirt worked, his blossom forgave him, and the Gods had granted him a boon. Certainly, she was meant to be his then?

Criston blinked out of his reverie, asking gently "Blossom, are you with me?"

She looked like she was under her poppy tinctures. He smiled a bit, the princess blissed out from Criston alone. Eventually, she nodded, trying to speak around his digits. He sighed, "I think I've changed my mind, why don't you come sit in my lap? Must be chilly down there."

The blossom whined when Criston pulled his fingers out, mumbling, "Yes Ser, yes, whatever you need." She clambered onto foal-like legs, Criston guiding her to the plush leather chair. The man easily pulled her frame atop him. He hissed lowly as her ass pressed against his aching cock. Fighting the feeling, he nuzzled into reddish waves, lips quirked up. The knight whispered "You've always been such a pious one. Did you ever touch yourself?"

She shook her head slowly, body melting into Criston's. Her hands wrapped around his bigger wrists. The princess whimpered, "No, never, I would not dare. It is sinful," she paused for a long time, "Right?" Cole chuckled, one hand of his rubbing soothing circles onto her side. He teased "We're together now, I prayed for it, the Seven smile upon us. How can it be sinful if you're touching yourself for me? The Seven-Pointed Star says you may indulge with a paired soul."

He grabbed her chin to emphasize his point, her innocent eyes making his cock hurt "I would say we are paired souls. Do you agree?"

"You know it to be true, you always have," she stated.

"Good. I'll touch you instead, so you may remember this and feel better when I am away."

He bunched her woolen dress, exposing her plush thighs and untainted maidenhead. Criston inhaled sharply, fingers digging into the wrinkled cloth. He could see her slick and aroused, flesh darkened with need. The man gritted his jaw in restraint, he would treat the sweet girl like the delicate blossom she was. Her eyes were still upon him, dark and wet, skin flushed. Ser Cole could feel the tacky way his cock was plastering itself to her ass with his prick leaking the way it was.

"Does it please you?" came her tiny warble.

Criston groaned, "Yes, yes, more than anything yes...Hold your dress up now. I...need to take care of you sweet blossom. My needs can wait." She sniffled and clung to her raised layers of dress, head shyly tucked away as she panted. The Hand gripped the giving flesh of her thigh, coaxing her to open wider with a gentle coo. The redhead shivered in response, breasts bouncing as her breath hitched.

"Have you been this wet for me before?"

"Mhmmm," she whined, hiding her embarrassed look.

"Need you to watch blossom, or you won't know how," he stated. He could feel her gaze watch as Criston's spit-slick fingers cautiously slid across her opening. She mewled in response, gasping, "Ser!" He hushed and laid tiny lush kisses, easing her heightening fears. "Slow and gentle, breathe for your knight," came his rasp.

"Ser, Cris- oh heavens, oh what is that? S-so good!"

He laughed, "A special place the mother gave you, the maiden bestowed for naughty princesses like you to rut on and make a mess. You're making quite a mess, all wet and needy." She moved back against his swollen prick, Criston's eyes fluttering. His princess babbled, "'S for you, m'not, not, naugh-ty." He assured her she wasn't, now narrating his way down to her entrance.

"Your sweet pearl is fun to play with, but most green boys don't know how to work a woman's body. I'll let you take your own pleasure too."

The tips of his fingers slid into her wet warmth, tight and silky smooth. They both gasped into the room's silence, Criston groaning in contentment. He slid further in, minding her reactions. Maiden above she was tight. She planted her feet on the leather chair, her dress falling back. Criston was taken aback as she breathed, "Want to touch you, not this silly dress."

"Seven Hells, you'll send me to an early grave..."

Her hands held onto his forearms as Criston began to delve into her cunt, easing her in with rhythmic slides. She was growing restless, cute tits bouncing with every heave of breath. He would surprise her with the sweet spot. The marcher curled his fingers upwards, dragging against the soft ridged area.

He smirked as her chest hitched once more, a small confused noise leaving petal lips. Criston playfully crooked his fingers back and forth as watched her whine and squirm raptly. The man whispered against her ear, “Feel the heel of my palm? Go on, use your hips.”

Criston’s smirk broke into a smile as she rode his hand and fingers, shyly at first. The princess’ hips twitched tentatively, her slick cunt moving against Criston with ease. He nuzzled her neck, pressing more little kisses as she sped up, fingers digging into his arms. The knight found himself mumbling between kisses, “Good…so good..thassit’.”

His blossom was rutting hard now, huffing between her broken noises. Cole could feel her tighten around him, even one of her pretty tits under his hand was budded and tight. His dark gaze noticed her thighs were quivering as she grew frantic with pleasure, crying Criston’s name. It made his heart swell. Yet the deep-seated craving wasn't met by the hand of the king.

“Mine. Say you're mine. Before you come. Now.”

Her hips stuttered and ground down hard, the princess throwing her head back onto Criston's shoulder as she cried, "I am yours, only yours, forever yours Ser Cole! Hnghhh- oh my gods! Please!" She looked up toward him, begging softly, riding his hand, her ass rubbing Criston's prick to near completion. He demanded her release, gasping as the innocent m thing squealed and gushed all over his hand, grabbing onto him for dear life.

She sobbed in pleasure, sending a gut punch to Criston's own throbbing balls. He gripped down on her with his free hands, squeezing her soft hips as he rutted with heavy grunts, blinking and gasping for breath as he emptied all over her clothed backside. Criston moaned her name, pressing his sweating forehead to her shoulder, inhaling their mixed scent. He rasped, "Lovely blossom, just lovely, I'm so proud of you my love."

She stared with swollen eyes, the prettiest smile upon her lips as she said, "I love you Criston."

He would take that memory to battle with him. Else the man feared he'd pick her up and abscond. He was too deep, had too many scores to settle, dying with a name worth living for. Yet. Yet, she was always there, waiting for him. Ser Criston shut his ever-spinning mind down for the evening.

Criston was leaving for the Riverlands in the morn. He'd kept you by his side for the last week or so. It did not matter where— the throne room, the barracks, his tower, even the council again. People stared and remained silent. Alicent had refused to speak to either of you and Aemond looked at you like a common whore. It did not matter when you had your love.

Ser Cole was insatiable in the bedroom since he brought you to a peak with his fingers. He'd taught you how to suck him, rub him, how to get off on his thighs or tight stomach. Every night you'd lain in a mess of sweat, tears, and come. Nothing was finer than taking a sensual bath afterward, soaping each other up between slow kisses. You were in love, truly, but at such an awful time. You prayed the gods would give him back to you. You feared what would come of you when he left. The thought of death was too much.

Your white knight was in a forlorn mood tonight, holding you tightly. You rubbed his thigh and consoled Criston, "I have a dragon you know. I shall be fine." He grimaced and rolled over to face you, handsome face twisted with emotions. The marcher asked, "I hope you think me to be good and kind even after this all. Don't let me die in vain."

"Don't talk like that," you chastised, frowning.

He grumbled further, sinking into his foul mindset, barbs upon his tongue. A tense argument broke out between you two. Criston ended it by shoving himself atop you and bursting into tears. He gritted, "I am, fucking hell, reconsidering everything now. I must go on. I must face my reality, we both should. But it...hurts! It fucking hurts! You have to grow up now! I've left you in your pretty gilded cage for too long!"

You blinked in shock, his tears hitting your face. Criston seemed to deflate, apologizing and weeping, "M'just scared, I can't leave you alone, I can't. You're all I need. Oh gods forgive me." This was the side of the marcher you knew few had seen. Vulnerable, real, human. Criston huffed into your neck, his hands digging into your waist.

“You’re not wrong-“

“I didn’t mean it.”

“Whether you did or not, ‘tis true Criston. We must face our fates whether that be now or later. I must prepare my own dragon to defend the city. You must go lead our troops. I can’t sit and weep the rest of my life.”

He gazed with wet eyes, red rimmed and dark lashes clumped. You caressed your knight’s cheek, murmuring, “I want you to have me before you leave. The gods never promise anything.”

A soft noise fell from his swollen lips, Criston readjusting himself between your lax thighs. You thought idly about giving him your tincture with the way the man was shaking. He rasped, “They don’t, not the Stranger. I want to make this…good.” Criston’s lips trembled as he pressed them tenderly to your own, balancing himself on an elbow. You wrapped your arms around his wide shoulders, opening up.

The kiss spoke of the utter fear in the air. Long drags of tongue and sucking of lips, no urgency in the sacred moment. You arched into him, suckling gently on the tip of Criston’s hot tongue. He groaned, hips twitching against yours as he tilted his face some, lips dancing yet insistent. You grabbed some of his dark hair, crying out when he nipped your lip. The man ate up your noises, hands greedily roving your body.

“I love you,” he spoke, voice wobbly.

His lips moved down your jaw and neck, sucking at that sensitive place below your ear.

Criston’s cock had grown flush and heavy between your legs, twitching with need. Your own desire began to drip with slick and pounded with blood flow. You rocked against him with a whine, Criston’s eyes flicked to you with a sly smile as he ground back. You threw your head back in pleasure as he massaged and lapped at your tits, sucking at your tits with desperate noises.

Once again you yanked at his hair and Criston moaned, pausing to take your lips again. He murmured, urgency to his voice, “I’m going to stretch you out blossom, as best as I can, wan’ you to feel good. Feel so good.” The urge to cry bubbled up but you nodded along anyways, spreading your legs like the good princess. His good princess.

Criston hitched one of your thighs up around his waist, the other he held out. The man inhaled at your tender mound, eyes black as the coal on his sigil. You shivered involuntarily at the feeling of those sculpted lips sealing around your pearl, sucking ever so softly. One of your hands slapped down on the bed as you whimpered, thighs tightening. His calloused fingers swiped at your slick cunt, diving in two off the get.

It wasn’t painful— you’d gotten quite used to two fingers from your lover. But he pumped a couple of times before stretching his fingers outwards. That was a new feeling, a bothered whine elicited from the sensation. Criston flicked his tongue a couple of times and that was forgotten as hot licks of pleasure bundled up in your belly.

His ring finger slid in, a new feeling, a bit of a pinch. Criston rambled, “Breathe love, breathe, doing so good for me. The most obedient princess, wanton for her night. I wish you could see how much of a mess you’re already making.” He smiled at your keen of arousal and embarrassment, three fingers stretching your tight walls. He dove back down to flick, suck, lick at your pearl— relentlessly so.

Your hand not trying to rip the bed gripped his short hair, thighs clamping down now. He was abusing your other gifted place, curling his fingers as if to bring your release forward. Wet noises of his hungry mouth and ravenous fingers filled the room. He grunted, hips jerking to a standstill when you whimpered, “So close, closeclose, I love you, oh stars Criston.”

He didn’t cease his movements as you felt goosebumps arise across your hot skin, sweat beginning to bead up as pleasure rose and rose. Your lower stomach was a tight cord, ready to come undone, winding tighter and tighter. All you could do was mewl and squirm, enslaved to his ministrations. You gaped, breath going staccato, whining through your nose.

The coil snapped.

You fell apart in a flurry of shaking limbs, mouth wide open yet not a peep coming out. It was intense and fiery, the flames of carnal delights searing you. Criston moaned softly, “Ah- gorgeous blossom, made a mess all over.” He licked his swollen lips and wet chin, cock beaded and bobbing between trim thighs. You watched in a haze, feelings the subtle burn from his beard brushing your delicate skin. It felt delightful to you— the dull throb.

“Want you, please, want your,” you paused, “Want us to be truly together.”

Criston nodded, hand on his prick, precariously sliding atop your limp form. He slicked up the head of his already weeping member with your own essence, eyes rolling back at the sensation. Criston nuzzled against your face, promising to make you feel good. He seemed to grow more emotional, taking his time with sliding the blunt head around your entrance.

Carefully holding wide shoulders you tried to relax your nervous body, going limp when his cock breached your tight cunt. Criston shivered, pushing forward a bit more, gasping out. “Princess, are you okay? Hm?” Worried brown eyes flitted around as he met your eyes. You nodded in a slow jerk, it was uncomfortable but more foreign than anything. The man pushed in further, your inner walls stretching to accommodate his thick cock.

