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pickingupmymercedes · 3 days

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Thank you, for everything (it takes a village) - Lewis Hamilton ft. Ayrton Senna

Little something for the 30th Anniversary of Senna's legacy

pairing: Senna! Reader X Lewis Hamilton

warnings: mentions of death, mourning, 30th anniversary of Senna's legacy

wordcount: +4k

song: In your arms - Birdy

a/n: People in Brasil don't say is the anniversary of his death but rather of his legacy, and it's such a beautiful way to see it. I hope Ayrton knows, wherever he is, how loved he still is.

a/n.2: Ayrton was known as Beco/Becão by his family and friends

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi! (Also, my written portuguese is a bit rusty, so if there's anything weird, please let me know)

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When hope went away I still held on, to the love that you gave, it’s all I’ve got of you now. I will never know you, don’t get to understand, no answers to questions. It’s too late for that. But I was in your arms, once

A pre-dawn Miami humidity clung to y/n like a second skin, even inside the automatically cooled hotel room. The city slept, but the salty air carried a raw energy that mirrored the turmoil brewing within her. Today, the 1st of May, was a day she always needed to face alone.

She laid there, staring at the ceiling, the weight growing with each passing moment. Today, the air itself seemed thick with an unspoken grief, a shared memory of loss that resonated across the globe. 30 years. Three decades since the world had watched in horror as lives changed forever, hers included.

The sheets felt too restrictive, the silence too loud. Pulling them back, she tiptoed past the rumpled form of Lewis, still fast asleep. He'd offered to come with her, to run by the beach together, but she needed this. Needed the solitude, the rhythmic pounding of her feet against the pavement to chase away the ghosts of a past she barely remembered.

Miami slept, bathed in the faint glow of pre-dawn light, but Y/N felt wide awake, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Stepping out onto the balcony, the salty air stung her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she gazed out at the vast expanse of the ocean, the darkness slowly giving way to a canvas of vibrant oranges and pinks.

A single tear traced a path down her cheek, a silent tribute to a love stolen too soon. Every year on this day, it was as if the world held its breath, waiting for her grief to surface. This anniversary wasn't a celebration; it was a stark reminder of the void that had forever shaped her life.

The need to move, to outrun the memories that threatened to consume her, became an insistent ache. With each step, a memory flickered to life, but one always stood out the most, the one few people knew of.

She was four, piloting her tiny kart around a makeshift track at Interlagos. The familiar scent of burnt rubber and exhaust fumes flooded her senses, transporting her back to a time before tragedy struck. Y/n grinned, her hair whipping in the wind, as she pushed her little kart to its limits.

A wild turn, a sickening jolt, and the world tilted sideways. Then, strong arms scooped her up. "Tudo bem aí, filha?" (Everything okay there, darling?) Her father's voice, warm and reassuring. He checked her over, a playful glint in his dark brown eyes. "Você tava indo bem, se assustou?" (You were doing great, did you scare yourself?)

Y/n shook her head, a defiant tear clinging to her cheek. “Eu acho que tá bom por hoje já.” (I think that’s enough for today) Ayrton ruffled her hair, a conforting glint in his eyes. “Não pai, eu quero baixar o tempo da volta”(No dad, I wanna lap faster) little y/n stood her ground, already half way back into her kart. "Vamos voltar lá e mostrar como se faz então, Senninha” (Let’s go back there and show who’s boss then, Senninha).

The memory faded, replaced by the rhythmic sound of the waves. Anya stopped, chest heaving. Frustration gnawed at her. She would never know that feeling of hearing him cheer her on in that deep, familiar voice again. All she had were these fleeting snippets, these echoes of a life stolen too soon.

Each stride was a battle cry against the past, a desperate attempt to find some semblance of peace. She ran until the sun climbed higher, painting the sky in vibrant hues, until her lungs burned and her legs screamed for mercy. Finally, Y/n slowed to a walk, chest heaving, sweat stinging her eyes.

Collapsing onto a weathered bench, she leaned forward, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. As the initial wave of exhaustion subsided, a new clarity washed over her. The memories would always be there, a bittersweet reminder of a love lost.

But today, she would celebrate his life, his passion, his legacy that lived on, not just in her name, but in the hearts of countless who still chanted his name at races.

Returning to the hotel, Y/n showered, the steam slowly clearing the remnants of the run and the emotional turmoil. Opening the bathroom door, she found Lewis propped up on the bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up, a concerned look in his warm brown eyes.

"Morning," he said, his voice slightly raspy. "Early run?"

She offered a tired smile. "Needed to clear my head." She sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling a towel around her damp hair. "Big day ahead"

Lewis put down his phone, his gaze intent on her. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice softer now. "You alright?"

Taking another deep breath, she met his gaze. "Yeah, I'll be okay. Just… emotional, even more so this year"

Lewis reached out and took her hand, his touch a warm anchor in the storm of her emotions. "No judgment," he said quietly. "Today isn't easy for you, I know."

Y/n leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his understanding. "Interviews all day and the dinner at night" she sighed. "They want me to relive it all – the memories, the grief. It gets exhausting sometimes."

Lewis nodded. "Then maybe you should have your people reschedule them. There's no need to—"

She cut him off with a gentle shake of her head. "No, Lew. I can't hide from it. Today may be hard, but it's important. It's a chance to celebrate his life, to keep his memory alive." she squeezed his hand, a newfound determination strengthening her resolve. "I just…" she hesitated, her voice thick with emotion, "I wish I could remember more."

Lewis's gaze softened further. "You may not have years of childhood memories, but you carry his spirit in you. His passion, his strength, that's part of who you are."

Y/n looked out the window, at the city slowly waking up to a new day. His words held truth. She may not have clear memories of her father, but his legacy, his love, was woven into the fabric of her being.

Taking another deep breath, she met Lewis's gaze, a small smile danced in her eyes "I hope so.”

Today would be impossibly hard. As people celebrated a hero, she would mourn a loss, but they would all be facing the future nonetheless. He may have been gone, but the love he gave her remained, with her and in her.

"I remember you my way, It’s not perfect or fair, I paint you with colours, That weren’t ever there. Feels harder these days after so long, ‘Cause my memory fades"

The sterile hotel conference room felt strangely warm, the air thick with a mix of anticipation and unspoken grief. Y/n sat opposite Galvão Bueno, the legendary Brazilian motorsport commentator, his kind eyes reflecting a lifetime of witnessing triumphs and tragedies on the track. This wasn't just another interview. Galvão knew Ayrton. Knew him not just as a driver, but as a friend, a competitor, a kindred spirit who left a void in Brazilian hearts, and most acutely, in Y/n's.

The interview began, a dance between formality and shared history. Galvão's questions flowed, laced with a quiet respect that Y/n appreciated. "O Ayrton" he began, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips "sempre teve uma maneira diferente de cativar o público” (always had a way of captivating a room"

Y/n nodded, a flicker of curiosity sparking in her eyes. "Ele tinha” (He did) she admitted "Mas para ser bem honesta, eu lembro de sempre ficar puxando ele para sair dos lugares porque ele parava para conversar com todo mundo” (But to be honest, I remember always dragging him out of place since he would stop and talk to everyone)

A warm chuckle escaped Galvão's lips at her confession. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Você sabia que antes de toda corrida, ele fazia um ritualzinho? Ele parava na frente do carro, fechava os olhos, e... bom, ninguém sabe direito o que ele fazia. Mas ele tocava o carro em três lugares específicos – o nariz, a roda direita dianteira, e aqui” (Did you know that before every race, he'd have this little ritual? He'd stand by his car, close his eyes, and…well, no one knew exactly what he did, but he'd touch the car in three specific places – the nose cone, the front right wheel, and then, right here) Galvão tapped his chest over his heart.

Y/n smiled, surprised that someone still remembered that sequence. But, although this was the Ayrton Senna she knew from the countless documentaries and newsreels, how he recounted that from memory was a glimpse of a private Ayrton, a man seeking solace and strength before the roar of the engines began, not something she would notice while watching a video.

"E tem mais, Senninha” (There's more, Senninha) he said, using the affectionate nickname many Brazilians called her. "Você sabe que ele era muito supersticioso. Ele nunca usava um capacete novo pela primeira vez em um final de semana de corrida. Sempre insistia em um mais velho, mesmo que estivesse ruim para usar.” (He was fiercely superstitious, you see. He wouldn't wear a new helmet for the first time on a race weekend. Always insisted on the old one, even if it was a little worse for wear.)

Y/n couldn't help but let out a small laugh, a welcome sound that broke the tension in the room. "Parece exatamente algo que ele faria” (That sounds exactly like something he’d do) she said, a newfound appreciation blooming in her chest.

Galvão continued, weaving a tapestry of anecdotes. He spoke of Ayrton's meticulous work ethic, his relentless pursuit of perfection, and then, with a twinkle in his eye, of his playful side. "Ele sempre arrastava os reporters brasileiros para o kart em Interlagos, lá onde você aprendeu a pilotar” (He'd always drag Brazilian reporters to go-kart at Interlagos, right there where you learned how to race" he reminisced, a fond smile creasing his face. "E deixa eu te contar, seu pai sempre ganhava da gente, por muito!" (And let me tell you, your father would always bet us, by far)

Y/n listened, captivated. These were stories of a man, not just a legend. A man who found joy in competition, even outside the high-pressure world of Formula One. As the interview progressed, a kaleidoscope of Ayrton unfolded before her, a man filled with complexities and contradictions, yet undeniably her father.

Stepping out of the stifling conference room, Y/n felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Galvão's interview had stirred a potent cocktail of emotions within her – a heady mix of pride, nostalgia, and a gnawing sense of loss. Back in her hotel room, she found her ant Viviane unpacking a basket of goodies as she waited for her youngest niece. The scent of warm pão de queijo filled the air, a familiar comfort amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

"Você chegou, florzinha" (You’re here, little flower) the elder woman said, her voice as warm as the sun, pulling Y/n into a tight embrace. "Como foi?” (How did it go)

Y/n sank into the hug, the scent of lavender and her ant’s comforting embrace temporarily pushing aside the weight of the interview. "Foi bom” (It was good) she mumbled, pulling away slightly. “Galvão knew Dad well, that's for sure” y/n’s changed to English, hoping it’d be okay to use the language she didn’t have to think so hard to answer back in.

Both women sat by the outdoor sitting area of the room, the crash of the waves a comforting distraction as y/n ate the last bits of the cheese bread that were being served all day during the interviews on the anniversary and promotions for the new Netflix show.

"I believe everything's going well for the dinner latter tonight” the younger offered, more out of obligation than conviction. Viviane’s gaze sharpened, the lines around her eyes crinkling with a quiet understanding. She held Y/n’s gaze until she asked "But something troubles you, doesn't it?"

Y/n hesitated, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her shirt. It was a familiar pattern her family knew all too well, the switch to English, the fiddling, the lack of glint in the eyes she had inherited from Ayrton.

