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ithebookhoarder · 5 months

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(BAU Headcanons) Spending a day off with your S.O.

Aaron Hotchner

Ok. So. First of all... Aaron's casual wardrobe is sinful and I feel like I need to mention it when talking about days off. After all, he's not going to turn down the excuse not to wear a shirt and tie, knowing jeans and his usual polo shirts are better suited to both relaxing and possibly chasing after Jack.

If you two ever got a rare day off then he would do his best to make you breakfast in bed, knowing that having an excuse to stay in bed is a luxury.

If Jack is with you, and not at Jessica's, then you know Jack would be right next to him in the kitchen, begging to help. I mean, if you watch Bluey, picture the episode where Bingo is trying to make that omelette for Bandit on his birthday... that's basically the vibe here.

Hotch wouldn’t try to force you out of the house if you didn’t want to go, as he’s perfectly happy to stay in and play with you and Jack. After all, you have the most recent lego set, which you bought him for his birthday, to finish building.

"You up for that buddy? Six hands are better than four, after all."

Or, if you don't have the energy or patience, then you three can curl up on the sofa together and watch movies and the backlog of tv shows you’ve missed out on whilst you’ve been away working.

Fun Fact: Aaron would rather die than admit to the rest of the BAU that you got him hooked on reality shows like The Real Housewives of Beverley Hills or Below Deck -but he is. He finds them fascinating case studies in human behaviour... or that's his excuse anyway when you call him out on it.

However, if you do want to actually leave the house and get outside then he’d be pretty relaxed about whatever it is you wanted to do, as long as you could all do it together.

He'd also love it if you both got the chance to go for a run, enjoying the rare opportunity to race you through the nearby park. You can just soak in the sunshine and watch the other people as they make their way through the world, before grabbing a coffee on your way home.

David Rossi

Rossi is a man who knows the value of creature comforts, as we've seen repeatedly in the show. You know this man enjoys having time off to indulge himself - and you too.

As soon as he knows he has the day off, you can bet he's driving you to the local farmer's market to buy all the ingredients needed for a home cooked feast.

Despite promising to be there only an hour, you know he's the kind of person who would talk to each and every vendor, learning all their names and asking after their families as if they've been friends since birth.

You'd end up spending almost the entire morning - and part of the afternoon - shopping, sampling various treats and wares, and buying several bag's worth, before you're finally able to drag him back to the car.

As he's cooking, Rossi would definitely play his favourite records. He alternates between crooning along and telling you tidbits about the artists - and the many crazy memories he has about these records.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I first heard this? We were in this tiny little motel, in the middle of a horrific blizzard, and several whiskeys in..."

It's hard not to get distracted, drawn in as he pulls you close and starts dancing about the kitchen. You'd get so distracted that you almost let dinner spoil and only remember it's even there when you start to smell something burning.

"Ah! Merda!"

After dinner you know you'd end up outside on his patio, enjoying the view as the sun goes down, over a cocktail of his choosing.

Derek Morgan

You know this eager beaver would not be spending a day off with you doing nothing or letting the day ‘go to waste’.

He’d be at your doorstep bright and early, looking unfairly energetic for someone who has been running on minimal sleep all week.

Thankfully, he brings coffee and breakfast with him which is his way of bribing you to get your ass up and out with him.

As for the day itself, he’d either have the day planned to a ’t’ or he’d have nothing planned at all.

“Relax, sweetness, we’re letting the day take us where it may. Enjoy the ride.”

He'd love having a reason to take you to whatever property he's renovating, hoping to share his vision for the place and getting your opinion on it all.

He'd even let you have a swing or two with a sledgehammer if there's a dry-wall that needs taking down. It's a great stress-reliever for you both, and there's nothing like hammering along in the time to beat of whatever playlist he's chosen.

He'd also order you a pizza, or whatever take-out you fancied, as payment for all your hard work.

You know he'd also been keen to help you wash up later, running you both a hot bath to soak in as you actually have the time to enjoy it.

And just between us - he knows Hotch and Rossi would have his guts his they found out - but he may or may not have left your cellphones on the bed-side table just to ensure you get an hour of peace, undisturbed...

Emily Prentiss

Ok. So. Emily loves having a day off almost as much as she enjoys working.

She doesn't require much in the way of plans. In fact, her ideal day off from the BAU involves you, a crossword puzzle, and your usual table by the window at the coffee shop around the corner.

It's right by the window, so you can bathe in the sun whilst you nurse your way through coffee after coffee.

The whole place reminds her of one similar that she spent her time in, in Paris. Just like then, she loves reading books, and completing the daily crossword with your help.

"Damn it. This is what time in Europe gets you - I forgot there's no 'u' in color. No wonder it wasn't fitting."

Emily also has a game she likes to play, watching the people around you, guessing what their stories are and imaging outlandish profiles for them all. It's a privilege to enjoy it when it's for entertainment and not out of a need to be aware of your surroundings or an ongoing threat assessment.

Afterwards, you'd go for a stroll around the park and most likely visit the shops you rarely get a chance to.

You both spend ages going through the racks and modelling outfits for one another, knowing you need some new things to fill out your wardrobes other than work-attire. It's a like private treat for yourselves.

Once you're home again, I feel Emily would want to cook and would do a pretty good job when she has the energy. However, she is not above ordering takeout when you both can’t be bothered.

After all, it gives you both more time together to lie in bed, with Sergio curled up between you, purring loudly as you take it in turns to pet him.

Depending on when you two got together (before or after Will), she would love to have a chance for the both of you to spend the day with Henry.

You're her family and the most important thing in the world to her. It's why she can't stop beaming as you spend the afternoon at the park together, running rings around the place and clambering all over the playground.

"I swear this kid is faster than most of the Unsubs we chase - and more sneaky too."

JJ would bring all your favourite snacks with her so you can all lie out on the grass and feast once your energy levels drop. She doesn't even mention the sugar content or how many E-numbers there are. You all deserve a treat, Henry included, so she's willing to put her 'mom hat' aside for a minute.

I feel like she'd also try and put her mom hat aside so you two can have some time without a child in tow. She'd try and make a last minute arrangement to get a sitter so you two can have some 'adult' time.

This normally involves making a reservation at your favourite restaurant, and insisting on you both dressing fancy just for the fun of it.

After all, you never get to play at being grown ups and just enjoy wearing something because it looks nice and not because you can run around in the field in it.

"I've had these heels for years and I swear I've only got to wear them like three times - and this skirt! I love this skirt."

Once you get to the restaurant, you spend hours just talking, drinking, and eating before taking a stroll on the way home.

You then curl up in bed and fall asleep to the sound of the TV playing your favourite movies, safe and warm in each other's arms.

Penelope Garcia

This girl is the queen of relaxing. If she doesn’t have to be awake before noon then you can bet your ass she’ll be tucked up and toasty till 12:01.

Once she's awake, however, she's a flustered mess, struggling to pick between her various plans for your time off together. There's just so much she wants to do with you and never enough time.

"What? I'm the queen of fun and I just want to make sure we make the most of our time together, sugar plum. I can't help it. I'm excited to have a day just you and me, not that I don't love the others too. I do, but you know, just having it be us is rare -"

You stop her rambling with a kiss, which of course makes her melt.

I feel like Penelope would always try and spend part of the day with you in the kitchen, baking a new recipe to take to work for the others to try.

She'd also love spending the day on the sofa with you, watching either a Rom-com or a Sci-fi marathon (depending on your moods).

Once the decision has been made, she'd insist on gathering supplies - AKA: onesies, takeout and face masks.

"It's the holy trinity of self-care," she explains, holding up your choices. "Now, do you want the tea-tree or coconut face mask?"

However, if you do feel like getting out of the house, then Penelope would take you on theatre trips - which are booked last minute but with amazing seats (courtesy of Penelope’s connections and slightly unorthodox know-how).

The others are still jealous after finding out she got you tickets to Hamilton, front row, with the original cast.

Dr Spencer Reid

You know Spencer is the kind of person that has a list of things the size of his arm that he’d love to do with you on a rare day off.

You’d probably have to negotiate with him to figure out which ones you could reasonably do in just 24 hours - and you try to find a balance between appeasing his interests and yours.

For example, you don’t mind sitting through a Russian movie festival if afterwards he agrees to let you wander around your favourite bookshop and spend as long as you want exploring the shelves - without him critiquing or spoiling the endings before you even have a chance to read the blurb.

If you also happened to let it slip that you'd never watched every single episode of Doctor Who that's ever been made, then you know your future days off will be spent marathoning on the couch.

"I'm just saying that he's underrated as the Doctor as arguably the narratives of his episodes are far better developed and reflect the point of the show, which is that the Doctor isn't perfect but rather a time-travelling refugee who acts as a healer, counsellor, and protector of the universe. It's why he calls himself 'The Doctor' ..."

He always looks so adorable when he gets excited about something he loves. It's hard not to fall in love with him all over again.

Apart from watching TV, you both also love spending days off on that couch, curled up together, reading your way through the stack of books you both had in your never ending ‘TBR’ pile.

Spencer would love listening to you discuss whatever you're reading, doing his best to memorise the characters, plots, and your thoughts on both. It's the least he can do when you listen so patiently every time he starts rambling on about whatever his latest hyper-fixation is.

"Can I... can I borrow that when you're finished? I'm now curious - just don't tell the others, ok?"

Masterlist

#ithebookhoarder #thesilentmage #masterlist #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #david rossi x reader #david rossi #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #penelope garcia x reader #penelope garcia

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gay-dorito-dust · 8 months

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OMG for the opla requests if they r still open !! something with a jealous or protective buggy x reader would be perfect!!

My requests are always open! 🦦❤️💕

It’s not a stretch to say that when Buggy becomes jealous it’s purely because deep down he’s heavily insecure man, despite how cocky and confident he may come across as, whilst shit talking whoever opposes him with a shit eating grin.

But that grin never meets his eyes as the muscles in his jaw visibly tighten and whilst on the topic of his ever so beautiful eyes, they didn’t seem to twinkle nor gleam with their usual mischief whilst doing his routine theatrics; Instead they held a type of malice that acts to conceal the actual emotions running through him in real time.

While he prides himself in having someone that everyone else wanted -that person being you- in regards of how often he’d look away from you for one second, only to find you being chatted up by some stranger within the fraction of the time it took for him to blink! Buggy also couldn’t help but feel as though that his time spent with you was steadily inching towards it’s impending end. For each and every person that came up to you ended up being more beautiful or more handsome then the last, that it made Buggy very insecure in his own outward appearance as questions he’d had shoved down a while back beginning to resurface.

Things such as;

Were you happy with him?

Or did you like what you were seeing elsewhere?

Do you think him hideous?

Or were you biting your tongue out of pity for him and his glass heart?

But most importantly; did you still love him as much as the day you openly confessed to loving him?

Or had that love wavered over time as new temptations were brought in and out of your life?

These questions torment him well into the night the longer it went on, but not once did he think that he could tell you about any of this without you thinking that he’s lost trust in you. Which wasn’t the case; Buggy trusts you a whole lot more in comparison to the people who were openly trying to shoot their shot with you whilst he was right there to witness all of it happening.

And so naturally it pissed him off to the point where that no matter where it was that you went, you’d always be carrying something of his that boldly told anyone and everyone who it was that you belonged to. Whether that be hickies spanning the length of your neck and other visible places, his Sigil drawn on somewhere or smears of his makeup on your face from physically intensive activities.

This guy is like a peacock when threatened; he makes himself look as big as possible, makes loud threats or -when push comes to shove- going as far as to straight up challenge the person whom threatens to steal you away from the flashy fool; After all, nobody was aloud to take away his most precious and most priceless treasure. Hell Buggy even has you perched on his lap as he’s sits upon his throne, one hand propping up his head whilst the other hand rested against your waist, keeping you in a position where you were reliant on him.

You’re his just as much as he is yours and he’s not about to let some random person ruin all that.

All you need to do on your end is actually quite simple; reassure Buggy that he was everything you’ve ever needed in a partner and so much more, that it dashes the possibility of there ever being anyone else to smithereens, for no one else could come close to your beloved Buggy.

Gently hold his face in your hands as you kiss your love and adoration into his skin, making sure to give most of your attention towards that cute nose of his, knowing how it’s the main source of his insecurities, as he straight up falls apart in your hands. Literally. You have his head in his hands whilst the rest of his body was a pile of parts at your feet that you wished you could take a picture of this moment forever, but due to you being occupied for the rest of the day, so in the end you made an attempt to memorise this moment to memory as best as you could so that you could always go back to it when you’d fallen asleep in bed beside him.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the obvious effect you have on this goof who fills your heart with so much love, that sometimes it made verbalising your feelings harder then necessary. And yet seeing your lovers eyes fall shut and hearing his breathing even out from just your touch alone made the honeyed words flow like water.

It didn’t take much to quell Buggy’s fear and his upset but don’t think you’ll be getting away anytime soon, I’m afraid your stuck there until Buggy feels like he’s had enough. It’s like the equivalent of having a cat fall fast asleep on you for the first time since bringing it home, you don’t wanna move in the instance of accidentally waking it up.