There it was, a pinch inside. Your chest went a little tight, nails digging into his shoulders. Criston’s mouth opened but you surged forward to kiss him, thighs and heels urging the man on. You’d never wanted anything else but this, right now. He moaned deep and long, holding himself from going too far. Inch by inch he settled, the pair of you panting into eachother’s mouth. A pregnant pause settled over your connected forms, his eyes upon yours. Brown and plum.

You didn’t have to say it again— it was felt.

Criston gingerly pulled out on a soft whine, pushing himself back into your cunt. Then again. Over and over until he built up a pace, mouth hanging open as he groaned helplessly. The friction was delicious, the pain blending away to fall into deep pleasure. Your nails clawed at his back some, keening your lovers name as he began to fuck you in earnest.

You felt so fucking full and satisfied, Criston’s gorgeous moans urging you to fuck back onto his fat prick. Useless babbles left your lips, “Full, oh, oh you feel s’good.” Criston whined wetly against your neck, feverishly kissing and sucking as he grabbed your hips to get a better angle. His beard rubbed your neck and collarbones raw— another reminder of his love. The marcher’s chest heaved as his hips and balls hit your skin, leaving nothing back as he gave in.

“Godsdammit, hah, sweet blossom, taking your knight so well. Made for me, swear- swear it.”

“All for you.”

He bit down on your neck, thrusting at a breakneck pace. The dark haired knight couldn’t quit from rambling or moaning, eyes scrunched shut as your tight pussy milked him. You squirmed under his heavier body, Criston’s chest hair rubbing against the delicate skin of your breasts, your nipples aching from the friction. Your nails drew deeper scores into his back. Tears pricked at your eyes.

Once again you were at the precipice.

Why did this feel like the last?

Criston whined as his hips stuttered, cock twitching deep inside. His tactful thrusts were mismatched and sloppy, the firmness of his voice chipped away to quavering emotional whimpering. You tightened further, your cunt spasming in waves as you felt the familiar throes burn deep inside. So good it hurt. The pair of you came undone together, sounding like a pair of young lovers squealing and crying. Thick ropes of his cum painted your insides, another shiver crossing your frame.

Would it be so bad if his seed took?

Criston fell down to his side, cock slipping out in a mess of spend and blood. He grabbed onto you tightly, tears slipping down your cheek. Your own tears mingled with his, you absently petting dark hair. He laughed blithely, “I shall bear your wounds proudly, hmph.” You pointed out your neck, agreeing to do the same in case you were needed.

“I’ll pray for you my love.”

“And I you.”

Many winters and summers later, barflies would say you could catch glimpses of a ragged white knight asking where his blossom was, down on some road south of the Gods Eye. The ghost would never know she perished in dragonflame, best that he didn’t, if anyone even knew what the apparition was talking about.

[highvern]

Patterns: Teaser

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: smut, 21+

Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?

Warnings: fuckboy wonwoo, friends(?) with benefits, multiple sex scenes, oral (f. & m. receiving), choking, face fucking, multiple sex positions, strength kink, exhibitionism, fingering, handjob, sleepy sex, jealousy, others TBD

Length: TBD

Note: this is a repost of my one shot! It’ll be a multipart series! the fic rn is about half way done and stands at 21k w/o revisions so anticipate it being closer to 40k and it’ll be divided into at least 3 parts or more

Leave a comment or send an ask to be added to the tag list! YOU MUST HAVE AN AGE INDICATOR ON YOUR BLOG TO BE TAGGED!

Read more on March 5th!

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This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Head dizzily bobbing to the music, your eyes slip shut. You know it's Wonwoo at your back, hips following closely, one hand around your waist and the other dragging a path of fire across your thigh. 

This wasn’t the first time you found yourselves in this particular position. Since your roommates started dating, whenever alcohol was close enough to serve as a believable excuse, you managed to find each other like super charged magnets; gluing together and drowning in each other’s touch.

It wasn’t like anything more happened. That was the excuse you told yourself after the first time. A girls night out Mingyu and Wonwoo happened to stumble upon. You’d still been upset about the breakup with Seungcheol two months prior, indulging in the shitty white wine that only served to fuel your boldness.

You’d never admit seeking out Wonwoo with the knowledge Seungcheol couldn’t stand him; taking sick satisfaction in imagining the look on Seungcheol’s face as you let Wonwoo touch the way previously reserved for him. You pressed against Wonwoo’s front with little care who saw; a challenging gleam in your glossy eyes, daring him to push away. Not one to be bested, Wonwoo pressed back and the rest is history.

After the first night of the new game, you went home and came embarrassingly fast to the fantasy of what would have inevitably happened if he’d followed. The week after consisted of staunchly avoiding Wonwoo. Guilt and disgust plagued every waking moment, and if you had to look at him you knew you’d feel worse. 

Your only real connection was your roommate Lisa dating his roommate Mingyu which meant your evasiveness went undetected for nearly a month before Wonwoo managed to cornered you at a party and demand to know what your “fucking problem” was. It was then you realized he either didn’t remember what happened or didn’t think it was anything to make such a big deal about. You never asked for specific but came to the conclusion: If he didn’t care, then why should you? It was just a bit of fun. A game of chicken neither intended to end. 

Each time you came across each other on the weekends after, the stakes increased. Your hands wandered across his chest, cataloging the plains hard muscle hidden underneath the fabric of his shirt. Or your lips brushed against his neck, tongue and teeth following the trail of goosebumps. And Wonwoo called your bluff everytime. His thumb tracing against the underside of your breast while delivering a particularly harsh grind of his hips leaving very little to the imagination. Or when he spun you around, forcing you to look him in the eye as he pawed at the soft flesh of your ass, using his hands to drag you across his thigh between your legs.

But whatever transpired fizzled away by the time the night ended, both of you content to go separate ways and ignore whatever was left on the dance floor (or occasionally a wall). Tonight would be no different. It never was.

Wonwoo was fun to play with but that's all. Throw him flirty smiles, indulge in the bold touches, take a thrill in the chase and then retreat to the safety of the bar or drag one of your friends to the bathroom for a break. He let go without any argument; something you found disappointing much to your own chagrin. But Wonwoo’s eyes never left your figure the second it left his arms. Even if he found a new partner, he would watch you while he did everything he had already done and then all the things he would have done if you stayed.

“Come home with me.” He whispers in your ear, more of a command than a question, breaking the delicate silence surrounding your unspoken attraction.

The air in your chest grows thick. For a second, you think you misheard him, possibly hallucinating that he’s spoken at all. With the thrum of music and shouts it’s not out of the question.

Unable to turn in his grip, you settle for leaning back against his shoulder, neck stretching, giving him a direct view down your top, his eyes privy to the fact that you hadn’t worn a bra. 

“Come home with me.” Wonwoo tries again, his hand squeezing your waist gently, pulling you closer to his body to feel the evidence of his arousal. 

It's just the next level to the game, you think. The fantasy is tempting; taking you back to his apartment, spreading you out across his bed and making good on all the promises he’s teased into your skin for months.

If he wants to play, you’ll play too.

“What’s in it for me?” you hum, lips brushing his ear in a mimic of his motion moments ago. 

Wonwoo responds with another curl of his hips against your ass.

God, he’s good at this. Wonwoo is the only guy to spark any kind of interest since Seungcheol left months ago. Not for lack of trying but they were either too tall, too short, weird hair, awful laugh. The list of excuses goes on and on. Subconsciously, you’d been comparing them all to the man behind you and found each of them lacking. But if Wonwoo wants to progress to the next level, he’ll need to work for it.

“Not convincing enough.” You chide.

The hand on your thigh pauses, taking a second to squeeze the supple flesh before setting a new course. Wonwoo moves slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop his advance if you wish. Not sensing an objection, he pushes forward. Even over the thick denim of your jeans, the scorch of Wonwoo’s palm against the zipper burns. Continuing lower, he grinds the heel of his palm against your clothed pussy, nothing more than mockery of the real thing but it has you shuddering all the same; shoulders caving as you clench around nothing. The slope of your shoulder stings under his mouth, licking waves of fire across the nerves with each nip of his teeth. 

Wonwoo pants against the shell of your ear on the next rock of his hand, laughing as your nails dig into his wrist before he whispers, “Unless you want our friends to watch, trust me.” 

You need to see his face; need to look in Wonwoo’s eyes and find out if he’s trying to rile you up or if he’s serious.

This time when you move, Wonwoo allows you to turn in his hold. The look in his eyes tells you he would take you right here if he thought for a second you’d let him. He isn’t trying to just get a rise out of you and see you squirm. Wonwoo isn’t playing a game. 

He wants you.

You nod once and Wonwoo has you both out the door and on the way to his place before the song ends.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @gyuguys @primoppang @mine-gyu @lonebookshelf

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[your-bestamericangirl]

endgame || pt. 2 to tolerate it

caitlin clark x reader (previous paige bueckers x reader) || previous: tolerate it || masterlist

notes: fluff, lmk if you guys want more caitlin stuff!! sorry for taking so long lmao, hope you like it <3

now playing: endgame by taylor swift

Endless streams of black silk flowed along her arms, down the small of her back, the weightless tule pooling at her feet. Gems stitched across the expanse caught sight of the flashing glares, absorbing the endless bursts of light. 

(Y/n) had been positioned at the beginning of the velvety carpet, the expanse of red spreading to the entrance of the 2024 WNBA draft.

With her smiles, she carried along her reputation. She held the weight of tonight's unknown outcomes atop her head, her chin never wavering. Soon, (Y/n) would take the first leap, discarding everything and everyone who dared to trap her in the past. 

Luckily, she wouldn’t be alone. 

“Caitlin! (Y/n)! To your left here, please!”

The two girls moved together in unison at the request. An arm clad in white made its way around (Y/n)’s waist, finding solace in the familiar position. Soft smiles were placed upon their features. Their presence swallowed the venue whole, demanding attention. 

Before, (Y/n) would’ve shied away from the sudden spotlight. She had been taught that seeking attention was greed, and only those who deserved it received it.

Now, she learned from someone else. 

She met a girl whose love contrasted with anything she’d ever learnt before. Every word the girl spoke had been dipped in nectar. Apologizes were sent along with flowers and warmth, there wouldn’t be room for doubt anymore. 

Ever since that night, days with Caitlin moulded into months. Savoured kisses were hidden behind curtains, bodies tangled beneath soft sheets. 

Anyone would assume they had been cut from the same cloth given their natural lines that effortlessly fit together. 

Now here they stood. After a lengthy conversation, the two eventually decided to make their first appearance together. 

Another thing Caitlin had drilled into (Y/n)’s mind; never change who you are.

They addressed no comments towards their relationship. Only offering welcoming replies, carefully steering from the unsaid questions that plagued everyone’s mind: what were (Y/n) and Caitlin to each other?

If they had real answer, they would’ve told any who asked. But, unfortunately that was still a question left unanswered between the two girls. 

Of course, they were friends. They had been friends ever since playing on the same team in seventh grade. They were friends who had shared each other’s first kiss. They were friends ever since they knew what it meant to want the princess, not the prince. 

Being friends was the safest option. They both lead a busy life. There wasn’t much they could do together but send a ‘happy birthday <3’ text when they lived (about) 1000 miles away.

Though, together now, there still lied this unanswered question. 

“Did I mention you look gorgeous, love?” 

Caitlin’s soft murmur travelled across the expanse of (Y/n)’s neck, the sensation sparking warmth throughout her body. She swept her gaze upwards towards the brunette, eyebrows raised playfully. 

“Yeah,” (Y/n) laughed, “like, three times already. You’re so dumb, Cait.”

Her last words were laced with love, of course, Caitlin knew what she was doing. After her comment, (Y/n) stepped out of Caitlin’s reach, continuing her path down the carpet. The brunette’s gaze trailed behind the deep cut of her black gown, she was never out of Caitlin’s sight.

It was a given that they would be separated tonight. Even before their arrival together, they had been the main topic of the night. Everyone wanted to talk to the all-time NCAA leading scorer from Iowa just as equally as they wanted to talk to the March Madness MVP from South Carolina.

Flash

“Please stand here for an interview, miss.”

“(Y/n), who are you wearing tonight?”

“Caitlin, how are you feeling?”

“Please sign my jersey, I love you guys so much!”