Taking a deep breath, y/n confessed, "It's just…all these interviews, all these stories about Dad. I feel like everyone knew a part of him I never did."

A shadow flickered across Viviane’s face, a brief echo of the grief they both still carried. She reached out, gently squeezing Y/n's hand. "My love" she began, her voice soft yet firm “Beco was a complex man. Even those closest to him couldn't fully grasp him. He was a whirlwind, a force of nature on the track, but off it…" she paused, a wistful smile gracing her lips. "He was a private man, and yes, perhaps a little distant at times. He lived for his racing, dedicating every fiber to it."

Y/n nodded, a familiar ache tightening her chest. "It's not that I blame him," she said quietly. "He was the best."

Viviane’s smile softened. "He was, my darling. But being the best came at a cost. It left little room for the mundane, the everyday things that build memories."

A flicker of a childhood memory sparked in Y/n's mind – the faint scent of her father's cologne, the warmth of his hand enveloping hers as they walked through a park. They weren't grand gestures, but they were hers, proof of a love that existed beyond trophies and championships.

The elder saw the shift in Y/n's eyes, the glimmer of a forgotten memory. "Não se compare com o Galvão ou com qualquer outro, meu amor” (Don't compare yourself to Galvão or the others, my love) she said gently. "Você é a filha dele. Você conheceu o Beco, o homem com o mesmo olhar que o seu” (You are his daughter. You knew Beco, the man with the same eyes as yours)

Y/n's gaze drifted out to the bustling Miami cityscape, a blur compared to the vivid image forming in her mind's eye – a playful smile on her father's face as he taught her how to say pão de queijo. It was a fleeting memory, but a precious one nonetheless.

The stories, though fragmented, were pieces of a larger puzzle, a picture of her father that was starting to take shape, not just as a legendary driver, but as a man capable of love, laughter, and quiet moments of joy.

As they finished their lunch, Viviane placed a comforting hand on Y/n's cheek. "Go now, my darling," she said, her voice soft yet strong. "Celebrate your father, honor his memory. But don't forget to celebrate the love you shared, the love that lives on within you."

Y/n nodded, tears welling up in her eyes, this time tears of gratitude for the woman who had been a constant source of love and support throughout her life. Leaning in, they embraced tightly. "Obrigada, tia. Por tudo" (Thank you, antie. For everything) she whispered, the words thick with emotion.

As she left the hotel room later, for another round of interviews before the official dinner, Y/n went to the window, gazing out at the ocean once again, taking a deep breath, she whispered, "Obrigada, pai. Por tudo.” (Thank you, dad. For everything). It was a simple phrase, but for her, it held the weight of a lifetime of love and an unspoken promise to keep his legacy alive.

"And these aren’t tears because you’re gone, But for all the years that we lost, All those times I missed that love, Had it just for a moment"

As the night dawned in Miami, the heat dissipated but the humidity continued to clung to the city like a second skin. Y/n bustled around the room, a flurry of nervousness. The dinner to celebrate Ayrton Senna’s legacy started in a couple of hours and although the event had been meticulously planned for weeks, and by at least 30 people, the weight of the world felt concentrated on Y/n shoulder’s, the formal host to the dinner.

Lewis emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around his lower waist, beads of water clinging to his dark braids. He stopped short at the sight of Y/n, a smile spreading across his face as he took sight of her sat perched on the edge of the bed, a faded white t-shirt of his hanging loosely on her slender frame, a white towel turbaned around her wet hair.

"Planning on hitting the town like that?" he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. "Although" he added, his voice dropping a touch lower, "I do love the look."

Y/n laughed, a sound that banished the last vestiges of worry from Lewis's heart. "Not quite," she said, her smile widening. "I’m trying to figure out what to post"

He noticed her phone held open on the bed, displaying two video options. As he walked closer, his bare chest brushing against hers for a fleeting moment – a small reminder of the intimacy they shared – Y/n looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with a light he hadn't yet seen earlier in the day.

"Help me choose" she said, her voice filled with a newfound energy.

He picked her up and sat her on his laps, occupying her place by the edge of the bed, the scent of his shower gel a subtle but pleasant counterpoint to the sweet aroma of the lotion she had applied. He leaned over to see the two videos.

The first one, showed a baby Y/n, barely a year old, toddling through a sun-dappled garden, her chubby arms flailing as she chased a flurry of brightly colored butterflies. In the background, Ayrton with a gentle smile on his face, playfully swatting the butterflies away from his daughter with a swatting motion.

The second video, showed a slightly older Y/n, around two years-old, in a swimming pool. Ayrton, submerged in the water next to her, was demonstrating how to blow bubbles. Y/n, a mischievous glint in her eyes, mimicked his actions, creating a flurry of glistening bubbles that danced around her face.

"The bubble one. Something about that mischievous gleam in your eyes always has me hooked” Lewis said, amusement dancing in his voice

Y/n laughed, a sound so genuine and unburdened that it made Lewis's heart skip a beat. "I was always a rowdy thing" she admitted, a playful glint in her own eyes.

"A charming one, at that," Lewis confirmed, reaching out to kiss her shoulder. Picking the video, Lewis handed the phone back to her. "Let the world see that side to you" Y/n grinned, tapping on the screen to schedule the post.

She got up and disappeared into the bathroom to get dressed, and a few minutes later Lewis walked into Y/n intently listening to her phone on speaker, as she fiddled with a stray curl as she spoke.

"Adriane" she soothed; her voice laced with a warmth that cut through the phone's static. "Você está indo como minha convidada, lembra?” (You're coming as my guest, remember?)

A nervous laugh tinkled on the other end. “Eles sabem disso?” (Do they know that?). Andriane, Ayrton's last girlfriend and a prominent Brazilian television personality.

Y/n bit her lip, a pang of sympathy shooting through her. "Eu sei.” (I do know) she sighed. "Eu sei que eles nunca realmente te aceitaram, mas você era diferente. Você foi a única que ele me apresentou” (I know they never really accepted you, but you were different. You were the only one he introduced me."

A brief silence followed, then Adriane spoke, her voice softer now. "Ele queria uma família, Y/n. Uma família para você. Ele sempre falava isso, seu futuro, com ele” (He wanted a family, Y/n. A family for you. He talked about it all the time, your future, with him)

Y/n's heart clenched. Memories flickered – fleeting glimpses of her father smiling at her from across a dinner table, his eyes holding a tenderness she hadn't quite understood at the time. Perhaps, she thought, there had been more to those moments than she'd realized.

"Obrigada Adriane, por tudo. Por ter sido parte da vida dele, e por ser parte da minha, do seu jeito.” (Thank you Adriane, for everything. For being a part of his life, and for being a part of mine, in your own way) she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Adriane sniffled softly and then laughed “Você é tão charmosa quanto ele, Senninha” (You are as much of a charmer as he was, Senninha) a sound that banished the last traces of tension. "Vai dar tudo certo.” (Everything will be alright)

With a final exchange of goodbyes, Y/n hung up. Glancing over at Lewis, who was attempting to understand the few Portuguese words he could understand. She took a deep breath. "My family’s not gonna make this any easier" she sighed, her voice hesitant.

Lewis turned and reached for her, pulling her by the waist with a questioning look etched on his face. Y/n, feeling a flicker of anxiety, explained the conversation, but mostly of the unwavering loyalty she felt towards the woman who held such a significant piece of her father's story.

As she finished, Lewis placed a gentle hand on her cheek. "You miss him, don't you?" he asked softly, his eyes filled with understanding as you gave him a sad smile and nod

"It doesn't matter how long it's been" Lewis continued, his voice firm yet gentle. "Grief doesn't have a deadline."

Y/n remained silent, the weight of his words settling in. He knew the anniversary was a constant reminder, a punch to the gut every year. He could only imagine the whirlwind of emotions it brought – the bittersweet memories mixed with the crushing weight of what could have been.

"It feels unfair, sometimes…" she started, her voice catching signaling she wouldn’t complete her thoughts. Lewis tightened his hold on her, pulling her closer. "It is unfair," he agreed, his voice a low rumble against her ear

Y/n leaned into his touch, seeking solace in his words and the steady beat of his heart. The dam finally broke, and a light sob went thought her body. Tears streamed down her face, hot and silent. Lewis held her close, whispering reassurances against her hair, letting her feel without judgment.

"Every year," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "it's like a punch to the gut. A reminder of all the birthdays, holidays, just…everyday moments I missed with him." Her voice cracked. "Everyone has stories, memories. They remember his laugh, his jokes, his warmth. All I have are these…flashes of moments, barely enough to string together a semblance of who he was."

Lewis didn't try to fix it, to offer empty platitudes. He simply held her gaze as she spoke, a silent promise etched in his eyes. He wouldn't try to replace the memories she never had, but he would be a part of her future, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold.

“It's okay to mourn the future that was stolen from you” he whispered, his voice gentle, as Y/n leaned into his touch, a flicker of something akin to peace flickering in her eyes. "Do you think he would have liked me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The question hung heavy in the air. It was a question she'd probably grappled with for years, a silent fear gnawing at the edges of her grief. Lewis knew he couldn't give her a definitive answer, but he could offer her the solace of a possibility.

"There's no doubt he would have loved you fiercely." he said, his voice firm with conviction. “And he would have been so proud of the woman you've become."

Silence settled between them once more, but this time it was a comfortable silence, filled with a newfound understanding. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "For being here, for listening, for understanding."

Y/n turned, her eyes meeting his in the mirror, a fresh wave of tear forming in her eyelids. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"These aren't sad tears" she explained, wiping away at her eyes "They're just…wish you were here' kind of tears… For this" Y/n gestured at the phone on the counter. "For the celebration, for being surrounded by people who loved him. I just wish he could be here too."

Her voice softened, an acceptance in her eyes. The pain and loss would always be there, a part of her story. But there was also space for joy, for celebrating his life, and for building a future for herself.

As he pulled her into a warm embrace, Lewis whispered into her ear, "He is here, Y/n. In you, in your strength, in the mischief you still carry in your eyes. Every step you take forward is partly because of his love for you."

They stood there for a moment longer, a silent conversation passing between them. Y/n pulled away, wiping the last vestiges of moisture from her cheeks.

"Alright then" she said, a playful glint back in her eyes. "Let's go celebrate Dad. And show Miami a little Brazilian hospitality."

Lewis grinned. "Lead the way" his arms wrapping her and turning her around so he could kiss her.

The 30th anniversary of his death, although grim and a meticulously planned affair, held a significance that went beyond events, interview and RSVPs. It was a celebration of a life well-lived, a father cherished, and a daughter determined to carry his legacy forward, one mischievous bubble at a time.

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TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #senna!reader #ayrton senna #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton #formula 1

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 days

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AITA for asking my (36F she/her) girlfriend (32F she/they) to be out at work if she wants to become myanager ?

It's messy and complicated. I love my girlfriend very much and ultimately I think we are in a shitty situation with no real win and we have a different opinions on how to lose.

I am a polyamorous lesbian. I have a wife but I also sometimes have other secondary partners, and my wife does too.

