#but man. does the yearning get a a little worse and a little louder every time it pops back up

[angelamajiki]

PARINGS: Brother! Tamaki Amajiki x Female! Sister! Reader

CW: yandere, incest, stealthing, con to noncon, quirk play, riding, manipulation, possessiveness, slight angst, implied kidnapping

AN: thank you to @suzuki-violin-school for beta reading!! @sightoru @bonesoftheimpala come get y’all juice

You always had a strange relationship with your big brother, seeming to be just a touch close for your parent’s liking. But the pair of you never paid too much mind to it. Something about it just felt natural and right. You were thick as thieves, always confiding and comforting each other when no-one else seemed well enough to do the job.

When you ran to your brother’s house the second your first boyfriend broke up with you for a completely arbitrary reason, leaving you to cry on your nii-san’s shoulder to deal with your heartache.

“I told you he was no good for you, bunny. I knew from the start that something was wrong with him. There’s no one that’s good enough for my baby sister.”

Then it happened again. And again. And again, until it seemed like every partner you’ve ever had lost interest after the first few months of your relationship. It was devastating to feel unloved and unwanted, but at least you had your big brother to make everything better. Tamaki always reminded you how much he loved you, how smart and intelligent you were, how anyone would be lucky to have you, and the people who have dumped you were complete fools to not see what a gem you were.

And anyone would be lucky to have your big brother; you reminded him as well. The number seven pro hero who had finally blossomed into a confident, top-tier hero with a heart of gold. He was so strong, not to mention a heartthrob. Maybe it felt wrong to be jealous of the attention he gets from the media for his work along with his looks. Still, maybe it was because you knew better than anyone else that one day, the devotion he showed towards you would be the devotion he showed towards his own partner.

Not that you ever planned to tell him you didn’t want his undivided attention to be cast elsewhere, but just like everything else about your relationship, it flowed out naturally when you were crying about your recent first date that had ghosted you after dinner.

“Tama-nii, I’m never going to find someone! Why does no one want me?”

You sobbed into his chest, clinging to him like you did when you were a child, searching for the lost innocence of your youth in his arms. His strong hands embraced you without question, without judgment, as he kissed the top of your head tenderly while shushing you gently.

“Oh, bunny. That’s not true at all-”

What could he know about your struggle? The media treats him like the very man who hung the stars in the sky, and how could you blame them? He was the moon, the very embodiment of tenderness that waxes and wanes with a gentle, shimmering brilliance that you can’t help but hide in the shadows of.

“Yes, it is! What could you possibly know of not being wanted when you’re just going to end up leaving me like everyone else does?” His silence spoke louder than your own sobbing. “One day, you’ll find someone and leave me to be alone again because no one wants me!”

His hand, that touch you’ve become so familiar with, gently strokes your lower back.

“Who said I don't want you? You're making assumptions, little bunny.”

His words tickled your ear, got your heart racing as he quelled your cries of anguish. “Because I certainly do.”

Nimble fingers tilted your chin up to meet his soft gaze, lust clouding his eye like the calm before the storm.

“B-But not like that-”

“Exactly like that.”

His words lit a fire in your core, but forced ice to run through your veins. Your brother could never have you in the way you wanted him to, the way you needed him to.

“It's not that simple.” You choked out, straining to contain yourself from your fleeting desires. This fleeting feeling of weakness can't let you risk your relationship with your brother, or worse, let him be your everything for just a moment and watch him walk away when he's done. “We can't.”

“And why is that? Isn't it obvious that I'm not going anywhere unless I'm with you?”

His face inched closer to yours, a blush splattering his pale skin up to his ears.

“It’s wrong-”

Your eyes flicked to his lips for a brief moment as you found yourself frozen.

“Not if I love you.”

Plush lips sealed over yours, enveloping you in the tenderness you'd had always envied him for. The love, the obsession he had for you had come crashing down in waves over you as you kissed him back, eager to feed off his affection and attention.

Teeth and tongue clashed together in a messy display of the taboo; hips pushed flush against each other as you whined into his mouth, sobbing in the relief of finally feeling yearned for.

The question of whether or not it was right wasn't plaguing you anymore, not like it did you when you scorned yourself for the infectious desires that coiled in your core late at night. His love cleansed you, cured you of your ailment as his tongue and lips made their way to your neck.

Sweet nothings tickled your ear as he nibbled and kissed along your tender flesh, leaving bright pink spots in his loving wake. The tears from your eyes dripped onto his hair, but neither of you seemed to care.

“Don't cry, my love.”

His words were like a symphony, enthralling you with the melody that he carried in his voice and the song he sung to soothe your overwhelmed state. “Let your big brother take care of you, okay?”

Clothes were discarded in a flurry, tossed somewhere beyond the couch the two of you were grinding on. His hands were so strong, yet so gentle as you were carried like a princess, his princess, to his bed where he no doubt intended to indulge in every one of your desires.

Your knight in shining armor kissed you breathless under the moonlight that trickled through the window, casting his shadow over you. Even now, he stole the limelight but you couldn't find it in yourself to care this time, not when he touched you so lovingly.

Nimble fingers kneaded and pulled at your plump flesh, making their ways down to the wetness between your legs. Shame flushed your face as he throatily chuckled. “Wet for me already, imouto? You're flattering your nii-san.”

The pad of his thumb circled your clit gently, sharp eyes watching as your body jolted and twitched at the sensation. “You’re acting as though you've never been touched before.”

You hear the smile in his voice without even seeing it. It only served to flush your shame even further, avoiding the eyes that were fucking you with everything they had.

“Don’t take those pretty eyes off of me.”

His middle finger prodded gently at your hole, teasing the twitching thing with circles of his forefingers. Shyly, your eyes turned to him, begging, pleading for him to stop teasing already!

And how could he deny such an unspoken request from the love of his life? Tamaki already knew what you wanted before you even did, he always did. He’s been able to read you like a book, already knowing what would be on the next page before it was written.

Still, he liked to tease, or more so needed to. It would fuel him like no other to finally hear you beg for him, beg for the love only he knew how to give you. Not that he would be so selfish to deny you of all that you wanted, he was more than prepared to spoil his lovely princess.

But, the man couldn't deny the inklings of his insecurities coming back to bite him. There was a chance that you could regret this later, that you would run far from his reach the second the realization that you slept with your brother donned on you. Tamaki wouldn't have it, now or ever.

Your moans drew him back to the present as his finger pumped in and out of you, dragging along your spongy, wet walls that gripped him oh so nicely. He could hardly handle the anticipation of getting to feel you around his cock.

“N-Nii-san! I can't wait, want you inside!”

Your broken cry sent a shudder down his spine and a jump to his cock. Such a desperate little thing you were, but you were his desperate little thing.

Maneuvering the both of you, he sat you in his lap while holding your ass flush to his hips.

“You know what to do, pretty girl.”

Swallowing thickly, you pulled his cock out of his boxers and positioned yourself to sink down on it.

“Y-You’ll pull out, right?”

“Of course, imouto.”

That was all you needed. Determined to please him, you pushed just the tip in before sitting all the way down on it. A choked gasp filled the space as you felt the fullness of your brother’s cock inside of you.

“S-So full, nii-san!” He stretched you perfectly, letting any pain fade comfortably into pleasure.

It was then that Tamaki decided he would ruin you, not only for himself but for anyone else who dared to think they would be able to please you.

As you ground your hips down into his, you couldn't help but start to feel him grow inside you. Was this normal for sex?

“Ah! Hold on, it's really starting to hurt nii-san.”

Your hips lifted off of his, only to be slammed back down by those strong hands you've come to love.

“Just relax, princess. I'm doing this because I love you.”

Admittedly, this was his first time to try to manifest this part of his body, but he had to try for you, didn't he? Your future with him depended on it. The kiss he pressed to your temple was to soothe himself more than you, focusing on the horse meat he had eaten early that day just after you called him.

He shushed your struggles, hugging you close and stroking the ever-growing bulge in your stomach as he completed his manifestation.

“There we go.” He kissed your cries of the pain away. “It’s okay, you’re okay, princess.”

You had to understand that he was doing this for both of you. He’d ruin that cunt of yours, make it so no man other than Tamaki and his quirk could ever satisfy you.

“You were made to my cock, and mine alone, princess. I'll make you see that.”

The pain was nearly unbearable as he began to thrust up into you, hitting your cervix with the strange cock head he had produced. His hand stayed flush to the bulge on your stomach, stroking it gently as he pounded into you from below.

Your cries and moans meshed together in a perfect melody, one that was always destined to be sung by the both of you, together as one.

Neither of you were going to last long, not with his quirk in play.

“Oh God, I'm gonna cum, princess!” His thrusts became erratic, pounding into you with a new vigor.

“Y-You promised to pull out!” You cried in frustration, feeling his cum fill you up to the brim and dripping out of even with his cock still inside. Tamaki thumbed at your clit to help push you over the edge as he shrunk his cock back down, feeling you cum around him with a cry and shaky legs.

He pulled out, looking at the bulge his cum inside you left behind as he pushed on it gently, watching it gush out of you.

“Now no one else will ever want you.”

#yandere tamaki amajiki x reader #yandere tamaki amajiki #tamaki amajiki x you #tamaki amajiki x y/n #tamaki amajiki x reader #yandere my hero academia #my hero x reader #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere x reader #yandere

[ryozoro]

Hades Playlist - ii.

NOW PLAYING: Vampire [Dominic Fike]

cw; nothing really, very small mentions of manipulation and murder

an: SORRY FOR THE LATE UPLOAD , THINGS GOT BEHIND SCHEDULE :(

“The curious are always in some danger. If you are curious, you might never come home.” – Jennette Winterson

She couldn’t get him off her mind; ever since she met him, all her thoughts have led back to the droopy eyes and the slick back hair that seemed a lot softer than what the gel presented it as. The whole idea of her thoughts tracing back to the eldest of the Haitani’s and her heart beats mimicking each time the octave of his voice dropped with every word he spoke to her, made yn almost forget all the rules her big brother placed when it comes to men.

Why does she yearn to be in the presence of someone who would not hesitate to take her life for a laugh amongst his gang? Why does she want to run into the back allies of each street in hopes of accidentally bumping into him? Why isn’t she able to use common sense and erase the memory of him out of her head? Why does she feel like fate has strung their paths together on purpose? Why – you know what? Maybe she latched onto Ran so fast in hopes of forgetting someone else that continued to plague her mind daily. Maybe she is becoming obsessed with idea of someone not seeing her as a kid. That has to be it, right? Ran, ‘Tani-Senpai,’ shares the same interest and even wants to talk to her later as if they have been old friends. That has to be it —

“Yn!” her brother’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Are you okay, ya idiot?” She took note that everyone at the table was staring at her, waiting for her to answer Draken’s question. “You’ve been spacing out since we got here,” Draken frowned as he plucked a piece of food from her plate, “are you sure that nothing happened on your bike ride to the shop?”

“If you were riding to the shop, I would have gladly picked you up,” Inupi chimed in with a soft smile. “I told you to treat me like I’m another older brother.”

“Hm,” yn hummed while avoiding eye contact with the blonde man, “wanted to surprise my troll of a brother and I figured you were off because its Tuesday.”

“Ah,” Inupi gently laughed as he watched her play with her food, “you remembered my schedule?”

Of course, she remembered his schedule. Yn knew almost everything about him; from the origins of his beautiful burn mark to his favorite snack in the vending machine back at the shop, yn knew and fell in love with it all. Draken always teased her about being in love with Mikey or Hakkai since she always seemed relaxed around them, but little did he know that his little sister was in love with his best friend and business partner.

“I’m honestly shocked that you kept it the way you did,” yn side-eyed him as she raised the other hand to pick at the bandages that wrapped along the underside of her jaw, “but at the same time, I’m not that shocked considering old people love to stick to their schedules. Wouldn’t want you straining your back, Oji-chan.”

Inupi laughed – God, she loved that laugh - whole heartedly to the point he began choking on his food. Of course, sitting with their friends and family, Inupi’s contagious laugh spread amongst the others and the people around them either ignored it very well or gave them silent glares in hopes they would stop; surprise, they did not. Hell, if anything, it got worse – so much worse – to the point that Mikey, Takemichi, and Chifuyu all fell out of their chairs.

“I – what did I say that was so funny?” yn pouted as she fished her phone out of her pocket, “I just called him the old man he was.”

“That’s why, brat,” draken flicked her forehead and chuckled, “we had made a few bets on what you would say when Inupi had talked to you. Surprisingly, Mitsuya guessed you would have called him a grandpa.” Draken and the others proceeded to give Mana’s big brother 200 yen as they got up off the floor and calmed down.

“So, Yn,” Takemichi looked her in the eyes with a dopey flushed face.

“Watch it ‘ Mitchy,” Kazutora playfully warned, “don’t wanna embarrass the poor girl since she just got back.”

“What is it, crybaby,” she asked hesitantly as she scanned over his face, noting signs of mischief lurking in the corners of his smile. “It better not be something stupid, or else I’m telling Hina-san about what you did last time you came over to the shop.”

“Oi, you’re so mean – just like your brother,” Takemichi pouts and fans his hands towards you, “but it’s just a simple question, neh.”

Yn enjoyed Takemichi’s presence more than someone from an outside point of view would have thought. He always served as a hero in her eyes as he saved Mikey from the dark path he began to walk and how he constantly reminded her brother on how much his deceased lover, Sano Emma, watches over him and guides him to all the good things that happens in his life. He was an amazing guy and one that she wished had set her expectations for her taste in men, but her heart yearns for those who are completely out of her grasp.

“Just ask or else I’m calling Hina-san,” yn smirked as she brought her phone screen into view for Takemichi to see that “Hina-san <3” contact was pulled up and only one press away from being dialed.

“Oh, you bully!” Takemichi sighed dramatically, “I was just going to ask how long you have been into gilfs?” Draken choked on his drink and Pah-chin was patting his back in hopes of easing the rough coughs. Everyone at the table began to cause even more ruckus with tears of laughter as yn sat there dumbfounded.

“w-what,” she scratched her head and looked around the table in hopes of someone taking note of her clear ignorance at the word that Takemichi had claimed her to be attracted to. Since no one answered, she decided to speak on her own, “what the hell is a gilf?” Much to yn’s dismay, the table went silent for a brief second before bursting out into an even louder fit of laughter. “Well?! What the hell is it?”

“Yn, love,” Smiley spoke between hiccups and giggles, “it’s the same thing as a Dilf or Milf, but for old people.” After he finally finished his sentence, he leaned against his twin and laughed even harder.

“I-,” yn stood up and threw her dirtied napkin and spoon at the man who made the joke, “I’m not attracted to gilfs you fuckin idiot.” Yn moved behind Takemichi and put him in a headlock, “what made you even think to say that ya CD sellin’ pervert.”

“Oi,” Draken said from above her, “let ‘Mitchy go or else I’m taking you back all the way to Fukurodani and asking them to volunteer you for the summer school tutoring.” Yn dropped her arms in defeat and made her way back to her seat. “And you,” Takemichi looked up at her brother with a teary-eyed smile, “go clean your hair up before your wedding. It’s in three days and anyone can tell you pick at your split ends during your down time at work.” Draken laughed as Takemichi’s expression turned into a pout and he began punching Draken’s solid abdomen.