Every comment, instruction and praise was met with the genuine smile that places itself on her features. Her gown flowed along the carpet as she made her way towards her third interview of the night. However, her steady gait soon faltered as her gaze found an unexpected variable in her path. The shock rippled through her, momentarily freezing her in place. It had been months since they last spoke, since they last exchanged words that weren't filled with bitterness and hurt.

Paige's presence hit (Y/n) like a sudden gust of wind, stirring up memories that she had buried deep within herself. She remembered the laughter they’d shared, the late-night conversations, the warmth of Paige's embrace. Unfortunately, alongside those memories came the pain of their parting, the arguments, the tears, the lingering sense of resentment.

But, despite those average thoughts that came up on the topic of Paige, (Y/n) now felt something additional, something different. 

As she stood there, her gaze briefly catching Paige's figure in the crowd, a wave of indifference washed over her. It wasn't that (Y/n) harboured any ill will towards Paige—far from it. (Sure, if Paige tripped and fell in that moment she would laugh at her pain, but no one would know that.) She had long since disregarded her for the actions of the past. But forgiveness didn't equate to a desire to rekindle what once was.

Paige Bueckers had exited her life. Whether anyone else thought differently, it didn’t matter. 

Her performance over her college years had granted her a seat at the table. 

Well, her own table.

She stood atop the stage among teammates and competitors she’d met over the years. The only difference this moment held, they would all be happy for each other no matter the outcome. Every player here had earned this moment. 

And no one would doubt that (Y/n) and Caitlin deserved this moment. 

Hard work leads to rewards. 

But, hard work and raw talent lead to a spotlight reserved for the best.

The line defining the two is a delicate balance, one that is forced to put both against each other. Nevertheless, what the media depicts as a head-to-head is never the true case.

Throughout their careers, Caitlin and (Y/n) had unwillingly been placed on opposite sides of a scale. What others perceived as a rivalry, the two girls simply considered their competitive nature. Nevertheless, they found no reason to acknowledge the headlines.

Who would be granted the championship? 

Who would the title of MVP belong to?

Who would win? 

On that significant night, (Y/n) and Caitlin painted a masterpiece of determination and skill. As the clock dwindled to its final seconds, Caitlin conceded—it was (Y/n)'s turn to shine. And shine she did, her brilliance lighting up the court with a mesmerizing career high of 39 points.

South Carolina roared with triumph, claiming the championship banner, while (Y/n) (L/n) ascended to MVP status. Amidst the cacophony of celebration, whispers of debate lingered, but for most, there was no denying—she had earned her crown.

Now, on this electric draft night, (Y/n) waded through a sea of flashing lights and eager faces, her senses alive with anticipation. The air crackled with anticipation, pregnant with the promise of new beginnings and boundless opportunities. Yet, amidst the excitement, one question lingered—whose name would be called first?

With each step, purpose pulsed through (Y/n)'s veins, a steady rhythm guiding her forward. Tonight wasn't just about personal glory—it was the culmination of years of dedication, an opportunity to showcase her artistry on the grandest stage.

As she settled into her seat at the draft table, nerves and excitement tangled in her chest. The room buzzed with energy, a symphony of voices and whispered dreams. But amid the chaos, one figure stood out—Caitlin, a beacon of unwavering support, making her way to (Y/n) with purpose.

"Hey there, superstar," Caitlin's voice, a melody of pride and affection, washed over (Y/n) like a warm embrace. Leaning in, she planted a tender kiss on her lover's cheek, igniting a spark that danced across her skin.

(Y/n) returned the gesture with a soft smile, her heart overflowing with love. "Hey yourself," she murmured, reaching out to intertwine her fingers with Caitlin's, their connection a lifeline in the swirling chaos.

"Okay, sassy are we?" Caitlin teased, a playful twinkle in her eyes.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, her laughter a melody that danced through the air. At that moment, amidst the clamour of the crowd, they were a symphony unto themselves.

Though, soon enough, the minutes they were sharing vanished as the familiar chords sung, marking the beginning of the 2024 WNBA draft. The look shared between the two girls could only be described as duplicated. While their loving smiles spoke ‘good luck’, their eyes held nothing but determination. With one final squeeze to (Y/n)’s hand, Caitlin weaved back through the tables and took her seat. 

Truthfully, (Y/n) couldn’t give a damn about the speech that Cathy Engelbert was reading. The probably scripted words only added to the weight on her heart as she awaited her next team assignment. Despite the dragging minutes, she kept up a facade of interest for the camera.

“And now, we don’t have to wait any longer because the pick is in!”

Those words flipped a switch in (Y/n)’s mind, her senses sharpening as Cathy Engelbert took the stage, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Each click echoed through the room, a metronome counting down to the pivotal moment. The air was thick with tension, electric and charged, every breath laden with anticipation.

The moment drew closer and closer.

“With the first pick in the 2024 WNBA Draft, the Indiana Fever select…”

The words hung in the air, estatic with possibility. Everyone held their breath as the selection came down to two athletes. (Y/n) glanced over to Caitlin’s table, finding her already searching for her eyes.

“Caitlin Clark, University of Iowa!”

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, the room erupting in chaos as the crowd roared in ecstasy. (Y/n)’s heart thundered in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was a rush, overwhelming and intoxicating.

With her eyes still locked onto Caitlin’s, she broke into a blinding smile, Caitlin mirroring her. In that moment, everything else faded into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of them.

(Y/n) stood, her heart pounding, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Every step toward Caitlin felt like an eternity, the ground solid beneath her feet. Suspense hung in the air like a heavy fog, thick and suffocating.

With a barely contained laugh, she tumbled into Caitlin’s embrace, the world spinning around them. Nothing else mattered but the warmth of Caitlin’s arms around her, the sound of their shared laughter drowning out the noise of the crowd.

“You did it. You deserve this, Caitlin,” (Y/n) spoke, her voice ringing clear over the clamour of the crowd. Her words were a declaration, a testament to Caitlin’s strength and resilience. Her final words slipped out in a hush, “I love you.”

Amidst the cacophony of noise and celebration, Caitlin held onto (Y/n) as if she were the anchor in a tempest. Each beat of her heart reverberated with the pulse of the crowd, her senses heightened by the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was a moment suspended in time, a fleeting eternity of shared joy and boundless emotion.

As Caitlin finally released her grip, (Y/n) felt a bittersweet pang in her chest. Her heart swelled with pride for her friend, yet beneath the surface, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm her. In another time, her stomach might have plummeted, her throat constricted by the weight of unshed tears. But now, amidst the chaos of the draft, she found only a sense of serene acceptance.

Her gaze lingered on Caitlin, the embodiment of success and possibility, as she stood adorned in her Indiana Fever jersey. In that moment, (Y/n) glimpsed the future unfolding before her, a future that held boundless potential and untold promise.

Returning to her own table, (Y/n) was met with sympathetic glances and unspoken assumptions. But she brushed them aside with a knowing smile, the genuine ecstasy of Caitlin's triumph shining through her features. For in that moment, she understood that second place held no sting, no bitterness. Caitlin's victory was her own.

The room buzzed with anticipation as the attention shifted to the second pick of the night, belonging to the LA Sparks. (Y/n)'s heart raced with a mix of nerves and excitement. She couldn't help but steal glances at Caitlin, who was now enveloped in the embrace of her family, her smile radiant with joy.

As the tension mounted, (Y/n)'s mind raced back to all the years of hard work and putting up with undeserved bullshit. She remembered the countless hours spent on the court, the sacrifices made, and the people she overcame. It had all led to this, the culmination of a lifelong dream.

But amidst the anticipation, there was a sense of contentment that washed over her. She had already achieved so much, and seeing Caitlin's success only fueled her determination. Her focus remained unwavering, her heart filled with pride for her lover.

And then, it happened.

"With the second pick in the 2024 WNBA Draft, the LA Sparks select... (Y/n) (L/n)!"

The words echoed through the room, but Mayari hardly registered them at first. It was as if time stood still, her mind unable to comprehend the magnitude of what had just been announced.

But then, reality crashed over her like a wave. The cheers of the crowd filled her ears, and she felt a surge of emotion welling up inside her. The room seemed to spin, the lights blurring into a dazzling array of colours as she stood, her legs trembling with a mix of exhilaration and disbelief. The warmth of the moment enveloped her, and with every beat of her heart, she felt the weight of everything she had worked for lifting off her shoulders.

Just then, amidst the applause of the crowd, she heard melodic notes of her name being called out.

Suddenly, (Y/n)’s world tilted on its axis as she was swept up into Caitlin’s embrace. Their gazes locked smiles mirroring one another in joyous ecstasy. The sounds of the cheering crowd seemed to fade, replaced by the pounding of her own heart and the warmth of Caitlin's arms around her. 

"I love you too," Caitlin whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd.

(Y/n) felt her heart swell, her emotions threatening to overflow. They rested their foreheads against each other, their breaths mingling as they shared the profound intimacy of the moment. It was as if the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of them in their shared victory.

The fans in the crowd went wild, their cheers and applause creating a wave of sound that crashed over the two girls. Cameras flashed, capturing the raw emotion etched on their faces. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy, one that neither of them would ever forget.

As they finally pulled apart, (Y/n) felt a laugh bubble out of her throat, the sound drawing an admirable expression from the brunette. She turned to face the stage, her heart pounding with excitement and anticipation. This was it—the moment she had dreamed of for so long.

Taking a deep breath, (Y/n) made her way to the stage, the cheers of the crowd propelling her forward. She felt the warmth of their support, the love and pride radiating from every corner of the room. This was her moment, a testament to all the hard work, the sacrifices, and the unwavering determination that had brought her here.

As she stepped onto the stage to accept her LA Sparks jersey, she glanced back at Caitlin, who was watching her with a look of pure, unadulterated pride. (Y/n) knew, in that moment, that they had both achieved something extraordinary and that this was just the beginning of their journey.

With the weight of the jersey in her hands and the future spread out before her like a vast, open sky, she felt a profound sense of peace and accomplishment. The journey had been long and arduous, filled with moments of doubt and resilience, but standing there under the bright lights, she knew it had all been worth it.

As she held up the jersey, a symbol of her new beginning, her eyes swept across the sea of faces, each one a blur of colors and emotions. The lights above her were warm, casting a golden glow that bathed the room in a surreal, dreamlike quality.

Her gaze found Paige amidst the cheering crowd. Paige's smile was radiant, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her expression a blend of pride and a quiet acknowledgment of their shared past. The sounds of applause and cheers seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the rhythmic thudding of (Y/n)'s heart. The moment hung in the air, thick with unspoken words, a silent reconciliation and mutual respect woven between them.

(Y/n)'s heart swelled, a rush of warmth spreading through her chest, filling her with a deep sense of closure and peace. She returned Paige's smile, a genuine and heartfelt gesture, before her gaze naturally found its way back to Caitlin. Caitlin's eyes sparkled with joy, her love and pride shining brightly, grounding (Y/n) in the whirlwind of emotions surrounding her.

Caitlin's eyes were bright with joy and love, reflecting everything (Y/n) felt in that moment. The applause of the crowd seemed to fade into the background as they shared a private, intimate moment amidst the public celebration. Caitlin, in all her seriousness, blew (Y/n) a kiss, a tender gesture that drew a smile out from her. (Y/n), with a smile, reached out as if to catch it and then graciously tucked it into her pocket.

As she stood there, the weight of her journey lifted, she knew this was the beginning of a new chapter. With Caitlin's silent encouragement echoing in her mind, she felt ready to embrace whatever came next. The next step would be difficult, but it was hers to shape, and she would no longer be alone.

a/n: IM SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG SHIT'S BEEN TOUGH. anyways hope you liked it, if you wanna see more cc x reader lmkk also next chapter of midnight love will come out soon IM SERIOUS I PROMISE DON'T HATE ME

anyways thank you for the support love you guys, mwah <3

taglist: @kenzie-luvzz , @idratherbesleepingrn , @h34rtsformilli , @pinkandlilacroses , @i-bribri-i , @thatonemarvelfan03 , @girlokwhatever , @ihrtthotdads , @kc88888888 , @nfleditsrjustbetteridk , @imsobabygiirl , @vi0lentb3rry , @sejus-wife , @katemlk , @littlelesbianinternujung, @ktaerssoi, @evangelinexo , @c999sh , @yazmunson , @choibeomkai , @ekisokay

[yourantag]

Do NOT Let Him Cook (Morningstar!Ithaqua×Reader)

AN: Happy White Day! I'm probably not posting more than this and the other fic I was supposed to post Valentine's Day (which, as you can see, I failed in doing) for March. I will, however, be posting a little more in April cause that is my birthday month! Expect a few indulgent fics. This fic is honestly just crack, so if you need something silly and sweet, here we are! Genuinely, do not let this man cook. Word count: 2.2k words Summary: It's White Day, a day of reciprocated love. Of course, Helel has to give you something in return for your wonderful Valentine's gift. Now, if only he could figure out how he turned a tart into a fruity croissant...