I am happy to work in a place safe enough that I am out at work (about the lesbian part, not the polyamory part). My wife often comes at afterwork events and because she is a sweetheart, is loved by most of my colleagues.

I have been at this job for 4 years, that's how I met this colleague, Angel. This person looked familiar but I couldn't put my finger on it. We talked, grew a bit closer then I met them again outside of work, at a queer event of my city. This time I recognized them. Angel is trans, non binary and fem presenting, at work she is not out and present herself as a cis heterosexual man. We talked, I obviously swore to keep it a secret but knowing this part of her helped us growing even closer together. We have now been dating for 3 years.

Angel has a longtime girlfriend (childhood sweethearts even) as her primary relationship. Let's call her Valentine. Valentine is working in the same industry but not in the same company. Because it's a niche field, everyone knows everyone and we often meet at work events. I also like her very much and we are good friends. Val is terrified to be out as polyamori at work because she is afraid of what the gossip will do to her work reputation. Valentine has a more public facing role than Angel and I and I absolutely respect her desire to protect what she has.

Even if it doesn't look like it, I do like too to keep private and professional life separated… Angel and I mostly connected outside of the workplace at queer events and are also both deeply involved in the drag scene and the queer political scene of our city. We never flirted at work and have even never stole a kiss on workground. We just happened to fall in love anyway even if we recognized the situation was less than ideal.

Our company has been through a lot of changes recently. My teamleader is leaving and Angel(that previously worked in another department) has been asked if she wants the role.

She does.

I have more experience than her even if she has more seniority with the company. I have been pretty open about wanting a senior expert position rather than managerial one and that's why I have not been offered the role. I am really happy for her and think she will be a great manager and recognize it's a great opportunity.

But I don't want her to be My manager. It's a really dangerous position to have over a romantic partner and she recognizes that. Moreover even if we managed to keep our relationship a secret until now, we know it's a precarious position. If our secret would be revealed while she IS my manager it could be terrible for us. She could be accused of taking advantage of me, or me to want to sleep my way through the top. Keep also in mind that she is male presenting at work and I am publicly a lesbian so yeah… We are also in very committed relationship which is another mess… It would not look good for us should we be forcibly out…

That's why I want to go to HR while her candidacy is being studied and explains the whole thing or at least some of them. I don't want to leave my team because my mentor is there and not a lot of people are doing what we do but maybe we could sort something out together? I would agree for Angel to be the team leader if I have a separate manager… Or maybe Angel could be the leader of another team ? Or I could become a more independent team member ? Angel and I are publicly work best friends so it would made sense anyway for me to have a different manager to keep things more fair.

Angel doesn't want to, and Valentine is absolutely against it. Angel thinks it will ruin her chance at the position. Maybe want to sort things out After she has been offered the job, maybe try to work out how we would work at manager/managee for some time before calling HR. I would not be against waiting for a real offer but listening her talk, I am afraid she intends to push things forever. Angel is afraid HR will reveal our secret to everyone. I recognize our HR team is not the best and even gossipy but it's about really private and protected things (in my country) : our sexual orientation and sexual identities. We also have a very good Union (with queer delegates) and even if I am unsure about HR, I am sure the union will remember them the law protecting us here and will ultimately behave appropriately. But I recognized it's a risk.

I want to break things of with Angel if she doesn't want to go to HR. My wife says it's mean and manipulative to use this kind of ultimatum. The way I see it I am just protecting myself. Angel is putting her job before our relationship and I am OK with that, she is also priorizing Valentine's needs (as she should) but in this case, I should be allowed to do the same and protect myself and my job. From my point of view, Angel could : refuse the position, go to HR, or accept the breakup.

AITA for this ultimatum ? Valentine thinks I am. Angel is confused. My wife disapproves but loves me to much to call me an asshole.

#aita #am i the asshole

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katelynnwrites · 1 day

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who's afraid of little old me? | lea schüller

warnings: slight homophobia and angst but with a happy ending

word count: 791

summary: you're far from perfect but lea loves you for it

a/n: the fifth installation of my 'the anthology' blurbs series

feral was the word your teachers used to describe you as, all untidiness and chaos.

you know your parents would describe you similarly, if you spoke to them anymore.

your girlfriend, lea, is the complete opposite. always neat and polite.

she is patient too, one of the many reasons she is such a brilliant striker. she can be counted on to wait for the precise moment to do what is so well known for.

but her patience is also for you.

your parents hate you for being gay, hers accepted her wholeheartedly.

accepted you too, once the blonde introduced you as her partner.

it had scared you terribly at first, given you so much anxiety that this would be the second family you lose but lea soothes it all easily with sweet, gentle words of reassurance and love.

the german woman always knows the right words to say to you. how to calm you down is practically her special talent, given that she is the only person in the world who can do so.

she’s level headed and cool under pressure. once again the complete opposite of you, off the pitch.

you have your father’s temper and on occasion, your mother’s mean streak. both of their characteristics had greatly shaped your childhood.

it was an angry household that you grew up in, one that you have done everything to escape.

but the effects, despite your best efforts, linger.

you yell when you are scared and cornered. you’d rather deal with everything on your own, no matter how much you are struggling, than ask for help.

it took lea a while to figure you out.

to learn that you don’t intend on hurting her but rather, don’t know how else to react.

so it’s with patience that she teaches you to talk to her, to let her help you instead of shutting her out.

to let you know that she doesn’t expect anything in return because she loves you.

you and all your imperfections.

the way your parents raised you made you think that you owed someone every time they did something for you but your lea shows you otherwise.

she never asks for anything in return. only hopes that you let her love you and be there for you.

so you do. even if it means relearning things you have done your entire life.

you will let down your guard for lea because you love her too.

the bayern munich player has never caged you, never hurt you and never called you crazy, like a lot of people did when you were growing up.

you’re by no means an easy person to like. you’ve never made friends easily.

it had taken a few months for you to become at home, with the rest of your teammates.

you’re cold and clinical on the pitch and that’s the only side of you the fans see so you understand why you’re not a favourite like the blonde.

you can be mean and you can be petty. lea doesn’t have a selfish bone in her body.

in fact, you’re actually quite sure that a resentful thought has never once crossed her mind.

for you, showing kindness had to be learnt. it is innate in the german forward and with every day that she is by your side, she shows you that you can learn it.

it’s because of her influence that you snap less at people and instead, laugh a lot more with them.

you will never understand why lea with her beautiful blue eyes and bright smile that lights up anyone’s day fell for you like she did and chooses over and over again to love you.

it makes you the luckiest person in the world.

you know that most people who don’t know you, think of you as intimidating. with opponents, it’s in your favour so you are okay with it.

but lea’s never thought so.

‘who’s afraid of little old me?’ you used to think to yourself as you grew up in your loud and angry house.

you kept the peace there at the expense of your own, pushing down your own emotions just so you didn’t upset others.

lea’s shown you that you don’t need to do that anymore.

she won’t leave you. not when you are happy or content and certainly not when you are mad or anxious.

so ‘who’s afraid of little old me?’

it’s not lea. your lea’s never been and never will be.

instead, she sees the best in you.

with soft kisses and steady affection, nights spent safely in her arms and dates where your love for her only grows, the striker brings it out, so that the rest of the world can see it too.

#this is my favourite track of the album #and this is the most personal of my blurbs by far #lea schüller #lea schüller x reader #lea schüller imagine #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #woso oneshot #woso fanfics #katelynnwrites #fcb frauen #gerwnt #dfb frauen #'the anthology' blurbs series

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joelslastofus · 2 days

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[SUMMARY: Secretly in love with Joel, you have been helping Joel raise Sarah until her mother comes back around and becomes jealous of the relationship you have with Joel.]

Angst fluff

Note: sorry if your name is Cindy, couldn’t think of a name for Sarah’s mother lol

It had been a few years now since you had been babysitting Sarah, a few years now since a simple crush on her father turned into feelings deeper than you could comprehend. Joel Miller was always a respectful man, appreciative of your time and help in being there for his daughter. Sarah and you did have a close bond, one that he watched grow before his eyes until the unexpected happened..

A little over a month ago, Sarah’s mother Cindy started coming around. It was a surprise to all, especially you. She was nice to you at first but you felt something was off whenever she was around yet you could never put your finger on it.

That evening Joel ordered pizza for everyone, you had just finished Sarah with a project as her mother spoke to Joel in the kitchen.

“I love a good Hawaiian pizza,” Cindy reached for one of the two slices in the box that were Hawaiian before Joel unexpectedly stopped her.

“Uh, actually those are for y/n-“ you happened to walk into the kitchen at this very awkward moment. Cindy raising a brow at Joel in obvious disapproval.

“It’s her favorite pizza, whenever I order I always get those two for her”

“Oh, isn’t that cute” Cindy spoke sarcastically.

“You can have one, I don’t mind” you quickly interjected.

“No, I’d rather not” she grabbed another plain slice from the box and sat down at the table as Sarah looked at you uncomfortably. Trying to ignore the obvious tension you grabbed your slice and sat down as Sarah sat beside you.

Joel quickly changed the subject talking about how nice the weather would be that weekend and going to the park.

“Ready to lose another game of volleyball, dad?” Sarah teased her father.

“Oh you’re beating him now at sports?” Cindy asked with curiosity.

“No, y/n actually beats him at everything-“

“Hey, hey, don’t let it get to her head, I let her win” Joel winked at you as you and Sarah laughed. None of you noticing Cindy’s expression looking back and forth between you and Joel. Jealousy oozing from her as she watched just how well you clicked with Sarah and especially Joel. Cindy may have been gone for some time but now she was back and she didn’t want anyone taking her place.

“You two sure have become close huh?” Cindy asked referring to you and Joel.

“Yeah, it’s been a few years now-“

“People must think you two are a couple” she interrupted making Joel practically choke on his drink.

“Oh no” you quickly responded with a shake of your head, you could feel the warmth on your cheeks from slight embarrassment. Of course secretly you fantasized about being Joels girl but you knew that would never happen.

Your feelings for Joel always remained hidden.

“Could’ve fooled me” Cindy uttered under her breath. Her attitude started to make you slightly uncomfortable you felt it was best to leave.

“I should go”

“Already? I thought you were gonna watch a movie with us like we usually do?” Sarah showed disappointment in you having to leave, only irritating Cindy more.

“Maybe another time, I’m a little tired and I have a slight headache-“

“You alright, I’ll give ya a ride home” Joel stood up as Cindy rolled her eyes, something you only seemed to catch.

“No-uh..it’s okay. Maybe air is what I need” you stood up and pushed your chair in. Sarah sighed before giving you a hug. Joel knew you for some time now, so he knew when something wasn’t exactly right with you yet he didn’t mention it in front of anyone.

“Let me walk you to the door at least” he insisted. You smiled and agreed before walking to the front door, Cindy watching with the corner of her eye as Joel held the door open with his foot while standing outside with you.