#opla buggy #opla x reader #opla buggy x reader #one piece live action x reader #one piece live action #opla #buggy x reader

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mozzaroni · 4 months

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frobin nation 💪🔥

(image ids available in alt descriptions as well as under the cut)

Image ID:

Image 1: two colored line drawings of the character nico robin from one piece - specifically her pre-timeskip design - against a gray background. her design differs from the original in that she has dark-ish brown skin, a wide hooked nose, heterochromia - with a light blue right eye and a hazel left - and a more realistically slim form with a smaller chest and a thicker waist. she is wearing her third outfit featured in the alabasta arc. it features a light purple button up with the first few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up past her elbows, purple bell-bottoms, and slightly bluer purple boots with gray soles. the drawing on the left is bust-up while the one on the right features her from head to toe, albeit it's less detailed than the former. she wears a small smile on her face in both. the full-body drawing has her standing up straight, left arm across her front and hand curling up and around her right elbow while her right hand is up towards her head, fingertips touching the right side of her face. a small purple heart floats next to her there.

Image 2: two black line drawings colored in with white, gray, and black against a white background featuring two characters from one piece: nico robin on the left and franky on the right, both with their respective pre-timeskip designs. they're both drawn bust up, leaning towards the POV, with their faces looking as if they took a picture of themselves really up close with a .5 lens. robin looks like her eyes are looking in two opposite directions with her nose taking up a large portion of her face due to it being the closest to the POV. she is smiling so so happily with her mouth closed. franky is in a similar state, with his eyes further away and staring straight at the POV, an open-mouthed grin creasing his face. you can see the inside of his nostrils a bit. the idea of the drawing was to show what each of them look like from the others' POV when their faces are really close to each other, but it moreso looks like they're just really happy to see the viewer, which i'm not too upset about if i'm honest.

Image 3: a simple black line drawing against a white background that features franky (with the same design as previously stated) bust up with an open mouthed grin on his otherwise regular expression. a three part speech bubble to his right states, "They call me 'SUPER FRANKY'", "the way… i am that… as in, i am 'SUPER'…", "and my name… is Franky."

Image 4: a simple black line drawing against a white background that features franky in the foreground to the right and robin in the background placed in the middle of the image. they both have the same designs as previously stated. franky is drawn shoulders-up and robin is drawn bust-up. the rest of her body is not visible since she's sat at a table across from franky. robin has her left forearm resting in front of her chest on the table and her right elbow resting behind her left fist. she has her face resting against her right hand and is staring at franky with comically large and wide eyes. she has yet another one of her famous small smiles on her face. franky is looking at the viewer over his left shoulder so his face is in a profile view, a closed-mouth grin on his smug face. a thought bubble that floats above robin's head indicates that franky is thinking, "the ladies love me" with an asterisk at the end of the sentence. to robin's right and our left, three lines of text that start with an asterisk say, "fact checkers have reported this as true" with a checked checkbox placed after the last word.

End ID.

#robert downey jr voice they are t4t #nico robin #franky #one piece #delicious cheese #frobin

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intuitionallyspiritual · 8 months

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ρꪖᥴ (ρ𝓲ᥴ𝘬 ꪖ ᥴꪖ𝘳ᦔ) 𝘳ꫀꪖᦔ𝓲ꪀᧁ

ꪗꪮꪊ𝘳 ꪶ𝓲ᠻꫀ ꪖ𝘴 ꪖ ᥴꫀꪶꫀ᥇𝘳𝓲𝓽ꪗ

Description: choose the pile that you feel most drawn to. It helps if you close your eyes and let your eyes guide you.

Warning ⚠️ ‼️: This is a general reading meaning it may not fully resonate with you as their are many energies engaging in a pile

Let me know your opinions in the comments

(Shoutout to them for making me think about doing this: @bitdemonic @evangelinesbible @allmyloveandyours

ᥴꫝꪮꪮ𝘴ꫀ ꪖ ρ𝓲ꪶꫀ:

ρ𝓲ꪶꫀ 1 (𝘴ɀꪖ, ᦔꪮ𝓳ꪖ ᥴꪖ𝓽)

ꫝꪮ᭙ ρꫀꪮρꪶꫀ ᭙𝓲ꪶꪶ ꪜ𝓲ꫀ᭙ ꪗꪮꪊ

People will view you as a very hard worker. You may also just show up on random things that isn’t in you element for example if you are a singer you’ll be seen in a movie or if your an actor/actress you’ll start a music career. By in your element I don’t mean your bad at what isn’t your element I just mean that you’ll be seen in places that wasn’t what you were known for. You like to try new things out, because of that people think you have a tendency to take on more than what you can handle and over exert yourself, however once you start something you finish it but it can lead to long breaks. They feel as though you are very creative in your way of thinking and honestly this is giving trend setter. You create your own path in what you want to deliver to the world. You don’t just stick to one genre, it goes all over the place, you have quite the duality and you fulfill each and every one. You are known for being quite the happy person, you don’t like to show what you would consider to be a weakness so people would see you as a very happy and excited about life however you also have that elegance to you where it doesn’t come off as ditzy. You give off a sexy vibe effortlessly.

ꪗꪮꪊ𝘳 ᠻꪖꪀ𝘴

Okay let me tell you, your fans are VERY passionate about you and will go to war for you at any given moment because a lot of them are going to be younger. Your most influential fans are teens to young adults. They do get confused on the genre changes and all the other projects that you do however they are standing 10 rows down for you. Your fans are hilarious and are the type to make memes out of you so be prepared. Your fans have big pride in you and they probably have your face as their profile picture. They are DEVOTED on another level. Your fans are also very confident in themselves so it makes me think that you act as a bada$$ in shows or make bada$$ music. Don’t be surprised to see edits of yourself.

ꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ ꪮ𝘳 ᠻꫀꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ?

Male Gaze is very prominent here and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. You just exert the physical appearance that men/masculine people love. Your male fans are very funny and witty.

ᦔꪖ𝓽𝓲ꪀᧁ ꪶ𝓲ᠻꫀ

Let’s just say you are going to be VERY popular in terms of the dating life. I see that people overseas even find you very attractive. You’ll get lots of dating offers from rich people, athletes, other musicians etc you have lots of options to choose from. You’ll be very happy and content within your dating life and if your significant other messes up you can just go straight to the next. I’m seeing that you’ll probably be quite famous for going on to the next because it won’t be private considering your popularity. You’ll attract all genders. Just know that rich people will always try to look for an opportunity to make you theirs.

᭙ꫝꪖ𝓽 ꪗꪮꪊ ᭙ꪮꪊꪶᦔ ᥇ꫀ ᥴꪖꪀᥴꫀꪶꪶꫀᦔ ᠻꪮ𝘳

Remember when I said you guys would like to explore different things? Yeah… you may unknowingly do a project that has some horrible undertones to it that you may have not even knew about. Like working with/being friends with someone problematic or acting in something that would be considered problematic and things to that nature but I don’t feel like it would completely end your career.

ρ𝓲ꪶꫀ 2 (ᧁ𝓲𝘳ꪶ 𝘳ꪖ𝓲𝘴𝓲ꪀᧁ ᠻ𝓲ꪀᧁꫀ𝘳)

ꫝꪮ᭙ ρꫀꪮρꪶꫀ ᭙𝓲ꪶꪶ ꪜ𝓲ꫀ᭙ ꪗꪮꪊ

I don’t know why this is giving me politician vibes but I feel they would view you as someone who speaks on their views like everyone and their mom will know how you feel about certain views you’ll be very vocal about it. (If you are a woman you may be the oldest girl in your family idk just kind of got that feeling to it) they feel as though you have a concept and you like to stick to it, it’s not that you don’t have duality you just prefer to stick to what you KNOW will be a success. You also give out a lot of content so your fans will be spoiled with pictures and videos of you. They view you as very creative and imaginative I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you had your own sound and genre. You know what your fans want and you articulate that into your music/acting or any type of celebrity you want to be. You give off big sister/brother energy tbh just very reliable and people come to you with their problems. (You may have Pisces in your chart or a Neptune based chart) you only like when people see you succeed so a lot of the time your fans never see you in a bad light because you only give out positive energy. Very hardworking as well.

ꪗꪮꪊ𝘳 ᠻꪖꪀ𝘴

Your fans are… questionably intense they do not play about you whatsoever this is giving very much die hard fans however I’m getting that your fans have a reputation for saying and doing toxic stuff so your fans do give you a bad reputation in a sense. HUGE fan base however i feel like your art really touches the soul for most of these people. It’s giving heavy Aries energy and Leo actually just fire signs in general. Your fans are very independent people and you may preach individuality in your artistry. There is a good side to your fan base however is that they really can make change happen it’s honestly giving BTS Army and their popularity that is what is reminds me of. They are very territorial of you. Also a lot of your fans may be physically blessed look wise.

ꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ ꪮ𝘳 ᠻꫀꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ?

Both. You have the great ability to attract both gazes with your individuality and that is an extremely great attribute to have in the entertainment industry. You probably thought you would be the male gaze however your fan base is just strong and powerful and the power it has also consist of feminine power.

ᦔꪖ𝓽𝓲ꪀᧁ ꪶ𝓲ᠻꫀ

Emotionally unavailable is what this is giving. I don’t think you’ll be too wrapped up in the dating scene I feel like your artistry is much more important to you than dating or risking what you have. It’s not that you won’t have any options in fact you’ll have PLENTY but I feel like your just not interested in them because you have you walls up in terms of dating idk if you have been hurt in the past or you really just don’t care about relationships but yeah you want be wrapped up in the dating scene you’ll be the type to marry a fan and call it a day. I doubt you’ll have any relationships within the industry.

᭙ꫝꪖ𝓽 ꪗꪮꪊ ᭙ꪮꪊꪶᦔ ᥇ꫀ ᥴꪖꪀᥴꫀꪶꪶꫀᦔ ᠻꪮ𝘳

Your fans lmao. Like I said your fans are pretty ruthless like they might have a reputation of doxing people. You would probably have to control them or find a way to sub stain them because they will be your downfall if not. Every fan group has its bad eggs but your bad eggs are 60% of the fan base.

ρ𝓲ꪶꫀ 3 (𝘴ꫝꪖᦔꪮ᭙ ᭙ꪮꪑꪖꪀ)

ꫝꪮ᭙ ρꫀꪮρꪶꫀ ᭙𝓲ꪶꪶ ꪜ𝓲ꫀ᭙ ꪗꪮꪊ

They view you as very introverted or just keep to yourself. You don’t really let other people in and you move in silence really well like you might randomly drop an album or something you’re included in on a random Tuesday afternoon with no pre warning. You’re perceived as more dark not in a bad way but like in a you might literally like to wear dark clothing or like to wear black. Your style in artistry may be on the more unique side. You probably won’t be very active on social media just very secretive. People view you as someone who can take a lot of shit. They actually believe you went through some hard stuff and tbh you might have. They feel as though you have a lot of disappointments within your artistry like you may like something one day and may not the other day kind of indecisive. They feel as though you are underrated and under appreciated. Your artistry is truly like no other and people don’t understand why you are not getting the attention you deserve.

ꪗꪮꪊ𝘳 ᠻꪖꪀ𝘴

I don’t feel like your fan base will be that big and tbh that can be a good thing especially when that entails paparazzi and stalkers. Although small it will be mighty. Your fans are very passionate about getting you and your art more recognition. They may reply or watch your art constantly to make you more money. They are very consistent but you may need to work on making your fans happy because they may feel like at times you don’t appreciate them because you don’t post regularly or you may forget that you are famous and just kind of neglect them so be careful with that. Unlike you these people are happy I feel like your fan base mostly consist of people who have that “I can fix them” mentality.

ꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ ꪜ𝘴 ᠻꫀꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ?

Both however the female gaze is a little more prominent here. About 30% male and 60% female gaze. There is something about you that entices feminine audiences. You may have a lot of people in the LGBT+ community or you yourself may be of the community but regardless both will be there.

ᦔꪖ𝓽𝓲ꪀᧁ ꪶ𝓲ᠻꫀ

Your dating life won’t be open to the public you keep that very private. However what’s interesting is I feel as though you might get into a relationship with another artist from the industry. You’ll just keep it very private and hidden and nobody will know about it. There is very few people that you are willing to open yourself up to and I feel as though it probably won’t go public until marriage. Very private can’t get much info.

᭙ꫝꪖ𝓽 ꪗꪮꪊ ᭙ꪮꪊꪶᦔ ᥇ꫀ ᥴꪖꪀᥴꫀꪶꪶꫀᦔ ᠻꪮ𝘳

Pissing people off within the industry. I feel like you don’t really like “fake” people and the industry is filled with them so you may have to resting bitch face and people won’t like it because they will feel as though you are disrespectful when in reality you just aren’t gonna fake smile for anyone if you don’t feel happy your not going to smile.