There were very few things Helel feared. The first, of course, was you. He held your heart in his hands as you did too, yes, but no one could get him to obey them quite like you could. It was loyalty, it was devotion, one reciprocated through blood and love. To possess such power over him is somewhat of a marvel, something to fear, even just a little.

The second was your death, the thought of you leaving his side forever. He'd tear apart the world, commit sacrilege in the holiest places, and declare war upon the gods before he'd let someone take you from him. Still, he cannot control plagues, time, or the hostility within the hearts of humans. Life is delicate, even Helel cannot deny that.

The third thing he feared, Helel learned, was baking.

It seems simple enough, really. Chuck a few ingredients in, mix it, then toss it in an oven. Easy, right? Looking around him now, with smoke billowing off the charred tray (and wow, he didn't know metal could burn like that), Helel was completely at a loss.

"Ah, these don't seem quite right." He muttered, scratching his cheek. All Helel wanted was to give you something in return for your Valentine's gift, something special. He had consulted many people, even asking some of the prisoners, as odd as that sounded.

Most didn't give any good responses, only saying "please let me go" or "you're going to pay for this." Terrible advice, really. Not even on topic, either, but it could be worse, he supposed. So, he went to ask his favorite person to bother.

"For the love of- just make them cookies or something!" Nebuchadnezzar had exclaimed, absolutely done with Helel's ramblings. He looked about ready to chew his tongue off so he could finally know peace again. At least death wouldn't ramble about their lover for 15 hours straight.

It had been a decent suggestion, so Helel had taken it. Perhaps he shouldn't have, considering the disaster that was most of his creations.

The counters were covered in flour, the fine powder dusting the area like snow. Splatters of batter, egg, and butter painted some places like abstract art. The worst place of all, funnily enough, was the table. It was completely clean, presenting only a few delectable looking treats.

Sadly, they were not exactly what they were made to be. Somehow, Helel had managed to make bread instead of cake, a croissant instead of a tart, and now small bricks instead of cookies. He carefully tapped one against the counter, wincing as the wood chipped under the force. The cookie, however, was fine.

'I... can't give them this.'

Helel smiled awkwardly, wanting nothing but to slam his face against a wall. He had thought "it couldn't be that hard!" and look at him now. It was pathetic, to the point he genuinely considered just asking a servant to make something instead. However, that's literally something he could do any other day. It didn't carry the significance he'd want it to.

You had given him the head of the rebellion's leader, which most would find horrifying but he found terribly romantic. The best Valentine's gift, truly. Sure, he couldn't give you something of equal value, but he could try and match the sentiment. Helel knew you loved effort and thought, so he would do his best to give you something of that in equal measure.

So, he couldn't give up. Helel once again turned to a different page in the cook book, praying to himself that he didn't fuck up this time. He couldn't possibly mess up sugar cookies, right? They were simple, so surely no matter what they'd be fine.

He was cursing himself wasn't he?

He poured the ingredients, carefully measuring them as he went through the motions. It went smoother this time since he just made cookies (if he could really call them that). With practice under his belt, Helel managed to make a tray of cookies.

"Now I roll them in sugar before baking... where's the sugar?" He looked around, grabbing at the jars in front of him.

"That's flour... that's baking powder... or is it baking soda?... that's powdered milk... wait why do we have powdered milk? Oh!" Helel smiled as he finally found what he was looking for. He didn't know how the chefs managed to get anything done with nothing labeled, but that was the beauty of not being a chef. He didn't have to know, and perhaps he never would.

So, he popped open the glass jar, pouring in the crystalline fragments into a bowl. They glimmered innocently in the light, small gems that melted upon one's tongue.

Helel quickly tossed each cookie ball into the bowl, placing them back onto the tray afterward. Making sure they weren't too close together, he arranged them one last time. Finally, he placed them in the oven. The timer would let him know when they were ready.

The man sighed, moving quickly to wash the dirty dishes. He knew he could leave it to the servants, but at this point, he just wanted to get rid of the evidence of his failures. Sure, most of his baked treats looked... fine, but the first few looked as though it had gone through someone's digestive system already.

After all was said and done, Helel felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. If this was what the chefs dealt with on the daily, he was going to have to give them a raise. All this for some desserts? Really? They deserved to be paid more for this misery.

Checking the timer, he nodded to himself. 10 minutes was enough time to snack on something. Helel let himself drop into a seat, groaning as his weary legs finally got to rest. He grabbed the cake-turned-bread, cutting off a small slice. The cookies were a definite no, and he had his suspicions about the croissant, but the bread seemed fine.

'If I get poisoned from this, they're never going to let me live it down.'

You would absolutely make fun of him. Morningstar, the King of Babel, dying from his own creation. It sounded like a story Shakespeare wrote, really. Helel hoped more for his pride rather than his life that he wasn't that bad at baking.

Taking a few bites, he found that he wasn't dying yet. Which was relieving, of course, but to his surprise, the bread also tasted not bad. Sweeter than most breads, but nothing unbearable. It was probably going to be one of the few things he could actually share with you.

At the chime of the timer, Helel took the cookies out of the oven, letting them cool. That would give him another few minutes to start packing things up. Should he use red ribbon or white? It's a White Day gift, yes, but you told him red reminded you of him.

Humming, the young king started slicing the bread, gently placing the slices in a nice container. Perhaps he should pack some jam in the basket too- it would go well with it.

Helel glanced at the first batch of cookies, opting to dump them in the trash after a brief moment of contemplation. Could they be used as projectiles? Honestly, yes. Was he going to let anyone know he failed that badly? Never.

Finally, he took a bite of one of the croissants. It was fine as well, just odd. The fruit fillings and cream were distributed well throughout the pastry. If it weren't for the fact that it was supposed to be a tart, Helel might have been proud.

Packing those up as well, he placed the 2 containers in a basket, grabbing a few jars of jam and a butter knife. By then, the cookies were sufficiently cooled. Though, after taking another look at them, Helel wondered what he had done wrong this time.

Unlike the first batch, these cookies were puffy. They weren't like cream puffs, but they were certainly not cookies. Had he mixed up which of the powders he was using? He really wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

The other pastries he had packed weren't made to be what they ended up as, but tasted fine anyway. Maybe, these would be the same.

So, shrugging his shoulders, Helel tossed one of the "cookies" in his mouth. 

And instantly he regretted it.

It was salty. Not salty in the pleasantly seasoned way, but salty as in if he had drank salt water it would taste better than this.

Spitting out the abomination, Helel glared at one of the jars. Of course he mixed up the sugar and salt, of course. Still, he at least had something other than this. He'd just have to dispose of these.

If you didn't find him.

The door clicks open, and Helel can't decide whether he wants to scream or jump right out the window. In the doorway, as he expects, is you. You're always welcome in his eyes, his wonderful, perfect significant other. However, at this particular moment, he really wishes you weren't here.

"Helel? What are you doing here?"

Though you ask, you already seem to at least know he was baking. Not a very hard assumption to make, all things considered, but that just makes things harder for him.

"I was... baking." He says, giving a strained smile as he slowly grabs the tray of cookies. Hopefully, if he's quick enough, you won't even notice him toss the entire thing in the trash.

'Please do not ask about these, please don't notice-'

"Is that a scone dusted in salt???" 

Helel was going to throw himself off a cliff.

"...I was trying to make sugar cookies."

The look you give him simply reaffirms his decision.

"I... see. What's the occasion?" You draw closer to him, staring curiously at the basket. He's thankful he managed to add a blanket on top beforehand, though it would've been nice if he had tied a ribbon around the handle, too.

"It's White Day, so I wanted to give you something special." Helel responded, dropping the tray with a sigh. It was too late to hide it, so why bother?

You hum softly, lips curling into a smile. You grab one of the scones, taking a bite before he can warn you. Yet, instead of spitting it out like he expected, you chewed as though nothing were wrong with it.

"Are- are you okay?" He can't help but ask. He had tried one right before you came- he knew they didn't taste good. So, how was it that you ate the entire scone without even cringing in the slightest?

"Yep, I'm fine. I'm sure you already know, but these are salty." You laugh, quickly grabbing a glass of water and chugging it. Despite the concern he feels, Helel can't help the way his chest warms. 

"Well, yeah, I was going to warn you about that. Can't believe you ate it all- I spat it out immediately. Why did you eat it anyway?" He can't help but ask. You weren't one to shy away from being honest. The fact you looked him in the eye and told him it was salty was proof enough. You weren't scared of him, so why would you put yourself through that?

You give him a smile, tilting your head towards the window. The sun is high in the sky, letting all know that it was sometime in the afternoon.

"You've been here for... I'm guessing at least 5 hours. I don't know how you haven't collapsed yet, but that's not the point right now. The point is," You take his hands into yours, kissing each of his knuckles. "I see your effort, and I don't want to let it go to waste."

Helel, for all his cruelty, his hatred, his grief- cannot be anything but in love for you. To love is to be seen, to be known, and it seems that for all his life, that's exactly what you've done. Seen him, known him, but most of all, loved him.

So, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing kisses from your palm down to your wrist. He lingers there, letting you cradle his face as he closes his eyes.

It wasn't perfect by all means, but he thinks that this small moment is worth more than anything he could've ever orchestrated. Helel doesn't need endless praise, gifts, or overwhelming acts. All he needed was a bit of acknowledgement, a bit of love.

"Happy White Day, my sun.”

-

ALTERNATE STORY:

Helel did not realize he was that bad at baking. He completely blames Nebuchadnezzar for everything.

"HELEL, HOW THE FUCK DID YOU MANAGE TO MAKE A MONSTER!?"

"HIS NAME IS FREDERICK KREIBURG AND HE'S SORRY TO SAY THAT HE'S FRENCH!"

"WE AREN'T EVEN IN FRANCE! WHAT DID YOU ADD TO THOSE COOKIES? THE CREMATED REMAINS OF YOUR DAD!?"

"...that explains why the sugar was so dusty."

"...Helel Morningstar Babel-"

"Ahaha... ha..."

Yeah, Helel was going to kill his brother if you didn't end up killing him first.

[librababe99]

Moments Between Time: Part Three

CW: violence, emotional distress, angst, dystopian/apocalyptic imagery, Mutant!Reader, character death Word Count: 1948 Summary: Logan is pushed to his breaking point as he battles both enemies and haunting visions of a doomed future. The tension between young Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr only adds to the strain. Will this be the end of the Wolverine?

Authors note at the bottom <3

(Part four)

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

The weight of the mission was slowly grinding Logan down. The relentless march of time, the pressure of knowing what was at stake, and the constant strain of working with younger, unpredictable versions of Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr—it was all taking its toll. Each day, the burden grew heavier, pressing down on him like an iron vice, threatening to crush him beneath its weight.

The Charles Xavier of this time was a shadow of the man Logan had known in the future. Broken by loss and drowning in despair, he was erratic, teetering on the edge of self-destruction. And Erik… Erik was a ticking time bomb, his ideals and anger clashing violently with Charles’s more pacifistic approach. Their constant bickering, their differing views on how to save mutantkind, only served to stoke the fires of Logan’s growing anxiety. Every decision, every word exchanged between them, felt like a knife edge, cutting deeper into the fragile hope that they could change the future.

As the day of the assassination approached, the tension became almost unbearable. Logan’s nights were restless, his sleep plagued by visions of a future he was desperate to escape. But the visions had started to bleed into his waking hours, haunting him when he least expected it. At first, they were just flashes—brief glimpses of the devastation that awaited if they failed. But as the day drew closer, the visions grew more vivid, more terrifying.