“Oh,” Angry stood up abruptly, “yn, could I see ya outside really quick?” Despite his rough tone, everyone knew he was asking in the kindest way possible.

“Yeah, sure,” yn got up with a pout and made her way to the exit with Angry trailing her with a hand on her mid-back. She was confused as to why they went outside at such a fast pace, but she just assumed that Angry wanted peace and quiet away from the others. “So,” yn smiled at the younger twin, “what did you – why is your face angrier than usual?” She titled her head at the man but he was quick to grab her hand and guide her towards his bike.

“Hop on,” he straddled the seat and waited for her to do the same, “don’t worry, Draken texted me to take you back to me and Nahoya-nii’s shop. So… hurry up, please.” Souta stopped her right before she got on and placed a helmet on her head, “safety first because I’ll hurt you if you get hurt,” he said as he proceeded to adjust the straps enough to keep her safe and comfortable. “Get on, Princess,” he kicked up the kick stand and took off fast out the parking spot.

“So – uh,” yn spoke aloud as they arrived at a stop light, “why did nii-chan tell ya to take me to the shop… I wasn’t done eating.” She felt her stomach rumble and she pressed her cheek to Angry’s leather cladded shoulder blade and readjusted her grip on his waist as they began moving towards the backroads to get to the Kawata’s Ramen shop.

“I’ll make you a bowl when we get there,” he relaxed his upper body so yn wasn’t laying against hard muscles, “and we left because everyone kept staring at you.”

“Psh,” yn rolled her eyes, “they were staring because I am a strong, independent woman who managed to put a MAN in a headlock like a bad bi-.”

“Enough of your ‘bad bitch’ talk, I believe you, but I promise you that was not the reason.” Angry spoke through a breathy laugh, “the cook and the table in the corner was kept looking over you. Don’t you think it was weird how when they brought our orders out and Draken said your rice was missing an egg and the cook came out and apologized himself?”

Yn pondered on the question for a bit but then shook her head gently and nuzzled inbetween the center of Angrys’s back, “no, to be honest, I thought that the cook just hates when he messes up. It can’t be that deep, yanno? Oh! Maybe they mistook me as an idol?” She felts Angry’s laugh bubble from his chest to his shoulder blades; Souta’s laugh honestly made her feel like her jokes were genuinely funny to listen to.

“Hate to break it to you,” Angry brought the bike to a gentle stop as the arrived towards the ramen shop, “but you don’t present yourself as the ideal image of the idol you probably think you are.” Yn joined Souta in the small fits of laughter as she gently punched him in his side.

“Oh, shut up,” she let out a soft breath as she hopped off and carried the helmet with her as she made her way to the employee back door. “Open up, yeah? ‘M reeeeeally hungry.”

“Already ahead of you, ya dumb brat,” Angry bumped his hip gently against yn’s and unlocked the door and pushed her inside. They placed their helmets and jackets off in the staff room and made their way towards the kitchen where she sat at bar stools and Angry started up the stove to boil a few eggs and moved to chop up some green onions. “You want beef or chicken, idiot?”

“Sheesh, souta-kun, if ya wanted to marry me – just say that,” Yn teased as she propped her head onto her two hands, “your terms of endearment have been getting sweeter and sweeter by the minute~ but! I do want chicken please, been not feelin like eating cow and pigs lately.”

“Yer annoying,” angry threw a small, chopped onion at her, “in your dreams I’d marry you. Plus, I KNOW I’m not your type. You go for mechanics with burn marked boys that work with your brother -,”

“OKAY, NOT NEEDED,” Yn pressed her face to the counter, “asshole… He’s my type, but I’m not his. He’s like, Makima and I’m Denji… please tell me you understand that because it’s the best I got.”

“I understand it, and I just want to say that that is the most tragic thing I have heard from you in a while – oh, but back to the restaurant,” Angry said as he slid a small chocolate mochi from out the freezer and towards yn on a cute, small plate, “there was a customer who went into the back the second he heard that your order was wrong. I thought it was weird because what cook comes out that frightened when they get someone’s order wrong, but then your brother texted me saying that every man there had their eyes on you as if they were in charge of watching your every move. At first, Hakkai noticed some of the men sporting a ‘Bonten’ tattoo on their wrist, so we thought maybe they were after Mikey, but then Mitsuya texted us when he went to the bathroom that he heard some of the guys saying your name. Once that was said, Draken immediately told me to take you away from there… I do have a question for you though.” Angry began whipping up the ramen in the most tasteful way and side-eyeing the young ryuguji, “did you by chance get into it with a few Bonten member’s when you first got here? Is that why you’re all bandaged up?”

“Souta,” yn felt her heartbeat pick up but remained composed, “nothing happened with what ever ‘Bonten’ members… you know how weird some gangs are…”

“I trust you, brat,” Angry’s frown deepened once he noticed that the eggs were ready to be cut and the chicken was ready to be fried, “I just don’t want to lose another family member, okay? We babies have to stick together.” With that, he paid no mind to the situation, making a small mental note to tell Draken that one of the members there probably just thought yn was pretty. “Oh,” Souta looked back at yn, “one more thing.”

“Y-yeah, of course,” yn snapped her eyes to meet his gaze, nervous that he might have picked up on the fact that she lied about not coming into contact with any members when she first arrived, “what’s up stinky?”

“Just be careful,” Angry passed her a water bottle, “don’t trust anyone who isn’t in our toman family; especially not a Bonten member. He’ll take you in, manipulate you into believing you can’t live without him, and sell you off with no cares in the world. That is, if you’re lucky enough not to be killed in the middle of the street for entertainment.” Souta turned back around to finish up the ramen.

“Yeah,” yn felt a chill go down her back, “I’ll be careful… I promise.” She honestly didn’t know how to feel, after all, she just met with the man who presented her with an unrequited love, another man who made her heart yearn to lurk into the depths of the shadows, and someone whom she considered family just told her that one of those men would lead her onto a road of misfortune. Lost in her thoughts, she felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket. She pulled on it and felt her stomach drop as she was greeted with two notifications.

Draken bacon >:D : You okay kid? We’re heading to the restaurant right now, ‘m sure nothing was wrong – just wanted ya to be safe. me and inupi there in a bit, the other boys are getting stuff together for our dinner tonight. don’t annoy angry too much <3

Tani-senpai <3: why did you leave so soon pretty girl? Didn’t mean to alarm you, but I sent your picture to quite a few of my juniors and underlings, delinquents if you will – just wanted them to know not to touch what isn’t theirs. N e Wayz, I have time now, do you want to call now?

Were the gods telling her to remember her caring brother’s rules on men or to listen to faint voice of curiosity that lingered in her young and ignorant mind?

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Taglist: @richiyo @haitanigigi @chifuyusprincess

ryozoro©

#tokyo revengers haitani ran x reader #tokyo revengers haitani ran #tokyo revengers haitani #tokyorev haitani ran #tokyorev #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyorev haitani #haitani ran x f!reader #haitani ran #ran haitani #haitani ran x reader #haitani brothers

[221bshrlocked]

Deepest of Desires

Y’all I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself but here we go. I’ve already talked about what some of Pedro’s Characters’ kinks would be but I need to compile them in one place...don’t ask me why. All suggestions for any characters are welcomed, I will happily add to the filth on this list.

Warnings: NSFW under cut

Words: 6K+

The Mandalorian - Breeding Kink. Period.

You somehow don’t notice it at first. He’s always careful not to make a mess of you because he thinks you deserve to be worshiped and not taken like a common whore. But then it gradually escalates and you’re not sure what caused this new change but you don’t mind it. Little do you know, Din noticed the little bump in your arm one night when he was kissing every inch of your skin. And something switches inside him and he becomes more needy and desperate whenever he fucks you. The first time he comes in you, you think it’s because he may have been distracted so you don’t think too much about it. The second time, you blame it on the kid cooing from the other room just as Din comes. It’s the third time that gives you an inclination as to what Din has been doing because not only does he cum in you, but he continues to fuck you and moves his hands down to feel your combined juices soaking your skin and the sheets. You feel overwhelmed by how much it turns him on but say nothing, choosing to bring it up another time. When it finally rolls around, and you’re in the middle of the most passionate, sweaty, crazed sex ever, you pull him down and mouth at his jaw, begging him to cum in you. Din freezes for a moment and you hope you haven’t said the wrong thing. Before you think twice of it, he’s hooking one leg up against his shoulder and railing into you, whispering his need to fill you up with his cum over and over again until you’re leaking with it. You could barely manage to respond, moaning when he tells you how often he thinks about breeding you, how much he wishes he could fuck a baby in you, and how hard he gets when he pictures you nursing his kid while taking care of the little womp rat. And you all but lose it when he cums in you and continues to fuck you, not caring about the filthy squelching sounds emitting from where you’re joined as he ensures you reach your pleasure. As soon as he tells you how he wishes he could fuck your tits when they’re full of milk and suck on them until you’re oversensitive and you’re soaking him, you’re coming on his cock and are reduced to a mess as he pushes his cum deep into your aching cunt to ensure that not a single drop is wasted. And it’s not until later that he suggests you take the implant out so he could see your belly growing with his child.

Agent Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels - Bondage, preferably with his lasso or whip.

Jack loves to play in the bedroom but he never brings it up with you, afraid that his tastes might be a little too much for someone as sweet and innocent as you. You’ve only known each other for a couple of months but he’s been smitten when you walked in and showed him who’s boss during one of the training sessions. And ever since then, he’s wanted nothing more than to tie you up to his bed and have his way with you all night long. But he’s reluctant because even if this dating thing is official, he’s still the senior agent and he should be taking care of you everywhere, including the bed. So mark him surprised when you literally crawl to him on your knees one day with his lasso hanging loosely around your neck and tell him to take you on the floor. Jack loses whatever self control he has left and instantly take hold of the lasso, pulling you towards the couch until you’re kneeling in between his spread thighs. He tightens it just a little as he nods to his belt, almost coming as soon as he feels your lips around his cock and your nails digging into his thighs. You beg him to take what he wants and he trusts that you’ll tell him to stop should you feel uncomfortable. And that’s how his little games with you start. You’re either following him around with the rope around your neck like a fucking collar or you’re bending over or getting on all fours as he expertly whips your backside without breaking skin. It makes him hard knowing how much you trust him and he finally has the courage to ask you if it was possible to tie you to his bed. You’re all giggles and smiles before you run up to his room and strip for him, barely letting a moment pass after he ties you before you’re begging him to fuck you dumb. He takes you in as many positions as possible all night long and you take everything he gives you like a little sweet girl. Whether your hands are tied or your legs are tied and spread out open for him, not a single complaint leaves your lips. And he keeps fucking you long after the two of you are sensitive because he can’t believe how lucky he got with you and how willing you are for him to take over.

Javier Peña - Degradation in the forms of Dirty Talk, Choking, and Spanking.

There is a lot of pent up frustration and aggression that Javi keeps bottled up throughout the day. And you realize this job is really getting to him when he stops visiting his friends after work. When you ask him why he doesn’t go to any of them anymore, his answer is surprising. It’s not because he doesn’t want to have sex anymore, no. It’s because he can’t get the same satisfaction out of a simple fuck. And when you press him further, he tells you that he would never want to mistreat one of them how he wants to because they’ve seen enough and they don’t deserve seeing this ugly side of him and they really don’t deserve getting called all sorts of names that fly through his lips in the moments of passion. So you strike a bargain with him. It’s much more difficult to convince him than you think it would be considering how much you know he enjoys this and you leave it on the table until one day, he knocks on your door and apologizes because he can’t take it anymore. There is an awkwardness to what the two of you do in the beginning and he does nothing of what you know he yearns to do. But slowly, his touches get rougher, his words get harsher, and before you know it, he’s no longer the private, somehow shy agent that you’ve worked with for a few years now. No. He’s a man who twists his hands into your hair and pulls you up to him when he needs to bite your neck. He slaps your ass until you’re a crying mess and then he calls you his ‘sweet fucking cockslut’ because you’re taking him so well. You occasionally find his hand around your throat as he rails into you against the wall or in the shower or even on the floor when he’s desperate, and you can tell that he enjoys this more than he’s letting on because the louder you whine for him, the harder his thrusts become and the tighter his grip around your neck is. He loves sees the bruises after and he especially enjoys it when you don’t bother to hide the handprints beneath a scarf. No, you wear it proudly so everyone knows not to fuck with you. And it takes you a while to notice that it’s the fastest way he could get you coming, something that he realizes much before you, hence the constant need to keep his fingers tight around your your lovely skin. But as rough as Javi gets, he also knows how to take care of you after. You smile when you hear gruff voice whispering how perfect you were for him and how he can’t believe you’re letting him do this and how lucky he is to have someone like you giving him this much pleasure and allowing him to use you as if you were nothing more than a harlot. He leaves you sore and bruised most of the time, and his words echo in your mind until you fall asleep and dream of him fucking you over and over again...

My cockslut...Little fucking whore...Letting me fuck you like a bitch in heat...This is my filthy cunt...You belong to me querida...Look how pathetic you are...You gone cockdumb now hermosa? I own you...My fuckdoll...My filthy girl...I’m gonna fill all your holes...Such a good girl for letting me fuck this ass...You’re mine my little whore...No one gets to fuck this except me...You’re nothing but a quick fuck that gets me off...So filthy...Worthless...Wet pussy...Scream my name...Or better yet, shut the fuck up so we don’t wake the neighbors...Fucking hell this cunt is so wet...knew it...Knew you were a whore.

Pero Tovar - Spitting Kink or anything with fluids really.

He’s still unsure of how he managed to have you lay in his arms night after night. He swears this is a dream because you’re an angel and he’s a monster. But you go to him night after night, begging him to have his way with you. Tovar loses his mind when you moan his name so innocently and he can’t bring himself to deny you anything when you’re asking him so sweetly and spread out for him. He does, however, grow quiet when he watches you one day as you get on your knees and suck on his cock until he cums down your throat. But that’s not what surprised him, no. It’s that you’re drooling and spitting and making a mess of yourself. And Tovar likes how you look when your chest is messy with your spit and his seed. This interest only gets worse when he fucks you so hard you squirt around him, and he wants to do that again. He wants to bring you this much pleasure again. So he fucks you hard and deep until you’re soaking the two of you and then he’s coming hard. And before he does anything, you’re leaning down and licking his cock, humming when you taste yourself on him. And that seems to be it for him because he grabs your chin and forces you to open your mouth, and before you can say anything, he’s spitting twice in on your tongue and shoving his fingers deep down your throat. He’s proud of your shocked expression and swears into the night when you get on all fours and start sucking him off again, this time knowing that he has his spit and yours on his cock. And that’s how it is for the two of you from now on. Him spitting down your throat to make sure your mouth is wet enough for his cock, or sometimes spitting on his hands and pushing them past your lips so he could keep you quiet. Occasionally, you’ll ask him to hand you a cup of water but instead, he drinks it and raises an eyebrow for you to open your mouth. You do so without hesitation every time and it almost always ends with the two of you fucking like animals on the floor or against the wall. And one hundred percent of the time, the two of you have to go wash because there is spit and cum and sweat and your juices drenching the two of you.