ρ𝓲ꪶꫀ 4 (ꪀꫀᥴ𝘬ꪶ𝓲ꪀꫀ)

ꫝꪮ᭙ ρꫀꪮρꪶꫀ ᭙𝓲ꪶꪶ ꪜ𝓲ꫀ᭙ ꪗꪮꪊ

People view you as someone who had a bad past however you fixed yourself and your mentality. By bad past I mean like things relating to trauma so you may be open to telling your past or people just have that belief of you. Like to could concur anything if you tried. Very multi-talented. You don’t like sticking with one thing you like to experiment like pile 1 however unlike pile 1 you guys like to dabble in things but you will never go out of your comfort zone. You’re not impulsive and you always have a plan. You like things to go accordingly and you may have Virgo placements in your chart. They view you as someone who is very self aware and you know your limits and what you are good at. They feel your very empathic and considerate. You will always try to do your best to make life enjoyable for the next person. You will definitely spoil your fans with content. There will always be something new about you to watch. You also may think quick to responses which make you witty. However be careful not to seem too “fake” just be real and be you I feel like you want to known as perfect. You make people feel safe and protected especially your fans. It’s giving MOTHER.

ꪗꪮꪊ𝘳 ᠻꪖꪀ𝘴

Your fans will feel very connected and personal to you. It’s giving mother and child relationship like they take your advice with the most consideration out of everyone. Your fans are not a mess you have very coordinated fans like the type to organize a concert or organize a meet and greet for you. I feel like your fans will be majority of adults because there is a sense of maturity here and appreciation unlike any of the piles they really admire you but you need to be careful not to let this go to far because I’m seeing that it may go too far with a very small percentage they may try to imitate you. But for the most part your fans represent a part of you and you will NOT let them embarrass you. Neutral level of fame not too big and not too small.

ꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ ꪜ𝘴 ᠻꫀꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ?

You manage to not only capture both gazes but other gazes as well, literally everybody. Well not literally but your fan base is very diverse. A bit more on the male gaze about 55% while female is 45% very close nonetheless. You’re very physically attractive and your personality is very likable. You have the ability to adapt well to each personality.

ᦔꪖ𝓽𝓲ꪀᧁ ꪶ𝓲ᠻꫀ

Let’s just say there is never a dull moment in your romantic life that’s for sure. You will have many powerful suitors millionaires, Athletes, singers, just people who have lots of influence you catch their eyes. I’m seeing you’ll mostly date within the industry and you’ll probably go through consistent breakups as you want to find “the one” but you will find them eventually. They will be an artist like you or in that field.

᭙ꫝꪖ𝓽 ꪗꪮꪊ ᭙ꪮꪊꪶᦔ ᥇ꫀ ᥴꪖꪀᥴꫀꪶꪶꫀᦔ ᠻꪮ𝘳

You would probably cause drama due to relationships. Like you may have broken up with someone powerful and dated another powerful person and now they have beef and etc. just drama out of love and you’ll somehow get involved in the mix.

Thank you for reading let me know what you think in the comments, follow for more 💜

#pac reading #tarot #tarot reading #pick a pile #pick a card #tarotblr #pick a picture #celebrity #pick a card reading #pick a photo #pick an image

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bucknastysbabe · 13 days

Text

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.

#ser criston cole x reader #ser criston cole #criston cole x reader #kingmaker era #heed the tags #targaryen!reader #hotd smut #hotd fanfiction

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jinwoosungs · 29 days

Text

{ 143 }

arise.

jinwoo sung x shadow!fem.reader

warnings: unedited; dark themes like stalking, obsession, and m*rder; read with caution.

“arise.”

there was a voice pulling you out of the dark depths, dragging your soul back to the surface as you let out a soft gasp in response.

you felt the wisps of shadows surrounding your form, covering your body in complete and total darkness. your eyes were blank, and you felt a strange… emptiness deep inside of you.

your eyes were suddenly drawn to a handsome young man standing in front of you. he was bathed in complete darkness, seeming to meld with the darkness itself as he was dressed in a black trench coat. his eyes were glowing a startling purple hue, and you found yourself becoming mesmerized by the mere sight of him.

as your eyes take him in, you were dimly aware of the translucent screen that somewhat hinders your vision. you take a moment to read what the screen says.

[ shadow extraction has been completed. would you like to give her a name? ]

a new name? even your own thoughts sounded fuzzy, like there was static settled within your head

"no, she shall forever remain..." the young man then says a series of syllables, one that fills you with nostalgia as you finally realized that it was probably your name that he had spoken out loud.

"..." you open your mouth and softly call out to him.

"who are you...?” your own voice takes on a softer quality, and you felt as though you had somehow become one with the night itself.

a pained expression fills the young man when he brings you closer to him.

"my name is jinwoo... and you don't have to worry about a single thing. just... just stay by my side from now on."

despite how empty you once felt after being reborn, there was a strange warmth felt spreading across your chest, making you smile as you fell into his embrace.

this was going to be a strange, new life for you, with you being resurrected as sung jinwoo's shadow soldier.

{ ... }

happiness was felt coursing through your veins the moment you decided to meet with your boyfriend.

he was the best man for you, and you loved him so much-

you could not picture a life without him.

as you looked through your chat logs with him, you burned each and every loving word into your memories. you were simply exploring the city, making your way toward the plaza- the planned meeting place of your boyfriend.

suddenly, as you were walking, you felt the hairs stick up from the back of your neck.

huff huff huff…

heavy pants were heard coming from behind you, and you glance back to see a tall man dressed in a hoodie. desire was seen flooding his gaze, and you could feel your heart clenching with fear in response.

you were ready to run, lips already open wide in a gape as a scream was ready to escape from them-

only to feel your screams die against your throat when you felt a comforting embrace around you.

"hey babe, i saw you and decided to meet you anyways."

you smile and look back up at him, only to scream when the entirety of his features was covered in static.

{ ... }

you woke up with a start, feeling the puddle of shadows surrounding you as you slept on the floor next to jinwoo's bed. your shadowy form looked back up at him, and you were happy to see that he was still sleeping soundly.

"is something the matter, my comrade?"

beru was looking down at you, keeping watch over your king while lazily gazing at you.

"you look like you have just woken up from a nightmare. our king will be upset if you are troubled, my dear."

you end up curling up against the floor, feeling your hair hiding your features.

"i think i'm starting to remember something..." your voice was soft, and you felt your heart pounding with anticipation.

"hm, is that so? and just what do you recall?"

you close your eyes and begin to explain, "i think... i was in love... i had a lover who i cherished deeply."

"but, there was someone else, someone tall, someone who was always watching me-"

"that is enough, thy comrade of mine." beru ends up stopping you from explaining any further. "our king still sleeps, and if he knows how much of a turmoil you are in, then he will cease to rest."

you shiver in response, giving the former ant king a nod. you had been a part of jinwoo's shadow army for a few months now, yet you had never once faced combat or joined him in any of his raids. so when igris and beru told you that you were special to their king-

you couldn't help but believe them.

"rest, go back to sleep and keep our king company when the morning comes. i assure you that nothing will make him happier."

you nod and gently fall back within the pool of darkness, sinking into it. with your thoughts now in a limbo, you felt the exhaustion coursing through you. you close your eyes then, feeling like you were falling asleep within the gentle depths of the ocean as darkness surrounded you. basking in such a tranquil feeling, you closed your eyes and began to dream once more.

{ ... }

your stalker had been following you for close to a year now.

it was scary how he was always there, waiting for his next move.

it happened when you began working at the hunter's association within the city of seoul, being known as an a-rank healer as you were placed on missions against high leveled gates.

you were a highly efficient healer, yet you caught the attention of two men who became infatuated with you.

one man became your kind and loving boyfriend,

while the other man became your stalker.

their presence were constantly revolving around you, with one bringing you immense joy-

while the other gave you hell.

you had to suffer through your stalker's constant harassment, yet was too kind to try and alert your boyfriend to the mounting problems.

after all, you figured you could deal with it.

from unhinged love letters sent to your mailbox-

to the constant calls made to your cellphone-

and the thousands upon thousands of texts-

it was enough to make you incredibly anxious.

yet there was little you could do about it.

because when your stalker sent you the same message through a letter, text, and a phone call, his deep voice whispering in your ear

"no one is going to believe you, my precious heart. if you say a word to anyone about my obsession with you, then i'll make sure to have your precious little boyfriend killed with a bullet to his chest."

you knew that you were trapped.

not wanting to endanger the man that you loved, you kept quiet and continued to suffer in silence.

{ ... }

your memories were getting stronger now, with you recalling bits and pieces of your life when you were still alive and well.

you knew that you had a boyfriend that you loved dearly-

and you also knew that you had a stalker that followed your every move, casting a dark shadow within your life.

but what was perhaps most frustrating was how you could never figure out what their faces looked like, or even what their names were.

each time you try to remember a specific detail about their features, your hazy mind would seem to block out their faces from the confines of your mind.

and it was frustrating, to say the least.

however, as you began dwelling on your memories, you couldn't help but have a sneaking suspicion that jinwoo was at the center of it all.

from hearing the discussion amongst the other shadow soldiers, you knew that jinwoo had the ability to call forth the souls of the monsters he had slain.

"arise."

you remember it vividly now, hearing that same, singular line as you were brought back from your death. you felt no pain when he extracted your soul from what you assumed was your decaying body.

which brought you to one conclusion that made the most sense to you:

did jinwoo kill you out of spite and brought you back so that you could stay with him?

was he your stalker?

and did he do this so that you were given no choice but to stay with him forever?

the mere thought of it all was enough to make your stomach churn.

as these thoughts continued to swirl within the depths of your mind, and the more you thought about it, the more it made sense to you.

why else did his other soldiers like beru and igris try to prevent you from remembering certain details of your memories?

why did they constantly change the subject and tell you 'not to worry about it' each time you unlocked a new memory.

it had to be jinwoo-

he had to be your stalker.

so you spent several days ignoring him, not even responding or coming out of his shadow even when he called out your name. instead, you kept quiet and lay in wait while in his shadow, searching for the perfect moment to strike-

waiting for him to be at his most vulnerable.

with his shadow seen lengthening against the hardwood floors of his room, you appear out of it, eyes glowing a deep shade of purple, further displaying your anger for the man who was currently sleeping.

you allow your nails to lengthen in response to your anger, turning into claws as you hovered over jinwoo's body, hands wrapped around his neck as your nails dug into his skin.

he awakens with a start, but does nothing to stop you. his own eyes glowed as well, however, his expression remains calm. as if sensing the scent of his blood, igris, beru, and tusk all surround you, their weapons pointed at your shadowy figure, ready to decapitate you if you dared to hurt their king.

"return." jinwoo's voice was calm and steady, eyes flashing with anger as he hones in his gaze on his three most loyal fighters.

"my king, she has an intent to harm you, we cannot-"

"then i'll die by her hands, RETURN. NOW."

jinwoo's angry voice echoes throughout the room, and all three of his soldiers went back into his shadow without wasting another second. his words make you hesitate, eyes filled with confusion for a brief moment before you went back to choking him.

your nails were felt digging into the base of his throat, "be honest with me, did you kill me?"

he closes his eyes, not even moving an inch when your nails drew even more blood from his neck.

"no." was his simple answer.

you were filled with a red hot vexation, squeezing his neck ever so slightly in response. "bullshit... it was you who brought me back... you were the one that had slain me, so why are you pretending that it wasn't you?"

"why would i ever wish to kill the woman i love?"

his question makes you falter, but you hung on to your determination.

"you don't love me, what you hold is an obsession over me. that's why you killed me; so that i could always remain by your side."

a look of pain crosses jinwoo's features when he lifts up a hand to gently frame at your face.

"it's true... i always wanted you to remain by my side, but while you were still alive and well."

a sudden wave of nausea hits you, making you feel a sharp pain against your head as you let go of jinwoo's neck, feeling something shattering from deep inside of you as your heart began to pulse.

"sarang, hey... i was so eager to see you again that i decided to meet you."

and there it was, your memories were filled with such clarity now, as you could see jinwoo smiling down at you. he was donned in his usual black turtleneck and dress pants, and seeing his handsome smile was enough to make your heart ache in response, momentarily forgetting about the fear he had given you.

but your relief was short lived when you came face to face with the hooded man, your stalker looking at you with jealousy and hatred shining within his black eyes.

"if i can't have you, no one can."

baek jun, the name of your stalker-

and the man that killed you...

{ ... }

you were walking back from the grocery store, buying ingredients to make jinwoo's favorite dinner consisting of kimchi stew and bulgogi beef with rice.

jinwoo had sent you a series of texts, asking you to be careful and to come home soon without 'dawdling around the city.'

but you simply brushed off his concern, feeling safe and sound the moment jinwoo had placed the strongest of his shadow soldiers within your shadow.

however, such protection didn't make you immune to a bullet.

you were dimly aware of what sounded like fireworks when a sudden impact was felt at the back of your head. no pain was felt as you immediately lost your life, your brain bleeding in response to the bullet that was still lodged into your skull, your blood seeming to mix in with the shadows as the same hooded man pocketed his gun.

"fucking whore... leading me around the nose like that... looking down at me for bein' a b-class hunter. that's what you get for not choosin' me."

but you were unable to respond, your lifeless body laid completely still as your eyes remained empty and unseeing. your killer had already left the moment jinwoo appears next to you, using his shadow exchange ability, immediately warping to where you were.