“Hey” Joel’s voice making you stop and turn.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I just figure I’d leave you three alone. I’m sure she wants her time with you and Sarah-“

“Her time don’t take away from yours, you know how much Sarah cares about you-“ a slight hesitation in his eyes. He knew Sarah wasn’t the only one who cared.

“Yeah” you responded softly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” you smiled before walking off.

When Joel returned inside Sarah sat on the couch watching tv while Cindy began picking up the dinner table.

“You’ve let Sarah get too close to that damn girl,” she spoke without looking up at him, she knew he wouldn’t like what she had to say.

“She’s been great with Sarah for a few years now, she’s a lot of the reason why our daughter is the way she is now.” Cindy laughed sarcastically.

“Oh please Joel, what are you fucking her? Is that why you’re so defensive with her?”

“When Sarah needed a mother y/n was there, she helped us both-“

“I’m her mother” Cindy grew serious rather quickly as she slammed the plate down. Sarah looking up from the living room wondering what her mother was getting upset about.

“She is all Sarah knows and she’s grown to…she’s grown to love her” Joel explained. Cindy knew she needed to compose herself to get Joel’s attention and so she took a deep breath and tried expressing herself another way.

“It’s not healthy confusing her like that, I was gone for a while but I’m here and I’m here to stay. She doesn’t need another mother” Joel stood silent.

“Sarah has grown attached to someone who will eventually have her own children, her own life, what are you doing by allowing this attachment with some random woman?” Joel brushed his hand over his facial hair, he didn’t like what was being said but a part of him knew she was right.

“I’ll have a talk with her tomorrow” Cindy could tell Joel wasn’t happy with this decision but she was happy to get her way.

The next morning you worked your early shift at the store before getting ready to meet with Joel and Sarah until you got a strange text.

“Change of plans, call you later” you read out loud. Joel never changed plans with you, much less like this.

The day went on and you never got a call from Joel and so you decided to head to the park anyway, you enjoyed a nice walk in the evening. Once you got there you could hear familiar laughter until a volleyball rolled by your foot.

“Oh hey! I thought my dad said you worked late today?” Sarah ran towards you out of breath.

“I-“

“Sarah don’t delay the game!” Joel yelled out to her as he made his way to where you both stood. Cindy stood on the other end silently watching.

“Go on, honey. Keep playing with your mother” Sarah looked at you both strangely before grabbing the ball and walking off.

“You didn’t have to lie to me, Joel or lie to her” you whispered as he looked behind him making sure Sarah wasn’t near by.

“You don’t tell me what I do with my daughter” he spoke coldly turning back to you, Joel had never spoken to you this way before.

“Joel-“

“It was nice while it lasted but ya shouldn’t come around anymore” his tone was blunt, a knife to your heart. It hurt him almost as much as it hurt you, but he felt this way was the only way to truly keep you away.

“For Sarah’s own good” he continued.

You had no words. From one day to the next Joel changed in a way you never expected.

Attempting to speak you felt a knot in your throat and looked away.

“I was right” you whispered before looking up at Cindy.

“Well, I hope she stays around this time. Take care” tears building up in your eyes you quickly turned and walked away. A slight glimpse of guilt in Joel’s eyes as you left until Cindy called out for him. She noticed how he looked back at you as you left, she knew this hurt him, she knew this would hurt Sarah.

“Why’d she leave? She could’ve played this last game with us” Sarah asked with confusion.

“She had to go, honey”

“But she just walked in”

“Sarah, forget about that damn woman. She’s no one to you” Cindy suddenly spoke harshly making Joel look back at her.

“Cindy”

“What Joel? It’s better you just tell her the truth-“

“You told her to leave, dad?” Sarah frustratedly threw the ball the floor and walked out to the truck no longer wanting to play.

“Thanks, thanks a lot” Joel turned to Cindy who rolled her eyes.

“You gotta do something about that bratty behavior of hers” her mother responded to Joel who now looked defensive.

“Sarah’s never had a behavior problem…until now”

“Oh so it’s my fault? Not that bitch-“

“Hey” Joel yelled rather loudly making a few people close by look at him, his defensive demeanor over you only pissing her off more. Cindy sucked her teeth and walked away.

The next few days Joel noticed a very different change in Sarah’s attitude towards her mother yet she wouldn’t tell him a word.

One day while Joel was at work Cindy forgot Sarah was getting home from school early. Going into Joel’s room she looked through his drawers for whatever she could find before ultimately coming across his emergency cash. Grabbing the cash she stashed it in her bra before Sarah entered the room startling her.

“Mom-what are you doing?” Sarah asked as Cindy quickly stood up awkwardly.

“Oh nothing, I’ll put it back by the end of the week. He’ll never know-“

“But dads been saving that for a while now and-“

“I said I’d put it back” she responded with more aggression in her tone.

“I..I just don’t think you should take it without asking at least” Sarah insisted.

“Listen I am your mother, it’s not the other way around now mind your business and go to your room” Cindy walked past her leaving the house angrily. Sarah knew she had to tell her father but afraid he wouldn’t believe her she didn’t say a word.

That evening you were surprised to see a call from Joel’s daughter. You sighed watching the phone ring, feeling guilty not answering until it finally stopped. Passing by a park that was close to your job you looked up and saw Cindy sitting on a bench with a few others, something seemed strange, she hadn’t noticed you watching. You quietly watched as she handed cash to a man while being given a brown bag in return. The man she seemed to be speaking to was known in the neighborhood for drugs but it couldn’t be…there must’ve been a misunderstanding.

During your shift you couldn’t stop thinking about what you saw or the fact that Sarah had been calling you. Lost in your thoughts you weren’t paying attention to much around you until Sarah surprised you by the register.

“Sarah? What are you doing here?! Your father is going to-“

“I was calling you, it’s about my mom. Please I need you to talk to my dad” she looked at you with concerned eyes.

“What about your mom?”

“She’s- she’s stealing from my dad-“

“Sarah you can’t say these things without-“

“I know she is! I saw her take his money but I haven’t told him. I don’t think he’ll believe me” it all made sense now, the money she took from Joel, the drugs you saw her buy…you couldn’t believe it yet you felt it wasn’t your place.

“You know your dad would believe you Sarah…besides, your father doesn’t want me around anymore anyways-“

“It’s her fault! She’s trying to control everything, you think my dad actually wants you gone?!” She practically yelled.

“Alright, ok, ok…um my shift ends in fifteen minutes, wait for me and I’ll go with you.” Sarah sighed in relief waiting for you to accompany her home. Your stomach turning at the thought of how this would go down.

Anxiously beside Sarah you entered her house to find Joel and Cindy both standing by the dinner table.

“Oh of course” Cindy scoffed.

“Where the hell were you?” Joel spoke angrily as you and Sarah hesitantly made your way closer.

“Dad I-“

“She was with that little friend of yours, Joel. I knew this would happen” Cindy sighed, her tone reeking of sarcasm.

“You don’t ever take off without letting me know where you are, you understand?”

Joel stared down at Sarah.

“Or me, you know, your mother” Cindy raised her brows standing beside Joel with her hand on her hip.

“Dad can we talk in private?”

“I thought you’d never ask, I don’t know why you bought her here to begin with” Cindy narrowed her eyes on you.

“Actually, it’s just between my dad and I and…y/n” Cindy’s eyes widened with insult.

“Sarah-“

“No dad, you don’t understand”

“Anything you could say to your father you are to say in front of me, what I say goes” Sarah not noticing Joel look back at Cindy with a look of disapproval. He didn’t like Cindy forcing Sarah to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with.

“Dad she stole your money” Sarah suddenly blurt out taking you by surprise. Joel turned back to Cindy who laughed nervously as you stood silent and watched.

“You’re gonna believe this little twit?”

“Hey” Joel now fully facing Cindy not liking her attitude.

“You watch how you speak of my daughter” he spoke low yet his tone was intense.

“She’s a liar Joel! You’ve let her become brainwashed by this woman!”

“Sarah’s not lying Joel” you suddenly spoke making Joel turn to you.

“What the hell would you know-“ Cindy snapped at you before you cut her off with the truth.

“I saw you at the park today” you hesitated to say more of what you saw especially in front of Sarah but something must’ve clicked in Joel’s head. Turning to Cindy he shook his head, scoffing sarcastically.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” No one knew what Joel was speaking of, no one but Cindy and him.

“I’m not doing anything!” She yelled defensively.

“I let you into my daughter’s life and this is what you do? What is it, ran through your savings so decided to come see what you could get from us-“

“She’s my daughter too” Cindy spoke angrily.

“No. The only mother Sarah’s ever had has been y/n and she’s done a damn good job of it” his words taking you by surprise. You looked over at him in shock, he could feel you looking at him.

“Oh to hell with all of you” Cindy grabbed her bag and angrily walked out loudly slamming the door shut. The three of you stood in silence until Sarah happily turned to you and hugged you with excitement.

“Please don’t ever leave us again” you laughed as she squeezed you. Somehow the true actions of her mother didn’t phase her knowing she had you there. Joel watched with a smile as his daughter hugged you before she turned to him.

“Well aren’t you gonna hug her dad?”

Joel looked at you awkwardly, clearing his throat as Sarah held back a playful smile.

“Course I am” he whispered as he slowly walked towards you. The feel of his arm wrapping around your waist as he gently pulled you in, your heart skipping a beat feeling him so close. Your arms closing around him as you felt him take a deep breath against you before you looked up at him and slowly pulled away.

“Joel I’m so sorry-“

“You don’t have a damn thing to apologize for, darlin’. If anyone should apologize it’s me” he whispered. The door bell ringing Sarah could see it was her uncle and ran to the door.

“I should go-“

“Don’t” Joel unexpectedly grabbed your hand.

There was so much he had to say, so much he needed to say but it couldn’t be done in that moment. Sarah asked if you could tuck her in that night with Joel, it had been a while since you had done so.

“Alright honey, you sleep good tonight alright?” Joel leaned in kissing Sarah on the forehead.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite” you teased making her laugh before leaning in and kissing her goodnight. Joel watched how much of a natural you were to all of this, you always were. Looking back at Sarah as you left the room you felt Joel’s eyes on you as you closed the door.

“Well, today turned out very different from what I expected” you spoke awkwardly trying to distract from the silence.

“I should’ve known” he cleared his throat leaning back against the wall.

“Wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and in the process coulda hurt Sarah…and I know I hurt you”

“Joel, don’t worry. It’s ok-“

“No, no it ain’t” he quickly interjected.

“I let someone who’s shown me multiple times that they can’t be trusted come in and hurt the woman that’s all along-“ he moved towards you slowly closing the distance between you. You stood still unsure of what to do or if you should do anything at all.

“All along you’ve been everything we’ve needed and more. I’ve seen you make Sarah happy in ways I just can’t”

“Joel, I just love her as if she’s been my own-“

“I love you” he blurt out making your eyes widen.

“W-what? Joel-“

“I’m serious” he pulled you in against him. It took everything in him to admit this, everything in him to tell you what you never thought you would hear.