One evening, after a particularly heated argument between Charles and Erik, Logan found himself alone in a dingy motel room, trying to steady his racing heart. The small, flickering light above the bed cast long, distorted shadows on the walls, making the room feel claustrophobic. He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror, his face a mask of exhaustion and tension. The man staring back at him was barely recognizable—eyes hollow, jaw clenched, every muscle in his body taut with stress.

As he splashed cold water on his face, the vision hit him like a freight train. He was no longer in the motel room; he was in the middle of a battlefield, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning metal. The roar of Sentinels filled his ears, their mechanical voices cold and unyielding as they hunted down the last of the mutants.

And then he saw you.

You were fighting valiantly, your powers flaring with an intensity that took his breath away. But even as you fought, even as you took down one Sentinel after another, Logan could see the fatigue in your movements, the desperation in your eyes. You were outnumbered, overwhelmed, and the odds were stacked against you. The scene shifted, and Logan watched in horror as a Sentinel, larger and more menacing than the rest, bore down on you. He tried to move, tried to reach out to you, but he was frozen, helpless to do anything but watch.

The Sentinel’s massive hand swung down, and Logan screamed your name, his voice raw with anguish. But it was too late. The last thing he saw was your face, a mix of determination and fear, before the vision shattered, plunging him back into the dim light of the motel room.

Logan stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the room spun around him. He clutched the edge of the sink, his knuckles white, his entire body shaking with the aftershocks of the vision. The image of your final stand was seared into his mind, a relentless loop that played over and over, driving him to the brink of madness.

“No,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “No… it can’t end like that.”

But the fear gnawed at him, a cold, insidious thing that wrapped around his heart and refused to let go. What if he couldn’t change the future? What if, despite everything, you were still doomed to fall? The thought was unbearable, a torment that threatened to break him.

Logan’s mind spiraled, memories of you flooding his senses. He remembered the way you had looked at him before he left, the silent plea in your eyes, the unspoken promise that had hung between you. He had sworn to protect you, to save you, and now that promise felt like a cruel joke, slipping through his fingers like sand.

But then, as if answering the turmoil in his heart, he heard it—a faint, almost imperceptible whisper, like the softest brush of a breeze against his skin.

“Logan…”

Your voice.

He froze, his breath catching in his throat as he strained to hear it again, his heart pounding so loudly he thought it might drown out everything else.

“Logan… I’m here…”

The sound of your voice was like a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of despair. It was soft, tinged with a warmth that cut through the darkness threatening to consume him. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound, clinging to it with everything he had.

“I know it’s hard… but you have to keep going.”

Logan’s chest tightened, a mix of relief and pain flooding through him. How were you reaching out to him? Was it a trick of his mind, a desperate hallucination conjured by his longing for you? Or had you somehow managed to connect with him across the vast chasm of time? It didn’t matter. In that moment, all that mattered was your voice, the sound of you, still with him, still fighting, still holding on.

“I believe in you,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly, as if you, too, were fighting back tears. “No matter what happens, no matter how dark it gets… remember why you’re doing this. Remember what we’re fighting for.”

Logan’s hand tightened around the sink, his resolve solidifying into something unbreakable. He couldn’t afford to lose himself, couldn’t afford to let the darkness win. You were still out there, still depending on him, and he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let you down.

“I love you, Logan… never forget that.”

The final words were like a knife to his heart, the truth of them cutting deep, but also giving him the strength to keep going. He swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

“I love you too,” he whispered, though he knew you couldn’t hear him. “And I’m going to save you. I swear it.”

The connection faded, leaving behind a bittersweet ache that settled deep in his chest. But the message had done its work. Logan was more determined than ever, his focus sharpened by the memory of your voice, your touch. He couldn’t afford to fail. Too much was at stake.

The days leading up to the assassination passed in a blur of tension and preparation. Charles and Erik continued to clash, their arguments growing more heated, more volatile, as the day approached. Logan played the role of mediator, trying to keep the fragile alliance from shattering, even as his own nerves were stretched to the breaking point.

And then, the day was upon them.

The air was thick with tension as Logan and his team approached the site where the assassination was set to occur. Every step felt like walking through quicksand, the weight of the future pressing down on him with each breath. His senses were on high alert, scanning every sound, every flicker of movement. This was it—the moment where everything would either be won or lost.

As they reached the courtyard, chaos erupted. The enemy was relentless, attacking with a ferocity that matched Logan’s own. Claws extended, he moved like a force of nature, cutting through the ranks with precision and fury. Every strike was fueled by the memory of you—your voice, your face, your final words. He had to stop Trask. He had to prevent the creation of the Sentinels.

But then, amidst the chaos, a familiar and dreaded presence made itself known. Erik Lehnsherr—Magneto—hovered above the battlefield, his eyes cold and determined. He raised his hands, and from the distance, the ominous clanking of metal footsteps echoed through the air. Logan’s heart sank as the Sentinels, massive and imposing, emerged from the shadows, their eyes glowing with a deadly intent.

Erik’s voice rang out, commanding the Sentinels with a flick of his wrist. They moved with terrifying precision, their metal limbs whirring as they turned their attention toward Logan. He barely had time to react before the first Sentinel lunged, its enormous hand sweeping down to crush him. Logan leaped out of the way, his claws slashing through the air as he fought to keep the mechanical giants at bay.

But for every Sentinel he struck down, two more took its place, their relentless assault wearing him down. Erik watched from above, his expression unreadable, his power thrumming through the battlefield as he manipulated the metal constructs with ease. The ground trembled as more debris was ripped from the earth, swirling around Erik like a deadly storm.

Logan fought with everything he had, his claws tearing through metal and circuitry, but the odds were overwhelming. The Sentinels closed in, their attacks growing more coordinated, more brutal. He could feel his strength waning, his healing factor struggling to keep up with the damage being inflicted on his body.

And then, Erik made his move. With a cold, calculated gesture, he ripped a massive chunk of concrete from the ground, laced with jagged metal shards, and sent it hurtling toward Logan. The impact was devastating. The concrete slab struck Logan with bone-crushing force, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing into the ground.

Before Logan could recover, Erik raised his hand again, and the metal shards embedded in the concrete shot forward like spears, impaling Logan’s limbs and pinning him to the ground. He roared in pain, his claws digging into the concrete as he tried to free himself, but Erik’s power was too great. The Sentinels closed in, their cold, mechanical eyes fixed on him as they prepared to deliver the final blow.

But Erik wasn’t finished. With a final, forceful gesture, he lifted Logan off the ground, the metal and concrete holding him aloft like a ragdoll. Logan’s vision blurred, the world spinning around him as Erik sent him hurtling through the air. He slammed into the side of a building with a sickening crunch, the impact shattering the wall and sending debris raining down around him.

Logan’s body, broken and bleeding, was thrown through the air one last time, the force of Erik’s power propelling him toward the edge of the crumbling structure. For a moment, he teetered on the edge, his claws scraping against the concrete as he tried to hold on. But the weight of the metal and concrete was too much, and with a final, shuddering breath, Logan plunged into the water below.

The world above seemed to slow as Logan disappeared beneath the surface, the cold, dark water swallowing him whole. The shock of it stole the breath from his lungs, and the weight of the metal pulled him down, deeper and deeper into the abyss. He struggled against the pull, his lungs burning for air, his vision blurring as the darkness closed in.

Above, the battle continued, but without Logan’s ferocious presence, the tide began to turn. The enemy forces, seeing their chance, pushed forward, forcing the remaining X-Men to retreat. As they fell back, eyes scanned the water, desperate for any sign of Logan. But there was nothing—no movement, no bubbles, no sign that he had survived.

“Logan…” someone whispered, the name carried away in the wind.

 And somewhere, in the depths of that cold, dark water, Logan drifted, his body still and lifeless, the shadows of the past closing in around him.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

A/N: Hi loves! I'd like to apologize for the inactivity the past few days. I was finally able to get into the doctor yesterday and ended up having an in office procedure done😕 my biopsy results won't be available until sometime next week---but please take it from me to regularly check yourselves for breast lumps... - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

Taglist: @hughverine @itzyahgirllkita1 @nonamevenus @angelofthorr @swthxrry @ayamenimthiriel @charlyrmv @alex21705 @penguinsravioli @mxtokko

[miam0re]

Currently obsessed with the thought of Dan Heng accidentally hearing you masturbate one night and now it’s plaguing him at every turn. Is his good hearing a blessing or a curse? aha

He can’t relax without remembering what you sounded like, he’ll be trying to update the archives or sleep but he’ll get so distracted by these thoughts. Maybe at first he would try to ignore it (he’s proud of his self control) but eventually his reasoning wears down to “might as well just take care of it so I can move on with my life” and now he’s jacking off daily to the thought of you 😊

Ahakskajskasjaksjak please- also i suck at titles so ehhhhhhh maybe i just...don't title this one 👀

Fem!reader, NSFW, masturbation, kinda pervy?does it count as pervy?

No because he's totally going to lock himself in his room (gonna double...triple check the locks in case March wants to do one of her surprise slumber parties) and shimmey his underwear down to his thighs. He's got his the edge of his shirt in between his teeth to muffle any sounds that he might make thinking about you.

Oh Lord...You. He already thought you were attractive, looking like a meal he'd beg to devour if you'd let him. Yes he'd daydream about you...all innocent thoughts. But that fateful night when he heard you gasp a little too loud behind your door? That faint sound of a buzzing vibrator along with your breathy moans, how was his imagination not supposed to go into the most sinful of places. He doesn't want to think of you but...

His fingertips ghost down his abs before wrapping around his throbbing, hard cock. Thinking of you, completely naked under the sheets with your fingers and a vibrator abusing your hole, it made him twitch and leak precum on his thumb. His hands move up and down, gripping the base and circling his wrist when he approaches the tip.

Maybe you'd know how to jack him off better. Maybe you'd smear his cum all over his red tip. Maybe you'd know when to speed up and when to slow down.

He's whining, shirt dampened with drool at the thought of it being your hands instead of his. Hands fapping with increasing pace and intensity till he's seeing stars.

Maybe he'd cum thicker loads if he could spurt them on your face, mouth hanging open to get a taste of him. But till then he'll have to be satisfied with the trail of white he gushed on his abs.

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Vampire X f! reader pt. 1

The Woods PT. 2

Tw: noncon, dubcon,manipulation, mind control, isolation, sexual attraction to blood, blood.

A/N: This chapter is a slow burn kind. Mainly because the second chapter is just going to be smut due to certain circumstances which are revealed at the end of the story.

Kofi: Wanna buy me a coffee?

🍒🍒🍒🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

Your quiet gothic-themed village was never afraid of many things. Not even the bubonic plague scared the villagers. But, something that did scare them was the woods. They called it The Forest of Blood or El Bosque de Sangre. A long time ago, during the medieval ages, a family of wealthy nobles from Transylvania moved to your village. With their luggage were a human-sized coffin and a blanket with engravings of DC on them. They stayed in their castle surrounded by woods until the villager's livestock began to die. Cows and pigs as pale as ghosts with markings on their necks. The only clue was a trail of blood leading into the dark forest.

The villagers took their weapons and marched to the noble's castle, only to find the family in such a horrific condition, not even the graveyard thieves wanted them. Though, others say the family are beings of another name. Some called them Nosferatus, Draculas, Creatures of the Night, Demons, Bloodsuckers, anything but a human being. But that never worried you. What worries you were the girls going missing at the start of every winter, about a couple weeks before the first snowfall. No one knew who would be next, but no one dared to lock their daughters inside. For the last time they did, your village of Verano had mysteriously lost numerous amounts of harvest and livestock. And so here you are, walking to your grandmother's house to keep her company.

It didn't bother you that it's dark as you walk the dirt roads to your grandmother's house. You were used to the dark. It felt like home in a weird way. Even the predators that snatch livestock from the pens respect you as if you are one of their own. Although, it would lead to the villagers thinking you are a witch of some sort. But that didn't bother you either, for you always thought about flying high in the sky and doing witchy things with your friends, especially your friend, Nos, who you knew since that fateful day all those years ago.

"What are you doing behind that bush?"

The boy with pale skin and raven black hair looked at you with shock, fear, and surprise in his eyes.