"no, fuck don't do this to me, NO!"

jinwoo's screams of anguish echoes throughout the night as he held your lifeless body closer to him. sobs wracked through his chest, and it felt like his whole world was ending the moment your blood seeped into the fabric of his clothes.

his whole body was shaking when he lays you back down on the ground, whispering i love you, i love you, i love you over and over again.

he loses his senses for a few moments until finally calming down, eyes no longer shedding tears as they glowed a vibrant purple once more.

jinwoo stands back to his full height, placing a hand over your lifeless body before speaking a single word, one that would change your destiny forever.

"arise."

{ ... }

"i remember everything."

you could feel painful gasps escape from your parted lips, but no tears could come out. you were in so much pain-

but more so than your own pain was jinwoo's.

he holds your shadowy form closer to him, with tears streaming down his face as he presses a kiss against your parted lips.

"i'm pathetic, i know, unable to let you go as i turned you into a shadow soldier- so that i will always have you with me."

you nod and continue to cling to him, shaking when you ask him, "and... what happened to that bastard, jun?"

you feel jinwoo press a kiss against your forehead. "i left him for you to handle... as a gift for when you remembered."

your eyes were felt widening in response, yet you were given little time to react when jinwoo hangs on to you, surrounding you with shadows as he used his abilities once more, warping you to an unknown location...

{ ... }

baek jun was a selfish man who believed that he had suffered long enough when he was a mere kid.

his dad was an abusive fucker, always drinking while beating up his mom. he hated how weak he was, sustaining new bruises and black eyes each time he tried to protect his mom.

so when he realized he had gained a newfound strength with regenerative abilities the moment these gates appeared all around south korea-

he took advantage of it and killed his deadbeat dad.

his mom was so grateful to him, and when realized how he could make money off of his abilities, he took that chance and joined the hunter’s association. as he rose up the ranks while working as a hunter, he found that it was easy for him to rake in some easy cash with each raid.

he figured he could keep working as a hunter all while messing around with some of the females he worked with, getting drunk with them while taking advantage of their drunken state-

but that all changed the moment this pretty little a-rank healer arrived.

and damn, was she a sight for sore eyes.

he had never seen a lovelier woman before, becoming mesmerized by her beauty.

but what perhaps made his obsession grow for her was when she healed him during one of their raids.

the healer had joined his team, and when he sustained a nasty burn from one of those fire breathing beasts, she had came to him with a sweet smile on her face, telling him how everything was going to be okay while the warmth of her healing aura surrounds him.

so it wasn't his fault that he became obsessed with her-

it was her fault for flirting with him to begin with. she was the one who flashed him that sexy smile, pressing her breast up against his arm all while smiling sweetly at him-

(damn, he was getting hard all over again at the thought).

how else did she think he was going to react when she began dating that s-rank fucker? the asshole already had everything that jun didn't have-

good looks-

money-

power.

and now, he had taken his woman, too.

he saw nothing wrong with killing a whore like her. if she wanted to fuck around, then so be it.

jun would gladly teach her a lesson-

and if he could do it all over again, then he would.

feeling happy now that the source of his pain and obsession was gone, jun spends the whole night bar hopping, using the entirety of his earnings on bitter alcohol that was powerful enough to make his head spin and forget.

feeling tired of all the shitty whisky and soju, jun drunkenly enters a convenience store, stealing a whole case of ice cold beer while cracking each can open and gulping down the liquid with a content sigh, burping before moving on to the next can.

in his drunken stupor, he recognizes a pretty woman standing right in front of him. his black eyes look up at her, and he swore that he felt his heart jump out of his chest in complete and utter fear.

the mere sight of her was enough to make him believe that perhaps ghosts do exist.

she smiled sweetly at him, giggling as he watches her nails lengthen to sharp claws-

his screams were cut short when she slashes through his vocal chords, filling him with pain as his eyes were suddenly basked in a darkness while his body was ripped to shreds-

baek jun never stood a chance against jinwoo's shadow lover.

{ ... }

jinwoo was simply at his desk, reading the news when he felt your shadowy arms wrapping around his neck.

"thank you, my liege."

he chuckles and moves his lips so that he could press a kiss against your cheek. "don't mention it, and please, call me jinwoo, like you've always done."

you could feel the embarrassment paint your features as you press your lips against his cheek.

"i know but... the fact that you held back your own anger, giving me the chance to rip that bastard to shreds- it... it makes me happy."

he simply hums in response, bringing you into his arms while tossing the newspaper in the bin, where the headlines read:

CORRUPT HUNTER FOUND DEAD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CITY.

as jinwoo carried your wispy form back to his bed, he held on tightly to you, promising to be with you forever as he keeps you by his side.

and despite how your future had been altered drastically due to both jun and jinwoo's actions, you found yourself not regretting it...

because now, you knew that you would forever remain by his side... no matter what...

{ epilogue }

jinwoo had defeated the last of the monarchs, but was somewhat saved when the rulers intervened.

they commended him on his powers and sheer tenacity, happy to have witnessed such a victorious occasion when jinwoo stops their praise.

"i don't know if this could be called showing your appreciation, but i do have a request."

"i will do everything within my powers to aid you." the ruler states while standing before jinwoo.

"just once more... could i use the cup of reincarnation just once more?" jinwoo's eyes were glowing purple as he sat before the ruler, the wind blowing through his hair as a soft expression paints his features.

the ruler seems to consider his words for a moment.

"did you just ask whether you could use the 'cup of reincarnation' to turn back time?"

"that's right." jinwoo answers without a hint of hesitation.

"even if you were to turn back time using god's gadget, the consciousness of the higher beings will still remain. you'd still do it even though the deceased monarchs would come back to life with their memories from this life intact?"

"that's right. and once you turn back time, i want you to not send anyone to earth. i will take care of the monarchs and their armies by myself in the dimensional gap."

the ruler shakes their head in response. "you're willingly taking on the entire war all by yourself. what's your reasoning for doing this? we've used the cup of reincarnation many times, but this is the best result we've gotten yet."

jinwoo stabs his dagger down into the ground with his head bowed, thinking about those he had lost-

thinking about you.

"i lost too many people in this battle." a tiny smile decorates his features when he looks back up at the ruler. "and i want to bring them back."

the ruler takes flight while looking down at jinwoo, "the durability of the cup of reincarnation has almost been exhausted. if you are to fail this time, you won't be able to turn back time again."

they try to reason with him, "if you stop now, you could be remembered as the hero who stopped the invasion of the monarchs, and forever be remembered by the people. however... no one will remember the fight you are getting into now. if you are to lose, the fragments will be waiting for you, and even if you are to win, no one will be there to congratulate you. and you still wish to turn back time?"

jinwoo takes a moment to consider the ruler's words before smiling and standing back to his full height, his shadow lengthening from beneath the radiance of the ruler's light.

"i will go back in time."

"... so you want to save not just a portion of the world, but the entire world, with your own hands. your will to carry on everything by yourself... reminds me of ashborn, your predecessor."

the ruler stands proudly before jinwoo. "i understand. i wish you the best of luck."

"wait." jinwoo then hesitates for a moment, taking a second to look back at his shadow, all while swearing that he could see your own kind eyes looking back at him.

"what would happen to the shadow soldiers which didn't exist in the past?" jinwoo asks while keeping an eye on the hundreds of eyes that peek back at him from his shadow.

"the beings which overlap with the past would perish. and the beings which do not, will remain."

the ruler's words bring a great comfort to jinwoo when he smiles, giving them a nod before stating with confidence, "got it. i'm ready now."

“may your courage save your world.”

and with those final words, the world was suddenly bathed in a bright, blinding light...

{ ... }

you are 14 again, and you had just woken up late.

your hair was a mess as you wolfed down the breakfast sandwich your mother had made for you. your school uniform was wrinkled, along with some of the buttons of your blouse a bit mismatched due to your hurried state-

but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"i'm late i'm late i'm late!"

you were mentally berating yourself, but... something about your dream had kept you in a deep sleep for much longer than usual. despite not remembering it at all, you knew that you felt comforted by it.

which was why you didn't hear your mother calling out your name when she tried to wake you up, making you sleep in for an extra 30 minutes-

and now, you were in a panic.

as you made a sharp right turn, your face immediately ran into a chest, causing you to gasp as you fell back.

"ouch!" you rub at the tip of your nose, eyes slightly watering as you looked up to see a familiar boy looking down at you.

he calls out your name, grey eyes shining with amusement as he offered a hand for you to take.

it was that strange boy that transferred to your school recently due to his parents and little sister moving to this part of the city. and despite not knowing him too well, he had this strange desire to be your best friend.

"jinwoo..." you softly call out his name and take his hand, allowing him to help you back up to your feet. "w-what are you doing out here? i thought you were in class?"

he hums and ends up interlocking his fingertips together with yours. "i had a hunch that you would be late, so i waited right here for you."

"geez, okay, weirdo." you pout at him, fighting back the urge to call him out on all these weird 'hunches' he had ever since he first met you. you were about to say something when you realized that jinwoo was walking in the opposite direction of where your school was.

"uhm, where are you going? our school is that way, unless your brain was so filled with games that you forgot?"

jinwoo begins to laugh, the sound sending another wave of nostalgia to course through you when he pulls your form even closer to him. "i know, but i figured since we're both already so late, why not skip?"

you gasp, already feeling the protest fall from your lips when he inches closer to you, eyes now glowing a strange, purple hue.

"come on, i just want to spend some time with you. if it makes you feel better, i'll take all the blame."

your eyes were shining with happiness now, "really? you'd risk getting grounded for me?"

he rolls his eyes, but suddenly, his gaze takes on a more solemn shade of grey, no longer glowing at you. "you have no idea the lengths i would go through for you."

you were caught off guard by the severity of his words, trembling slightly when he smiles at you once more.

"let's get some ice cream! my treat!"

and with his promises of ice cream, you immediately forget about the strange feelings of nostalgia and the seriousness of his words, laughing with him as he takes you on a fun little adventure-

just as a small example of how far he would go to make you happy as he swore to better protect you in this life.

a.n. - so i heard aleks le say jinwoo's iconic arise phrase and had to write a story for it. i am strangely proud of this fic, writing a total of 4.5k words 🥹 this is currently unedited because i'm too eager to post this, but please, i hope you all enjoy this.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x you #solo leveling x reader #jinwoo sung #sung jinwoo #.stories

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lxndonorris · 11 months

Text

One last time - Charles Leclerc

Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smut warnings: attempt of oral sex, angry sex, swearing, you're having a special goodbye to Charles' Monaco suit x word count: 3600+ note: thank you for anyone voting, hope ya'll like this!

It's two days after this season's Monaco GP when you find yourself in Charles' apartment in Monaco. The conditions weren't optimal, and some people say, the Monaco curse struck again. Even though, it has been a special weekend for the whole of F1, and most importantly, for your boyfriend Charles. It's his home race, one of his favorite tracks and the whole atmosphere just hits differently. This year, he made sure to stun the whole motorsport world when he wore a special suit. Wearing a red and white suit, the colors of the Monegasque flag, filled his heart with pride, but also, made him look even better than usual.

Charles was so happy wearing it, and sadly, he wasn't able to get a podium wearing it. Imagining him, soaked in champagne, happy as ever, is th eonly thing that's left. However, after the events in Italy, he decided to do something for the people affected, and that's why, he organized an auction, with all the money earned going to people in need. Right now, you're sitting on the sofa in the living room, with Charles preparing everything to take some pictures of his racing gear. The gorgeous suit is lying on a table nearby, including the shoes and gloves. While he is inside the bedroom, gathering some more things, and looking for something to wear, you make your way toward the table, having a look at his suit up close.

"So pretty." You mumble quietly, and as soon as you look closer, your thoughts are drawn back to Saturday, when Charles qualified third. Reaching out, you feel the soft fabric with your hands, your fingertips barely brushing over the sleeves, then the chest, tracing Charles' name carefully. Sinking deeper into this memory, you close your eyes, focusing on nothing besides that certain feeling. A feeling of joy, pure excitement, and pleasure running through your veins. Taking a deep breath, you take in the faint scent of Charles clinging to every fiber of this suit. With your hands still running across the suit, you embrace this moment, as everything around you goes numb.

You're back inside the paddock, qualifying just ended and you find yourself inside a press conference. Hearing journalists mumbling and the clicking of cameras, you open your eyes and see your boyfriend Charles sitting on a sofa right next to his rival Max. He is wearing his white suit and a matching cap, with a enormous bright smile. His hands are resting on his thighs, and even though he's playing it cool, you can tell that all of him is as excited as ever. Then, Charles turns his head, and his eyes meet yours. Blushing heavily, you smile, trying your best to not draw too much attention to yourself. Charles, on the other hand, is way more bold. He keeps eye contact, licks his lips, and runs both of his hands across his chest, further down, making sure to briefly touch himself before resting his hands again on his thighs.

Your eyes follow his every move closely, and you know right away that he is in the mood. His whole body is screaming, craving a loving touch. He would always react that way when his body is flushed with adrenaline and excitement. Charles enjoys every moment of this, with a faint fire burning inside his beautiful eyes. All of this won't stop you from blushing. Luckily, all attention is on Max, who's answering questions while giggling to himself. Slowly, you regain your composure and lick your lips as well, however, you know how much he gets turned on by this. Challenged, he lifts his chin slightly, giving you a knowing look.