Oberyn Martell - Touch and anything that involves fruits and drinks.

It’s intimidating in the beginning. Actually, the act itself is not intimidating. He is intimidating. Prince Oberyn is anything but shy and it takes you a while to realize that you shouldn’t be shameful around him. As a matter of fact, you notice that he will reward you if you treat him as a lover and not as your Prince. He teases you the first few times, telling you that there was no way you were the same person he’s heard so many poems about. You grow bolder with him and beg him to lay down as you walk across the room and take hold of the basket of fruits. Oberyn raises an eyebrow at your actions but says nothing, spreading himself out and whispering a quick ‘careful’ when he sees you bring a knife out from between your thighs. He watches as you expertly cut the large orange, and hisses when you begin to squeeze it on his nipples, down his chest, and finally on his cock. The nectar is cold but his eyes never leave you as you lean down and lick him dry, his hands going instantly into your hair when you gag on his cock. He cums down your throat not too long after that and pulls you towards his lips, shoving his tongue into your mouth and moaning when he tastes himself and the orange juice. And it becomes a habit after that. Sometimes he’s drenching you with sour liquids and massaging them across your muscles and other times, you’re licking them off of his warrior body. It comes to a point where he no longer enjoys fucking you unless there’s some sticky juices slipping between the two of you. He doesn’t care what it is. All he cares for is touching every inch of your skin with whatever viscous material you chose this time and it’s his happy day when you bring in honey and drip it all over yourself and him. It’s the filthiest it’s ever gotten between the two of you and you notice how he can’t keep his hands to himself anymore. He’s torn between fucking you into the next kingdom and kissing and touching your sweet soft skin. But he’s an intelligent man and he finds a way to do all of that simultaneously, bringing you closer to your pleasure much faster than before. Who knew honey and fruits would make the Prince of Dorne this unhinged.

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales - Mile High Club. Enough said.

It’s something the two of you have briefly discussed but never actually had a chance to act upon. But then Pope approaches the two of you for a job that doesn’t sound too exciting even though it pays well. As soon as he mentions how they need Frankie to fly them to the drop point though, you’re both nodding furiously and telling him that you’re in, smiling to each other when he tells you he’ll send you the details before leaving. You’re not sure how it will work but you agree that you’d figure it out once you’re in the plane. It’s not until you’re in the air that you realize how quiet you have to be, with the guys sitting outside and talking through the plan. You’re thankful that Frankie manages to convince them that he needs you to co-pilot the aircraft with him since it’s been a while. Once you’re up in the air and it’s safe to put the plane on ‘auto-pilot’ you’re moving across the small space and kissing down Frankie’s neck. He’s still looking ahead to ensure that nothing surprising happens but it’s getting more difficult to pay attention when all he wants to do is commit every little nip and kiss and lick to memory. You’re shoving your hands down his pants immediately, knowing that one of the guys could come in any moment and you smile when Frankie moans and swears beneath his breath. You don’t tease him, kneeling down between his thighs and taking him in your mouth until his cock hits the back of your throat. He almost cums right then and there but tries his hardest to last a little longer, if only to enjoy this and feel the adrenaline kick in a little more. As soon as he looks down and watches spit corner at your lips, he’s groaning and moaning your name and you nip at the underside of his cock to shush him, telling him that you really didn’t want to give the other guys a show. He obeys your warning and tries to keep himself in check, torn between removing his hands from the controller to push you down on his cock further, and begging you to strip down and sit on his lap as he continues to pilot the plane. The former seems like a better option and he does tangle his fingers in your hair before pushing you down and savoring the sounds of your throat gagging on his cock. When he sees you touching yourself through your pants, he cums down your throat, so far down that you don’t even taste him when he finally pulls you off of him. You’re both panting and the windows have gotten a little fogged up and it smells like musk and sweat in here but you don’t find it in yourself to care as you stand up and wait for him to right himself before opening the door. You’re met with a couple of whistles and you can’t help but laugh at how flustered Frankie is when the guys continue to tease him. Oh well, it was worth it.

Comandante Veracruz - Exhibitionism.

It’s no secret that the Comandante loves to have his women screaming his name into the night. But when you’re assigned to him, he makes it his life’s mission to ensure that no man will come near you. He’s heard of how you like to play and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get you to start a little game with him. Not even a month in his camp and Veracruz has you writhing in his bed. He fucks you every chance he gets, and he tries to convince himself that it’s because he’s gotten bored with the other women. But he knows very well that it’s only because he’s gotten so fucking obsessed with you that he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t realize that you’ve stopped sleeping around as well and you don’t bother to mention it, mostly because you know it gives him a little edge when you fall into bed with him. He becomes a crazed man when you come to him in the night but then he sees you wrestling with one of his men and he loses his shit. He doesn’t care how pathetic it looks when he comes through the late night camp and drags you across so every one knows who you belong to. Your laughter only makes it worse and he isn’t able to make it into his tent, instead pushing you against one of the trees that’s too close to camp and ordering you to strip down. You do as you’re told and bite back from sobbing when he shoves his cock deep into your cunt. He doesn’t go slow, doesn’t wait for you to get used to him. He just fucks you and keeps fucking you until you’re screaming his name and telling everyone how well he fucks you. He’s whispering filthy things in your ears and you feel his cock grow impossibly harder when you tell him how good it feels and how much you love pleasuring him so everyone could know who makes him cum. It should be the other way around but he doesn’t care, continuing his assault and occasionally spanking your ass when you’re not loud enough for him. The camp grows quiet and he’s sure it’s because everyone can hear the two of you hate-fucking the shit out of each other. When he cums in your cunt, he doesn’t give you any reprieve, instead dragging you again the few steps into his tent and not bothering to tie it closed as he pushes you to your knees and forces you to gag on his cock. Anyone can walk and he’s sure that anyone can hear him calling you his filthy cocklut and you’re giving his ego a boost with all the noises you’re making and how much you’re begging him to take you out to the bonfire and fuck you in front of all those men so they know who owns this pussy. Perhaps one day he would do just that, but for now, he’s content with having you to himself. Well, except your screams that is.

Marcus Moreno - Age Play.

He’s not sure what to do anymore. All he knows is that he hears you telling Missy that she needs to get ready so ‘daddy’ isn’t late for work and he has to run to the bathroom before he embarrasses himself. After that little incident, he rarely leaves the two of you alone when he’s at home, always making sure that he’s around just to hear you say that godforsaken word again. He feels guilty for thinking of you that way and he tries to convince himself that he should stop because you’re his kid’s nanny and you probably already have someone closer to your age and it occurs to him that he is getting turned on because of the age gap and how sweet and innocent you look. He feels bad for avoiding you but he doesn’t know what else to do, afraid that he’d lose his control one day and pounce on you. But you’re cornering him one night and you’re asking if you’d done anything wrong and he says that everything’s fine and he’s just been tired but you don’t believe him. He’s about to tell you when Missy walks in crying and she’s telling you that she had nightmares and she wants to go Marcus but you kneel down and take her in your arms and tell her that daddy needs to rest too. Your eyes widen in horror at what you just said and you look up at Marcus only to find him clenching his jaw tightly and thank god the kid is already half asleep in your arms because as soon as your eyes trail down, you find a large tint in his pants and when you make eye contact again, you know. You know why he’s been avoiding you and you see him blushing because he knows that you know. Marcus thinks he’s screwed up and when you walk into his office after putting Missy to sleep again, he’s embarrassed and tripping over his words. But you’re not giving him a chance to say anything and you’re pushing on his chest until he’s sitting on the couch and you’re unbuckling his belt and it’s all happening so fast. Marcus feels his heart skip a beat when he sees you looking through your eyelashes and begging for him, for daddy, to cum down your throat. From then on, it’s hidden glances and soft touches and Marcus waits for you every night in his room, his eyes beaming with joy when you walk in and coo in his ears. He’s hard in an instant when he hears you call him ‘daddy’ and he switches between making love to you and fucking you into the next world every time he hears you whisper how much you enjoy it when he uses you and how much you love it when he calls you his ‘little girl,’ and how you’ve longed to hear him say that he owns your pussy because he’s your daddy and because no one else gets to fuck his sweet little angel. You tell him everything, of how long you’ve wanted him and how none of the boys at college can come close to the way he makes you feel and how much you wish you could stay in his bed forever because he makes you feel safe and he’s your daddy and he takes care of you. And it’s not long before Marcus realizes that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for Missy to have a little brother or sister.

Ezra - Cockwarming.

He’s shy when the two of you shift towards a more physical relationship, mostly because it’s been a while since he’d had anyone he could call his, especially someone as beautiful and kind as yourself. He’s not sure what he’s allowed to do at first but he quickly comes to the realization that you would let him do anything he wanted with you. He’s overwhelmed by your affections and how deep they run because they mirror his own. The idea comes to him one night when the two of you are back in his pod. Neither of you have the energy for anything but he really wants to feel you against him so he begs you to open up for him. You do, thinking he was going to take it slow and pleasure the both of you until you fall asleep in each other’s arms, but then he’s not moving at all, not one muscle, and you quickly realize that he just wants to be inside you and doesn’t care for moving or for doing anything. The thought makes you clench tightly around him and he hisses in your ears, begging you to relax so he doesn’t cum. Not yet. It slowly becomes a habit and more often than not, the two of you are relishing the feeling of being warm and in each other’s arms. His cock twitches inside you and makes your pussy soak him through, squeezing him tightly until he can’t take it anymore and he’s coming deep inside you. Neither of you move as he fills your cunt with his seed and he bucks his hips involuntarily before the two of you relax. You wake up in the middle of the night and he’s still inside you and you sigh when you feel him harden the more you flutter around him. It doesn’t take long for Ezra to pull you closer to him in his sleep and you shut your eyes to enjoy how full you feel before you let your mind relax until you’re softly snoring against him once more.

Maxwell Lord - Praise Kink.

You’re not sure if he’s being serious or not when he mentions it in passing, but you start to notice how he reacts to your words whenever the two of you are alone. He relaxes and leans into you the more you praise him and tell him how good he’s been for you and how lucky you are to have him. It gradually becomes a thing in bed as well except it’s his turn to whisper those sweet filthy words in your ears as he’s pulsating inside you and filling you up over and over again. You were never into this because of how embarrassing it sounds but you find yourself growing hotter and shaking with need the more he tells you that you’re his ‘good little sweetheart’ and that he doesn’t want anyone else but you because you’ve stuck with him through the tough times and now that he literally owns the world, he’ll bring you anything your heart desires. You’re telling him that he’s the only thing you desire because no one treats you so well or cares for you this much or thinks of you so often and Maxwell’s heart shatters because he’s never thought he could hear those words from anyone and he loses himself and takes you as many times during the night as he can because you’ve fallen into his lap and he can’t imagine a life without you and he grows harder in your cunt the more you tell him how good he makes you feel and how perfect he fits inside you and how full you are from his hard and fat cock and it brings him over the edge. So every time he bends you over his desk or pulls you to his lap, you’re both exchanging sweet words to each other because he’s never felt like he could bring the world to anyone but he can with you and you never thought you would every feel this satisfied by someone and you are.

Dave York - Con/Non-Con Play, and the knife/gun comes into play here. (this is dubious so please don’t read on if this makes you uncomfy)

You had some inclination as to what you were getting yourself into when you started working with Dave. He was your senior in the field and never once did you think of breaking his rules. But you do one day and his calm resolve shakes you to your core because his tone maybe patient but his eyes are swimming with anger and frustration. You listen to his orders and nod before going your separate ways. Something is off, however, when you go back to your hotel room and find it darker than you left it. You have about three seconds to react, but you’re three seconds too late and your training is about to kick in when the familiar musky cologne hits your nostrils. You know who it is immediately but his hold tightens around your throat and he’s biting into your neck to let you know who’s in control. You can feel him smile against your heated skin and you’re not sure what he wants but then his hand travels down and roughly grabs at your cunt through your jeans. You’re already a wet mess but Dave is full of surprises, and your eyes widen in horror when you feel a knife to your neck. He breaks for a single moment, asking you if this is what you want, and your brief nod makes him chuckle because he didn’t think he’d be able to get this far but you’re letting him take over. He pushes the knife harder against you and you’re whining and asking him to not hurt you. You took a wild guess at what he was silently asking from you and you’re right on the mark, no pun intended, when his grip tightens around you and he’s shoving you against the wall and ripping through your clothes. You’re begging him not to hurt you and it eggs him on. You don’t have time to think of a proper reaction as you feel the knife dig into your shoulder blades, bordering pain and pleasure. He’s telling you that he owns your body, your breaths, your noises, your arousal, and there’s nothing you could do about it. Because he can kill you with the simplest flick of his wrist. His cock twitches in his pants when you start crying and begging him to not take you but he’s already shoving his dick in your impossibly wet cunt and he can’t believe he found someone who’s tastes run as dark as his. You’re sobbing at how good it feels and how shameless he is with his touches and you’re losing yourself to the pleasure. But right before you fall over the edge, you hear the sound of a gun clicking back and your eyes instantly widen at the sudden shift in the air. You turn around just in time to see Dave hold the gun to your throat while the knife is between his teeth. He’s looking dangerously at you and you realize he must have really had it with you today because he’s pulling out all the stops with you. One glance and you know the safety is off and at the realization of how far he’s willing to take this, you’re coming hard on his cock, soaking him and the your clothes and the ground. He continues to fuck you through it, not caring about the mess the two of you are making. When you lean down and start begging him to not cum in you because it’s not safe, his pace picks up and he shoves the gun in your mouth. One look at how wrecked and sweaty he is and you’re clenching tightly around him. He growls his release when he sees mascara running down your cheeks and he shoves the gun deeper in your throat until you’re gagging on it. He stops and pulls out just to watch his cum rolling down your thighs and he can’t hold back from pushing the handle of his knife in your cunt so you wouldn’t lose any more of his cum. You’re panting and shaking against him and he brings you to your bed and strips you down until you’re naked beneath him. He takes his clothes off as well and pushes himself against your back, telling you to get some rest because he as nowhere near done with you yet, making sure his tone conveys that you may have little choice in what he has in mind for you.

Marcus Pike - Somnophilia.