"Come on, don't you want to play with the other children?"

The boy nodded and took your hand as you ran into the field to play with the village children. You put a flower crown on his head and held both his hands as you began to spin around.

"Nosferatu! Dracula! Demon and Creature of the Night! Everything you'll scream when they bite! Pure as snow! A virgin wearing a white wedding dress! Dye it red and rest in the forest! Be their bride in unholy matrimony!"

Your grandma walked up to you and said to say goodbye to the now-happy boy. You hugged him goodbye and skipped back to her cottage. When you got to her house, your grandma whispered in your ear.

"Nunca hables de los Nosferatus y sus novias. O de lo contrario desaparecerás en el bosque también."

"Bien, abuela."

That was fifteen years ago, and he's been your best friend ever since, even if you could never have adventures in the woods because you feared disappearing from the village.

"Nos, why do you insist on creeping behind me so much?" You ask, turning around to face a six foot three Nos.

"You shouldn't be walking out here so late at night. There are dangerous things in these woods," Nos says, putting his coat on your shoulders. "You should come back to my place and get warm."

"Sorry, grandma needs me to help with the pre-Christmas party," You reply, trying to move through the mud. "Did you hear about it supposedly snowing today?"

"Yes, I did, love. Are you going to start up about those girls going missing again?" Nos asks, walking side by side with you.

"How could I not?! It's supposed to be the first snowfall today, and not a single girl from the village has disappeared!" You exclaim, turning around to face Nos.

"Darling, those girls probably ran away from home. They found someone better in the world and left to explore it," Nos responds, taking you into his arms and dancing you around.

Snow begins to fall, and soon the roads become milky white. You made it to your grandma's house only to find she wasn't there. She had left on an emergency trip to Venice to help one of your cousins give birth. Your grandma had left a centuries-old family cookbook for you if you wished to cook something for dinner.

"It's snowing pretty heavy, darling. How about you stay at my place until it stops," Nos suggests, buttoning up the coat he put over you.

"That sounds fine, but what about you? Won't you be cold?" You ask, starting to shiver.

"I'll be fine. The cold doesn't affect me that much," Nos replies, taking the cookbook and carrying it in his bag. "Come, we can cook dinner and get warm by the fireplace."

You nod and follow his lead until he tries to enter the forest. The dark, snow-covered forest seemed to be staring back at you. Nothing made a sound, and nothing moved. You weren't sure if it was because of the snow absorbing the sound or because this forest was so terrifying that nobody dared enter it.

"It's ok. It's a shortcut to my manor. It's only a couple feet away, I promise," Nos promises, gently holding your hand. "If you feel safer, I'll hold you in my arms the whole time."

"Fine, but don't let me go," You whimper as Nos carries you like a princess.

Nos was known as a lady killer or a charming noble, depending on who you ask. Even though he only came into the village to meet you, he garnered attention from other girls. He got proposal after proposal but kept declining them. The girls eventually got over him, but the female elders couldn't help but notice how no boy or gentleman in the village would ask for your hand in marriage. Their husbands told them to pay no mind to it, but they stopped paying attention to you when predators acted like domesticated animals around them. Though others theorized you were the next Novia de Nosferatu.

"We're here! I'll get you some overnight clothes and make a fire. You can pick out a recipe if you want to," Nos says, handing you your family cookbook.

"I'll choose something yummy," You say, scurrying to the kitchen.

After fifteen minutes, Nos returned downstairs and saw you preparing to cook your family's calzone recipe. He wrapped his arms around your waist and asked if he could help.

"I'm fine, Nos. Why don't you get us something to drink?" You reply, putting the rolling pin away.

"Of course, darling. I'll be right back," Nos says, going to the cellar.

Dinner was ready, and Nos poured two glasses of wine. You brought the food to the table and began to eat with your friend.

"Sorry if the wine tastes bad. I know you're more accustomed to fruity alcoholic drinks," Nos comments, eating a piece of the calzone. "You're still not afraid of these woods, are you? My room has a pretty good view of the trees. It gets wonderful sun and moonlight as well."

"Don't you have a guest bedroom?" You ask, trying not to earn the title of village whore just for innocently sleeping with a guy.

"I'm afraid all the guest bedrooms are-oh fuck it. You've been the light of my life all the way into adulthood. Would you-would you please be mine?" Nos proposes, pulling out a box with a ring with a dark red gem.

The ring was silver with black markings going around it. It was something that only the richest of the rich could afford.

"Nos...of course I'll marry you!" You exclaim, kissing your now fiance.

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure? It's not the alcohol talking, right?" Nos questions, pouring you another glass of wine.

"It's not the alcohol talking. Besides, based on things are for me in the village, it seems you're the only guy who would willingly marry me," You respond, drinking the second glass of wine until it's half full. "What type of wine did you give me? It tastes so metallic."

Nos moves closer to you, eventually capturing you in an embrace. You can feel his muscles twitch, and he kisses the crook of your neck. Nos slips the ring onto the middle finger on your right hand.

"I'm glad you wanted this as much as I did, my unholy bride," Nos whispers, his voice becoming raspy and hissing towards the words of unholy bride.

"Wha-"

You have no time to react before he bites you full force. Your ring extends a needle or blade into your skin and shoots something into you. You couldn't break out of his arms and felt nothing but pain. Your nerves felt like they were on fire, your body began to shiver, and your eyes felt like they were about to explode.

"Sh, sh, sh, it's ok. You'll get through the transformation soon. It’ll be nothing but pleasure from here on out, my love,” Nos comforts, gently stroking your head. “Once you drink my blood, the transformation will be complete, and we can be together forever.”

“Nos…Nosfer…Nosferatu!” You scream, rage and fear flowing through your blood.

“No! Call me Nos. I’m still your sweet, Nos. I’m your wonderful fiancé!” Panic is in his voice as he realizes he’s starting to lose you.

You yowl in pain, and with the newly formed claws, you swipe at Nos. He jumps away from you as you run toward the library. Everything was black and red. There was no other color present. You see a book on a desk and fiercely open it, only to find out some things are better left as secrets.

“The son of the chief of Verano made a deal with the blood devils. One maiden will be the sacrifice for us all and be the devil's future mother. A sacrifice made before the first snowfall, or else we will pay for it all,” You read the page making more anger surface. “This year’s Blood bride is Y/N. Please note that the heir has chosen to court her and then ask for her hand in marriage.”

“Darling, no! Don’t read that book! You’ll get confused!” Nos yells, grabbing your shoulder. “ Your body is tired from the transformation. You need to rest!"

"Don't touch me! I can't believe I was ever your friend! How long?! How long did you plan on doing this to me?!" You rage, tears falling down your cheeks.

"I only- thirteen. I knew you were my bride at thirteen and have courted you ever since. You wanted to stay friends, and I still wanted a relationship, so I abided by your wishes and drove suitors away from you. I didn't want you to find out who I was through force like the other brides of my family. I wanted it to be a nice experience for you." Nos holds you in his arms as your claws swipe at him drawing slow-moving blood. "We can still have a wedding with your family. I'll invite them, and they'll know you're ok."

"Do you know what you've done?! Everyone in the village thinks I'm cursed or a witch!" You scream, trying to get out of his arms. "I hate you! I hate you! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

"NO! You don't hate me! It's the vampire venom talking! You love me! You love me just like you did before!" He growls, slamming you onto the brick wall. "Clearly, we need a little couples therapy until that is gone from your system."

He bites your neck, and pleasure goes into your veins. Your legs wrap around his, and your hips unconsciously grind on his crotch. Nos is too strong from drinking your blood to try pushing him away. You can only try to keep your body still as he drinks from you. Your vision goes dark, and you let out a small moan.

When you wake up, your vision is dark, and your naked body feels cramped. You push open the padded ceiling, and something metal moves as light hits your face. Red liquid falls on you from above, making everything but your face smell metallic. You crawl out of the coffin, trying to head towards the backdoor facing the woods. Nos grabs you and licks your cheek, making you shiver.

"I think this will bring us closer together, don't you?" Nos asks, removing his red robes and putting his naked body against yours. "I won't take your virginity until the wedding night unless you want to lose your virginity before then."

"I will never marry you!" You scream, trying to break away but can't due to the wet blood.

"Oh, I love it that you're still stubborn. Let me treat and clean you up, my love," Nos kisses as his hands go straight to your crotch and breast.

He sticks his fingers in you and rubs your nipple as he makes out with you. Nos looks at you, and his brown eyes become bright red.

"Focus on the sensations. In and out," Nos whispers, kissing the previous bitemark he gave you.

You felt like you were losing your mind. You didn't want to follow his orders. Soon enough, you were begging for him to finish you off. He took out his fingers from inside you after you orgasmed. He sucked on his fingers covered in your juices and blood. Then, began to lick the blood on your body. You tried tugging at his pants from below, but he swatted your hands away. Nos licked and kissed his way down to your crotch, where he found that you were bleeding. His face lit up, and you were too euphoric and full of lust to care what would happen next.

"It seems your body has decided that we must have our wedding now," Nos says, taking you into his arms so he can put you in a bath. "We're going to have one bloody hell of a wedding, darling."

[sunnywrites101]

Searching for shadows

Paring - Trafalgar Law x GN reader

Genre - Angst

Word count- 987

CW- big sad

“Why me?” The words tumbled from my lips as I sat alone on the cold empty bed in the captain quarters of the Polar Tang. Law had stormed out earlier cursing me for being in the way yet again. I had only wanted to be close to him. The pretext of our relationship was shattering all around me.

I knew Law would never love me, but it still hurt. It sat heavy in my chest, a heavy feeling of loneliness. The gruff man said there was no room in his heart for anything other than his studies of medicine. I wish he’d tell me why he took me off that island in the first place. I thought after our months of sleeping in the same bed he really would love me; but that wasn’t the case. Even his small displays of affection had dissipated into thin air as of a month ago. I had no clue what made him this way. He avoided me like the plague, often sleeping on the common room’s couch at night and locking himself in his office during the day.

He was at least kind to me before, kissing me willingly and he seemed as though he took pride in having me in his bed. But now he’s as cold as the snow of my home island. He just pulled away from me suddenly one day and I couldn’t stop it. There were no warning signs, and I was left to fester in my emotions alone. Bepo was concerned for me as the yelling got louder and more frequent. I sat alone starting to cry when a soft knock sounded at the door. I got up and fixed a crooked grin on my lips as I answered the door only to be smushed into Bepo’s chest.

“Bepo? What are you doing here?” I mussed “I was worried about you! I heard you and the captain yelling again”. I pulled away from Bepo looking behind him into the hallway. “Did he go to his office? I have some things I need to ask him”. This was it; I was done. Done being alone even with the support of the crew, I refused to be treated as less than nothing. I pushed back the white mass of fur and marched down to Law’s office. Bepo tried to stop me once or twice before Shachi pulled him away. Shaking his head at the oversized mink signaling it was futile to try to stop me now.

I gave a sharp knock on Law’s office door and heard a deep groan of annoyance greet me on the other side. Shortly after some shuffling and grumbling, Law opened the door. He seemed surprised to see me, but it was gone just as fast as it had appeared. I shoved past him into his office before he could inevitably tell me to go away. “Why have you been so cold to me Law?” The tears were streaming down my face again. If Law had any reaction, he gave no sign of it. But the truth was Law was drowning from the inside out, his lungs filling with feelings left unspoken. His actions were meant to drive you away. Yet you stubbornly stayed, peacefully taking his actions with a saints patience but now you were questioning him. Why was he doing this?

Why was he pulling away after warming up to you? You’d never know. “Do you not love me anymore Law?” I spoke, my voice rising with weeks of calmly concealed contempt. “Tell me Law, spare me please”. I hit my fists against his chest, his face clouded with a dark look of arrogance as he pushed my hands away. “I never loved you; I was using you for my bodily needs” I froze, his tone was like the polar ice caps, I let out a chocked sob then rubbing my face clean of tears looking at him with all the anger I could muster.

“I can’t believe you’d admit that but there’s one thing I can assure you Law” I walked up to him my mouth beside his ear “I’m leaving your sorry ass and this damn submarine”. Law was shocked to say the least, your voice had flowed into his veins, a deadly incurable poison filled with anger. You left after that, shoving him away as if his presence were now a stain on you. When he came back to his quarters that night hoping to resolve things with you, your belongings were gone and so were you. He wanted to tell you the truth, the real reason he pulled away from you so suddenly… however, he was not offered that choice.