Just then, the whole crowd laughs at a joke, and this concludes the conference. As everyone is running about, Charles approaches you right away, leaning in to whisper into your ear. "I can't wait any longer." He suppresses a soft moan, and briefly grinds his hips on yours, showing you the desire building up inside him. As shivers run down your spine, you mirror him. "After you, Charles." You breathe against his neck and he separates himself from you just enough to smirk at you. He takes your hand firmly and drags you out of the room. The team is about to meet in half an hour, and he wants you, he craves you, and he's letting you know.

Together, you make your way toward his motorhome, through the whole paddock. Most people are too busy to notice him breathing heavily, and a fiery determination in his eyes. You don't mind him acting that way, quite the opposite. Charles taking charge turns you on. You enter his motorhome right after him and close the door. He lets go of your hand and takes a few steps into the center of the room. You, standing there, take another long look at him wearing that beautiful white suit. He takes off his cap, puts it down, and runs a hand through his messy, sweaty hair before he turns around facing you directly.

"Fuck, I'm hard right now." He grunts and strokes himself, his chest through the suit. You can tell his whole body, all of his muscles are tensing harshly, which makes it even harder for you to think straight. Carefully, you approach him, a playful grin forming on your lips. "Is there anything you want me to do for you?" You say, reaching for his firm chest, placing a hand right at his pecs. He lowers his gaze, following every little move of your hand, while you start to draw circles all over his chest. It feels sensational. You feel all of his muscles tense more and more. Charles' body is filling every inch of the suit, his strong arms, his firm chest, and his beautiful thighs. Then, he lifts his head, and your eyes meet again. "I've got something in mind," Charles growls deeply, his voice rough and husky. He places both of his hands at your waist, pulling you into a hot, passionate kiss. Steadying yourself against his strong, chest, you keep stroking him firmly.

"Mhmm." Charles purrs into your mouth, his hands are now wandering along your waist to the small of your back, stroking you in return. You embrace his warm lips on your own, and kiss him back, once then twice. That's when his familiar scent reaches your nostrils, invading your mind, and your thoughts instantly. This sends tangible shivers down your spine again, much to Charles' amusement. "This feels so good." You breathe into him. He moans softly, and to tease him a little more, you run your hands down his chest, his abs, until one of them finds its way down to his crotch. You feel his excitement bulging inside his gear, and once you brush over him, he chuckles. "Fuck." Charles grunts again and separates himself once more. "I cannot wait anymore." He licks his lips and reaches for your hand still on his crotch, and both of your hands grind on him now.

"Then what are we waiting for?" You smirk and reach for his neck, unbuttoning the collar of his suit. Before you reach for the hidden zipper, you stroke his chest once again, slowly, just to his waist. Charles leans his head back, letting out a low groan. "Amaziiiiing." His voice is even rougher than before, causing you to shudder. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" You pat his pecs gently, and he lowers his head, meeting your gaze right away. "I was waiting for this since I got out of that car." He growls, his hands now firmly on your butt, pulling you into him again. Giggling, you steady yourself against his chest again, taking in his scent even more. His cologne is strong yet gentle enough to not be too much. Getting a little overwhelmed, you close your eyes to regain a firm stance.

"Fuck." You moan now, and you don't even notice him slowly leading you toward an empty wall. However, before your back reaches it, you turn him around, so he's standing with his back to the wall. "Not so fast." You hiss, causing him to smirk approvingly. With your hands still on his chest, you slowly reach for the zipper, with his eyes following your hands closely. "You don't mind, do you?" You say, slowly unzipping his suit. Charles takes a deep breath, one hand firmly on his dick, the other on your waist, trying to hold you in place. He rests his back against the wall, embracing its welcomed support. "Mhmm." You're purring now, and as soon as the upper half of the suit is unzipped, you slide inside it with one of your hands.

You feel him much better now, all of his muscles are bulging through the thin fabric of the fireproofs, just as his nipples are piercing through it. Charles embraces your hand on his chest, moaning slightly once your fingers brush over his sensitive nipples. Knowing his nipples are his sensitive spots, you play with them for a little while longer, making it even harder for Charles to stay focused. "Oh, fuck. So good." He holds back but a quick groan escapes his mouth, giving you goosebumps. As he tries to concentrate, your eyes wander down his beautiful chest, enjoying the sight of all of him craving you more and more.

Just then, you notice his hand grabbing the visible outline of his length firmly, grinding on himself with the palm of his hand. "That's mine." You say, grabbing his wrist to remove his hand. Reluctantly, he lets go of himself, just for you to take his place. "Fiiiiine." Charles grunts, and he looks at you, that burning flame getting even more intense. With both of your hands stroking him lovingly, you notice him getting even more and more into it. "All..most." He breathes. "That's right." You smirk, and he bites his lower lip, holding back another moan. "Fuck." He grunts more angrily, and his hands find their way back to your waist, making sure you're not going anywhere. Removing your hands from him for a second you run a hand through your hair. "You look as beautiful as ever," Charles says suddenly, his voice so soft yet it can't hide his desire for you.

"Likewise." You say, placing a hand at his neck, tracing his jawline with your thumb, enjoying the light stubble at his chin. Then, while keeping eye contact, you start unwrapping him, opening his suit to expose his fireproofs. Together, you help him get out of the upper half of the suit, one arm at a time, and at the sight of his tight underwear, you gasp quietly. Instantly, your eyes wander down to his chest again, loving the sight of his visible nipples, abs, and pecs. You've seen him like this a lot, but white fireproofs just hit differently. Unable to resist, you stroke him again, and all of his muscles react to your slightest touch. His whole body is slowly edging him on, while you keep touching him firmly, your hands encompassing his whole upper body.

Charles moans multiple times, before he places a hand on your chin, gently lifting your face to meet his own. "You're enjoying that, aren't you." He buzzes, with his chest vibrating. "Oh yeah." You breathe deeply, and he leans into you, kissing you passionately. While you keep stroking him, he strokes the small of your back, making both of you purr in unison. Just then, he leans back again, holding back a long groan. "Pleasee." Charles says quietly. "I can't take it anymore." You lick your lips in anticipation and kiss him one last time, before you slowly get on your knees, still stroking his firm chest. Effortlessly, you manage to pull his shirt out of the suit, and instinctively, he grabs it, exposing his bare skin.

You place a few kisses all around his navel, his abs before you follow his treasure trail further down his body. You're now facing a huge tent formed inside his pants, and you lick your lips in anticipation. Teasingly, you let two fingers slip inside his suit, playing with its waistband before you attempt to pull it down. Just then, someone is knocking on the door. "Shh" Charles hisses. "Be quiet." He runs a hand through your hair. "Charles, we need to talk." You've heard that voice before, it is someone of the Ferrari crew. "Can we talk later?" Charles says, trying desperately to hold back more moans. "I just need to inform you, you've got a penalty." The voice says, and both of you are stunned.

"What?" Charles says angrily and walks toward the door while you get up from the floor. They talk for a few seconds, something about Charles impeding another driver. "Fuck." Charles grunts loudly. "I know. We will handle that." The guy says. "We'll give you another twenty minutes to calm down, okay?" Charles nods in agreement and closes the door. Now he's standing there, running a hand across his face and through his hair, holding his forehead while the other is on his hips. "Are you okay?" You say, and at first, he doesn't reply. But then, he just nods. "What's done is done." He turns his face and your eyes meet again, the fire is burning even brighter now, an angrier, possessive flame, and you can feel a sudden shift in his demeanor.

"I need you, now," Charles growls lowly, and walks towards you. "Do you want me, too?" He asks, and the way he looks at you sends shivers down your whole body. "I need you so much." You smirk, and he mirrors you instantly. This time, things are different, however. Charles is going in, grabbing your waist, and pulling you into another passionate kiss. While you steady yourself against his chest again, you feel his hands encompass all of your body, until they reach your boobs. The way he touches you feels you, gives you goosebumps right away. "Change of plan." He growls and separates himself. Charles takes a step back and you watch him bending down, untying his white shoes.

Even though you enjoy the sight of him looking up at you, he's way too quick. In a mere second, he pushes his shoes aside with his foot, and he takes several deep breaths. "I'm so hard for you." He grabs himself firmly, and while he moves his hand up and down his length, you smirk. "Then come get it then." You challenge him, causing his eyes to burn even brighter. Effortlessly, takes his whole suit off, and you watch it drop to the floor. Now, just wearing his fireproofs, he approaches you again, with his dick imprinting visibly through his underwear. You embrace each other's body right away. Kissing, and touching each other, you make your way toward the huge sofa, and with a playful nudge, he pushes you down onto it, the soft cushions now at your back.

Charles towers over you, looking down at your whole body while running one hand through his hair, the other mindlessly stroking his own chest again and again. His hand runs further down his body back to his length, where it stays for a while. "Come on." You motion for him to come closer, and with a low growl, he climbs on top of you. You're lying down, feeling his body grinding on yours, his length against your thighs. Charles' face is now hovering over yours. "Fuuuck." He exhales, all of that teasing already showing its effect. Teasingly, you use your leg to touch his dick, causing his whole body to get even stiffer.

Charles then comes back to his senses, as he bends down, kissing you multiple times, before making his way down your body. He places kisses all over your neck, your collarbone, and even further down your body. Carefully, he lifts your shirt, touching your chest, and your boobs until his fingers reach your navel, tickling you teasingly. "Charles." You moan softly, and you give in to him. Closing your eyes, you take in his loving touch, his beautiful scent, all of him. Moving your hips rhythmically, you don't even notice him unbuttoning your jeans, and before you know it, Charles pulls them down, including your panties.

"That's good." He groans, touching you teasingly, before climbs back on top of you. You open your eyes, watching him watch you. For a second, nothing moves, until you feel him pulling his underwear down as well. "I want youuu." You breathe deeply, and at that moment, you feel him sliding into you. The most sensational feeling. You love the feeling of his length entering your body and the noise he makes suppressing another moan. Most of the time, he would start slowly, but right now, Charles instantly increases the intensity and pace of his forceful thrusts. "Fuuck, you're so good." He grunts. "Mhmmm." You moan breathlessly, and it takes a while, but you manage to adjust to his rhythm.

You're moving as one now, rhythmically, and the room is filled with your moans, groans, and grunts. After all of that teasing beforehand, it doesn't take too long for the two of you to reach your limits. With one final harsh thrust, all of him goes stiff and rigid, and he lets out a long moan. At the same time, you climax as well, leaning your head back, giving in to him completely.

"It feels good, doesn't it." A voice rings through your mind, slowly pulling you out of your daydream. Shaking your head, you try to adjust your vision. Blinking a few times, you're back in your living room, your hand still on the racing suit, you turn your head to spot Charles standing next to you, wearing a shy smile on his lips. "it does." You say, looking back down, feeling the fabric with your fingertips, still tracing the outlines of his name. Charles does the same, following your fingers closely. "What were you thinking of?" He says suddenly, making you blush. "What?" You say, looking at him again.

"I've been calling your name for minutes now, didn't you hear me?" He chuckles, and you try to avoid his burning gaze, to hide your red face. For a minute, you stand next to each other, before you turn to face him. "I was thinking about how good you look in this." You say, and he raises both of his eyebrows. Then, his face softens. "Were you thinking about Saturday?" Charles smirks knowingly, but this time, you don't blush. Nodding slowly, you turn your attention back to the suit. "Would you….would you put it on again?" You say suddenly, catching him off-guard. "The suit? Eh, now?" Charles blushes now and turns his face to the suit as well. "One last time." You say, placing a hand on his chest, stroking him lovingly.

At first, he's seemingly lost in his thoughts as well, but then, he runs a hand through his nicely done hair. "Okay. Just for you." Charles smiles warmly, making you smile. Without hesitation, he takes his tight shirt off, exposing his beautiful muscles. Tilting your head slowly in disbelief, you look at him. "What?" He smirks, and unable to resist, you look down at his firm chest. "You're an idiot." You giggle. "You love me, shut up." Charles snickers and follows your gaze, but then, he pulls his pants down as well, until his underwear is all that's left. Immediately, you think about your daydream, and he looks even better now. He strikes a little pose, winks, and grabs the suit, unzipping it easily.

You watch him put the suit on, one leg at a time, his thighs filling the fabric fully. "Gorgeous." Biting your lower lip, you try to hide a mischievous smirk. Charles, on the other hand, is keeping eye contact, making sure you watch him. Now, the sleeves are hanging down his side, and you approach him, placing a hand on his bare chest. As soon as your finger touches him, his skin flushes with color. You follow the outlines of his abs, around his navel, and up to his pecs to his nipples. "It feels so good." Charles purrs happily, enjoying every part of it. With a little help from you, his big arms slide into the sleeves. Looking at him, you immediately get turned on again, and he's fully aware of it.