“All along..it’s been you” his eyes taking in your lips as he spoke. You couldn’t believe the man you had been secretly in love with was saying words you only fantasized him to ever say.

“What a stupid old man I’ve been not realizing what I’ve had right in front of me”

“Joel” you laughed, a smirk on his lips. The man was aching to take your lips with his when Sarah suddenly stepped out of her room.

“Dad” you gasped softly a bit embarrassed yet Joel didn’t let go of you. A smile on Sarah’s face widening with what she saw.

“Yes, honey”

“N-nothing…never mind” Sarah quickly closed the door as Joel laughed looking down at you.

“I think she likes you” he whispered playfully.

“That was embarrassing, Joel” you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound of your laughter only exciting him more.

“Why’d that embarrass you? Not like I was-“

“Like you were what?” You raised a brow before his hand brushed up your body, caressing the side of your neck, he leaned in and kissed you slowly. His lips felt better than what you imagined, his hands taking hold of you in different areas, one arm squeezing you harder against his pelvis before you pushed away with a smile.

“What?” He chuckled.

“Now that would be more embarrassing if Sarah came out during that” you playfully shoved his chest before he pulled you back in for more.

“What if-“ you began to whisper in between kisses.

“What if Cindy-“

“Don’t you worry about Cindy” he unexpectedly grabbed your face leaning his forehead on yours.

“She ain’t gonna be comin’ around trust me, I know the game she plays. Alright?” You nodded placing your hands on his arms. Joel led you the room kissing you more locking the door behind him.

“C’mere, I want some privacy with those lips” he whispered with a smirk before locking the door shut..

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller angst

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magua-vida · 2 days

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SLAY THE QUEEN THORN

I was inspired by Abby's sketch of a hypothetical Queen version of the Princess, so I tried my hand at it with a few vessels, including this one. I... ended up drawing something akin to a fashion design concept art rather than a practical design that won't be tiring to draw over and over after a handful of sprites later. I also had to use a bit more artistic license growing unnatural poppies on the dress and the thick twirly prickly noodles.

some explanations behind the process

For the "mended" Thorn, I pretty much just removed the foreground thorns and added the dirt.

rambling/fangirling/screenshots below:

The Thorn is one of my favorites. If I had to choose only five vessels to offer to Shifty and there's no replayable feature, she'll definitely be one of them. I'm one of those suckers who's into Hurt/Comfort stories. Almost like a masochist for those fics, you could say. If the climax to an Action-heavy story is the defeat of one party, then the catharsis of Hurt/Comfort is when the two characters... well, comfort each other- either due to hurt from each other or someone else. In The Thorn's case, she started off rather innocently, Damsel-like, but not quite. She still had caution. It was until she was literally stabbed in the back that she learned that it was a mistake. And when Long Quiet offered sincere regret and admission of fault, she stabbed him... but she didn't feel the relief she thought she'd get from it. I think many relate to having been betrayed and/or betraying someone they trusted, and the scratches are felt by many players.

The thorns curve inward, as if it's more painful to leave her than it is to approach her.

Poppies grow around along the bramble. Many mistook them for roses because they're red and there are brambles (tbh, I actually dunno if they're brambles or briars, I looked them up and I got confused, forgive me, plant enthusiasts ;.;) that grow around the patches of those poppies. Death and romance~

This brings back to Chapter 1 where Hero was kinda-sorta-maybe-definitely crushing on the Princess and wants to give her the benefit of the doubt, not only because of feelings, but for a reasonable cause of wanting to rescue someone who possibly may actually be a victim of circumstance.

Look, I have reasons why Thorn route is one of my favorites and it definitely doesn't have anything to do with both characters having massive trust issues and the capability to change themselves for better or worse and the emotional moments hitting me like a lovely diamond-dusted dagger. Both of them are rather cat-like with pointy ears too.

I appreciate that you're still given the options to leave or stab Thorn, as if the situation isn't pitiable enough. Even her tiara looks like a crown of thorns. It's as if she views the thorns as both a form of penance and a defence mechanism to protect herself from being hurt again, even though she's hurt by her own making this time.

I chose for the Long Quiet to save her and leave the cabin together.

This part stabbed me the most. Even when shown genuine help, she shrinks back.

This part burns a bit of the jadedness away. Trust is a scary thing, so is love. How can you be so sure that you won't be hurt by the one you love again? But just like what The Prisoner says, it's about trust- blind trust. Thorn looks more human than her previous self- less animalistic, softer. A part of The Damsel returns, even in the music.

I recall weighing on whether I prefer the version with the Voice of the Cheated or Voice of the Smitten. I vaguely remember wondering if there was an option to ask her if it's okay to kiss her. I guess the ideal would be is to have that choice, but I suppose the climactic moment calls for it and she doesn't mind it, at least. It's like the option to hug Astarion from BG3, but you're not sure whether he'd be comfy with it after being hurt so much. He gave approval for it too~

As much as Thorn is one of my favorites, I'm not attracted to her and any of the vessels. Instead, I ship her with the Long Quiet- the character himself. I don't really see myself AS the Long Quiet, more like choosing what actions on what he does and I separate myself from him a lot for many reasons. It's a bit like the Harry situation from Disco Elysium in terms of seemingly blank-slate protagonists.

Instead, I kinda put myself into her situation to feel how she felt in this route. The poppies not only felt symbolic of her nature as part of the Shifting Mound, but also specifically the end of the mutual treachery you've inflicted on each other, potentially beginning anew on a path of healing.

==============ramble-bramble over===================

#black tabby games #slay the queen #slay the princess #the thorn #stp the thorn #surprise astarion from bg3 #blood

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bucknastysbabe · 2 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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iwantitg0ne · 3 days

Text

Fat positivity cringe compilations are really where its at, especially the comments:

Being fat is failing yourself. Plain and Simple.

When I binge watch these videos. I don’t binge eat.

She says she’s no different to the girl next door, Yeah, if you live next door to Willy Wonka…🍫🍫🍫

Ms Piggy always bitching about something.

I lost 55lbs because of fat acceptance videos.

(◡‿◡✿) reading them is helpful

Edit (because your fragile I guess, and incapable of thinking something through)

I’m just repeating the comments for myself wasn’t talking about other people- at no point did I comment about other people, at no point have I directly said these comments were aimed at anyone, yes these comments are on yotube that OTHER people have commented at OTHER people. Not me, these comments were taken to be used against myself.

Rather than comment telling me to grow up, or telling me off as if you were my mother perhaps just block? Or use your brain? To realise I’ve never directed these comments towards anyone?

😂

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eliteseven · 3 days

Note

Okay, so I’m in love with all the baby HCs, but what about when she’s a little older or a teenager? I can only imagine the attitude little Jen could potentially have and Shadowheart and Tav just looking at each other like, “she gets it from you.”

A MENACE just like her mother. (You can guess which one 😅)

Here are some thoughts on Jen growing up:

I think you have it exactly right. The way I envision it: she’s a sass master just like her mom. I mean this is “Purple seam, you donkey” Shadowheart we’re talking about here. She can be vicious 😭 I think Jen also learned a thing or two about sweet talking and diplomacy from Tav. Lethal combo in her teen years. She knows how to be difficult and get out of trouble. Shadowheart has definitely met her match 💀

I think she’s a handful, even as a little kid. She parrots Shadowheart’s sass rather frequently. We’ve spoken about how she hears phrases and repeats them- “must I?” Every time she’s told to do a chore. She copies Shadowheart’s stank face when she’s displeased. Tav just eats her UP 🥹 (she’s used to it). Shadowheart is finally getting a taste of her own medicine, and a gift from Selûne, no less! It’s poetic justice. Arnell and Emmeline find great amusement in this.

When Jen is a teen?? Lord. Shadowheart and Tav thought the Netherbrain was problematic?? 😭💀 Jen tries to sneak out to the city and ALMOST makes it, but Shadowheart ofc is the queen of sneaky maneuvering and she’s 10 steps ahead, waiting by the horses with the most unimpressed expression. If Jen can talk to the animals like Shadowheart, she probably conspires with them 🤭 Bonus if she picks up on her mothers’ skill sets. If she learns mirror image or something tricky like that…..whew it’s going to be so fun watching Shadowheart and Tav trip over themselves trying to keep up 😏

Shadowheart will turn to Tav in bed, with the most exhausted expression one night, and just ask, “….how did you do it? How did you put up with me?”

And Tav will simply grin because it is both grueling and frankly, the greatest joy and privilege she has ever known.

#nls series #shadowheart x tav #oc: serena tavyndír #Shadowheart #ask #anonymous #Baby Jen #idk what her tag should be 😅

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bloody-bee-tea · 10 hours

Text

Not just a toy

Suguru flops down in a chair in Shoko’s working space without so much as greeting her.

“Wow, you sure are in a mood,” she drawls out and raises an eyebrow at him, clearly expecting him to explain himself.

“Satoru’s out on a solo mission,” Suguru says in answer and he refuses to acknowledge the pit of dread in his stomach.

Solo missions are happening more and more for the both of them lately, after Satoru managed to kill Toji and Suguru can’t say that he likes it much.

In all honesty, it’s making him worry and with every new assignment that sends them to different parts of the town or the country, the dread continues to grow stronger.

“So? You’re not worried about him, are you?” Shoko asks and the thought is ridiculous enough to make him scoff.

They both know that Satoru is stronger than anyone, especially after he unleashed his full potential after Toji nearly killed him.

“I’m not,” Suguru sighs out and Shoko levels him with a look.

“Either you tell me right now what has you in this mood or you take your sorry ass out of here, because this is where I work, you know. I’m not here to pity your pathetic self.”

“Ouch,” Suguru whispers but he knows that she’s right. He came here for a reason, even if he doesn’t quite yet want to admit it to himself and moping silently to himself is certainly not it.

“I’m just—worried,” Suguru finally admits and to Shoko’s credit, she immediately knows that this is no longer about Satoru. At least, not only.

“About what?” she asks with more patience than he thought she could muster and Suguru closes his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“That Satoru is going to forget all about me,” he quietly admits and the silence in the room is deafening.

“You might want to say that again, because that literally makes zero sense,” Shoko finally says and Suguru sighs again.

“It’s just—”

“You know that Gojo is obsessed with you, right?” Shoko interrupts him and Suguru presses his lips together.

He knows. And for now, it’s even true. But—

“For how long though?” he bitterly mutters and tips his head back when he can feel Shoko’s eyes burning into him. “One of these days the novelty of me is going to wear off and then what?”

“The novelty of you? Geto, you might as well speak in tongues, cause none of what you say makes a lick of sense,” Shoko tells him and Suguru wishes she would understand him like Satoru does, so he doesn’t have to explain every last one of his thoughts.

“Satoru likes me because I’m new, so to speak. He’s never met anyone who could keep up with him, however briefly. And with how he was brought up he’s also never met anyone who didn’t cower in front of him, so of course he’d take a liking to me,” he says, his voice barely audible in the otherwise quiet room. “But he’s pulling so far ahead of me and one day he’s going to realise that I’m just like everyone else. And then what? He’s going to lose his interest in me and these solo missions are only speeding that process along.”