The next morning they made landfall at a small port island with a bustling town of market stalls. Once the polar tang had surfaced you found yourself surrounded by all your crew mates, who were crying and asking if you were sure about leaving. The last to show up was Law. He stayed to the back of the group hoping to grab your attention, call your bluff… But all he got was a glance and a scoff. The realization was startling for Law. You were leaving… this was it… this was the last time he’d see you.

I gave my crewmates their hugs as Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi tried convincing me to stay, but my mind was made up; I was leaving and that was it. I gave Law one last glance before turning and walking down the ramp, not looking back once. Law’s heart was shattering. He loved you but was too scared of his feelings. With one last look at you before you disappeared into the crowds he muttered a single sentence, one that could have made you stay had he uttered it sooner, but it was too late now as a stray tear slid down his face he whispered. “I love you”

[rock-and-roll-hell]

March 31, 1974

KIϟϟ Tour

Forest Park ‐ St. Louis, Missouri

“People were everywhere. Of the 105,000 people at the park Sunday, which incidentally was the biggest recorded crowd ever at Forest Park at one time… By 3 o'clock, the crowd was ready for music. A local group called the Thirteenth Floor played various popular songs including several by The Steve Miller Band and Santana. They were followed by KIϟϟ, who was described by KSHE radio as being the top group in Los Angeles. KIϟϟ smacked the audience with hard rock and bizarre costumes. The group was dressed mainly in black, although the bass guitarist brightened up his outfit with knee high silver platform boots. The members of the group had also painted their faces with white makeup and encircled their eyes with various designs ranging from bats to golden stars” (UMSL Current, 4/4/74).

Strong winds in the afternoon explain why, in some of the circulating photos from the event, it appears the precariously stacked backline amps are being held up by the roadies

The band's appearance was plagued by technical issues with the generators provided being deemed insufficient for the show and no hydraulics being available for Peter's drum kit riser. JR Smalling was nearly unwilling for the band to perform, but in the end they went on in daylight faced with the ultimatum from the promoter, "Play or go home." Rush performed at the event the following year.

[marisferasiop]

Two roads diverge in a forest...

Summary: Ezra is on your traveling crew. You get stranded after a crash; only you two are left. He is eerily calm, which grates on your fraying nerves. On your hike, you get the story out of him about how he lost his arm while you search a crashed ship for parts. He guides you into confronting a scary choice: stay here, and likely perish, or attempt to overtake a crew scouring the natives' camps for slaves to capture and sell, and steal their ship. What do you have to lose? And what choice can you live with?

Rating: PG for offscreen violence? Language?

Wordcount: 1400

For @perotovar 's frith challenge! Ezra is aligned with the god Tyr. Main attributes/values: integrity, choices and consequences, missing a limb/extremity, reasoning, and bravery (esp in battle).

AN: Hey I'm super anxious about this because of Expectations so here before I drive myself insane for 2 more weeks 🫣

The forest smells like age and decay, and you only sort of hate it.

“Tell me again, birdie,” your partner behind you sighs, before dropping his weight onto a fallen log with a grunt of exhaustion. You pause halfway up the embankment and glare down at his tired smile.

Why is he so insufferably sufferable? Fucking asshole.

“I’m going to kill you first if you don't get your ass up.” You wave your rail gun at his entire self, and lean against the mossy tree at your back.

Ezra huffs a laugh and nods. “I would not blame you. We’ve been marching for hours. Let's have a small respite. Tell me about your planet. What is waiting for you, back home?”

Begrudgingly, you stomp back down through the fallen leaves and rotting undergrowth to the fallen tree and plop next to him, kicking your sore feet out as far as you can reach to get your weight off them.

“Nothing. Not really. Deadbeat parents, an ex who’s probably still fucking my former best friend... I told you I came out here to get away from it.”

He nods sagely and leans back against a branch. It groans under his weight, but holds. “So why do you want to go back?”

“I don't,” you insist. “I just want to get off this fucking planet.”

Ezra hums and scratches his chin with his one hand. It draws your eyes to his pinned sleeve. “I have been marooned before, though through the catalyst of a mutiny, rather than a crash landing. My partner on that excursion was much less appealing than you, birdie. In both companionship and conversational aptitude. I too have nothing to return to. So who says we cannot sojourn here a while? This planet is not overpopulated, nor beholden to the capitalist overlords that plague so much of our galaxy. The food is – not exactly top tier, but it is simple to obtain. The water is drinkable. The air, non- toxic. The natives are not friendly, no. But they haven't bothered us.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Just because I don't want to get back to my shit life doesn't mean I want to stay in the fucking jungle, either.”

“Then I see two options, birdie. We endeavor to find and trade with the natives, if they have the parts we need to repair our vessel, or we follow that chemtrail,” he points up and traces a white line in the pink sky. “And if the folks who have that ship are not friendly, we overtake them.”

“We’ve already checked half a dozen other crashes, and nothing has been compatible. It would be incredible luck if the natives have the part we need, or if those beings on that ship are friendly.”

Ezra nods and pitches forward, balancing his elbow on his knee. “Overtaking, it is, then?”

“I don't see how the other option is valid. I doubt the natives will have usable parts if none of the ships so far have been a match to ours.”

After aoment of quiet thought, you stand and come in front of Ezra, holding a hand out. “C’mon old man. That chemtrail ain't gonna follow itself.” he takes your hand and lets you drag him to standing with a groan.

A while later, and after much inane (and breathless; you try to remember the mentioned puncture in his diaphragm and forcibly keep your pace slower to compensate) small talk, you finally bring it up again:

“So how’d you lose your arm? While you were marooned?”

Ezra snorts and nods, pausing on the ridge you’ve just mounted to catch his breath. “A bit of an exercise in trust, if you will. I chose to trust someone that others on my side would not have, and I lost my arm for it. But it was my choice to make, and therefore my consequence to bear.”

“So you made an ill- advised choice, and lost your damned hand. But you're cool with it? Sure,” you snark, slapping a plant frond out of the path. You hear him snort behind you and roll your eyes. You stop in your tracks and side-eye him. "Why am I taking your advice, then?"

Ezra huffs a winded laugh and pauses as well, happy for the break. “Every moment of our lives are filled with choices, birdie. And thus, consequences. Owning them makes all the difference.”

The spiraled end of the chemtrail looms closer in the yellowing sky, and after perhaps an hour of scaling a worn-low mountain, you can hear voices through the fauna.

“You got charges?” You ask, and Ezra tugs his rail gun from his belt, clicking it on. The whirring matches your own, and you both check pockets for more. Five double- charges between you, to split; a total of twelve shots between you. You pocket three of them and leave Ezra with one loaded and one in his pocket. He won't be able to switch them quickly; you'll have to cover him.

“Stay low and pick them off.” You peer through the foliage at the ground crew of perhaps six men, all carrying heavier weapons than you. A merc or trawling team, certainly. There are indigenous people tied to posts on one end of their small camp.

There is only one man you can see with a rail gun, staring out at the trees with a frown. The rest of them seem to be waiting around aimlessly, sitting around a low fire and talking while something cooks on the flames.

You quickly dispatch them, over and over as they scatter and shoot into the trees. Ezra kneels next to you, watching through his scope levels on a fallen log as you pick them off. When two men are left, hands raised and guns on the ground in surrender, you get up and go down the slope to the clearing.

“Hey what the fuck, lady!” One of them yells. You put your muzzle on his forehead and he clenches his jaw, glaring at you, and then Ezra, in turn. Ezra keeps his barrel trained on the other man, watching out of the corner of his eye as the man’s hand inches toward his belt. The rail gun zips loudly in the clearing, once, and the second man falls into the leaves, dead. Your prisoner flinches and grits his teeth, snarling wordlessly at you both.

“You can join your friends’ corpses as they rot here, or you can hitch a ride off this planet with us. Either way, your ship is ours, now.”

He relents, and you leave Ezra to watch him while you start digging in the pockets of the dead for the ship's starter. Finally, you go and cut the bindings off the huddled group of natives and watch them scatter. You hear a shout, and come back to find a dead body on the ground. Ezra shrugs at you and you nod, certain there was a decent enough reason. Regardless, the assholes were kidnapping people to sell, and you're not sorry they're dead. You say as much to Ezra as you clamber into the ship and prep it for flight, checking all sensors as you flip them. The ship starts right up, humming happily, and you take off.

You glance at him and then look out the skyport, noting how close the landing site of the other ship actually was to your own once you're in the air. “Would you do it again?” You ask, slamming the shields off and diverting full engine power to the thrusters until you break atmo.

Ezra looks at you, confounded, and his brow asks the question for him: do what, birdie?

“The choice you made. When you lost your arm. Would you make that choice again? If you knew the consequence?”

“Yes. I believe I would.”

“Why?”

He is quiet for a moment, watching through the window at the fast- disappearing planet. “Because it was the best choice at the time. And it was mine to make. No one forced me; not even the situation coerced my decision. It offered our enemy a moment of peace, and then a moment of retribution when my side betrayed them. And it was well-deserved retribution. So yes, birdie. I’d do it again.”

You nod, your fingers tightening around the steering shafts. “So would I. What we did down there. What I chose.”

Then it was the right choice, his sigh says, and he leans his head back, eyes closed, while your ship breaks atmo.

[liaromancewriter]

It Happened One Miami Night (4/5)

Series Premise: A work trip to Miami means finally accepting that some risks are worth taking. Or are they?

Fandom: Choices Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff Words: 1,750

Series Masterlist

A/N: I'm using Prompt #269 from @creativepromptsforwriting. Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills. Submission to @choicesmaychallenge24 prompt "stormy eyes"

Ethan Ramsey let himself into the hotel room with a sigh of relief, the mask of professionalism falling in the privacy of the suite overlooking the gentle waves of the Atlantic Ocean outside.

He had tried to lose himself in intellectually stimulating conversations with colleagues and prepping for the panel. But the urge to march down to the exhibit hall and shake Declan Nash until the smug bastard spilled his secrets never entirely went away.

He needed a break from everything.

For just one night, he wanted to lose himself in the company of a woman who had plagued his lust-filled dreams for months. To pretend they were just two people, dressed to the nines, enjoying passable wine and canapes, and hitting the casino for lighthearted fun.

He deserved to put himself first, even if it was just for a few hours. Naveen wouldn’t begrudge him that. The older man would likely cheer from the sidelines at seeing his mentee let loose.

He walked into the bedroom, noting signs of occupancy. Cassie must have dropped by the room earlier. Her suitcase lay on the luggage rack, closed but unzipped. A makeup bag and hairbrush were on the vanity table, and a phone charging cable was unplugged on the bedside table.

He picked up a tube of hand cream, flicked open the cap and squeezed a dollop on his finger. Rubbing the cream between his index finger and thumb, he inhaled as the subtle scent hit his scenes.

Her.

One night, he thought, taking out his phone to text her. A few hours when he wasn’t Dr. Ramsey, the attending, and she wasn’t Dr. Valentine, the intern.

A momentary game of let’s pretend couldn’t hurt, could it?

Cassie Valentine sipped the fruity concoction and hummed as delicious flavors exploded on her tongue. Wearing a red swimsuit and a white sundress that doubled as a cover-up, she sunk into a beach lounger and adjusted the floppy hat to shade her face and eyes from the sharp rays of the late afternoon sun.

The conference sessions had been engaging, but she deserved some downtime after a long day of travel and running around. And Miami, with its perfect weather and beautiful vistas, was ideal for relaxation. The resort’s pool area, one of two, overlooked the beach below, and this section, with its infinity pool and Tiki bar, was designed for unwinding.

She was loathe to leave but knew she was cutting it close for the casino-themed cocktail reception. Ethan had forwarded her an email about it late last night.

She remembered thinking the man could’ve told her earlier so she wouldn’t have struggled so much with her wardrobe choices. It was fortuitous that she had packed the formal gown before getting his email.

It would be nice to leave the hotel, though. Maybe partake in the nightlife in South Beach or head to Calle Ocho for Cuban food. Should she invite Ethan? It would be strange not to since they were here together.