You place your hand on his chest again, stroking him one last time through his suit, before you close it. "Mhmm," Charles growls and tilts his head. "Happy now?" He smirks, placing his hand on his hips. Unable to fathom the essence of his beauty, you cannot help yourself but take it all in. Charles wearing his racing gear is always something special, but this suit hits differently. The fabric is flattering all of him, like a second skin. It's tight yet flexible, adjusting to his beautiful body perfectly. To tease you some more, Charles starts to stroke himself now, his chest, his stomach, and even further down to his thighs. He makes sure to let a hand brush over his length, again growing inside this suit.

"Oh fuck, you know it, Charles." You look right into his eyes, and approach him, kissing him lovingly. Together, you move around the room carefully, his body grinding on yours, and you feel yourself getting back into that moment. The faint of his cologne swirls around your nose, giving you goosebumps. "Mhmm." You breathe into him, making him moan quietly. Touching him, feeling his chest, you can tell that he's feeling it too. He must be.

Just then, he stops. "As mucha s I love this." He growls, his voice breaking slightly. "The camera team is arriving shortly," Charles says, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "Too bad." You say, stroking his chest again. Thank you, though." Kissing him again, you help him change into his other clothes, waiting for the team to arrive.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #my writing: charles leclerc

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rthko · 4 months

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"Validity" as a concept is antithetical to queerness as an academic or political tendency. If you take validity to mean "let's all be nice to each other" then sure, I'll link arms and frolic around right with you. Instead, validity is shorthand for expertise or speaking authority. It's something ontological to you and your identity, and no amount of learning or life experience is required for your credibility. You might then be drawn to queerness as a tendency because it is open-ended, but the open-endedness of queerness in this view begins and ends with the idea that "LGBT" just doesn't have enough letters. I am not going to debate who formally belongs; that is not the point I want to make, and it's an argument that queerness as a tendency circumvents. Some don't even view it as an identity to begin with! But queerness as a tendency is, almost definitionally, critical of ontology and the reification of identity over behavior. It is very deliberately not a closed identity politics. Some have argued that conceiving, say, homosexuality, as an abstract identity rather than behavior, leads to a politics that is euphemistic and apologetic about the very sex that first defined the concept. Love the sinner, hate the sin.

And so I see a subset both online and off that is both singularly concerned with "validity" and proudly Capital Q Queer. Not gay as in happy but queer as in "has a vague understanding of who Marsha P Johnson was," et cetera. They are unsatisfied with the limitations, real and perceived, of LGBT activism. Yet their solution is to go through the same legitimizing plots for newly minted identities that stifled LGBT activism to begin with! You are valid, you were born this way, your credibility comes with the territory of your identity alone. Everyone is deserving of kindness, and belonging should not be held ransom until you fulfill some expected milestones. I think even cis straight people can belong in queer spaces (whatever we mean by this), if they're respectful. Your local drag performers need the tips anyway. But if you are not reading, if you are not engaging with queer culture, if you are not connected to any scene, then I'm not sure why you would expect to be treated as an expert. People without these perspectives and experiences, even if they belong to a particular identity, will not see a broad picture. Look no further than statements that begin with "as a queer person" and end with some diatribe against kink at pride or whatever the outrage du jour happens to be.

Before the obvious hypocrisy of my statement comes up, I want to acknowledge that I've been there. Like any other Tumblr-riddled individual, I've been obsessed with blogging about queerness for years without living it or learning about it in any meaningful way. To this day I am very uncomfortable with being treated as any kind of expert. But I wonder: was being told I don't need to do this or that to be valid helpful? I'll extend it beyond queerness: "you don't need to read theory to be a leftist," et cetera. We were railing against gatekeepers: not institutions with the power to gatekeep in any meaningful way, but people with no real power of their own. Was I doing myself any favors by not doing anything to broaden my perspectives but still demanding to be taken seriously? So, you don't need to do this, you don't need to do that, but you can, and you might enjoy it. Queer activism and literature defend ways of living, pleasure seeking, and saying yes to life. If you want to do all of this for clout or "validity," start over. Do it because you can.

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soobnny · 1 year

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to be human — han jisung. roommate au. friends to lovers. kind of comfort fic. supernatural au.

your shapeshifter friend forgets how to turn back into a human and has a crisis. inspired by this artwork. (~1k words)

“Jisung?”

It’s quiet in your apartment where Jisung would usually blast music. It’s strange to be greeted by silence instead, a little concerning even.

“Ji?” You try calling out again, stepping cautiously inside as you briefly draw your eyes to each room in search of your roommate.

“I’m in here.” Jisung’s voice has a tone of dejection to it as he replies to you from the bathroom. Grogginess indicative of exhaustion and resignation.

You know something’s wrong.

When he hears your footsteps padding towards where he is, his tone shifts to one of panic. “Please don’t come in.”

You already know why.

“Jisung, I’m not scared of you.” The door creeks open when you enter, and Jisung is still hidden in the bathtub behind drawn out shower curtains.

He doesn’t want you to see him like this.

You know he startles easily in this state, so you do your best to keep your footsteps light, actions gentle as you peel back the shower curtain and step into the tub with him. One leg after the other. It’s small, doesn’t really fit the two of you — you press your knees to your chest in trial of a solution so you can give him more space in the tub.

A minute goes by.

“How many eyes do I have?” He squeaks, not being able to take the silence, and it’s a sign that it’s okay for you to look at him. Locking eyes with his form, you briefly scan his features, not dwelling too hard on anything. You know he wouldn’t want that.

You count in your head. One. Two. Three… “Uh, seven?”

“Just pick one to focus on.” You listen to him, eyes focused on the one of his eyes. He looks so small like this, despite doubling in his usual size, and you know cogs are turning in his brain (if he even had one). It’s been a while since he’s been stuck outside of his human form.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay.”

“Are you in pain?”

“A bit.” The pained way he speaks is so close to human emotion that it shatters you. “I’m sorry you have to see me this way.”

“You are still my friend, you know?” You try to speak with comfort. You know he needs it the most. You hope to cement in him that what he looked like didn’t matter to you — just that, at the end of the day, it was still him behind all the masks he puts on.

He scoffs. “Not looking like… this.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s still you, isn’t it?”

A heartbeat passes. Yours. He simply sits in silence to process your words. You wonder what he’s thinking of.

“I guess.” You smile at his response. It visibly calms him down. “Oh, by the way, I got you something.”

You grab the backpack you had dropped just beside the tub. It’s his, had given it to you months ago, and there’s a picture of the two of you in the form of a keychain hanging by the zipper.

“I know you technically don’t need to eat anything but… I remember you said you really liked this when you were still human.”

It’s cheesecake wrapped in plastic, and if Jisung had a heart, he’s convinced it would be beating twice the normal rate.

You’re right, he doesn’t need to eat, but he will save it as something to remember this moment by.

“I hope it helps you remember being… you.” You place it on the space between the two of you in the tub. He’ll grab it later. There’s something else in his mind.

“Where did you get that?” Jisung questions, eyes fixated on something else entirely.

“Oh, just the bakery I pass on the way to uni.”

“No, the picture.”

“The picture?” You look down at where he’s looking. Your keychain.

“This? I always carry it on me.” You show it to him proudly. A memory passes in his head. He doesn’t remember much, but he does remember being happy the day that picture was taken.

“You do…?” You hum to confirm his inquiry. Silence washes over, and just as quick as it comes, it’s ripped away by sniffling coming from Jisung’s end.

He doesn’t cry, but it looks like he’s about to.

“Give me your hand.” You demand, though tone gentle in case he didn’t wanna be touched.

“What? No.” He’s still sniffling.

“I want to hold it.”

This time, he blinks. All seven of his eyes. Flashes of him attempting to hold your hand before, all in vain.

“Since when do you like holding hands?”

“Since now.” You mumble. Your hand is outstretched, just waiting for him to take it if he wanted.

Long sharp nails greet you, and you have to use both of your hands to hold his one properly. For a second, you feel a spark of life when your hands meet.

He feels it too.

“We’ll get through this together, okay?” Jisung lets you hold his hand. He’s looking at you now, less afraid of himself and how he looks. It’s quiet here with you, isn’t so loud. He could get used to this.

His fingers curl around your hand, completely swallowing it by the sheer size of his. Your whole hand fits in his. It feels nice. Warm in comparison to the cold he feels in this state.

“Okay.” Jisung’s tone is softer now.

It’s easier to remember what feeling human is like with you. He wonders if the unidentifiable feeling he gets when you’re with him is something he had felt back when he had a beating heart.

Wonders if the way he felt when he saw the picture you keep of the two of you mean anything to his humanness. Does it count for something if he wants to keep holding your hand every day after today?

Jisung doesn’t breathe, doesn’t bleed, doesn’t need to consume anything to survive — but he’s capable of loving, and that makes him human enough.

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joshlmbrt · 3 months

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NOW PLAYING;

Head Over Heels - truck driver!dad!e. munson oneshot

‘I’M LOST IN ADMIRATION, COULD I NEED YOU THIS MUCH?’

w; i made eds bday on v-day because it was cute, chance is non-verbal, eddie hating his bday, just so much cuteness at the end.

an; i will say this again - this au is my baby and means so so much to me!!!

-> VALENTINES PLAYLIST HERE

“Guess who’s coming home today, baby?” Your arm was growing tired, mixing the thick batter for the blueberry waffles for Chance.

His eyes leave The Muppets, lighting up as he stares at you, a grin meeting his eyes.

“Did you finish his birthday card, bubs?” He nods, slipping off the couch and runs towards his room, careful not to trip over anything.

You smile and turn, dropping some batter into the waffle maker and closing the lid. You turn back when you hear footsteps and place the bowl onto the counter.

You kneel down, grabbing the homemade birthday card with a heart on the front. You open it.

‘Happy Birthday Daddy. Love U.’

There was a small family picture drawn to the side, all of you holding hands. You smile and close it, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “He’s going to love this. But we have to wait to give it to him,” You stand, hiding it somewhere Eddie wouldn’t think to look - along with a few other birthday and valentines gifts you had stored away.

You open the lid and pull out the waffle. “Daddy has certain feelings about his birthday, so we need to spring it onto him carefully.”

You glance over your shoulder and Chance nods. You give him a smile and he turns to walk back into the living room.

You grab out two boxes of cake mix, icing, bowls, and a heart pan and set them to the side.

It was a long day of baking, that’s for sure.

💌

5:35PM

Eddie grumbles to himself, slamming the driver side door and making his way towards the rickety steps. He knocks the side of his foot against the pole, watching as some snow falls off and onto the ground.

He then makes his way into his warm home that suddenly smelt like vanilla and strawberries.

He stumbles slightly when he feels tiny arms wrap around his legs. He looks down, chuckling and drops his bag to the ground, lifting Chance up.

He grunts. “Am I getting old or are you?”

You walk into the living room, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You’re getting old.”

He gives you a look, eyes narrowing. “Ha-ha.” You smile and he can’t help but smile and lean over to give you a kiss. “Missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Dinner is almost ready.”

“Great. I’m starved,” He puts Chance down after giving him a quick peck on the temple. “I got something for you and Mommy. But I’ll give it to you after dinner.”

“Baby, you didn’t have-”

“Did you get me something?” You stay silent, lips pursing - he already knew that answer. He gives a cocky smile. “That’s what I thought.”

You roll your eyes. “Sue me. I saw something that reminded me of you.”

He grins and presses a quick kiss to your lips, walking towards the bathroom. Chance runs out, a grin on his face when he looks at you. You give him a quick wink.

💌

After dinner - Eddie’s favorite for his birthday - you’re sure he thinks you forgot it. But you haven’t - of course.

Chance drags him to the living room while you clean the table off, wiping it down quickly before grabbing the cake you had made.

You giggle, staring at the three frogs that you had added, sticking three candles into the cake before placing it on the table and lighting them. “Eds! Hurry!”

You hear feet stomping in no time. “Honey? You okay-” He stops when you start singing, eyes staring down at the cake before at you. There’s a small smile that tugs at his lips, head shaking.

Chance’s hand slips into his, squeezing Eddie’s in time with your singing. Eddie tears up a bit at the feeling, staring down at him.

He lifts him up when you finish, holding his other arm out for you. You step closer and he pulls you into his side, pressing a kiss to Chance’s temple before pressing one, two, three kisses to your lips that has you giggling like when you both were teenagers.

“I thought you forgot. I was kind of happy.”

“Never,” You grin. “And you wouldn’t have gotten your frog cake.”

His eyes lift, eyeing the icing frogs, snorting before looking down at you. “No. I wouldn’t have, would I?”

💌

Eddie shuts Chance’s door quietly, slowly making his way into the kitchen. He stops, smiling softly when he leans against the refrigerator watching as you sway to the music playing on the radio.

He comes up behind you, reaching around and turns off the water.

“Edward Munson, what are you-” You squeal softly when he spins you around, a wide grin on his face, swaying with you.

You giggle softly when his nose nudges yours, hands coming up and cupping his cheeks. “Did you have a good birthday?”

He hums softly, nodding and presses a kiss to your palm before leaning more into your hand. “I did… My wishes always come true.”

“Do they now?” You lift a brow, thumb tracing the small scar by his eye you loved so much.

“Yeah,” He says, matter-of-fact. “When you through me that surprise birthday when I was 15… I wished that we would get married and have a small family.”