Something hits him square in the forehead.

“Ouch, Shoko, what?” he gets out, rubbing the stinging spot and glaring at the pen she threw at him.

“I hate to say this but you’re almost smarter when you’re goofing off with Gojo. What the hell are you even talking about? That guy adores you. He’s so head over heels in love with you that none of your words make a lick of sense!”

“But for how long?” Suguru whispers out, because he’s so scared that it’ll happen sooner rather than later.

One of these days Satoru will wake up and realise that Suguru is a nobody, that he’s like everyone else, and then he’ll turn away from him. For now, Suguru might have his love, but he doubts it’s going to be true for much longer.

“You do know that the guy quite literally has your wedding planned out, right?” Shoko wants to know and now that makes Suguru’s head snap up in surprise.

“What?” he breathes out and Shoko rolls her eyes at him.

“Remember that very first mission you were sent on?” she asks as if Suguru could ever forget any mission he was sent on together with Satoru.

“Of course I do.”

It was a relatively low-level curse, just something to test them and their teamwork barely two days after introducing them to each other and at that point Suguru had thought it went quite horribly. They had clashed more with each other than the curse, yelling insults across the field instead of fighting but of course in the end it had all worked out, just like it always does with them.

“After that mission he barged right in here and said ‘Shoko, I’m going to marry that guy’. It was the first full sentence he ever said to me that wasn’t dripping with condescension.”

“He was just joking,” Suguru whispers and this time when Shoko throws something at him he dodges it easily.

“Like hell he was. He hasn’t stopped talking about it since. If you think that guy is going to let you go, ever, then you’re thoroughly mistaken. I don’t think even death could make him part from you so I really don’t know what you’re on about when you say you’re losing your shine. To him, you’re not a goddamn toy he’s going to get bored of.”

It’s nice to hear, Suguru has to admit that but he can’t quite believe it.

“Are you sure?” He hates that his voice is shaking the tiniest bit, but the thought that one day Satoru could wake up and realise that he played with Suguru as much as he could, that Suguru is old news now has been eating away at him for a while now.

“Do I look like Gojo to you?” Shoko demands to know and Suguru frowns.

“Huh?”

“You really should talk about this with him, you know,” Shoko gives back and Suguru hates that she’s right but it’s not as if it’s that easy.

“So he can tell me that we’re not going to last sooner?” Suguru scoffs out and has to dive out of his seat when a whole tray of medical equipment comes flying his way.

“So he can put that stupid, overthinking brain of yours to rest and maybe propose in the same breath. Geto, seriously. Does he really strike you as the kind of person who’s just going to discard those he cares about?”

Suguru opens his mouth to answer with a resounding yes, but he knows that it’s unfair. Satoru might have child-like excitement for the most random things—sweets especially—but if he cares for someone he’s ride or die for them, no matter what. He might try to pretend that he isn’t, might joke and wave it off, but in the end he’d kill for all of them.

And that holds especially true for Suguru.

“No,” Suguru admits and Shoko nods.

“Exactly. And since my words can only hold so much weight in a relationship I’m not even involved in, maybe go talk to him now.”

“Ah, but Shoko, you’re our honorary third, don’t you know that?” Suguru jokes and Shoko makes an exaggerated retching sound.

“Gross. I want nothing to do with either of you,” she immediately replies and shoos him out of her space. “Now get lost, I’m sick and tired of your face.”

“You love my face, or otherwise you would have kicked me out the second I stepped foot into this room,” Suguru confidently says and knows he’s right when Shoko only rolls her eyes and turns her back on him.

“If you breathe a word of this to Gojo, I’ll dismember you. See how long it’ll take him to piece you back together,” she threatens and Suguru knows better than to test her patience past a certain limit.

“Alright, alright,” he easily says. “Thanks, Shoko.”

“Whatever,” she grumbles but waves at him over her shoulder so he knows she’s not really mad.

But now that he’s done here, that only leaves him with one thing to do: waiting for Satoru to come back, so he can talk to him.

~*~*~

It doesn’t take Satoru long at all to wrap up his mission—barely two hours—but it feels like an eternity to Suguru. It’s certainly long enough for him to change his mind several times and when Satoru finally bursts into his room, a happy smile on his face, Suguru still doesn’t know what he’s going to do now.

“Suguru!” Satoru cries out, and almost flies across the room to crash into Suguru. “I have missed you,” he says, just like he always does when a solo mission forces them apart and without a conscious thought, Suguru speaks.

“Are you going to get tired of me?” his mouth blurts out and Suguru wonders if there’s a curse in his arsenal that could swallow him whole, just to escape those wide, confused eyes that are now trained on him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Satoru demands to know, pulling far enough away to better glare at Suguru and then he reaches out to take his temperature. “Are you sick? Did you hit your head? What’s going on?”

“Shoko said you have our wedding planned out?” Suguru blurts out next and that’s not much better.

Satoru narrows his eyes at him.

“I don’t see how one relates to the other, and don’t think I forgot your previous question, but yes, I have,” he easily admits and takes the opportunity to topple Suguru over on the bed so he can better snuggle up to his side. “It’s going to be a fall wedding.”

“Why? You love spring. If anything it should be when the cherry blossoms bloom.”

“Too hard to plan for and besides. You love autumn. So it’s going to happen then.”

Satoru has his head pillowed on Suguru’s chest and almost on autopilot Suguru’s hand moves to scratch at his scalp, even as his chest feels close to bursting.

“Is there no doubt in your mind that we’re going to marry?” he asks after a short moment and Satoru makes a happy noise in the back of his throat.

“None.”

“How can you be so sure?” Suguru whispers out and now this prompts Satoru to turn his head so he can look at Suguru again.

“Easy. Because I love you.”

It’s not the first time Satoru has said it but it still takes Suguru’s breath away.

“Is it really that easy?” he mutters and Satoru frowns at him.

“Suguru, what’s going on?” he wants to know and rearranges himself so he’s laying on top of Suguru, his pointy chin almost painfully digging into his sternum.

Still, Suguru doesn’t push him off, too caught up in that gaze on him.

“I’ve just been thinking,” Suguru admits and Satoru gives him a cheeky smile.

“Always dangerous. You’re prone to too many thoughts.”

“Have to make up for the lack of thoughts in you,” Suguru immediately gives back, falling back into the banter as easy as breathing and some of the tension leaks out of him.

When Satoru’s eyes sparkle, Suguru knows that this was his intention all along.

“And now tell me what’s going to make you wrinkle before your time,” Satoru says and Suguru sighs.

“I’m wondering if you’re going to lose interest in me, one of these days. I’m a novelty for you, don’t think I forgot you said that, and I’m like a shiny new toy, but eventually you’ll get bored by me.”

Satoru blinks at him. And then he blinks some more.

“Say what now?” he eventually manages and Suguru bites at his lower lip.

“Satoru—”

“You think I see you as some kind of—what? Toy? Some new distraction, something to have fun with until you break?”

It’s basically just what Suguru said moments before and still his heart squeezes painfully in his chest when he hears Satoru talk like that.

“Yeah,” he admits, his voice just a whisper of a sound and Satoru’s eyes blaze in anger.

“You’re a goddamn fucking idiot,” he hisses out, digging his chin even more painfully into Suguru’s chest.

“Ouch, Satoru, stop that!”

“It’s what you deserve! I cannot believe you just said that!”

“Well, is it true?” Suguru demands to know and Satoru’s cursed energy flares as if he’s about to hollow purple Suguru into next life.

“It’s fucking not, and you know it!” he yells out and Suguru’s ears ring. “It’s not like that at all, why would you even say that?”

“I just—I don’t know,” Suguru admits, because he lacks the words to explain what’s going on in his head. “Why do you love me?”

“Because you’re you,” Satoru immediately says and that clears up exactly nothing. “How do I even explain this?” Satoru mutters before Suguru can say anything else. “It’s like—you don’t ask someone why they breathe air, right? It’s just what you do, because you need it to survive and it’s an instinct and there’s nothing in this world that could substitute that and you’re also never going to grow bored of it, or stop doing it because that would mean death. It’s the same with you.”

“The same with me?”

“Loving you is just what I do. There’s no reason for it, at least not just one. I just do. The moment I saw you I knew and then after that first mission I definitely knew. And it’s not just because you’re strong, or because you don’t take my shit, or you’re nice to me without the sickening sucking up my clan used to do, or because you’re hot as hell. It’s all of that together and then some,” Satoru tries to explain and in all honesty, it makes Suguru’s head spin.

“You’re worried that you can’t keep up, right, you said that last week, but Suguru. It’s not just your strength, it’s all of it, together. It’s all of you. And even if you weren’t as strong as me, you’d still be one of the strongest out there, so why would that even matter?”

It’s Suguru’s time to blink at Satoru now because how can he so easily cut through all of Suguru’s thoughts and hone in on the one thing that bugs Suguru to no end?

“A fall wedding, huh?” he says, because acknowledging everything else Satoru just said feels like too much at the moment and this, at least, makes Satoru smile again.

“A fall wedding,” he nods and then his face softens as he reaches out to cup Suguru’s face in his hand. “No more stupid thoughts, okay? I love you. I love you. And nothing is going to change that.”

“You know, if you could channel this eloquence for your essays, Yaga would yell less at you,” Suguru chokes out, desperate to lighten the mood because he feels as if he’s going to burst into tears any moment now.

“Yeah, well, I don’t love Yaga, so he can suck it up,” Satoru carelessly gives back and Suguru chuckles, his eyes still suspiciously wet. “Okay now?” Satoru then asks him and Suguru nods.

“Okay now,” he agrees because he is. “I love you, too, you know,” he adds, because somehow it feels as if he doesn’t say it enough but Satoru only gives him his brightest grin.

“I know. I definitely know. It’s in everything you do,” he says as if he never doubted that for even a single moment and now Suguru almost feels bad for doubting Satoru.

“It is,” he still agrees, because some days it feels as if he’s made out of love for Satoru, as if that’s his sole purpose for being and now he finally understands what Satoru was trying to say.

It’s the same for him.

“I’m sorry I’m being stupid,” Suguru whispers out, turning his head so he can press a kiss to Satoru’s palm.

“Apology accepted,” Satoru easily says, smirking at Suguru. “But if you doubt me or my love for you again, I’m going to be upset, just so you know.”

“It won’t happen again,” Suguru promises, because how can it, now that he finally understands? “I promise.”

“Good, good,” Satoru says and finally takes his chin out of Suguru’s chest, turning his head and rubbing his cheek against Suguru’s pec as if he’s a cat. “Now, can you please welcome me back home? I did just come back from a gruelling mission after all.”

A mission that took him less than three hours to clear but Suguru smiles indulgently at him anyway.

“Welcome home, Satoru. You did well,” he says, just like he always does when Satoru comes home and Suguru isn’t being too busy being stupid and Satoru makes a sound that could almost be classified as a purr.