His hours are hellish, he knows that, but that doesn’t stop Marcus from wanting to sink into your sweet, wet cunt as soon as he gets home. He’s happy that you text him and tell him that you’d wait up for him but when he walks into the bedroom and sees the television playing while you’re fast asleep, he can’t bring himself to wake you up. So he shuts off the television and walks into the bathroom, taking himself in his hand and pretending it was your nimble fingers bringing him pleasure. And before he knows it, he’s coming hard on and makes a mess of himself. Not thinking much of it, he throws his shirt in the laundry and cleans up before slipping between the sheets and bringing you closer to him. It takes him a few moments to allow his heart to rest because you’re so beautiful and warm against him and he feels his cock twitch at the thought of you bringing him pleasure even in your sleep but he brushes the thought aside just as quickly as it comes because he would never do that to you. It’s a surprise when you’re doing laundry the next day and see proof of what he’d done and you feel a little guilty but also, you’re not sure why he didn’t wake you up. So you make sure to wait up for him and confront him, guilt eating you alive when he tells you that he didn’t want to disrupt your sleep because it wasn’t that important. But then you’re asking him why he doesn’t just have you while you’re asleep and you think you’ve gone too far because of the look on his face. But Marcus gulps and asks if you’d really be okay with that or not because the thought of him fucking you in your sleep is making him hard and ready. You feel your panties dampen just from thinking about it and you’re pushing him down on the bed and fucking him and telling him he could do anything he wanted to do with you and you wouldn’t mind. He cums with your name on his lips and you fall asleep immediately. He doesn’t think he’ll want to do it this soon but when he comes home the next day and you’re asleep, he thinks about it but decides not to. But then he sees what you wore to bed and he swears you did this on purpose. Before he thinks about it, he’s pushing your thighs open and licking at your cunt like a starved man, groping and cupping your breasts through the flimsy material of the lingerie and you’re moaning in your sleep but you’re not awake yet. He takes his pants off immediately and feels you clench around him as soon as he sheathes himself inside you. He thinks he’s died and went to heaven because he’s barely touched you and you’ve cum around his cock and he’s fucking you slow and deep, and you’re moaning in your sleep. He’s sweating from how much he’s holding back and he cant’ take his eyes off of your heavy chest and how willing you are. You’re at his mercy and the thought almost brings him over the edge but he holds back and continues to thrust into you until he feels like he’s going to lose his soul. He’s coming in your cunt but he doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left in him and he goes to sleep without cleaning you up because he’s probably going to wake up in the middle of the night and fuck you again and he wants to push in you easily when he does and just use his cum as lube. And he does, two more times. And still refuses to clean you up because he really wants to watch you wake up in the morning and feel your mixed cum between your thighs and know that he used you for his own pleasure...

Max Phillips - Biting and Bloodplay (don’t read if this makes you uncomfy)

It’s a little jarring when you find out the truth about Max. You think it’s a dream at first because there’s no way vampires exist, it’s just not the world that you live in. You’re a bit afraid in the beginning because you know how he gets sometimes but he’s been nothing but patient with you thus far. When he invites you for dinner at his place one night, you can’t help but joke about being his meal and it’s awkward for a few moments but he laughs along and promises you he doesn’t bite...yet. One thing leads to another and the next thing you know, you’re staying over his place almost every night. Curiosity gets the best of you and you ask him what it feels like to sink his teeth into someone’s skin and he’s reluctant to respond because he doesn’t want to give himself away. He doesn’t want to tell you how he dreams of biting your neck and your thighs and anywhere he could reach almost every night. But he doesn’t have to because you're moving closer to him and you’re whispering reassurances in his ears and you’re telling him that you trust him and it’s all he needs to hear before the thread snaps. He’s on you like dew on leaves and you’re baring your neck for him and he nips at your jaw before moving to your neck and your shoulder, leaving love bites anywhere he could reach because he can finally mark you as his. He can feel blood rushing through your arteries and he looks at you with need, a silent question swimming in his eyes and you sink your nails into his shoulder when you nod and he immediately digs his sharp fangs into your skin. You’re so glad you started this conversation because it feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced. There’s pain shooting through your neck from how deep his fangs sank into your skin but there’s so much more pleasure coursing through your veins and there’s something erotic about hearing him sucking and slurping and gulping down your blood. He sits up for a second and you’re met with the scariest yet prettiest sight in the world and Max knows he should stop but he can’t and he turns your head to the other side and breaks the skin at the top of your breasts before he starts sucking again and it’s filthy but erotic all at once. He laps harshly at the puncture wounds before he wraps his lips around your nipples and bites a little harder than he intended. You have no time to react as he descends down your body and pushes your thighs open before he’s biting into the meat of your thighs and you’re shaking with need. As soon as he shoves two fingers into your cunt, you’re drenching his arms and coming violently around him, and Max forces himself to pull off of you just to watch you come undone at his touches. He leans down and licks across your cunt, his cock twitching in his pants when the taste of your arousal and your blood mix on his tongue and he realizes, then and there, that you’re it for him. He looks down at your blissed-out expression and he’s proud of how wrecked your look, even more so because he sees his marks everywhere on your skin, from your neck and shoulder to your breasts and your thighs. And fuck if this isn’t the prettiest sight in the whole wide world. And you’re all his.

#pedro pascal #headcanon #kinks headcanon #kink headcanon #the mandalorian #din djarin #agent whiskey #jack daniels #Javier Peña #Pero Tovar #oberyn martell #frankie 'catfish' morales #comandante veracruz #marcus moreno #ezra #maxwell lord #dave york #marcus pike #max phillips #smut #pedro pascal headcanon #pedro pascal smut

[ichayalovesyou]

~Act One: In Denial of Pon Farr~

Blood Moon~by Saint Sister, Madrid (Album)

“To return home, and take a wife… or die.”

Spock is feeling anxious and unusually lonely, more resentful of his complex heritage than usual. Feeling rejected, but not by Jim, he finds his thoughts wandering to T’Pring. Who he feels deep resentment toward, she hasn’t contacted once him in the two decades he’s been gone from Vulcan. He has yet to realize it is the beginnings of Pon Farr.

“I am sure, you craved me once before. When I think of all the fruit I’ve found, and how easily you left it on the ground.”

Evening On The Ground (Lilith’s Song)~by Iron & Wine, Woman King (album)

“I hoped that I would be spared this.”

Spock’s yearning and loneliness transforms into anger and frustration. He knows Pon Farr has begun, and he hates it. He has no desire to return to Vulcan, worse still, he loathes that he yearns for someone who he does not know. Worse still, she’s not the only one he’s longing for…

“We were born to fuck each other one way or another but I’ll, only lie, down by the water side at night”

I Want You (She’s So Heavy)~(Originally) by the Beatles, performed by the Cast of Across the Universe, Across the Universe (Album)

“How do Vulcans choose their mates… Haven’t you wondered?”

Spock cannot bear the tearing between Human & Vulcan halves that has come ferociously to light under the stress of Pon Farr. His duty is to that man on the bridge, but the call of Koonut Kalifee is only getting louder. He has no desire to burden Jim with horrible display of emotion. Yet desire is quickly becoming all that he can think about.

“I want you, I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad, it’s driving me mad.”

~Act Two: Blood Fever, The Nightmares of Plok’tow~

Howl~by Florence + The Machine, Lungs (Album)

“To have their logic ripped from them, as this time does to us.”

The first, foreboding rumblings of Plok’tow have begun. He dreams of a hunt, he’s chasing someone, he does not know who. Each time the blood of this faceless, slaughtered, ravaged victim is a different color, every time he turns around, green, red, green, red, green, red, green, red…

“Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins, I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness.”

The Horror of Our Love~by Ludo, You’re Awful, I Love You (Album)

“It strips away our veneer of civilization.”

The dreams are getting worse, more violent, detailed, intense. He knows his quarry-

Jim.

He tears his captain apart in a thousand visceral, grotesque ways, physically, mentally, no love, no hate, no want, just blinding hunger. And the most frightening part, he enjoys it. He begins withdrawing from Kirk, for fear of what may happen should dreams threaten to become reality.

“Carnivorous and lusting, I’ll track you down among the pines.”

Become the Beast~by Karliene, Become the Beast (Album)

“It is the Pon Farr, the time of mating.”

The last of his Blood Fever dreams occurs after Kirk confronts him about his behavior. This one is, much to Spock’s relief, not violent. The lyrics are spoken through the faces of fellow Vulcans- T’pring… childhood tormentors… Sybok… his cold and disapproving father… T’pau… Surak… himself.

The rage and hunger has cooled into ice rather than fire, for now.

“Do I terrify you? Do you feel alive? Do you feel the hunger? The desert howl inside?”

The Woods~by San Flemin, Jackrabbit (Album)

“You humans have no conception.”

When James Kirk grabbed the shiv from Spock’s hand in their confrontation, a shard of Spock’s Blood Fever came with it. Spock was spared a nightmare this final night, but not Jim. The dream even dared to be pleasant initially, alone together in the woods. Before the arena of Koonut Kalifee erupted violently around them, as did Spock. Yet, before Spock could deal the final killing blow, Kirk found himself sinking into the sparkling sands below. He startles from his slumber, feeling suffocated.

But he does not remember how, or why.

“The nights are lovely dark and deep, but I’ll appear when you’re asleep. You’ll wake up with a sudden hurt, your mouth and nose all full of dirt”

~Act Three: Kalifee, the Death of A Friend~

Take Me Down~by Brother, Pax Romana MMV (Album)

“I’ll get you to Vulcan somehow…”

All Jim knows is that Spock is getting worse, and that he needs him. Not knowing, and not daring ask whether the shiv was meant for himself or Spock haunts Kirk, as does the ghost of his forgotten dream. He does not know what will come of this wedding. Only that he will do whatever it takes to make certain Spock lives. No matter what, it’s a race against time.

“The powers that be, the powers that run you through, I’m taking a stand I know what it comes down to, God knows I do.”

Hunting Grounds (feat Joe Cotela of Ded)~by In This Moment, Mother (Album)

“He is deep in the Blood Fever, he will not speak with thee again.”

Kalifee has begun, Spock has completely lost himself to the Blood Fever, and Kirk must fight for his life. He finds himself outmatched by the environment, and by Spock’s rage. He knows two things, he has no desire to die, but he cannot, under any circumstances, kill Spock. (I imagine this duet could be as seen as Maria Brink=Kirk, Joe Cotela=Spock)

“Like a predator sink my teeth into your neck.”

Die Today~by The Txlips Band & Guitar Gabby, Queens of The New Age (Album)

“Kill Spock? That’s not what we came to Vulcan for is it?”

The Kalifee has been an intense drain, Kirk knows, deep down, that not even the “Triox Compound” could save him in this fight. He feels his life flash before his eyes, he bears no ill will toward Spock, he’s not in control of himself. He reflects on their relationship, and how much it has meant to him, and accepts, that for Spock to live, he has to die.

It was worth having known him, saving a friend isn’t the worst way to go out…

“If you die today, if we die today, at least I’d be in your arms.”

Pearl Diver~by Mitski, Lush (Album)

“You may find, that having, is not so pleasing a thing as wanting.”

Spock is absolutely distraught, he’s disgusted with himself, he loathes every single Vulcan he’s ever known, but most of all he is angry with Kirk. That he had to be the moth to his flame. How dare he want to get close to him! How dare James Kirk ever have the stupidity, the courage to love him?! The wanting had driven Jim to his death, and himself to murder. It was illogical, and he will never, forgive either of them for it. Curse having, curse wanting, and curse himself too.

“But hunter you were human don’t forget it and go safely. And I? I’ll live without you, though the struggle will be daily.”

Sweet Dreams~by JOSEPH, I’m Alone, No You’re Not (Album)

“I shall do neither, for I have killed my Captain, and my friend.”

Spock languishes in the agonizing hours between the Kalifee and confronting Bones about what must be done. He prays for a short and cruel life… and dares ponder the question, do Humans have Katras?

“I’ll return to my sleepless night, dreaming with my eyes open, watch the shadows play on the ceiling.”

[The final act is a little on the smutty side, here’s a read more just to be safe.]

~Act Four: The Need is Met~

To Be Alone~by Hozier, From Eden EP (Album)

“I shall offer no defense, their is no excuse for the crime of which I’m guilty.”

Though overjoyed and relieved that Kirk is alive, Spock continues to anguish over the reality that had Bones not intervened, he would have killed him. Jim knows better this time, he will not let Spock continue down this path. A tender and honest conversation puts salve to Spock’s fears. In any event, while the Kalifee burned away the Blood Fever, it becomes clear the needs of Pon Farr still remain. Kirk suggests, delicately, to put a new Bond in place of the old.

Spock accepts.

“You don’t know the hell you put me through, to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you, to feel your weight in arms I’d never use.”

Mermaid’s Calling #2~by the Cast of The Lure, The Lure (Album)

“The ancient drives are too strong, eventually they catch up with us.”

The thrum of Bonding needs no words, it is not just a joining of minds, but of bodies as well. They complete one another, no thoughts, no voices are required. They soon find that the physiological differences between them can be more than a little… fascinating.

“…”

The Deep~by PHILDEL, Wave Your Flags (Album)

“One touches the other, in order to feel each other’s thoughts.”

The tangible, physical world of course has it’s pains and pleasures, to be joined physically is one thing, to be joined in soul and mind alongside those sensations is a different ordeal entirely. If this, completeness, is what it means to be Bonded, Kirk now understands why Vulcans go mad over it.

“Give me a sign ‘cause it runs through my mind like your heat, caught in the web you’re so easily lead to the deep.”

The Mermaid~by Kate Rusby, Life in A Paper Boat (Album)

“In this way, our minds are locked together...”

Unbeknownst to anyone else in the universe, James Kirk & S’chn T’gai Spock are now Bonded, and neither has ever felt less alone. For once, it does not matter to Spock that he is of two worlds, here, he is home. For once, Kirk does not feel as though he is forced to live the Enterprise’s life, this time, she helped him live his. A shining, blissful moment in the vast, expansive sea of stars that they have devoted their lives to exploring.

For them, the journey itself, is home.

“In peace now, the sea it comes, and peace now, in her arms where I’ll be love, sleeping in the sea.”

#spirk #amok time #pon farr #kalifee #koonut kalifee #plok'tow #vulcan #k/s #kirk/spock #space husbands #fanfiction #smutty #mild smut #fan playlist #pon farr: an Amok Time tribute #spotify #saint sister #hozier #florence and the machine #karliene #san flemin #iron and wine #kate rusby #phildel #joseph #the lure #in this moment #mitski #the txlips band #guitar gabby

[cosmicbash]

it’s always jelus and insecure em!! i wanna see jelus and insecure kells!!!!

They're divorced. Twice.

It's public knowledge, and the majority of the sordid details behind their shitshow of two marriages are too.

And Marshall's his. The little sparkle of one of his own earrings reflecting from inside the older man's lobe and the heavy droop of his sweater on the smaller rapper's shoulder's only emphasizes that. The same way his presence here at a close family and friends holiday party does.

Marshall's his. His boyfriend, his lover, his partner. His. No one elses.

But. That sickly sour taste of insecurity is tickling the back of his tongue with each bitter bite the blonde finds himself taking of a gingerbread cookie. His eyes are locked across the room on Marshall's fluffy santa hat decorated head, the cute christmas centric outfit he was wearing no longer warming Colson's heart like it had only an hour prior. Marshall looks too good in it, all soft and dressed down from his usual monochrome track suits and that was exactly the problem. Colson hates how good he looks right now, knowing the man's ex also got to see it, up close and much too personal for his preference.

It wasn't like he had any real reason to worry. Kim was here because of the kids. Not because Marshall directly invited her. It was a pleasantry between exes, done solely to keep the peace and feign some level of normalcy to their children. Even long after all of them had grown up.