Would he even want to come, or would his mask of indifference descend again, keeping her at a distance?

Her phone signaled a text before she could (once again) ponder the mystery of Ethan Ramsey’s moods.

Meet me in the suite.

Rolling her eyes at his on-brand brevity, she unlocked the phone screen to reply but stopped. She stared as three dots disappeared and reappeared several times. She waited for those three dots to turn into something, anything, but her screen remained stubbornly blank.

Pursing her lips in disappointment, Cassie finished her drink. She gathered her things and shoved her feet into matching flip-flops.

Time to get back to work.

—

Ethan was about to shower when he heard the beep and click of the door unlatching, and Cassie called his name. The ensuite door was open a crack to let out steam, and now they could also talk.

“In here,” he called back.

He adjusted the temperature and stepped into the tub, letting the warm water from the showerhead batter his tired muscles. He cursed wordlessly when he realized his tux was on the bed instead of hanging on the hooks behind the bathroom door.

He’d have to ask her to step into the other room while he changed. Stripping in front of a subordinate was grounds for sexual harassment, no matter how innocent the reason.

“Dr. Valentine, reporting for duty,” Cassie said from outside the door, raising her voice over the sound of the shower.

Ethan rolled his eyes at the cheeky tone, not realizing a smile hovered on his lips in response. He absently glanced at the bathroom mirror and caught her reflection in the tall mirror overlooking the bedroom area. She leaned over the bed, ass in the air, digging through her travel bag.

“Tonight is not about Nash,” he said, looking away to squirt body wash into his palm. “The reception is about making a good impression. So, dress appropriately.”

“Why didn’t you tell me there was a reception?” Cassie said worriedly.

He narrowed his eyes in concentration as he washed the suds off. He’d been distracted this week but was positive he’d told her.

“I know I emailed you about the reception tonight.” Ethan shut off the shower and reached for the towel. “Naveen always said socializing at these events is essential for young doctors. You’ll make connections that help you advance in your career and secure jobs and funding.”

Cassie swiped mascara over her lashes, smiling at the put-upon tone in Ethan’s voice. She recognized it as one he used when he wanted to exercise restraint but was too impatient to bother. He was either gritting his teeth or pinching the bridge of his nose.

She thought it was most likely the latter. She noticed Ethan doing that during rounds whenever one of them messed up.

Unable to help herself from needling him, she anxiously said, “But it’s a casino theme! I have to look nice!”

“Do you honestly believe I give a damn what you have on?” Ethan growled.

Cassie bit back a grin. It was so easy to rile him up. She finished her makeup by dabbing a shimmering bronze along the lids, the smokey look making her green eyes sparkle.

She looked up at the bathroom mirror's reflection, fully prepared to keep chiding him. But the words got stuck in her throat as he climbed out of the shower, a towel hitched around his hips. She swallowed loudly as lust shot straight to her belly.

Cassie had seen him shirtless before when they tested the fMRI machine. But that had been in a clinical setting with harsh fluorescent lights, not in the intimacy of a romantic couples’ suite, with the soft glow of the setting sun and bedroom lighting enveloping them.

Before she could look away, Ethan glanced up and caught her staring.

“Just throw on whatever you brought with you,” he said, breaking the awkward silence between them.

He entered the bedroom, and Cassie rushed past him into the bathroom, a garment bag clutched in her hand.

Relieved at avoiding further discomfort, he quickly donned his tuxedo, knotting the bow tie with practiced moves. He slipped his feet into dress shoes, bending down to tie his laces.

When the bathroom door opened behind him, he straightened and turned to face her. He did a double take at the sight of her looking so elegant, and his heart stopped for a second.

His eyes trailed over her, unable or perhaps unwilling to look away, drawn to the mysteries in her smokey eyes. The neckline hugged her breasts, the lines of the midnight blue gown accentuated the curve of her hips, and the shimmering cape framed her bare arms.

His hands ached to touch, but he shoved them in his pant pockets instead.

“You, uh, found something.” His mouth was dry, and he tripped over the words.

“Yeah. I always come prepared.” Cassie smiled as she slipped on a pair of high heels.

“Lucky for me.” The words slipped out before he could stop himself. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat, frowning for good measure. “I mean, lucky for you. You look… very… appropriate.”

Cassie spied the splash of red coloring his cheeks and turned away before he noticed her scrutiny. Ethan could pretend he was indifferent, but she’d seen the attraction in his blue eyes.

Feeling vindicated at his reaction, she fiddled with the tiny clutch, checking that her keycard, conference ID and cell phone were tucked inside.

He walked over to stand behind her, and they stared at their reflection in the mirror. They looked like a couple ready to head out on the town.

Cassie thought Ethan in a tux was a sight to behold, and she was glad he was hers, even if it was only for one night. She itched for her phone to take a selfie to capture this moment, but she didn’t want to break the spell cast over them.

A storm was brewing between them, static electricity shooting off tiny, invisible sparks as thunder gathered in the calm before the lightning strike.

“I would say we look ready, wouldn’t you?” he grinned.

Cassie met his eyes in the mirror and grinned back. “Absolutely.”

For tonight, she was Cinderella, and he was her Prince Charming. She was ready to be swept away in the fairytale that was theirs alone.

—

There is a common saying about the calm before the storm, but no one ever talks about the deafening silence after the storm hits.

Later that night, Cassie lay in bed staring at the dark ceiling, the oppressive silence muffling the tears trailing unchecked past her cheeks. Texting with Max had helped calm her down, but now she was morose again, lost in memories of what was.

The thundering of their hearts as their lips met, finally after months of longing. The crackle of electricity in the wake of Ethan’s hands touched her all over. Their palms rested on each other’s hearts, feeling them beat in tandem with their breathless pants.

Her boldness. His vulnerability.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to forget the last few hours. But all she saw was the tortured expression on Ethan’s face and the storm raging in his eyes as she beckoned him to their bed.

He was right to stop things before they went too far. Cassie’s head knew that. But her heart wasn’t as understanding.

How could her fairytale evening have turned into a nightmare?

-------------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter

@lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb

@quixoticdreamer16 @justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[greenbloods]

Literally every single thing we know has to happen in The Winds of Winter and A Dream of Spring, plus a bunch of things that will probably happen:

(according to me); post below cut

In the East

In the Battle of Blood at Meereen, Dany's forces against the Ghiscari armies will prevail in a costly victory

most likely: Barristan will die in the Battle for Meereen, though Daenerys' forces will prevail; most likely, Victarion's Dragonbinder will be blown, causing confusion and a false charge in Barristan's forces, leading to his death, while the blowing of Dragonbinder will have unexpected consequences for Victarion

I have no idea with Dany tbh. All I know is that she has to fulfill Quaithe's prophecy and the House of the Undying prophecies somehow and come to Westeros, and probably fight in the War for the Dawn. (maybe kill Khal Jhaqo, fly to Vae Dothrak to fulfill the House of the Undying Visions and "to reach the west you must go east", fly to Asshai to "pass beneath the shadow", fly to Meereen and Volantis and Pentos and return to Westoros, maybe even with Victarion's ships, and meet Maester Marwyn in Meereen?? who even knows)

Dany will find out what Quaithe's deal was

the Tattered Prince will get somehow get his price of Pentos

Lynesse Hightower being the consort of a Triarch of Lys will become relevant; perhaps: she uses her influence in Lysene politics to cause Lys to side with Dany (parallel: Johanna Swann in the Dance of the Dragons)

the ailing old Sealord of Braavos will die, and Tormo Fregar will become the new Sealord as Arya predicts, and will come out in support of Dany

In the North

the Night's Watch will disintegrate into chaos in the aftermath of Jon's death, similar to the Republic after Caesar's death

the corpses in the cellars of Castle Black will rise

the free folk will sail to Hardhome

the Wall will fall at least in part, and the War for the Dawn will finally begin with the crossing of the Others

Jon will be resurrected from warging into Ghost (probably only after the Wall falls); will be resurrected either by Melisandre (likely) or Lady Stoneheart (less likely)

Jon will find out that he is the heir to Robb's will

Jon will find out the truth about his parentage

Howland Reed will finally appear on-page

the Others will seize the freefolk at Hardhome and march upon the Wall, as the freefolk and Night's Watch (remnants) rally Stannis & the Northern lords to beat back the Others' forces. as the Wall crumbles and the North is consumed by the forces of the undead

Davos will find Rickon in Skagos

Stannis will defeat the Boltons in the Battle on the Ice, meet with then take up the Northern alliance to beat back the Others; he will die

Hodor's name origin will be revealed as he "holds the door"

Jojen and Hodor and Meera and Summer will die ("One by one his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him, and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds...")

Shireen's greyscale will infect others, perhaps spread by Patchface biting ("I have seen that one with his lips dripping with blood"), waking the stone dragon of grey plague at the Wall, fulfilling Melisandre's and Patchface's prophecies

Bran will leave the cave to join the war against the Others

Robb's crown will come back into importance, probably given to Jon by Lady Stoneheart [???]

the Starks will reunite

the heart of winter in the far North will be explained and perhaps will even be explored

the "dragons can't go beyond the Wall" Chekhov's gun (Queen Alysanne and Silverwing) will fire and the dragons will go north ("I see them in my dreams, Sam. I see a red star bleeding in the sky. I still remember red. I see their shadows on the snow, hear the crack of leathern wings, feel their hot breath. My brothers dreamed of dragons too, and the dreams killed them, every one.")

(In the Riverlands)

Arya will leave the Faceless Men with Needle & reunite with Nymeria in the Riverlands

Jaime will escape his Lady Stoneheart execution (somehow)

Blackfish will continue to resist Lannister rule as an outlaw, and might reunite with Lady Stoneheart

Lady Stoneheart will die a final death

Walder Frey will die and his children will squabble for succession (Frey civil war, possibly Red Wedding 2.0)

In the South

Myranda Royce's knowledge of 'Alayne's' true identity will become important; she will tell her father Nestor Royce that Alayne is Sansa, and Nestor's supposed siding with Littlefinger against the other Valelords will be used for Littlefinger's downfall

Sansa will play the game of thrones and gain the support of the Valelords, outplaying and killing Littlefinger ("and later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow")

Young Griff + Joncon will win Storm's End and the Stormlands "by guile" (probably involving Edric Storm)

Young Griff will form an alliance with Dorne by marrying Arianne (who wants to be queen), and will march on King's Landing

Quentyn's death will affect Dorne; most likely, Doran will hear of it and refuse to ally with Daenerys, siding instead with Young Griff

(In Oldtown)

Euron will unleash 'krakens from the deep' in the Battle of Blood off Oldtown and destroy the Reachman fleet

Euron's magic will be resisted by Hightower sorcery and by Alleras' glass candle

[??] Sam's warhorn will be revealed as Joramun's Horn, and Euron will blow it, triggering the fall of the Wall

the dragonlore that the Faceless Men stole in the AFFC Prologue will be used, either by Euron or by the Faceless Men themselves

Gilly and Dalla's babe will find a home, either in Oldtown or at Horn Hill

Sam will go back North to fight for the war for the dawn (Marwyn: "A time will come when you'll be needed on the Wall")

(In King's Landing)

Tommen will die, and Myrcella too ("gold will be their shrouds")

Joncon, hearing the bells of King's Landing, will go mad and attack wildly, setting off the wildfire caches under the city

Jaime will choke Cersei to death (valonqar prophecy), dying together ("we were born together and will die together")

the words of House Dayne will be revealed

the true identity of Azor Ahai's sword Lightbringer will be possibly revealed (probably Dawn)

the Sword of the Morning will be wielded in battle against the Others in the War for the Dawn

Darkstar's actual motives as part of the Dornish intrigue will be revealed

the reason for Ashara's death will be revealed

Tyrion will join with Daenerys and bring fire and blood to Westeros, confronting his siblings one last time before they die

Edric Storm and Gendry will return to the narrative

Loras will reappear, with his injuries likely recovered or non-existent

Illyrio and Varys' full plot and their full relation to each other will be revealed to us

Joncon, hearing the bells of King's Landing, will go mad and attack wildly, setting off the wildfire caches under the city set by Aerys' orders seventeen years ago; King's Landing will burn