Title: le petit mort.
Genre: Erotica, Romance, Angst, Fluff, Smuff, Hurt-Comfort.
Fandom: GANGSTA.
Characters: Beretta & Worick Arcangelo.
Ship: Beretta/Worick ; Sharpshooter.
For: Ais / @librastrai !!
Summary: It was quite clear that they weren't going to talk about politics tonight; he'd had a taste of death and men fucked so good when they came face to face with Death.
Rating: 18+.
Warning(s): duaric ( otherwise known as m/f ) sex; oral sex; mild seven year age gap though they're obviously both very much so consenting adults & not to mention beretta literally could just kill his ass immediately if she really wanted to.
A/N: ik i& sent this to u in private dms bestie but now its here in publique baybey !! for anyone who doesn't know, for context of this storyline, in this stage of their lives, they're romantically & sexually involved in a steamy love affair while additionally being colleagues under the corsican brothels as georgiana's protégées & he still serves as a mafioso in the monroe family; worick serves as beretta's benefactor, giving her money, jewels & other luxuries while she gives him her company & seductive affections in return; she's essentially his sugar baby & spoiled girlfriend, although he's seemingly unaware of her superhuman status, although he knows that she's definitely not all who she seems to be, which intrigues him even more. also this is unedited from the first draft i& showed ya & thus wouldn't be as detailed as it would be if it were the final thing lmao
When Worick comes to her apartment again in the upper echelons of the brothel with his clothes basically soaked all the way through with the summer rains and the scent of blood, Bellatrix can't help but giggle, but the intensity in his eyes and the fact he was barely holding himself back by a thread is enough to keep her silent for a moment, a smirk curving her lips as her legs spread. It was quite clear that they weren't going to talk about politics tonight; he'd had a taste of death and men fucked so good when they came face to face with Death. He quickly approaches the edge of her bed and grabs her hips to pull her closer to him in urgency, the feeling of his cold hands on the skin of her thighs elicit a gasp as he gets on his knees and laves his tongue over her slick arousal; his offering to her.
Today was an off day and she liked treats. Bellatrix keeps encouraging him, faster, harder, her hands weaving through his soaked blonde hair as he went to work in between her thighs. She didn't last too long with the way he makes her sing a sweet melody of soft sighs, hisses, moans and gasps, hips swaying and back arching like the waves of the ocean, his dark Aphrodite, his Lilith, his goddess.
When he's done, he leans in to give her neck a tender kiss and their lips meet, tongues intertwining like cherry knots, but not before Bellatrix tugs gently at his lower lip between her teeth. They'll have more fun later, she realizes as Worick simply takes off his soaked shirt and just flops his back on the bed and pulls her close to just lie here with him, eyes closing as his lips press in the space between her pulse and jawline. She's all he wants now.
It's been a long time since she's actually allowed herself to sleep for Chimeras didn't require the need to sleep, but Bellatrix was so comfortable right now merely lying on top of him that she couldn't resist.
They fall asleep together, inhaling the other.
Perhaps this is what peace looked like, only if for a night.
indigenous westeros: wylla manderly vs. house frey.
"they killed lord eddard and lady catelyn and king robb [...] he was our king! he was brave and good, and the freys murdered him. if lord stannis will avenge him, we should join lord stannis!" [...]"i know about the promise... maester theomore, tell them! a thousand years before the conquest, a promise was made, and oaths were sworn in the wolf's den before the old gods and the new. when we were sore beset and friendless, hounded from our homes and in peril of our lives, the wolves took us in and nourished us and protected us against our enemies. the city is built upon the land they gave us. in return we swore that we should always be their men. stark men!" [...] "wylla. did you see how brave she was? even when i threatened to have her tongue out, she reminded me of the debt white harbor owed to the starks of winterfell, a debt that can never be repaid. wylla spoke from the heart... not every woman can be as brave as my wylla."