And the two weren't exactly on great terms. Marshall still cringed at the very mention of her and from the dirty look she shot the man's way the second they opened the front door she hinted it was mutual.

But, Colson also knows the rapper isn't against hate sex. Afterall, if Marshall was, him and Casie wouldn't have been scrambling to finish all these damn gingerbread men this afternoon. They'd be miles away in Cleveland or LA, celebrating their own christmas, never knowing Marshall's "secret recipe".

It's frustrating to say in the least.

"I see Kim's round for her bi-yearly intereference." A soft bump to his shoulder drags Colson's eyes away from the locked position he's held for over a half hour. Royce's smug smiling face replacing it as he turns.

Colson's still not sure if he can call himself and Ryan friends just yet, there's a past there between the rapper and Marshall as well that's he's only gleamed surface of, on top of the usual tension that comes from an overprotective friend meeting the new "boyfriend". But unlike Kim, Ryan will at least acknowledge his existence so that makes it a bit easier for him to handle. "Bi-yearly interference?"

"Yeah," The other rapper's smirk only seems to widen into a grin as he shakes his head and downs what's left of his drink. "That's the kindest word I can use with the girl's around." Ryan's motioning with his head to follow him around the countertop for some more and despite how much Colson appreciates his current vantage point he accepts the invitation if not for something better to do.

Better than getting called out for staring like a jealous tween girl at least.

"She does this every other year, or just any year Marsh manages to bring home a lady finally-" Ryan's ring clad fingers shake the bottle of spiked eggnog his way. Colson accepts that too with quick nod, letting the 'lady' dig sent his way pass without acknowledgement. "She shows up in that stupid baby blue dress, hair freshly dyed, face done up to the nines, all that shit she'd do back when her and Marsh were still together and she was his-" quick pause in pouring for signed quotation marks, Ryan's eye roll visible even through his shades. "Dime piece." The confirmation of something being up with her less than Christmassy themed outfit only stokes the fire in Colson's stomach though and makes his neck itch to twist back around but Ryan is continuing. "And then she flaunts their ex status like its some trophy whoever Marshall's seeing should be jealous of."

Even the quick toss of some eggnog into the back of his mouth doesn't smother his fire. If anything the weak liquor filled drink puffs like gasoline for Colson's nerves. "And what? She's gonna try and fuck him? Break us up?" Either of those things would happen over his dead body, or hers. He's not against slapping a bitch when it comes to his love life. "So much for him being the bitter yearning ex huh."

Ryan gives a little snort and nod before retopping up his drink. "Funny how that works aint it?"

Now Marshall's presence behind his back feels like a super magnet. Colson's eyes a set of steel balls trembling right before they're whipped back across the room to land on their target. He doesn't want to look just yet though, not now that he knows this jealous pit in his stomach is just further feeding into Kim's scheme. So he settles his eyes onto Ryan's shimmering gold chain instead. "Kinda dumb to compete with a dude by flaunting her old saggy tits and ass though." If Kim knew Marshall half as well as he does she'd know that neither of those can come close to competing with the huge cock hanging between his legs. "If he really needed to look at those there's at least 4 better pairs bouncing around the room right now."

Plus Colson had already taken a glimpse at Kim's flat ass on her way inside, the sad outline of a butt pad was clear as day to anyone within 20 feet of her.

"5 if you count his own." The honesty in Ryan's comment flashed a small strike of Colson's jealousy his way too. The clink of their glasses together in mutual agreement a little harder than needed. "I wouldn't waste your time worrying about it. Been like 6 or 7 years since she was actually successful with it."

"Yeah?" That still felt a little too soon for Colson's comfort. Even if he was only a sniveling brat in Marshall's mind back then.

"Yeah man, trust me, he ain't gonna risk shit with you for Cursed Kim over there." By now Colson's gaze has followed Ryan's, settling rather anxiously on the two with just as much intense focus as he had earlier. The small touch of Kim's fingers to Marshall's bicep tightening his own around the glass.

"For her sake he better not."

"Yeah?" Ryan's shoulder bumping his jostles his attention away again, this time the man is staying closer though. His warm breath felt on Colson's face when their eyes meet. The pretentious shades finally having slipped low enough to flash serious brown orbs. "He cheats and you gonna whoop HER ass? You that obsessed with Marsh?"

Colson can hear the disbelief, and see the close scrutiny he's suddenly being put under. But he doesn't back down from the look one bit. "If he fucks up that's on him, but he's still mine and I'm not gonna toss him over to her just because he acts like an idiot." Marshall cheating would hurt. Colson's already gone through that awful fear once before though, back when they had just started fucking and the question of monogamy came up. The mere thought of the other man touching someone else had almost killed him, and they weren't even dating yet. But it had also set Colson's mind that even if it did happen he wouldn't limp off to lick his wounds.

He's only going to dig his claws in deeper and stake his claim louder.

Marshall's his. Even if he fucks up and forgets that for a moment. He's his and Colson's never letting him go.

"He's mine."

Kim's manicure on his man's bicep is only temporary. Colson's gaze and quick feet will make sure of that.

"Damn, you might be worse than both of them, kid."

#this has sat in my drafts #so time to clean them out a bit #emgk #asks #i love asks

[fangirleaconmigo]

You Have Until Midnight

ATTENTION ESKEL NATION. 

Excerpt from my new Eskel x Jaskier Cinderella AU fic where Jaskier is a stableboy pining after Eskel. (As usual with my fics, there’s lots of yearning and thirst for Eskel) Read the whole things on AO3.

*********

The morning sun struggled, as it always did, to cut through the fog that clung to the towers and balustrades of Kaer Morhen.

A single rooster crowed valiantly, though there was only one person in Kaer Morhen still asleep. And he was in the stables, of all places.

Two witchers stood over the slumbering form of the stableboy. The young man was curled up like a large hairy babe in a pile of dirty straw, next to a bored looking goat.

He didn’t normally sleep in this late, but he’d spent most of the night with his teeth clattering so powerfully in the cold that it was a miracle he hadn’t cracked them. Now that the air was warmer, his body was making up for lost time.

One witcher had wild copper curls and a plenteous beard, and he made tsk’ing noises as he shook his head slowly. “He slept in the stables again.”

The other witcher had white hair, black armor, and sternly crossed arms. He studied the scene. “Why, I wonder? Problems at home maybe?”

The redhead was called Lambert, and he looked at the other witcher with incredulity on his freckled face. “You fuckin serious, Geralt? You don’t know why he does this?”

Geralt dropped his arms to his hips and looked around the stable, squinting. “Ah. Lil Bleater got hurt. He’s babying that goat again.”

The goat did have a crisp white bandage wrapped around its torso. It was the only clean thing in the place, even including the long lanky sleeping man, who was grubby and smelled worse than the goat.

Lambert rolled his eyes and snorted. “Sure. He just really loves the goat.” He shook his head. “You ought to thank the gods every day that you’re pretty.”

“What?” protested Geralt.

Geralt acted affronted by the designation of pretty boy, through truth be told, he secretly liked it. There were worse things witchers were called. Monsters. Affronts to the gods. Pretty wasn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things. And he had taken a little longer on his hair that morning.

Lil’ Bleater made true to her name just as Lambert nudged the stableboy’s knee with his boot.

“Hey. Jaskier. Rise and shine, cupcake.”

The nudge, along with the piercing bleat of the goat, sent the stableboy sitting up with a jerk. His eyes were crusted closed and hay clung to his cheek.

He rubbed his eyes. “Fuck.” The hay fluttered down from his cheek, leaving angry red crisscross indentations. His blue eyes shone bright though the dirt on his face. His loose, low cut tunic twisted around his body. He yanked it forward and pouted. The sight was charming, though neither witcher would admit it on penalty of death. They had images to maintain of course.

“Fuck is right,” said Lambert, louder than was necessary and with feigned shock. “It’s midday, lad. Vesemir is in the yard shouting about a no-good stableboy shirking his duties.”

Jaskier’s eyes popped wide and he scrambled to get up.

“Don’t listen to him,” said Geralt. “He’s full of shit.”

Jaskier plopped back down on the sawdust floor with a groan. He wanted to say fuck you Lambert or don’t be a prick Lambert. But these men were his employers.

He looked up at the two witchers and gathered what dignity he could in his stinky dirty state.

“Lambert, sir,” he said with all the sugary sweetness of maple syrup, “I am truly blessed to be gifted with your sparkling charm so early in the morning. It exceeds even the considerable charm of the wild boar with rabies that I had to chase out of the pens yesterday.”

Geralt threw his head back and laughed. He rarely laughed so heartily. The sound of it genuinely cooled Jaskier’s temper. Lambert also rewarded him with a genuine cackle and leaned over to nudge his shoulder.

“You wake up full of piss and vinegar, don’t you lad?”

“Piss, maybe,” said Jaskier, smiling a crooked smile, and pulling himself up completely this time. He tried to brush off some of the dust from his trousers, but it was a sad attempt that simply transferred some of the dirt to his palms. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve gotta take a leak.”

Jaskier slipped out the door of the stables. He blinked, adjusting to the light. He shaded his eyes. He’d worked at Kaer Morhen for years, and yet he never tired of seeing the stunning old keep being greeted by the sun rising over the blue mountains. No one really knew how old the castle was exactly, but it was fastidiously maintained by the veritable army of witchers and staff that tended to it each day. It was stunning, majestic, and was surrounded by myth, magic, and history.

He felt fortunate every day that he woke up and got to belong here.

He also felt that he had to take a piss. He positioned himself so that the stables obscured him and he untied his trousers, eyeing a shrub that would be the recipient. He was halfway through relieving himself when he saw a familiar figure approaching out of the corner of his eye. He did a double take.

“Fuck fuck fuckitty fuck,” he chanted, willing his bladder to empty faster. He laced himself back up and darted back inside the stables, his heart thumping.

Lambert and Geralt had moved on to other topics but they still noticed when he reappeared.

Jaskier stationed himself just inside the stable doors, and without thinking, he instinctively smoothed his hair and checked his breath by blowing into his cupped palms. He immediately regretted it. Now he knew how ripe his breath was, yet there was nothing he could do about it. Furthermore, his movement hadn’t escaped Lambert’s canny eyes.

The witcher elbowed Geralt. “You still don’t get it, do ya, dumbass? Watch him. Our piss and vinegar friend's about to get as sweet as a little cinnamon roll.”

Jaskier shot him the most withering look in his arsenal but it passed over his features like a breeze, quickly forgotten. Eskel’s footfalls were just outside the door.

Eskel pushed open the door of the stable and at the sight of his dark hair and scarred face, the stableboy felt as though someone had released a thousand butterflies into his gut. A stupid, involuntary grin spread on his face.

You see, the stableboy loved Eskel. As far as he was concerned, Eskel was more beautiful than anything else in Kaer Morhen. He was more lovely than the groves of pines surrounding the keep. He was more breathtaking than the view from the eastern balcony at sunset. He was patient. Kind. Funny. Easy going. When Eskel was around, life felt softer. Safer. Or maybe Jaskier was just better able to bear its hard edges in Eskel’s calming, competent presence.

It had started as an innocent crush. Jaskier had arrived as a teenager at Kaer Morhen, terrified. He’d heard so many stories of monstrous, fierce, deadly witchers. His knees practically knocked in fear.

And yet that first day, Lambert and Coën had picked on him jovially, as though he were a younger brother. Jaskier had caught Geralt telling all of his cares to his horse, Roach. It’s hard to be intimidated by a man after witnessing such a thing. And then Eskel had sent Jaskier home with a loaf of bread he’d baked to celebrate his start on the job. The bread had been crusty on the outside and soft on the inside. If a poet had used it as a metaphor for witchers, he’d be told it was too on the nose.

The sight of Eskel with a flour spattered apron tied around his sturdy waist, handing him a loaf of fresh baked bread, was all it took for his infatuation to take hold.

Of course Jaskier felt certain that Eskel only saw him as the grubby young man who did a good job of caring for his animals.

But Jaskier couldn’t help it. He saw Eskel as his most beloved.

He tried to cajole the butterflies in his stomach to calm their fluttering as Eskel entered the stables.

The broad witcher nodded at Geralt and Lambert. He had on his worn, darned work clothes. They were faded black trousers with leather reinforcements at the knees and an off white tunic with a collar cut low enough to hint at the dip between his pecs. He also wore brown gloves and thick soled boots. It meant he’d be working around the Keep today. That made Jaskier’s heart glad.

Eskel noticed Jaskier. His honeyed eyes looked him up and down, like he was checking him for injury.

“You stayed in the stables last night, Jaskier?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jaskier answered, and he cleared his throat. He was a grown man. Yet, sometimes, his voice still squeaked when Eskel was around. Jaskier pointed at Lil’ Bleater, then dropped to kneel by the goat. “You know how she got that gash? Well, it was weeping yesterday. I was worried about her getting an infection and it seems like she might’ve had a fever. So I made her a little bed in the stables for the night. And well, you were gone on a job, so...”

His voice trailed off as Eskel knelt next to him. The witcher had just bathed, and to Jaskier’s senses, he smelled divine: like soap and leather. Jaskier lost his train of thought and his words disappeared in a cloud of lust.

It didn’t seem to bother Eskel. He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. He lifted Lil’ Bleater’s bandage and nodded.

“Nice job with this dressing, Jaskier. She’s looking better. I don’t think we have to worry about infection.” He patted Jaskier on the shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of my girl.” Jaskier grinned proudly. But Eskel’s face grew concerned. “There was a cold snap last night, though. Surprised you didn’t get frostbite. Let me see,” Eskel beckoned for Jaskier to show him his hands.

“Lil’ Bleater snuggled up and we made it alright,” said Jaskier. He tried hard to keep his hands from trembling when Eskel took them. He had so few opportunities to feel the warm brush of Eskel’s hands. He tried to memorize how it felt, to tide him over until next time.

“Jealous, Eskel?” asked Lambert. “About the snuggling?”

Eskel studiously ignored him.

“Jealous of Jaskier, or of the goat?” needled Geralt.

Lambert looked at Geralt, impressed. “Good one. See, you’re getting it.”

“Not you too, Geralt,” sighed Eskel, though he didn’t look up from examining Jaskier’s fingers.

Geralt raised his hands. “Sorry, sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”

Lambert smacked him. “Don’t blame your shitty jokes on me.”

“Ouch,” Geralt rumbled and he rubbed his arm where Lambert had tapped it. “You said it was a good one.” He sounded aggrieved.

Eskel squeezed Jaskier’s hands and released him. “Looks ok. There’s no way you got any sleep though. Next time wake up one of these assholes. Make them help.”

“Hey,” said Lambert. “I’m not the only asshole in this place. Stableboy holds his own. He just treats you like the king of the continent.”

“Sure,” said Eskel, “whatever you say.” He winked at Jaskier, and pulled himself back up to standing. Jaskier stared in shock at Eskel. He’d never winked at him before. The cold of the night before was forgotten. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever feeling cold in his life.

“What are you two chuckleheads doing out here anyway?” asked Eskel.