“Mh, better,” he decides and presses a kiss to Suguru’s chest. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Suguru replies and he knows, deep down to his bones, that it’s true.

And that this is never going to change.

#bt writes #jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #shoko ieiri #shoko is a good friend #established relationship #insecurity #reassurance #cuddling and snuggling #hurt/comfort #fluff

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hazshit-hotel-hater · 12 hours

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The way substance abuse has been handled on the show thus far genuinely upsets me and reeks of writers who either 1.) don't understand the subject matter they're presenting and haven't done even the bare minimum to research it or, worse, 2.) simply don't care.

Apologies for the slight rant incoming, your comment about how it has been mostly "handled" off-screen got me going because that's 100% true and in that truth is such a missed opportunity for the show. The way it has been handled winds up feeling incredibly shallow and juvenile at the end of the day, especially for a piece of media that is attempting to present itself as "adult" and navigate multiple incredibly sensitive topics. I'll try not to get into my own personal experiences and will speak broadly, but the show uses substance abuse more as a cheap character flaw to poke fun at or something to magically handwave away when it is inconvenient, rather than the life-altering, debilitating illness that it is.

Nothing about Angel's use is ever meaningfully explored. It's so (apparently) unimportant to his arc and development that one rude comment from Husk (a character who ALSO has a problem with gambling and alcohol that is never addressed) is all it takes for him to suddenly "resist temptation" and be shown as "recovered" (unless I'm misremembering). Or was he suddenly going to counseling off-screen too and its just another thing that will be told to us rather than shown? And how does Charlie even handle that at the Hotel (I'd be really interested in this as a moment for her character to have to grow/change too)? Does she even understand substance abuse and the many unaddressed systemic factors that can influence it? Or is the entire recovery process just shame based (because that works so well /s) combined with some more corny trust exercises? Why is this incredibly serious topic relegated to the background as if it's unimportant?

Recovery is hard. It is emotional and exhausting. Withdrawal (depending on what you're coming off of) can sometimes mean excruciating, unimaginable pain and in some cases people literally die. It is not a funny "ha-ha I take drugs because I'm chaotic and wild" quirk to be adored or glorified and it definitely should not be presented as something that can be wrapped up in a month or two off-screen without any development whatsoever. That's just insulting.

When you approach a topic like substance abuse and recovery, I personally feel you need to take in all sides of it. All the missteps that come with it (two steps forward one step back - mistakes are expected and okay), the self-loathing, the guilt and shame, the joy, the sense of freedom, the loss, and the best part of all: the incredibly difficult but liberating journey that is rebuilding your life and learning to love yourself and your body again, once you've chosen to be free and to live life.

Mad props to anyone who has ever battled this disease. You are strong, you are worth it and you are valued. Lol I am so sorry for going off here but I so appreciate you calling out the lack of exploration on this topic in the show. I guess I didn't even realize how annoyed and upset it was making me feel (praying this is coherent...).

This was absolutely coherent don’t worry!! Im really glad to see other people talking about this. I myself have not struggled with drug addiction but I have struggled with other kinds and as someone that studies a bunch of medical junk, I’d say I’m decently knowledgeable.

I’m mainly going to focus on Angel for this since he’s the main character I write for, but I assure you other characters addictions are also handled in my rewrite.

During the actual canon show, we don’t see Angel actually abusing substances that often; there’s a few times, most notably in episode 4, but from the rest of the show onward we hardly see anything. Yes in episode 6 they mentioned relapsing, which, mind you, was done horribly, but I digress. They touch on relapsing; Angel relapses, and then… what..??? What happened from that? I don’t feel upset or second hand guilt of any kind from this scene because we haven’t seen Angel’s attempts to stay sobre and off drugs.

His name is fucking Angel Dust. You don’t, I dunno, think that’d entail a higher dependency on drugs? Why do you think he named himself that?

About his name before anything else, the show has so much potential later on to talk about Angel picking out his drag name and why he chose that specifically. So much potential to explore how he views drugs and himself. He sees them as an escape and something “fun” to take his mind off of his actual life. When you die in a fucking coma and wake up in hell as a spider you’re going to want an escape. You will want to ignore reality. I am fully convinced Angel picked his name once he started performing because thats what he needed at the time. He needs to be like that to survive in hell. Angel is an incredibly mentally ill, troubled, traumatised, and unstable person, and being surrounded by so much intense negative influence only amplifies his current problems. I don’t mean to drag Vox in here but in my last redesign post I mentioned how very mildly bad people can become even worse people in hell because of the environment and this is no different for Angel. He’s been surrounded by crime and drugs his entire life and unable to live comfortably because of his sexuality. He has very likely been struggling with substances since he was a teen. Possibly even younger. He is not going to suddenly get over his addiction because of something like this. It could pave the way to him looking into dealing with it, but things like this can take years. I don’t remember when my addiction started; I’ve been clean for 2 1/2 years now I think, but the amount of relapsing and anguish I experienced while working towards that isn’t something that can be done in a few days or months. I still struggle with feeling like I deserve to say I’m recovering.

I’m hoping they tactfully handle this as they should, but my hopes are low. It’s okay to show a character relapsing. It’s okay to show a character feeling guilty. What matters is that the struggle is there to signify they’re trying. For a character with a song called “Addict” you really don’t see much of it. Drug and alcohol addiction is not a silly thing to just twiddle your fingers with and be like “well I guess thats over!” It’s incredibly insensitive to do so.

Whenever I write about Angel’s struggles with addictions, I focus on how small they can feel until you realise what’s actually happening. Just me talking about my rewrite again, but to get my ideas out here: Angel smokes often. He smokes at the studio when he’s stressed, he smokes at the hotel when he’s stressed, he smokes at in alleyways when he’s bored, there’s almost no location he won’t, but sometimes he tries to smoke less. His lungs aren’t the same as humans and technically he has 2 pairs of lungs, but smoking causes him to cough. This is painful in general and especially painful for Angel since he has barbs going down the back of his throat. Imagine choking on sandpaper, kind of like that. It’s painful, he doesn’t like the sound, Fat Nuggets REALLY doesn’t like the sound, and it’s an overall inconvenience, so he tries to stop smoking as much. Periods like this usually go fine for him until the stress returns or he starts to feel the withdrawal. Withdrawal from any sort of addiction is terrible, and in Angel’s case, just from not smoking it worsens his mental state further. He becomes irritable and stressed and that stress leads to wanting to smoke again to calm down. He may resist a few times and those times should be praised, but he gives in eventually. One cigarette to calm down becomes two, then three, and before he can process himself getting carried away, the entire pack is gone. It’s things like this that make addiction horrible. It’s something that deeply scared me when I was struggling. When I was struggling I was still in the mindset of “I can stop when I want to” and then being so suddenly hit in the face with the realisation that I’m not longer in control of this is terrifying. I could not stop when I wanted to. There were even points where I didn’t want to stop. Even just getting the smallest glimpse of this in an incredibly serious manner with Angel Dust would surprise me. To think the bar is this low on a show that seemingly prides itself on tackling such sensitive topics like you said is appalling. Your show shouldn’t have to be told how to write itself.

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bloos-bloo · 2 days

Text

We’re so normal btw- I got some bishop designs that I plan on fixing later. I just had to get them out of my head lmaoo- ( All headcanons are based off my play through <3 )

Leshy is my little worm :D I love him so much- little guy living life. His main job is farming but he always tries to avoid the farm area- for some reason?? He used to have camellias grow all over his body, however his injuries kinda killed it, lmao.

I like to think that his crown helped him with his sight, but with it gone he relies more on scent! :D he totally judges Emery on how they run the farm is used- yep.

(GOD I AM REDRAWING HEKET- AAAAA-)

Anyways- Heket’s obviously the main cook despite her also avoiding the kitchen. If she doesn’t make the meals then everybody is getting sick. (I’m not kidding- that actually happened to me)

Heket’s crown also helped her speak, so with it gone she heavily relies on sign language or writing. (But for leshy’s case she writes on his palm)

She does have a smalllll- crush on one of the disciples (Pana) :) nothing bad happens, nope-

Kallamar is definitely special. Love and hate him. He’s supposed to be a doctor but he rather spend time at the tailors. I like to think that he hates the color red with a passion- so he remade his cultist clothing to match his aesthetics

He’s hard of hearing of course, so he relies on lip reading and sign language- something that Narinder totally abuses.

(AAAAAAAAAAAA-)

Shamura my beloved- I am sad for them. Shamura is a disciple for Emery along with Narinder. They try to give her all the knowledge they have. But often they’re in spells. (Their eyes give it away if they’re present or not)

With a literal open head wound I think Shamura would try to cover their head as much as they can. It’s a struggle for them to remember or even move around. So they’re always found inside their hut or in the middle of the floor somewhere-

Literal old person vibes, they rather sleep. Love them.

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niabridges · 3 days

Text

Dreamcatcher

Warning: MDNI. 18+ 🔞 EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT | characters aged up 18+ Word count: ~2550 Pairing: Sebastian Sallow | F!Reader Additional warnings: Cheating Haunted by nightmares, the castle feels chilling and lonely. A familiar Slytherin door offers solace — your haven in the dark, a silent understanding forged in midnight whispers. A short fluffy smut that was actually the first smut fic I wrote, now revised and slightly rewritten.

Read below or on AO3.

Her breath caught, jolting her awake. Another nightmare. She shivered, cold despite the thin nightgown clinging to her sweat-dampened skin. Desperate for comfort, the Gryffindor common room and her boyfriend felt worlds away. Instead, she stood outside a different dorm in her own house. Tonight, there was only one person who could quiet the lingering battlefield in her mind, and this wasn’t the first time she’d sought him out. A soft knock, and then she slipped inside.

Sebastian lay still, soft footsteps, and then the creak of bedsprings revealed him awake. In the shadowed room, her scent replaced his sleep with an unexpected jolt. Her warmth against his back sent a shiver down his spine — familiar, but with a jolt he fought to hide. It still surprised him, this pull to her after all these years. An errant smile he couldn’t hide touched his lips. It was her.

“Hey, I can’t sleep,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper across the darkness.

His grin faded, replaced by something closer to concern. He shifted onto his elbow, finding her silhouette in the faint moonlight. “Didn’t expect you to.” His voice cracked with unspoken questions. “Another battle dream?”

“Worse,” her murmur drifted towards him, a vulnerability he wouldn’t let himself fully register. “Sebastian, I can’t be alone tonight,” she sighed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” “No…I just need company,” she replied softly, drawing closer.

Her plea hung in the air. He shifted fully, the too-small bed forcing proximity as comfortable as it was dangerous. An arm found its way around her, drawing her close instinctively. She was warm, soft...the memory of a shared bed wasn’t just for nightmares it seemed, and suddenly Sebastian needed air despite the chill beyond the curtains.

She buried her head in his chest, a grateful sigh escaping her. “Thanks,” she whispered, close enough to be felt rather than heard.