“You did not.”

“I did too,” He grips your waist softly before pulling you closer. Your arms drop around his neck, fingers scratching at his scalp softly. “I knew I loved you then. I love you even more now.”

His nose nudges yours and you grin, his own smile finding your lips, hand sliding up to hold the back of your head, bodies still swaying to. Not even to the music, but just swaying with love.

Chance watches with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye.

He watches as Eddie pulls away and spins you, causing you to laugh. He pulls you close, forehead meeting yours with his own giggles, shushing you with no malice.

He loved hearing you laugh.

He loved you.

And Chance could see it.

💌 eddie tags; @officerrrfriendly, @whisperingwillowxox, @hazydespair, @queercodedcharacter, @marrowfrog00, @lavendermunson

💌 some moots - message if you’d like to be untagged!; @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @s6raphic, @yourfavoritewitchbitch, @starksbabie, @rosebudsgarden, @readbydayana, @meet-me-backstage, @bimbobaggins69, @thecreelhouse, @reysorigins, @st4rgirll3, @rosebudsgarden

thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, requests, likes, & feedback is encouraged, welcomed, & deeply appreciated! 🧸

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson drabble #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #dad!eddie x mom!reader #dad!eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn x reader #divider from #crazyfrm

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how-very-superbat · 6 months

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ADORABLE Superbat Fics

I haven't posted some recs in a bit, so I'm gonna do these. I've been reading a lot lately, and keep actually forgetting the plot because they all blend together, but a couple of these really stood out to me. I'll mark them with a **

Also a couple of these are a bit angsty sometimes, but overall really cute!

Long Day by em13bubble (2k) Bruce has a rough day. Clark comes to his office to help him relieve some stress. (They hold hands)

Picture Perfect by TheSaltiestDog (26k) Clark's spent close to a decade as Bruce's friend, he's seen him at his worst, but he's never seen all of him. Funny how his whole perspective changes with one lucky photograph.

To Bring Light Back To Your Eyes by GoldfishForHire (8k)** Months after the Justice League is formed in the wake of Steppenwolf's attempted incursion, Superman begins pulling away, becoming isolated and withdrawn. Bruce wants to help, but doesn't know how. He goes to Martha Kent for advice, and an offhand comment leads to a clumsy, though successful, outreach. Or, Bruce bakes Clark terrible pie to make him feel better, and Clark finds this very endearing. THIS ONE MADE ME LAUGH OUT LOUD, THEN I MADE MY FRIEND READ IT AND SHE WAS GIGGLING. SO CUTE AND FLUFFY

Could I Have This Dance by Pandamomochan (3k) Why is Superman the one who always gets reeled into JLA publicty stunts? The princess of Jasenael requests that the hero be her dance partner at her coming of age ceremony. Only problem, Clark has never learned the art of formal dance. Luckily Bruce decides to be his willing instructor.

You're gonna know my name by Dino_Cattivo (22k)** Bruce just wanted to get the interview over with and relax, but sadly the universe had other plans, and he found himself stranded together with Clark Kent and has to wait to be rescued to keep his secret identity. Which would have been a lot easier if Kent hadn't investigated things Bruce would rather have kept hidden.

With Matches by Dino_Cattivo (35k)** Clark is investigating a story in Gotham, where he meets the criminal Matches Malone. Despite their differences, Clark finds himself drawn to the other man but things can go terribly wrong when mingling with the criminal underworld.

To be in your arms by KingDimeSmoothied (3k) Bruce has never seen Superman treat him like a civilian before. Curious at the prospect, Bruce goes to Metropolis and ends falling in love with someone else. Or so he thinks. Or 5 times Bruce finds Clark while looking for Superman and 1 time he actually finds him.

That's all for today folks! Also please ask if there's a certain theme or word count or anything you want me to rec, I'd be happy to help.

#superbat fic #superbat #batman x superman #superman #batman #superbat fluff #fic recs #cute

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sprout-fics · 8 months

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Engravings (Chapter Two)

(Makarov x F! Reader)

Engravings Masterlist

Word Count: 4.8k Rating: Mature Tags: Brainwashing, Emotional Manipulation, Kidnapping, False Romance, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Injury/Blood, Whump, Stockholm Syndrome, Winter Soldier AU, No Fluff, Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse by Proxy, Mind Games, Eventual Happy Ending Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Mind the tags (Read on Ao3)

You dream of them.

They surround you, and the TV drones on in the background. Your legs are propped on someone��s lap, one of them sprawls on the floor in front of you. You itch your fingers through his mohawk, listen to his huff as his hand closes atop yours. A smile graces your features, and a smoky, raspy voice murmurs something to a figure standing behind the couch, arms crossed, swaddled in a dark hoodie. His face is hidden by a balaclava, but his eyes are soft when they rest on you. Trusting.

You reach for him. He evaporates into smoke along with the rest of them.

When you wake, your entire body hurts. It’s dim, dark, and you can still smell your own blood that has stopped oozing from your shoulder. A flickering fluorescent lamp glows above you, blinking too bright against the back of your eyelids. You’ve been stripped on your gear, mercifully covered by a blanket that keeps the thin, frigid air at bay. A bunker, you guess, and by the Russian signs on the walls it’s one of your own. There’s voices from the other room, speaking in grim, low tones you can hardly hear.

It takes effort to rise, bones creaking in sharp protest. The blanket drapes across your form, legs unsteady. You wobble towards the voices of your comrades, unsure what exactly you’re looking for. Yet as you amble down the hall on bare feet, the lamp light of a desk catches your eyes, and with it- a series of photographs.

You shouldn’t be curious. You know better than that by now. Quiet, complacent, don’t ask questions. Poised, perfect, savage and silent. Yet like an invisible tether you’re drawn inwards, a moth to flame. There’s pictures, photographs taken from afar, grainy and vague. Yet the figures in the photos are familiar, and as your fingers graze over them something sparks inside the hollow of your chest. A distant flame, and for the first time you feel warm.

“Ghost.” You whisper, scarcely audible as you take in the skull mask that stared across from you on the rooftop, had faltered when he found you in his sights. Gaz, who had tried to stop you atop the bridge, eyes full of despair. Soap, who had so long ago slung his arms across your shoulders and infected you with his laughter. Price, who had cornered you in Prague, had whispered the words that had taken root and blossomed into a grotesque doubt that has haunted you ever since.

“What did he do to you?”

It starts off as a distant sense of falling, the air around you strangely serene, silent. Light blossoms inside the hollow of your chest like an unfurling explosion, and as you gaze at the dazzling brightness of it you almost forget to brace for the shock wave that sends the world around you into lawless chaos. With it returns the howl of their voices- of Gaz’s cry, his hands stretching for you as you careen off the bridge, trying to rescue you from the dark waters, the inescapable tide of violence you noticed too late. It closes over your head, pulling you downwards into the darkness of his embrace.

Makarov.

You stumble from the room, chest too tight, gasping for air. The truth unfurls with sickening reality inside you, memories colliding in a horrible realization of the truth.

The plane being shot down. Jumping into the sky, your parachute unfurling, only to collapse when burning debris shot through the fabric. Hearing your team scream as you rocketed downwards, panicking, reaching for your second chute, seeing the ground race upward as you spun downwards-

“What is your name?”

“I don’t know.”

Your stomach empties itself before you can stop yourself, and the noise makes the murmurs in the other room go quiet. You tremble, clutching the wall, and your mind screams of enemies. Danger. Your body aches with a fierce pain, unable to contain the stress, heart too loud, too fast-

A figure out of the corner of your eye, one of Makarov’s men. A man you once called a comrade. You reel away from him, confused, frightened, and the motion sends your head spinning, the world dizzy in dim color.

You’re unconscious before you hit the ground.

---

They bring you back to him, his prize turned puppet. You awaken in his lap, eyes opening to his, and there’s something in your hindbrain that purrs at the mere sight of him, ready to open yourself to him, do all he asks of you and more. His dark eyes churn like storm clouds, and you force yourself not to stiffen, to show fear, to give the barest indication that you know.

“Sleep well, beautiful?” He breathes, and the smile you give him feels too real, pulling at a tepid heartstring you wish you didn’t have.

“You saved me again.” You murmur softly instead, raise a bandaged hand to caress his face. The glimmer of darkness in his eyes relaxes into something mildly resembling serenity. “Makarov.”

It’s breathed with a sigh, a confession you will now never speak. He accepts it like an offering unto his altar, leans down to kiss you. You part your lips, slot his mouth against yours, drink in the taste of him, the faint scent of vodka that clouds your fragile judgment. He moans the name he’s given you, gathers you into his arms, nips at the growing bruises on your skin and whispers devotions there. Each word is tender, beloved, as if he’s realized he nearly lost you, that he can never let you go.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your jaw. “I should have never made you go.”

It’s said with a desperate rasp, his hands gripping you closer. It softens you at the edges, the adoration you hold for this man, this murderer, a creature of violence born in darkness. He holds you to him like something precious, something to be cherished. Uncertainty of a different kind blooms inside your ribs like a macabre bouquet.

He took you. Stole you away but saved your life. He could have killed you a thousand times over but he hasn’t. Even after this, even after failing him, nearly dying without his permission, he embraces you like a lover. Beloved. Only his. He’s engraved himself into your bones, carved a place for himself that even now you can’t deny. You wonder if it’s all true. The lynx painting watches you from over his shoulder, a predatory stare. You wonder if his eyes are the same.

You wonder why you still love him despite it all.

You’re battered, bruised from your near-death experience. It takes weeks for you to recover, for your bones to mend, your cuts to heal, the bullet wound in your shoulder to close, the ringing in your ears to stop. Time does not heal the broken pieces of you shattered by the truth.

It itches under your skin, the waiting. There’s a trained reflex inside you to be moving, active, useful in the way weapons are. Your purpose is to serve him. Without purpose you’re nothing but a broken, empty thing. The bred urge inside you strains to yield to Makarov’s hands, to throw yourself into the path of danger for him, to treat his orders like divine prophecy.

It scares you.

The worst part of waiting is not the patience it takes for your body to recover, but the emptiness. Makarov has left you in his absence, but not alone. There’s a guard outside your safehouse at all times. Makarov says it’s for your safety. The guard doesn’t speak, barely looks at you. Yet you feel his eyes when your back is turned, and you know you’re being watched.

It’s a dangerous game you play, pretending nothing has changed. Your routine goes unaltered from before. You rise early, eat, tend to your wounds, exercise, occupy yourself silently, obediently, a mere object waiting for his return. His polished prize, his beautiful, gleaming dagger, sitting in a glass display until he’s ready to use you again. The guard watches you with a cold stare, sees you silently retire for the evening where you curl into yourself with wide eyes, trying to understand the chaos inside you, the way your world has evaporated into smoke overnight.

You aren’t supposed to be here. Your true home lies a thousand miles away, and in your dreams the desperate, despairing eyes of Price and Gaz call to you, echoing the name you’d forgotten. Soap reaches for you, Ghost stares at you through his scope, rust colored gaze betraying his grieving shock. You belonged to them once, you think, before you were his.

Makarov loves you, something inside you whispers. He doubts you, doubts your loyalty, but you can’t erase the gentleness in his eyes, his soft touch as you lay on his bare chest, stroking your cheek with crooked knuckles. He wouldn’t kill you. You’re his. His weapon, his beloved, his marionette.

Yet the truth of it all lays bare against your skin. He stole you from them, took apart your fragile mind and rebuilt it to something better, something greater. He turned you into something you could never be before. Fearless of death, skilled beyond measure, overflowing with undying loyalty. You soak in the blood of his enemies and arrive back to sink to his feet, sigh into his palm as he cups your face and smears red against your skin. He’s turned you into a shell of yourself, hollow except for him. He places you in the path of danger with a kiss, collects you once you’ve been charred to ashes and whispers sweet praises until the time comes once more to repeat this cycle of violence once more. Each time he unsheathes the blade of you your body and mind fracture a little further. You know there will come a day where you do not come back to him, and you know the part of you that loves him will speak his name with your dying breath.

Just how far has he burrowed himself inside you, you wonder? Just how certain are you of his adoration for you, this man who will use you again and again until you’re broken, but will press you into his silk sheets with murmurs of adoration? Makarov is not a gentle man, and you know too that he will someday meet the same fate he predestines for you. He makes you earn his love because his morals will allow nothing less. If you are to stand beside him, two steps back, by his right shoulder, you must be more than just beautiful. Lethal, unquestioning, compliant. He hasn’t killed you yet despite his doubts, and you tell yourself it is because of his love for you.

Despite everything, you know you can’t stay.

Escape remains a distant possibility, a far-fetched fantasy. Guarded at all times, injured still as you are, there’s no way to flee. Neither is there a way to contact the men you’ve been robbed from, tell them you know now, tell them you’re in danger, plead to come home, confess to them that you think you are home. The silent weeks without him allow you to plan, and in that time you practice utter composure, face blank, refusing to reveal even an inch of doubt. The second you do, the second you express uncertainty, you become useless to him...

You tell yourself he’ll let you live. Perhaps he’ll lock you away like a fragile dove, keep you in a gilded cage until the fractures of your mind widen, crack your resolve until you once more fall into step behind him. He won’t kill you, not if he loves you.