“Vesemir sent us to look for you,” said Geralt.

“House meeting,” said Lambert. “Masquerade planners are gonna be here in an hour.”

Jaskier was still kneeling by Lil Bleater, replaying the wink in his mind and stroking the goat’s striped head. When he heard the word ‘masquerade’ he froze. The witchers didn’t notice. They had moved on from Jaskier and the goat and onto the business at hand.

Eskel groaned. “And I have to be there? The western staircase needs a lot of work. The oven needs repair. The goat pen needs reinforcements.”

Geralt nodded sympathetically. Geralt and Eskel shared a mutual distaste for the society hangers on and the political operatives stacked into those meetings. “I know, but Vesemir says you’ve gotta go.”

“What about Coën?” asked Eskel. “Can’t he go?” Coën was the fourth witcher that made up their tight knit group. He was easy going like Eskel, and playful like a puppy. There were many witchers filling the halls during the winter, but those four were inseparable.

“He’s already there,” shrugged Geralt. “Vesemir wants you too.”

“You have to go,” said Lambert. “You and Coën are his last great hopes. And you’re the one with all the extraordinary magical abilities.” The last three words, Lambert said with a false studiousness in an imitation of Vesemir. He also lifted his fingers to tip at an imaginary hat.

Jaskier chuckled under his breath. It was a pretty good impression.

Eskel narrowed his eyes at Lambert. “Well, if some people didn’t insist on marrying Cat witchers, there wouldn’t be so much pressure on me,” he groused.

“Since when do you judge my relationship?” asked Lambert.

“Since it means I have to go to this masquerade meeting,” said Eskel.

Lambert frowned. “Yeah ok.”

“Cat school,” said Geralt, shaking his head. “What have times come to?”

“Hey,” protested Lambert, “we’re all one big happy school now right?” He said it with the tired, irritated air of a man who’d had this conversation many more times than he wanted to.

“Only to prevent us being slaughtered to death,” protested Geralt. “Only because there’s strength in numbers. They’re still murderers. They still take human contracts.” Geralt grimaced.

“They don’t do that anymore. Terms of the deal,” said Lambert.

“They still do it on the side,” said Geralt. “They barely try to hide it.”

“Not Aiden,” said Lambert.

“Either way,” said Eskel, cutting in, “they want us to make lots of baby witchers now. And Lambert, you aren’t going to be making any. So now it falls to me.”

“I guess you better get on that, then,” said Lambert. “I’ve already gone in front of the council. I’ve told them Aiden’s not going anywhere. And anyone who has a problem with it can taste my blade.” He rested his hand on a nonexistent hilt for emphasis. He was also dressed in work clothes, so there weren't actually swords strapped to his back.

“Calm down,” said Geralt. “You get so fuckin dramatic when you talk about him.”

Lambert shrugged. “Just the truth.”

Eskel groaned. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The witchers started to leave. Jaskier still sat frozen next to the goat, listening intently. Eskel remembered he was there and turned to touch him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Jaskier. You should go get some rest.”

Geralt and Lambert raised their hands amiably in goodbye.

“See ya lad,” said Lambert.

Jaskier nodded in return. “See ya.”

But the only word ringing in his mind was masquerade.

Read the rest on AO3.

#eskel #jaskier x eskel #jaskel #jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fic #you have until midnight #descarada writes #descarada writes jaskel #my fics on ao3

[concrete-weed]

It’s hard to be a god (Malcolm Reed x reader)

summary: Reader pretends to be a goddess. Malcolm needs a hug.  trektober day 7- interspecies relationship                                                                    words:  1,877

read on AO3 here

-

When you first heard of the new "humans" your ship encountered, you mostly thought were quite brash, going into space with a barely finished ship and all, but during the weeks you lived among them, your opinion changed for the better. Humans are very different from your own species. Much louder for sure, but you eventually grew to like them.

The human ship was wrecked, their puppy dog approach to first contact wasn’t working so well. Starfleet had allowed four aliens to serve on Enterprise until the end of her mission, helping both diplomacy and the state of the human ship. Working on Enterprise has been a treat. You have been a doctor for three years. Working with doctor Phlox has offered many learning opportunities, so your career wasn’t suffering. Your social life, on the other hand, certainly was. You talked to the people you knew from your ship, but for the most part, they were in engineering while you were slaving away in med bay.

You had a friend in a few people, Hoshi, for example. You spent many lunch breaks helping her understand your language, not an easy task by any measure, and learning a human language called English. Through her, you have met most of the bridge crew. It was peculiar to watch them all interact.

One human, in particular, caught your eye, Malcolm Reed. He was a bit quiet for a human, which fascinated you. His dark hair and light eyes seemed majestic to you.  You knew that staring was considered rude by human standards, but the first time you met him it took Hoshi nudging you in the ribs to get you to tear your eyes off the mysterious human.

During your second month aboard Enterprise, captain Archer got a call from Admiral Forrest, saying that a planet 5 lightyears away is requesting immediate help with a medical crisis. All medical personnel were working day and night to find a cure, you being no exemption. For a week you were absolutely exhausted, so when captain Archer went down to your quarters to tell you were going to are on the away mission, you didn’t even register it until the debriefing.

“Okay, so this is a bit bizarre, ” God you were all so tired,” but the government insists that the locals will only accept our help if doctor L/N pretends to be their goddess of health.”

What?

“Half of the population already believes this is a gift from the gods anyway. I doubt you would need to make any change to your behavior.” Archer continued monotonously. With a civilization as evolved as theirs, he expected no interference from religion, no such luck.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said uneasily, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

“As much as I think that this is a ridiculous request to make of you doctor, I hope you will at least consider putting on this act. Malcolm and his men will be there if anything goes”.

Now you were here, standing in a long drapey light green dress. All of the away team was dressed in traditional clothing, leaving them a bit uncomfortable. The only people left in a Starfleet uniform were two security officers with phasers by their sides. Captain Archer insisted that the lieutenant needed to wear the strange clothes and respect the culture as the highest-ranking officer there. Malcolm’s clothes were similar to yours, the same shade of mint, the same writing along the edges of the garment. You unfortunately didn’t have time to think about what that meant. While doctor Phlox was teaching local doctors how to treat the deadly disease you were paraded around all the temples that were built in ‘your’ honor.

In them you saw many paintings that depicted the goddess and were eerily similar to you, almost all of them depicting the sick crying out to their goddess, hoping to be cured. The goddess was a little bit taller than you, her eyes a little more penetrating, even through the pictures, but essentially you were lead through the main room in that temple, looking at heart-wrenching scenes of yourself, saving the damned.  In some, the goddess was surrounded by other deities, her most common companion a shorter man, usually carrying a small child.

Finally, you got a break. Apparently, as the tour exclaimed, divine being needed to be given food before sunset, or the mortals around them would be punished. It seemed terrible to live like this, afraid of godly wrath every second of life but since you could do nothing you just went along with her.  She insisted that you should take your meals separately from your security detail, as the rest of the away party were all male. Malcolm pulled you aside from the woman.

“Are you sure this is safe? You will be alone in the dining hall.” Said Malcolm, pragmatic as always.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. If anything is suspicious, I’ll just com you okay?” You answered hoping your voice sounded optimistic. You touched Malcolm’s upper arm in an attempt to comfort him. your gaze met his. You saw love in his brilliant blue-grey eyes. Or did you? Damn your wishful thinking. You quickly turned, walking back to the tour guide, you face a mask of calm, hiding your emotional turmoil.

The meal prepared for you was delicious but you couldn’t focus much on the conversation. Thankfully, your tour guide talked enough for the both of you.

“It is so wonderful you decided to come down to us! We have been awaiting your help for months.” you swore her nasal voice was going to drive you crazy, “My Lady, are you feeling okay?” you started stuttering out your answer but the guide cut you off. “Oh, you don’t have to explain yourself. We all have marital problems!” she added playfully. Marital problems?  

“Excuse me?” You hoped that your confusion won’t ruin the mission.

“My Lady, Archana? Oh, what does he go by now? Maco? Malcolm? Are you not married yet in this reincarnation?”

You remembered that during the tour the guide has mentioned that reincarnation was a major part of their mythology, still, the fact that she thought that you and Malcolm were married made your cheeks heat up. If you remembered correctly, the male deity, in this case, the god of protection, gave his life to protect his loved ones. The god will reappear in the next year, and the cycle will begin again.

“No. I’m afraid not,” you answered, trying not to choke on your drink.

“Well, I hope you find each other soon” she continued eating with a smile on her face.                                                                          

The meal continued in comfortable silence, your mind racing. Marrying Malcolm sounded like a dream, even if marriage was slightly different on your planet. Hoshi encouraged you to speak to Malcolm about your feelings, but the prospect of rejection terrified you. You preferred to live in this pathetic yearning state, maybe it was time to stop dreaming and take action.

-

Being back on the ship felt amazing but you were certainly nervous. For some reason ever since you got back Malcolm hasn’t even looked at you. His avoidance was becoming unbearable, the very second you entered a room he all but ran out. Your emotional side screamed each time but you wished to respect his wishes so you did nothing. Over time you felt worse and worse. You started working longer and longer shifts. Hoshi and Travis were starting to be worried. Dealing with heartache is unpleasant in the best conditions but dealing with it and being homesick, stuck on board an alien ship must be a thousand times worse.

Hoshi has convinced you to come to movie night. Before you could actually enjoy whatever old human movie, Trip put on you had to figure out what you had done to Malcolm and how you can reverse it. You cherished the unclear relationship that had been built between you and if you can’t be with Malcolm, at least you can be his friend. You may suffer but you would do anything to bring Malcolm happiness. Malcolm seemed sad to you. His smile not reaching his eyes, his body a little too tense.

You just got off your shift. You felt horrible, but if you stop now you will turn back to your quarters and never confront Malcolm. The dull grey walls seemed like they were closing in on you. You heard your heart beating. Malcolm was hard enough to get to know.  Letting him go is even harder.

The time you waited for his door to open felt like hours. Malcolm opened the door, hair messy from sleep. He seemed to awaken in seconds when he saw you, his eyes wide open.

“Listen, Malcolm,” your voice growing increasingly desperate, “I don’t know what I have done to offend you, humans are so confusing, but if you- “

His sarcastic chuckle caught you off guard. “You haven’t done anything. Please come in. We need to talk.”

Taking a deep breath, you walked in.

His room seemed vacant, almost militaristic. Everything was in its place. His clothes were perfectly folded and put away. What little pictures he had hanging completely straight. The room was almost shining, with no speck of dust visible. The only chair in the room was near Malcolm’s desk. You assumed he didn’t have much company over.

You stood awkwardly near the door, having no idea what you should do. You felt like an intruder in his space, your body taking up too much space. Malcolm seemed at ease. He sat down on his bed and gestured for you to sit down in the chair. He looked down, silent, thinking about his next move. God, it was a mistake to come here.

“I guess I owe you an explanation,” he stopped, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Remember when we went down to that planet? The one we helped with the plague?” you nodded slowly, “while you had to pretend to be the goddess of health, I had to be your,” he hesitated, “partner. The reincarnation of some god of protection, I believe. When we got separated some guards joined us. They didn’t think I was worthy of you, I’m afraid.” Malcolm’s voice quivered, seemingly trying to hold back the emotion currently showing. “To be honest, I agree with them.”

A tense silence fell over the room.  The engine’s hum being the only noise in the room. You moved to the bed and sat at Malcolm’s side, your shoulders touching. Malcolm looked at you, at little taken aback at your sudden move.

“I thought you were angry at me. I can’t convey how relieved I am Mal.” You said, not carrying if the happiness in your voice sounded strange, “I hope you know how amazing you are. That you’re valued and loved by your friends. I can’t convince you of that right now, I know, but I also hope that you will let me stick around and prove it.” You closed the distance between your lips, your heart beating against your chest. He kissed back softly, a bit awkwardly at first. You broke away, needing to take in air. Malcolm spoke:

“Have dinner with me?”

“of course.”

#st:ent #star trek #star trek enterprise #malcolm reed #malcolm reed x reader #reader-insert #trektober2020

[miss-tc-nova]

A New Purpose - Chirithy

Another that’s jumping up my list of favorites. They’re just so cute!

~~~~~

               The existence of this cat is a curious case. Their unusual life began in a lab, but full awareness came after, when they met the man in the hat. Only meant to be a guide to the human, the relationship started off a little rocky. A few misadventures later, however, and the two could finally admit to being allies. Calling them best friends was off the table; they were both just too aloof and stubborn to be all buddy-buddy. Nevertheless, Brain was all that truly mattered, and Chirithy was his only friend.

               The fate of a Chirithy has always been to perish along with their key-bearer—a fate that this particular spirit remembers fulfilling. So the very fact that they’re still plodding around is bewildering. Not only that, but they’ve become a cat; not the cat-shaped dream eater they were meant to be, but a standard, ordinary house cat. There’s no end to the string of questions running through their head but the memories of the wielder’s passing keep bubbling up.

               “Looks like this is the end for us. Thanks for sticking around, Chi-chi.”

               There’s a black hole in their heart, swallowing every coherent thought, mixing in with the confusion to overwhelm them. Emotions like these have always been foreign; Chirithy perish with their wielders and those are the only people that matter. Sadness has been accessible, usually sharing that with their humans, but anguish through the loss of a loved one—Chirithy were not made to endure such raw suffering.

               As it turns out, normal cats can’t cry; at least the sky is kind enough to do so for the miserable creature. Silver-tabby fur clings to the small frame while petite paws carry them across the stone pathways of this unknown world. This is definitely not Daybreak Town; instead full of white buildings and endlessly ascending steps. Lost, confused, and still mourning the passing union leader, the animal trudges through the rain, head hung low.

               Clacking boots grow closer. “Hm? What’s a cat doing in the rain?” Peering back reveals a young man in black, with silver hair and matching eyes. “Come here, little guy. Let’s get you out of the rain.”

               Dealing with a stranger right now is impossible, but they can’t possibly tell him that. Because communication is not an option, they saunter off into a shrub just off the path. Hiding away gives minimal relief from the rain and strange new place; however, assuming that was that is apparently incorrect.

               Leaves part to reveal the boy had followed. He surely means no harm; he’s just not welcome at the moment. “It’s alright. C’mere.”

               The downside to taking cover is that it very often becomes a corner with no escape. There’s still one way to keep an unwanted person away. A low warning rumbles in the cat’s throat which does its job—he’s warned. Definitely more cautious than he began, he still chooses to reach forward.

               Leave me alone! Leave me alone! LEAVE ME ALONE! The caterwauling escalates.

               Whipping claws narrowly miss his hand. “Ah! Hey! Calm down! I’m trying to help!”

               I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP! LEAVE ME ALONE! Only feral yowls and hisses express the pain. YOU’RE NOT MY WIELDER! I DON’T WANT YOU! I WAN’T BRAIN!

               “Xehanort, what are you doing?”

               All that explosive despair goes right out the window. Disbelief grips the tumultuous creature.

               Brain, is it you?! Brain please!

               “There’s a stupid cat in here. The damn thing’s soaked and pissed off.” The boy in black, Xehanort, sits back enough to reveal his friend.

               At first, all they can see is the man they yearn for, but upon closer inspection, it’s not. He’s just like him—almost the spitting image of Brain. That brief hope gives way to turmoil even stronger than before. It’s back to the frustration of not being able to cry; so instead, the sentience inside simply begins to break down.

               This new boy kneels down beside the first. “Geeze, it looks half-drowned.”

               All the pent up grief comes out in a wail. You’re not Brain!

               A hand eases closer. That smile is exactly the same, even if the following words are a little on the bright side. “It’s okay. We won’t hurt you.”

               His friend warns, “Careful Eraqus. It-”

               There’s no resistance from the tabby. Pitiful cries repeat over and over, even as Eraqus scoops the kitty up.

               “Of course you can pick it up without getting ripped open,” huffs the kid with silver hair.

               Wrapped protectively in white fabric, the small animal finally quiets down. “Maybe you’re just scary looking,” Eraqus teases in a manner dredging up old memories. “C’mon. If those clouds mean anything, this storm’s only gonna get worse.”

               Eraqus and Xehanort hurry through the rain, taking home a creature with no will to live.