A noncommittal grunt was all he could offer, his hand tracing aimless circles on her back. They lay down tangled, breath barely separating them. But even as his heart threatened to shatter the stillness, something in her shifted — a tremor, a hesitation in her hold that mirrored his own fears. His hand went still. And she felt it immediately. In the dark, her whispered plea rang louder than he dared admit: “Don’t let go.”

Sebastian leaned in and softly kissed her forehead, his sigh mingling with the serene moment. His gaze lingered on her hair, cascading in glossy waves over her shoulders. Gently, he began to stroke her strands with his fingertips, his eyes closing in a moment of peaceful bliss.

She couldn't help but smile, feeling utterly at peace. No nightmare could disturb her here; no weariness could touch her. In Sebastian’s embrace, every worry dissolved, every fear and regret faded away, leaving nothing but their shared presence. Listening to his steady heartbeat, she found herself drifting into a state of deep relaxation.

He sensed her sinking further into comfort, her breathing deep and even. Wrapping her closer, he let his hands wander, tracing soft paths along her spine with a touch that was both tender and reassuring.

With every gentle stroke, she felt more relaxed, her body responding with quiet ease. In these moments, she was completely vulnerable, yet entirely safe. Though she’d never voice it aloud, these moments of closeness meant the world to her.

As his hand found the curve of her hip, she noticed the subtle shift in his breathing, a testament to their growing intimacy. It was unusual for him, always so reserved, to initiate such tenderness.

Finally, Sebastian broke the silence. “Why do you always end up here after a bad dream?” he mused quietly.

She averted her gaze, her reply quick and a touch evasive. “Your room’s just next door,” she managed, the confession of how much she cherished his comforting presence catching in her throat. “Quite convenient,” she chuckled softly, grateful the darkness hid the blush warming her cheeks.

He doubted her words, but an argument wasn’t worth the risk of her pulling away. “Very well,” his chuckle vibrated through the chill air. The warmth of her against him, however, it came about, was enough. He knew better than to push her; she’d always come around on her own time. A moment of silence nestled between them.

“Sebastian…” Her whisper snagged his breath. In the dimness, her eyes held an unexpected depth, a vulnerability she tried so desperately to hide. A stray lock of hair framed her face, the sight stirring a desperate need to brush it away, to promise her safety, to claim her as his own. Her familiar, slightly parted lips were an agonizing temptation. The scent of her, her voice, that vulnerability... His self-control shattered. Instinct took over as he moved closer, arms circling her waist.

Sebastian stared, spellbound as his thumbs traced the line of her spine, and his heart thrummed with an expectation that went beyond desire. Something had changed tonight. His usual restraint crumbled away, replaced by a boldness he didn’t understand.

He could feel a slight tremor coursing through his body, his breaths coming in short, uneven gasps as his gaze fixated on her lips. The sight of her tongue lightly grazing her lips, her eyelids heavy with seductive drowsiness, only intensified his desire. She was becoming utterly irresistible to him.

Her voice broke his focus. “Are you alright? You seem to be shaking,” she asked, her voice tinged with concern as she looked intently at his disheveled state.

A part of him wanted to hide the truth, to mask the turmoil within. He managed a half-smile, attempting to appear composed. He swallowed. “Yeah, I'm fine,” he assured her, his voice betraying a steadiness he didn’t feel. “Just a rough night too, that's all.”

She sighed softly and nestled closer to him. “I am sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he sighed. Tightening his hold, he wrapped an arm around her protectively. Despite her delicate frame in his embrace, he was mindful of his strength. His breaths grew shallow, a battle raging within him to resist the overwhelming urges. Her proximity, her warmth, was intoxicating.

Something was different tonight. The attraction between them had always been there, right from the start, but this raw, urgent desire was new. It was a craving that seemed to consume every fiber of his being, urging him to claim her, to make her his. Yet he couldn't bear the thought of causing her any distress. Instead, he gently pressed his forehead against hers, searching her eyes for a hint of her own longing. If there was any at all. Sebastian was desperately hoping to find it tonight.

After everything, a deep ache for affection, for connection, lingered within him. He hoped, against all odds, that she might be the one to fill the emptiness. Too many nights he'd cursed his own heart for its relentless yearning.

A fool. And more than that, a man starving for love, convinced he didn't deserve it. The truth was painfully obvious, yet he couldn't allow himself to act on it. Never cross that line, he told himself. She'd already given him so much. But maybe… Sebastian was impulsive.

Still pressed against her forehead, he exhaled. “Look at me,” he whispered, his voice firm, almost commanding, yet it conveyed an undeniable plea. "I need—” he gulped. “I need you,” he finally managed.

The moment his words hit her. His breath was hot against her cheeks. Her desire was unmistakable; her eyelids were heavy, and her breath became soft and shallow. Cheeks were flushed, and lips slightly parted, betraying the unconscious bite of her lip. This was wrong, yet it felt so right.

Witnessing her subtle response, he felt a surge of power and arousal yet remained acutely aware of her vulnerability. It was clear she wanted him too, he could read that much into it, but he restrained himself, driven by a profound respect for her boundaries and the whole awkwardness of the situation.

Sebastian teetered on the edge of surrendering to the urge to kiss her, her softness beckoning him, her defenses visibly down. But he held fast to his principle: he would not act without her express consent. So, he continued to gently trace her spine, all while locking eyes with her, half-lidded and dazed. Another sigh.

“Do me a favour.” “Anything,” she breathed, almost instantly.

His lips yearned to meet hers, his breathing erratic with the effort of self-control. Gradually, his hand drifted from her back, grazing her hip, his thumb pausing near the edge of her dress. He imagined feeling her pulse beneath his fingers, longing to explore her skin, to elicit gasps and tremors of delight. Yet, he waited, caught in the tension of desire and the respect he held for her autonomy.

“I must be crazy,” he breathed, his mind reeling. “I am crazy,” she chuckled darkly. “No.” His whisper was barely audible. “Kiss me...”

Her breath hitched. She dared to meet his brown eyes, finding a scorching intensity that mirrored her own desire. Shivering, she traced the constellations of his freckles, her gaze finally settling on a tiny scar just below his lip. A sigh escaped her. What was she doing? It was always him. Why else would she notice such details?

With a hesitant yet affirming nod, the boundaries they’d carefully upheld began to crumble. He leaned closer, their lips brushing in a fleeting touch before meeting fully. There was tenderness in the kiss, yet it thrummed with pent-up yearning. As it deepened, a soft moan escaped him — a mix of longing and relief. She breathed in matching his passion.

Sebastian groaned softly as he pulled back, his fingers cupping her face, lacing with her soft hair. “I’ve wanted this…” he breathed, his voice thick with desire and a touch of awe. “...for so long.” His gaze flickered between her eyes and her lips, before he captured them in another kiss, this one raw with need. Her name whispered against her skin like a prayer, each syllable a tremor of barely contained emotion.

His hand slid lower, tracing a firm line up her thigh, the hem of her nightgown lifting with his touch. Another groan, this one escaping her lips. He gently pressed her head back against the pillow, then climbed atop her. The weight of his body pinned her to the mattress, the press of him both thrilling and slightly intimidating. It was different. Exciting.

His tongue traced her lower lip, a hesitant request. A flicker of hers against his upper lip granted permission, their tongues meeting in a dance that sent shivers down his spine. “I need you. Need this…” he groaned, burying his face in her hair. Whatever they were doing, his body craved it with a burning intensity. He licked her cheek. His kisses trailed down to her chin, grazing her jawline.

Sebastian pressed firmly against her, his hips grinding against hers. Each thrust sent another jolt through him, the press of her warm body intoxicating. A gasp tore from her throat, her fingers clenching the sheets in a desperate grip. She felt his arousal throb against her thigh. “Sebastian…” she whimpered.

“Shh, love,” he silenced her with another kiss, a soft nibble against her lower lip. Their nightclothes felt abrasive now, a barrier against their burning skin. “Please,” he breathed, the word half plea, half groan, as his teeth grazed the collar of her nightgown. “Tell me you want this too.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair. “Sebastian,” she murmured, her grip tightening. “All I wanna do is feel you.” “What about—” he choked, but she interrupted. “Shh…” It was her turn to silence him with a kiss her gaze tracing down to their clothes. “You may,” she whispered against his lips. “I want this too,” she murmured softly.

With no time to waste. He yanked the buttons on her nightgown, giving her space only momentarily so she could lift his shirt. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he stammered, shivering. “I might get greedy, I mean… uhh,” he huffed, breathlessly. They panted into each other’s mouths as he crashed back down on her. Pressing her body in, and rubbing his length against her soaked panties. The only sound was their ragged breaths and the soft sway of the bed beneath them.

Sebastian's hands trailed below her collarbone, pressing his fingers into her soft skin before stopping below her breasts. With a gentle squeeze, his thumbs grazed the tips of her nipples sending shivers down her body before he continued to knead her breasts. A single word echoing in his mind he dared not say. Mine. She fit so well in his hands.

The ache in his groin became intense. He pressed his hard cock against the inside of her thigh. “Sorry…I,” he croaked, gazing at her wordlessly, seeking her permission. He closed his eyes hoping she would read his mind, somehow.

“Yes.” a voice escaped her lips. His eyes flew open. He pressed himself harder against her. His fingers tentatively traced the line of her panties. With a swift move, he pushed the lace to the side, his fingers tracing against her damp folds.

“Mmm.” A moan that came out more as a groan. Sebastian deftly lowered his underwear, his cock springing out slapping her thigh. “Sorry,” he whimpered again, but her smile calmed him. Carefully spreading her legs he positioned himself, his tip traced the wet edge of her folds. With one last breath, he pushed himself gently inside her.

Her gasp was muffled by her hand, but he heard it all the same. His responding moan was louder, rough with escalating need. “Let it out, love,” he rasped, his movements gaining speed. “Don’t hold back.”

She was so tight, it was more than he could imagine. He knew this was it. He would not be able to last long no matter how much he tried to hold on. No matter how many times he bit his lip, it was too much.

“I wanted to… ahh, sorry'' His words were breaking. “I won’t last long love,” he cried out. His movements became more frantic, his impulses spurring him further. He pounded her against the mattress, not able to restrain himself. Her warmth enveloped him. “fuck .. why do you. Ahh, why do you feel so good…ahh...can I…can?”

She cupped his face as he started to tremble. “Let go,” she breathed against his cheek. He nodded, bewildered. With one final thrust, he lost control, she felt a warm sensation spreading inside her. He felt a deep relief and a surge of energy as he released inside her. He was giving her all the pent-up desires he held in for so, so long. Trembling and twitching. He collapsed on top of her — his body spent.

Sebastian shifted a flicker of clarity returning. He nuzzled into her neck. "Thank you... I—" “Don't.” Her laugh was breathless. “I’m the idiot.” Then, the words rushed out, “I love you.” He blinked in disbelief. “You what?” “I said, I love you.” She brushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead. He sighed, eyes closing. “Do I even need to say it, huh?” A soft smile. “I love you. Madly.” He kissed her, the gentleness belying the joyful storm in his heart.

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