Even so, your fate at his hands is a tragic one. Death or surrender. Neither one you can accept. So with each dawn you try and convince yourself you will never be safe here despite your tenderness for him, and you tell yourself even that is another falsehood woven into your skin.

You’re not completely healed by the time he calls on you again. It’s a test. He’s expecting you to protest, to say you aren’t ready, to show a glimpse of uncertainty. You swallow it down as he smiles, telling your guard to leave you both alone. You lean into his kiss and wonder why it feels so right.

There’s an instinct to yield to him automatically, to surrender. It’s easier, simpler, to resort to this life you’ve led at his hands. To struggle with the truth robs you of sleep, cracks at your composure. To fall into him feels like a gentle sigh, releasing the voice inside you screaming to be freed, to run.

You cling to him tighter, trying to memorize the shape of him so you’ll remember when you leave him. When you escape.

As you get dressed you limp, your leg not entirely healed. Makarov places you atop the edge of the bed, kneels at your feet to draw a sock up your calf. It’s intimate, tender, and the velvet softness of his eyes conceals the calculation in his stare. A horrible wrongness bubbles in your stomach at this foreign gesture, so delicate and careful even as you know he is once more hurling you in the path of danger. He’ll wait for you to return to gaze into the emptiness of your eyes that alight only when you’re with him.

It’s not an easy assignment. Your target is a CIA informant, and for once your mission is not to kill her. Capture, kidnapping, so you can bring her back like prey caught in your jaws. She’s not unlike you, you think. Your age, about your height. The same colored eyes. You wonder if it’s just a coincidence, or if somehow he has predestined this as well. A mind game, watching the vision of your own demise, recalling the memories of being stolen away into his blood soaked grasp. You want to scream, to warn her, to tell her to flee. You know it may come at the cost of your own life.

She struggles as your arm closes around her neck, hauling her backwards into the black, unmarked van. Her shout is muffled by the chloroform cloth across her face. As she grows limp in your grasp, as your driver speeds off into the night, you feel something inside you crack open further, and you pray to whatever god is listening that you will someday forgive yourself for this, for the act of pretending so you stay alive.

When the spy is dumped on the steps of the American embassy, you struggle to not weep.

In the deaths that follow, your soul slowly brittles into a gasping, fragile cry.

He’s testing you. Each new assignment forces you to choose between your morals and your life. You wonder if this is his method of breaking you, compressing you down into yourself so he can fill the cracks with his poisonous adoration. Breaking you in body and mind, hollowing you out so there’s only him, only ever him. You scream in the prison of your mind, the noise silent but deafening. You belong to him, your heart his, but the promise of freedom struggles to overwrite the gentle touches he engraves into your skin under the hazy blue light of his bedroom.

With each death, each assignment, every new mission the cracks widen. Hysteria threatens to force its way up your throat in a desperate wail, begging the stars he divines in a plea for mercy. They gaze down at you unblinking, and you know he has written your fate amidst the constellations.

You swallow down tears as he braces above you, sheets tangled around your forms. You kiss him and remember how it feels to love him, wondering why the grace of his love is so painful. He gathers you to him after, form bare, he watches your face with unblinking fixation until the dreams take you once more.

There’s a part of you that wants to go back to that time of ignorance, back when you clung to the smallest bit of affection he gave to you, the only reason for your existence. A simpler time, when you were his and only his, not haunted by the truth. If you could return to that time, when you had both stood in the December dawn, when he had pressed a kiss to your knuckles and then held your face in his hands with a tender smile. If you could go back, if you could forget, if you could die being his...

There’s no going back. Not anymore.

Escape eludes you. Each mission is amidst a team of others. You’re never alone except for the safehouses he keeps you in, caged until he once more has use for your fangs. The others watch you, and you struggle to mute the sound of your own rapid heartbeat lest they hear it. They study your blank expression for indications of uncertainty, disloyalty, and a whisper of potential betrayal. You dread what will happen when they eventually find it, if they’ll haul you back to him screaming and thrashing, the noose of your fate closing around your throat. You force the shake in your hands to still, force yourself to not mind the way blood catches under your fingernails.

Your opportunity comes suddenly.

Your handler, as you’ve begun to refer to them as- the ever-changing cast of soldiers under his command that monitor you, watches you carefully. You walk in step beside him, as he leads you through the winding streets of Minsk in a seemingly random pattern. He says you’re walking to rendezvous with a contact. You’re not sure if you believe him. He leads you to an open park and your skin itches, the site too open, prone to sniper fire. You try to shift your gaze without him noticing, sweeping the rooftops for the glint of a scope. You pause by a bench, and the man sits, gestures to you to do the same.

“Stay here.” The handler tells you in Russian, and then leaves you.

Alone.

You blink in astonishment, watching him vanish in the distance. The silence in his absence rings in your ears. You think perhaps this is it, your final, profound act of rebellion as you jump to your feet and flee. You wonder if a hidden sniper might shoot you down if you do. The hope that is supposed to spark to life inside you is smothered by a choking shroud of dread.

Something isn’t right.

Why give you the chance? With how his trust in you wavers? Why leave you alone knowing it gives you an opportunity to flee? No doubt you’re being watched even now, but perhaps you can outrun whoever it is that is observing you. Is this a test? One you’re designed to fail? Would he actually let you go? Without a goodbye?

It draws across your thoughts suddenly, like the flash of a distant explosion as the ground trembles under you ominously.

You’re being used as bait.

They’re expecting them to come for you. He had you paraded you through the streets in clear view, made a display of proof of life, and then left you like bait in a trap. He’s expecting one of your team to sneak up to you, to try and rescue you. He wants them to take you by the hand and pull you to safety, only for you to watch them cut down by sniper fire as their blood splatters across your immaculate wardrobe. He’s using you to execute them.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and you scan the park for familiar faces. It’s mostly empty, the lane of trees leading up to the fountain bare from the deep freeze of winter. Your eyes fall on a figure there, slouching against a tree trunk, mask pulled down so cigarette smoke floats from the corner of his mouth. Sandy blonde hair peeking from under a beanie, a scar snaking up to his jaw, but the rust eyes are the same without his skull mask.

Your eyes lock, and he holds it for a moment before his gaze sweeps up to a nearby rooftop before landing back on you. A silent question. You nod. He grimaces, and those trusting eyes sink with a sadness that engraves itself into your bones alongside the name of your puppet master.

A simple hand signal, one you’ve seen him use a hundred times.

Wait.

Your heart sinks. You want to call out to him, hurl yourself towards the safety of his arms, beg for rescue and hope that the mere touch of him and the others will erase the things you’ve done, the person you’ve become, the phantom of Makarov’s embrace. Yet Ghost warns you to wait, to stay put. They’ll find another way, one that doesn’t risk your life for the price of freedom. You can’t stand it. Here’s right there, he’s so close.

You part your lips, and you mouth to him a single word.

“Help.”

Your handler comes to collect you. Ghost is gone before the car Makarov’s man escorts you to pulls away.

Later, a stranger bumps shoulders with you at the airport, muttering an apology before running off and dragging a piece of luggage behind him. You blink after him. He looks familiar.

It’s only after you’re stashed into a safehouse, discarding your clothes on the floor of your bathroom that the note flutters free from your pocket. Handwritten, scrawled hastily. You recognize Johnny’s handwriting, with the barely dotted ‘i’s and crossed ‘t’s. Your name is written at the top. The one you’d forgotten.

This is your name. We’re not sure how much you remember, but you were a soldier, a warrior like us.

More than that, you were our ally, our friend.

He took you from us. We didn’t know, hen, we swear. We thought you died in the plane crash.

We mourned for you. We didn’t know you were alive. We didn’t know what he did to you.

We’re coming. We’ll bring you home. We won’t stop until you’re safe.

Be patient, stay alive. We’ll find a way.

If you can get away by yourself, contact Nikolai. He can help you.

Come back to us.

Please.

You memorize the cell number on the paper, look once more at the beloved words of your friends, and vanish the letter without a trace.

---

The gun in your hands is familiar. A Soviet era semi-automatic pistol, 9-millimeter. His favorite. A relic of a bygone era that continues to prove its usefulness. A ghost of the past that in so many ways mimics his ideals. Your hands close around it, feeling the cool grip against your fingers. You lift the sights to your gaze, stare beyond to the target who stands before you, his hands raised.

Price’s eyes are wide with grief and disbelief.

Behind him are the men you once called brothers. They stand in shocked silence, not reaching for their weapons, refusing to lift them to you, shoot you down, even in this. There’s heartbreak in their eyes, an inescapable despair that sucks the fabric of hope from their souls.

The gun trembles in your grip. The safety clicks off like the sound of a thunderbolt, and the voice of your true self wails in a bone chilling shriek the others don’t seem to hear. Agony pulses scorching in your blood, eyes locked with the light of anguish in Price’s stare. The cracked marrow of you, where Makarov has etched his engravings, thirsts for warm blood to soak your skin. You know the warmth of his tongue as he drinks it from your wet, heaving gasps.

“Shoot him.”

Cold, detached, a voice you’ve heard a thousand times and will hear a thousand times more. His form presses into your spine, arms looping around your waist so he props his chin on the crook of your shoulder. You don’t need to look at him to know the darkness in his eyes, the absence of a smile that he’ll only reveal in the wake of your violence.

Lips skim the shell of your ear in a feather-light touch. You shudder, instinctively pressing back into him in search of his embrace, the place where you’re safe, home, loved.

“Do you like my marionette, captain?” He asks smoothly, gaze blinking slowly like a cat. Unbothered, apathetic, cruel. “Do you like what I’ve made her?”

Price’s face hardens into fury. You startle at it, mistaking his ire not for Makarov but for you- The one who has yet to find your way back, who had earned the price of your life by killing the ones he’s fought to protect. You wonder if he can smell the viscera on your hands. You wonder if someday you’ll earn his forgiveness.

Makarov chuckles, as if he’s amused by the hateful scorn on your captain’s face. His hands snake up your sides, your arms, until his calloused palms close over the grip holding the pistol.

“Just pull the trigger, darling.” He whispers silkily. “Kill them and come back to me.”

His finger presses yours down on the trigger. You tremble. You can’t move. Price doesn’t flinch. The hollow inside you clenches so violently it forces the air from your lungs in a wet, gasping sob.

A kiss to your jaw.

“Come back to your cage, Marionette.”

The gunshot is muffled by your scream.

---

“Marionette!!”

You push at the hands that wrench you from slumber, voice rising in a wail that cracks at your throat. Hot tears overflow from your eyes, and your watery gaze takes in the looming shadow that braces above you in the dark. A whimper escapes you, and you try to pull away, to escape. Scared, confused, delirious with fear, you fumble at his hands securing your arms, begging in a wrecked plea for mercy.

“No, please-”

“Marionette.” He hisses, angry now at your fearful delusions. A hard shake forces you to gasp and suck cold air into your lungs. “Look at me.”

You do, choking on a sob, shaking from head to toe. You look at this man who had captured you and poisoned the spirit of you, made you forget even your own name. You can barely see him in the darkness aside from the glint of his predatory stare. The grip he has on you will leave bruises, and a part of you still accepts this too.

“Breathe.” He whispers, and it’s a soft sigh, gentle in comparison to his inherent viciousness. “You’re safe.”

Am I? You wonder feverishly. With you?

You force yourself to swallow as you shudder, taste the liquid pulse of your heartbeat against the cage of your ribs. It thumps in the hollow inside you, where his strings ensnare your soul.

“I saw him.” You force yourself to rasp, desperately scrambling for an excuse for your hysteria. “The man who tried to take me from you.”

Makarov’s grip on you doesn’t loosen. In the darkness, he stays silent.

He doesn’t believe you.

Panic flares inside you, and once more you whimper, quiver in his hold.

He could kill you, right here. He could stretch to cup your face in a delicate hold, whisper a soothing murmur only to snap your neck. You could die here, in his arms, in the way you are meant to.

Instead he releases a slow breath through his nose, shifts so he lays you down with you curled into his chest. His arms close around you in a tender embrace. They feel like shackles. He plants a beloved, gentle kiss to your forehead and you sob, remembering the time when it was all you ever wanted.

“It was a nightmare, beloved.” He whispers soothingly, a hand tracing your bare spine. “Just a dream.”

A hand raises up to your nape, tilts your head into the stare of his glittering darkness. He’s silent for a moment, seeing the way your eyes sparkle with tears, and you wonder if he smiles at that, enjoying the sight of your desperation. A thumb smoothes moisture across your cheek. You lean into it with a sigh.

“They’ll never take you from me.” He promises in a murmur. Low, lethal, imminent with his intent that rewrites the heavens.

You know he divines this prophecy too.

You cling to him like a child afraid of the unknown, feel the warmth of him bleed into you. You think about how his violence and vengeance scares you. You think about the way his lips taste on yours. You think about the endearments he whispers into your skin with dearest sincerity. You think about the things he’s done to you despite his affections. You think about the bruises and scars you bear as a cost of his love. You think about the death in his stare as he slaughters his betrayers...

and you know you’ll have to kill him.

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