~~~~~

               A spoon full of chicken stock nudges the muzzle. “Come on, Chihiro. Please eat; just little.”

               Now dubbed ‘Chihiro,’ the cat has let their depression consume them. Eraqus, the new owner, has taken to bringing his sad pet everywhere, using every free moment he gets to tempt them with food and water—he hasn’t succeeded yet. It doesn’t help that every glance at this human is a reminder of who was lost.

               Xehanort rests a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “Era, it’s been three days. It might be too sick to recover.”

               The boy gives up on the soup; instead taking a brush to the fur Chihiro won’t groom themself. “But the vet says there’s nothing wrong…”

               “That doesn’t mean they’re not sick.”

               “What do you mean?”

               There’s a pause before the other admits, “I used to act like this before I left my world: sad, unresponsive, empty. I think it’s depression.”

               “You think cats can get depression?”

               “Looks like it to me.”

               “So what do I do?”

               “Considering we can’t ask what’s wrong, there may be nothing you can do.”

               The silence is somber, broken by the bell that signals class will start soon.

~~~~~

               “Eraqus, before you go, your parents sent you something,” the Master announces at the end of the day. Said student stands to retrieve his parcel.

               Once they’re dismissed, the red-head calls out, “Yo, Era, you gonna come hang out with us tonight?”

               “Sorry guys,” he answers, stuffing the package in his bag.

               The taller girl presses a fist to her hip. “Still gonna try to get that cat to eat something?”

               “Yeah. Plus I think this is the photo album I asked my mom to send.” Chihiro is lifted from the spare seat. “I kinda wanna take a look at it. I’ll see you guys later.”

               “Good luck!” chimes the little blond.

               True to his word, the wielder-in-training returns to his room. A couple hours go into trying to coax food into his animal with no luck. As let down as every other time, Eraqus lets Chihiro lay unbothered in his lap while he looks through the book his mother sent him.

               Weak and tired, the feline begins to doze. It breaks when the kid speaks aloud: “I wish keyblade wielders today still had Chirithy—that could’ve been fun.” Pulling from the fog, blue eyes focus on the page. “My great-great-something-great grandpa helped found Scala. He had a Chirithy that looks kinda like you,” he tells his pet.

               That’s why Eraqus looks so much like him; the face smiling back at the camera, signature hat and all, is Brain.

               Immediately, a meow escapes Chihiro. It surprises the young man. “What’s wrong?” All he gets is a second cry. “It’s okay, Chihiro.”

               A shaky paw plucks at the page of the book. Clearly confused, the human turns the page. There’s another picture of the ancestor, this time with his matching companion. On the second page, though, he’s awkwardly holding a bundle in his arms.

               That’s right…He had a child… They look up into the face studying the photos. Is that why I’m here? For you?

               It’s the only explanation Chihiro can make to rationalize a life that should’ve ended. Perhaps they were loyal enough the gods assigned them to watch over Brain’s relatives—maybe the wielder trusted them so much he did so himself.

               Is that what you wanted, Brain?

               He notices the cat staring. “You okay now?” Chihiro answers, earning a little shock from him. “Will you eat something now?” There’s a hopeful reply.

               A bowl of plain stock never smelled so wonderful. With a renewed purpose, they lap at the liquid.

               Something patters onto their head. Ears flicker and cat eyes gaze up. It took them so long to find their new meaning in life that Chihiro never saw the worry they caused, but this tear-filled relief really drives it home.

               “Nya.”

               “Heh. I’m okay,” he whispers, passing a hand over folded ears. “Keep eating.” And they do.

               With an empty bowl, full belly, and a happy human, Chihiro purrs away beneath ear scritches. It’s when the book closes that they’re alerted.

               “Alright, it’s bedtime.” The photo album moves to the nightstand. Lamplight goes out shortly after the blanket covers the pair and the feline snuggles up against their new ward. “Good night, Chi-chi.”

               That strikes the animal to silence. It really sucks not being able to cry when that’s the only desire. Nevertheless, if the cat has to live a second life away from everything they know, then at least they can live it watching over Eraqus, descendent of Brain. In place of crying, they purr louder than before, much to the boy’s pleasure.

               The two fall asleep in each other’s comfort—the start of a new story.

               “Good job, Chi-chi.”

#chirithy #kh chirithy #khux

[ohdearhiddles]

TITLE: Angel of Death

CHAPTER: 3/? (Chapter Masterlist)

CH. SUMMARY: Loki wants nothing more than for you to be free.

WORD COUNT: 2998

AUTHOR NOTES/WARNINGS: Hello hello!! It's been a week (I think?) since I last updated, but trust me I was mostly brainstorming away. It's like every time I tried to focus on this chapter, my brain went "OH HEY BUT HOW ABOUT THIS IN THE NEXT CHAPTER" and so it took a bit longer than expected. This is partially unedited, but I hope you enjoy it all the same x (AO3 LINK)

TAG-LIST: @inumorph @literally-anythin​

Monsters. What is a monster? You wondered, eyes trained on the vulnerable man before you. Was a monster an eight legged beast with fangs dripping with venomous fury? Was a monster the shadow lurking beneath the children’s beds, waiting for the moment they can steal them away? Was a monster the murderous fiend that you had been accused of being? Was a monster Loki? Or was a monster just a normal person, hiding in plain sight, ready to attack at any given moment?

If all of these were considered definitions of monsters in some form, then doesn’t that mean no one was safe? Does that not mean that every living being is considered a monster? 

For the first time that night, you felt a weight come off your shoulders like a demon who had lost interest in its prey. Suddenly, you were not alone. This moment, this vulnerability, this exchange was a taste of freedom that the both of you had longed for.

“No,” you whispered. “You are not a monster, Loki.”

His eyes that were once filled with worry now contained galaxies of unending gratitude. The words the god had longed to hear had finally come forward. He stepped forward, his eyes boring into your own. “And you are no more a monster than I, Y/N.”

You shook your head, refusing to believe him, but Loki only continued.

“If I, a tainted god that has been burdened with his past, can be forgiven by a mortal who resides in a city I nearly destroyed when I am not worthy of such forgiveness, then why must you be a monster? You have done nothing but mourn over events that are not your fault. Do you not think that you have punished yourself more adequately than any other mortal could have?” The backs of Loki’s fingers brushed against the skin of your cheek, and your eyes fell shut at the calming touch.

“Have you not punished yourself enough, little one?” Just like before, his words made you feel small. Not small as in inadequate. No, Loki’s words made you feel like you were cared for despite all you had done - a lost child with no path besides the one fate had made for her. As the words faded, you felt yourself growing inexplicably tired at the soft touch of the God of Mischief. Within seconds your world went black.

***

The music played as the double doors began to open. The light was incredibly bright, emphasizing the shadows of at least a hundred individuals. As you came into their view, the shadows stood up, wide glistening smiles on their indistinct faces. It was terrifying almost. It was almost as if you were about to walk into a room filled with dozens of cheshire cats that had been waiting patiently for your highly anticipated arrival. Footsteps resonated around you, coming closer with every passing second, and before you knew it there was a man standing by your side.

“Shall we?” He asked, his wide smile the only visible feature on him.

Even without knowing who the man was, you followed his movements. He offered you his arm, and as you grasped it, a familiar warmth overwhelmed you. It took a minute to process why it felt so warm, so familiar. You and the strange man walked into the room, looking at all the smiles around you all the while.

It was so strange. The music was strange, the people were strange, and when you looked down to see an ivory white ball gown adorning your body, you realized that you were also very strange. Before you knew it, you were standing in front of an altar, the man beside you now holding your hands tightly. When you looked up to gaze at his face, it was a face that haunted your memories and dreams.

“Dad?” You whispered, your eyes already brimming with tears. His eyes were cold as he looked at you. The grip around your hands tightened as he frowned at you, mouth opening as he began to speak.

“You plan on marrying him?” He seethed, eyes glancing at an unknown presence behind you. “Are you going to seal the future with a kiss and kill him in the process?”

The tears began to fall freely as he spoke. You shook your head, a sob escaping your lips, “Dad, I’m so sorry.”

“No, Y/N, I’m sorry,” your father glared. “I made you into a monster.”

Your father turned away, walking to an empty spot among the many faceless shadows. His features slowly faded into black, and you found yourself attempting to remember every small detail of him. Watching him fade was almost like watching him die a second time. Part of you yearned for him to stay even if that meant he hated you until the end of time. 

A hand rested gently on your shoulder. You turned quickly, eyeing the suspicious stranger. Is this who you were meant to marry? Is this the man cursed to be with a monster? When he fully came into view, you were confused. The man was still only a black shadow, but you could see him slowly fading into something more. It was as if everything came into focus from the bottom to the top.

The mysterious man’s body was covered in black leather with gold accents, an emerald green cape flowing freely down his back . It was attire that you had never seen before, and you were quite certain no one in their right mind would wear such clothing on this planet. His figure was lean yet intimidatingly strong, and you could feel your heart race as if you had loved this man all your life. As his face began to reveal itself, a loud hum began to emit from the ground. The hum only grew louder as the two of you stood at the altar, and pretty soon, the mysterious man turned to you completely, his face still too dark to truly recognize. His lips moved, and his grip tightened, but you couldn’t hear him at all. The deep hum within the earth began to vibrate your surroundings, threatening to break apart the terrifying paradise around you. You shut your eyes tightly as you felt the man’s hands tighten around yours. The hum only grew worse with every second, almost as if you were about to become deaf from it.

Suddenly, it stopped. You opened your eyes to see darkness. The darkness was as black as the shadows that once surrounded you. In fact, darkness didn’t seem to fully describe it. No, this was more of an endless void. It felt like nothing. There was no warmth, no chill, no presence discernable in it. If you were honest, it felt like the absence of everything - light, sound, feeling, and life.

Your hands were still in someone, or something’s, grasp. You looked up, frantically searching for the source of the pressure holding your hands in place. It was right then that you saw the glowing sea green eyes of a man you had come to know. The void overwhelmed you and him until all you could see was the man in front of you among the infinite darkness.

“Loki?” You asked, watching as his eyes widened in fear. He took a step back, his hands flying up to grab hold of his neck. There was no sound, but you could see him gasping for air. His skin began to turn blue, ridges and veins clearly visible on his hands and his face. He took one glance into your eyes before collapsing to the ground, his once vibrant eyes dimming.

“You killed him,” a voice whispered.

“You murdered him,” another yelled.

“You ended his life,” a third voice called from the darkness. The area around you illuminated with wide cheshire-like smiles. Each word they said felt like weights crashing down on you, pulling you down into the fiery depths of hell. 

“I trusted you,” a chorus of voices spoke from all around you. When you looked around, twelve sets of eyes surrounded you. Twelve men. Twelve victims. Twelve dead. 

Twelve murders.

***

You shot up in bed, forehead glistening with sweat as you analyzed your surroundings. It was outrageously dark - too dark. Were you not just in your living room moments ago? For a brief moment, you believed you were still in your dream. Perhaps the voices, the men you had harmed, had come back for you. Perhaps they would end you like you ended them. Fumbling for your phone on your nightstand, you glanced at the time.

03:33.

Sighing, you sat up. As much as you wanted to believe that the timing was far too convenient to be coincidental, you let yourself brush the thought aside. The last thing you needed was to feel spooked during witching hour. You began counting in your head while staring off into the corner of your room.

Minutes passed as you steadily realized that sleep would continue to evade you. You swung your legs off the side of your bed before stepping onto the cold floor below you. The world swayed as you felt blood rush to your head and you found yourself stumbling a bit to counter the gravity that had befallen you. You walked the few steps it took to get to your bedroom door before slipping out. As you walked to your kitchen, your senses began to heighten. Every sound outside as well as inside made you jolt in caution as if you were waiting for a vengeful predator to make its presence known.

The walk to your kitchen had never seemed so long before, yet here you were, walking infinitely slow just to get to a room down the hall. When you finally reached your destination, you decided to pull a mug out of a cupboard. If you could just make a nice cup of tea, maybe sleep would welcome you back with open arms. 

You hauled yourself on top of the counter, swinging your legs like an innocent child as you waited for the hot water to finish boiling. Every couple seconds, your feet would tap on the cabinets below, causing a startling bang. The water had just begun to boil when you heard someone clear their throat. Turning immediately, you met the curious gaze of Loki.

“What are you doing?” The god asked, an eyebrow raising.

You jumped down from your position, eyeing him suspiciously, “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?”

Loki stood still, eyebrows furrowing as if he either had no idea why he was there or he had no idea why you would ask such an absurd question. Without looking at what you were doing, you reached for the pot holding your now steaming water. A sharp pain jolted through your hand as you glanced down to see that you had grabbed the hottest part of the metal. You cursed under your breath, holding your burnt fingertips to your mouth before turning to run some cold water on the affected area.

The God of Mischief was quick to come to your aid. His hand encapsulating yours while he held your hand up to see the damage. “You asked me to stay, do you not recall?”

Confused, you pulled your hand away. Had you really asked him? Seconds passed as you tried to remember asking him to stay the night, but nothing came to mind. If you weren’t shuffling through your memories in order to find the moment such a thing occurred, you would have noticed the soft green glow that surrounded your entwined hands. You would have noticed the soft kiss Loki left on your fingertips after the glow subsided, and you most certainly would have noticed the lack of pain pulsing through your hand.

When you finally finished trying to remember, Loki’s face was very close to yours. Too close. You could feel his cool breath on your cheeks as he seemed to slowly inch closer until his lips were less than a centimeter from your own. Your eyes widened in shock as your hands flew up to cover your mouth. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, stumbling backwards until your back was against the counter. Loki made no movements towards you; instead, he shook his head and turned off the running water. For a moment, you could have sworn you saw a pained look on his face at the sudden rejection.

“Nothing,” he responded, still facing the faucet.

“I don’t remember asking you to stay tonight, Loki,” you said. Every second you thought more about it, the more you realized that you couldn’t even remember getting to bed. You were still wearing your dress from earlier, and you weren’t the type to fall asleep in your day clothes - ever. “I don’t even remember going to bed.”

You heard the god sigh with his back still turned to you. He turned slowly, meeting your cautious gaze, “I put a spell on you.”

“A spell,” you stated. It was by no means a question, not now when you knew he was capable of such magic. “What spell?”

“I simply put you into a deep sleep. For days you mentioned that you were not able to sleep well, and now that I know why, I decided to do what needed to be done,” he spoke, arms crossing against his chest. It was at that moment that you realized that he was still wearing his suit. No wonder you hadn’t seen him when you walked into the room - the god was dressed in complete black. He was practically dressed as the darkness itself.

“So,” you started, an eyebrow raising in scrutiny, “You put me to sleep without even asking, when we were talking?”

“Yes,” Loki answered.

“Don’t do that.”

“And why not?” The God of Mischief took a step forward. “If I were to have let you continue on the conversation, leaving shortly after, would you have slept?”

You stood silently, knowing very well that you would have tossed and turned throughout the night like you had for the past six years.

“I saw a window of opportunity, and I took it.” He continued, the silence answering his previous question. “Better for you to fall asleep in my company than in the company of your personal demons. If you were standing in my position, you would have noticed how undeniably exhausted you were. How was I meant to let you push me out the door when I can clearly see how much you needed rest without interruption, without fear of being dragged into your past?”

You hesitated. Glancing at the sincere look in his eyes, you sighed in defeat. 

“Just,” you started to say, waving a hand in the air, “Don’t do that without asking first next time, okay?”

Loki nodded, “As you wish.”

You kept your distance as Loki poured the hot water into the mug that you had placed on the counter. He grasped a tea packet from a jar next to your stove before handing you the warm cup. As you took the mug from him, you smiled. Loki, God of Mischief, had just helped you make some tea. If that wasn’t the most absurd thing to have ever happened in your kitchen, then you weren’t quite sure what was. 

“Would you like some?” You asked, holding the cup slightly higher to indicate that you were speaking about tea.

He shook his head, “I’m not overly fond of tea in the middle of the night.”

The two of you stood in awkward silence before you motioned to the couch in the adjoining room. Loki nodded, following behind as you made your way over to sit down.

“Is it normal for you to wake in the early hours like this?” He inquired as you sipped on your tea. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” you responded, placing the mug on the table. “I don’t sleep peacefully anymore.”

Loki nodded in understanding. He, too, was plagued by nightmares. He dreamt vividly of the events that he had taken part in, and with every passing second spent asleep, he was only ever reminded of his repulsive status among those around him. However, as the god watched your shaky hands reach for your mug again, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. There was something about you that made him protective, and he could not be certain as to what that was, but he knew that you were a being to be watched over.

Loki knew the pain of being riddled with demons, and he knew how hard it was to sleep with the voices telling you that there would be no greater monster than yourself. He understood the torment and the endless waking hours. He could recall all the nights in which the cold sweat dripped down his neck as he woke from the unspeakable just to find that the nightmare never ended. Loki knew far too well, and although he recognized these troubles as something he would give away in a heartbeat, he found himself wanting to take away your pain and make it his own.

In his mind, he could not fully understand why you, of all people, were plagued with such abilities. You were kind. You were forgiving. You were everything the god considered himself not to be, and that in itself was the reason he could not understand. Loki could understand and relate to everything you were going through, but he could not fully comprehend why it was you that met this fate. He did not want to see you suffer or for you to be afraid that someone would come around to drag you away. No, Loki would not allow those thoughts to plague you. He needed to protect you.

And for the first time in a long while, Loki found himself wanting to save someone. He wanted to save you from yourself even if it meant that it could be his downfall.

(Chapter 4)

#loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki imagine #loki #loki fanfic #loki fandom #soft!loki #soft loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x mutant!reader #mutant!reader #mutant powers #slow burn #angelofdeath #reader insert #ohdearhiddles imagine #ohdearhiddles imagines #marvel imagine #marvel fanfic

[ga1n]

At the break of dawn, a chilly, silence fills the air as you step into the daunting threshold of the mysterious maze.

From the outside, it looks like a dark overgrown cave entrance in the side of a jagged mountain, but in the villages local legend it is said that a warlock had made the maze out of boredom to tempt the oblivious adventurers with promise of treasure. But his true aim is just to amuse himself across the perpetual cycle of immortality with the artificial heroic battle of those who unknowingly stepped into his playing field.

No one knows if the legend is true. But it is a fact that no one has made it out alive. If the forgotten ancient language is anything to go by, then the maze has been here even before the village in the east and is likely to predate the current kingdoms of this vast continent.

A chill ran down your spine as you spot a decrepit statue of an old man staring out at an unknown area. The material used to make the statue is weathered, cracking and covered with moss and ivy, much like the walls of this place. “Perhaps this is the warlock” you think “or maybe not”. You start to wonder but you doubt you’d ever know for it is just a simple statue from a bygone era. Your curiosity the one that drove you to leave your quaint little village and seek out adventures drives you deeper into the ancient structure unbeknownst of the danger it possesses.

You turn the first corner in the maze and the light and noise you once had in the entrance disappear. Instead you feel an immense darkness consume you. The air once filled with vim and vigour become still and you feel that the maze is waiting in anticipation for your next move. You feel uneasy as if you’re being watched by the maze with ill-intent.  

In front there are three corridors each heading in different directions. You ponder your decision as you know that only one of these corridors is the right one, and choosing poorly may lead to your demise, but which one?

You reach into your bag to grab a torch, which you light. It casts a smouldering, flickering flame around you. As the sparks and ashes are emitted by the torch you check your equipment: a greatsword strapped at your side and a dagger slipped into your boots. Your greatsword “Chiyou” named after the war god and “Ideal” your dagger named by the best blacksmith in the west, fantastic names given to spectacular weapons as every adventurer name their weapons. It gives the bards something to sing about much later, but all of that is far from your mind right now.

The odour being emitted by one corridor smells like rot and something much, much horrid. The air from the other two smells rancid, but bearable. As you walk forward, though, you notice that one of these two tunnels have deep scratch marks on some of its stone wall and you sense imminent danger waiting for you. Your body shrugs back at the immense killing intent you feel signalling you, that death awaits at the end.

You choose the remaining corridor to follow and begin to walk carefully down it, all the while watching for traps and things far worse. Suddenly you’re surrounded by a thousand, dark-eyed beings. A torch flickering in their one hand with the other above the hilt of their blades.

Your cheeks perk up as you smile. You notice that these are illusions. They are all you walking down the corridor. You carefully look at each one. They are all the same. They are all reflections created by the magic in this inky place.

You raise the torch. They all raise their torches. You jump and examine the corridor. They all jump and examine the room.

Then you smile as your sword flashes out. Chiyou shatters the illusions and a dreadful howl pierces the dense darkness of the maze. You noticed one reflection was different it was sluggish compared to the others. The reflection did not have the same wound caused by a demon’s warped claw. The reflection falls to your feet, reverting into a hairless beast with teeth and claws like a dire bear.

All the magic mirrors on the wall shatter as the pieces turn into a flurry of foul-smelling dust. The darkness that once surrounded you seemingly withdraw for an instant like it was wounded, before rushing back to surround you. Your torch flickers and once again you are standing alone in the same tunnels, but with a beast at your feet.

You wipe the beast’s blood off Chiyou and sheath it again. You feel Ideal’s weight on your boot, you feel the daggers yearn to be used in combat. As you smile grimly and step over the beast, continuing your journey into the depth of the maze.

“Old man that obstacle is not enough to trick me!” as you say while being engrossed in the maze’s potential.

You reach the end of the maze; you start to feel merry as you celebrate reaching the end, but it is short lived. You notice an ancient old man standing with his skin nestled over his bones making his skeletal figure look fitting in the darkness that surrounds him. His long and dishevelled hair flowing through the breeze seemingly out of nowhere.

The old man smiles and gazes over at the person lying on the altar before him. The person lying on the altar is you, but with your eyes closed, clenched fists and you jerk in your spellbound sleep. Chiyou lies worthless shattered irregularly and Ideal your dagger is nowhere to be seen. Your nose starts to bleed, the blood sliding down your cheek and drips onto the altar sizzling and evaporating when it comes in contact.

With the warlock’s decrepit voice “He’s defeated the basilisk”, a wicked smile dances across his lips, “Will he be able to pass the Hall of Demons? Or will he perish again? He has chosen the right corridor this time, but how far will he get until his body gives out and dies?”

Laughter that could only be described as detestable; echoes through the lifeless corridors in that chamber, but you are unaware as you walk through what you think is the maze.

But what you do not know and what you will never find out, is that you have already walked that maze and you have already come up against the warlock there. And, trapped in his illusion, you will now walk that maze for eternity until he discards you and find another victim to torture.

And that is the maze of illusions, my beloved adventurer: You are trapped in something that does not exist, but you feel the cycle of life and death again and again.

As you struggle to fight off hordes of demons, the detestable laughter grows louder amused at the sight of your endeavour…

#flashfiction #psychological #mystery

[nozomijoestar]

Pt. 1 of my LL! x TMA crossover is finally here. Crossposted on my FF.net!

TWs: Gore, warfare, being buried alive, body horror

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With the world plunged into the apocalypse of never-ending fear thanks to The Eye and The Archivist, two stories intertwine. Statements of Nozomi Tojo later the entity called The One Alone- pre and post mortem of humanity. Recorded direct from subject.

------

“The Lonely is the most insidious of the powers. It doesn’t need to tell you lies. It waits for the lies you tell yourself.”

There is a wind that rides amidst the expanse bare of clouds that dares to call itself a sky still. It rolls ever onwards like a wave beneath the ever shifting Eyes; the Eyes with presence to match the same that crowns a panopticon. The tower it calls home stands higher than anything conceivable by Man. Though she has tried escape she knows there is nowhere on this barren land it cannot be seen. The gaze of the Beholder sees those who suffer in sacrifice below; it too sees the servants, the avatars, of its fellow Entities revel in a Hell once thought promised to one devotee or another now open for all. She is reminded of the amusement parks she yearned to step foot in as a child until it made her sick.

She is reminded it sees always through her disembodied form. It knows where none other should know; ever thirsty for the forbidden and beyond boundaries The Eye (The Beholder, The Ceaseless Watcher, It Knows You, names are irrelevant in its pursuits. They are attempts to describe an aspect of what people called impossible.) sips her essence with precision a mosquito could envy. The fog that is and is not her whenever she molds it to a human shape whips about in fury. It is tainting her loneliness. It wants to dip its finger in her blissful isolation just as it has every other monstrosity made manifest.

Her Entity is a kind being, an understanding one that divides the Who from They into an intimacy; one so singular and gentle to allow those within it to banish all others. She can still remember the first time grasping it brought her to tears. Both it and she cannot escape what it is to be known. Not now in the presence of that damned thing which exists to play voyeur. She looks down.

The trench that scars the earth and stretches beyond the horizon marks the domain The Slaughter calls a feeding ground. Even as high as she is the stench of cordite, gunpowder, gore, and all that tears apart wafts into her. Within the trench figures once store clerks, families, businessmen, teachers, students, children, fire enough bullets and shells to massacre what was once Tokyo. Each cracks sharper than thunder while the rat-a-tat-tat from infinite machine guns never stops. In between the gun nests slump people lost within war that is not satisfied with surface destruction and swallows the mind. They are worse than those casualties who scream, in their silence.

On the fetid breeze bagpipes in a mockery of ‘Scotland the Brave’ wail enough to vibrate No Man’s Land. She can spy the tanks advancing ever forwards peppered by shrapnel; flayed bodies can vaguely be made out strapped to their armor. The edges of her fog wiggle in place of a shudder. Neither now nor in her meaningless days as feed, as human, had butchery in any form brought anything from her but nausea. From that barren hell a bulky creature towered over its victims; it made way for her as their eyes locked.

She knows this monster well no matter how tiny the ribs spiked out its chest appear at this distance. It stamped its clawed bloody foot and snarled. Its teeth glistened red in a multitude of fangs arranged row after row like a shark mouth. The pointed shoulder blades protruding out its back drip viscera; she knows it has fed. Feeding is all it can do now; she knows it laments the conveniences a human form had after all. That like her it loathes having the terror it creates tainted under The Eye’s ruling gaze. Its face comprised of exposed wounds for flesh and two smaller faces twisted in pain on its neck, glares at her unflinching. Its black and orange pupiled eyes are beady as if carved from revulsion, from hate. Around them no soldiers aim and the tools of war bend paths to avoid harm. The monster shouts in a growl that booms over the din of murder.

“Forsaken! Have you come to strut and brag again you little shit? Making fun of me showing up like that are you?-“

The Slaughter avatar’s insults fell on empty air; she glided onward without a destination. Suddenly several stones passed through her leaving holes that reformed instantly. Not a glance did she spare back; U’ral-whatever-her-name-was could shout her distain till her throat bled. The One Alone would not stoop as weak as her to hold reservations about their paradise.

On this ride no one would get off.

She stopped above a circle of candy colored lights that formed the outline of a carousel. A few meters around its dim shine run shadowed shapes. Shape is the best word she has to describe those frantic wretches who pile atop each other; their fingers peel faces reused again and again among their number. They long to no more ask themselves Who Am I? but know beneath the ache they will never be whole.

They could have counted her among them, once. Almost.

Though reason reminded her it’d been months those days, the idea there’d been a time before, was impossible. Had she always been what she’d embraced or had her human shell been her true home? Some days before the opening of the Door she was ashamed to still ponder it.  Not in this world however; here she at last knew her peace. The edges of her form swirled outward. She continued to watch. The Stranger’s victims continued their frenzy as another face was for the taking. Cries of triumph clashed with envious screams not unlike the battle-shouts of one brought under Slaughter.

If she squinted she made out the current victor. The teenage girl bolts across the fairgrounds in a random direction; her red-orange hair waved in its ragged bob cut like a dancing flame. Where once she had pale skin and…had they been yellow eyes? The One Alone saw her now a shambling thing that slapped its prize atop a carmine skull. Something in her puzzled to think she remembered the girl’s face, and yet nothing of her name. Nothing of what their connection had been in another life.

Not a fiber of her cared to linger longer; yet as she made to leave one final sight stopped her. This time the name and everything with it returned. Kotori busied herself on a cross-stitch of skin and sinew when she saw The One Alone above. Did she too remember? Did she know who they both once were? Even if she did The One Alone couldn’t bring herself to care. It would be unnecessary and in a way always had been. She had never existed. Kotori’s eyes gave her a look filled with the briefest solidarity, before the indifference reclaimed her. The blessings of The Stranger have created fissures along her skin; it ceased to be skin so much as it resembled a potato weak enough to tug, in its fragility.

Not for the last time she feels the deep, deep truth twist her at the chance that in another world, she joined in the stitching. Disgust shook her fog at the idea of companionship looming before her. A semblance of sympathy even if in the imagination; avatars do not trust. Not each other. The smartest ones, her, saw trust for the waiting betrayal it was. For the lie it had been since the moment she was born.

She flies beyond the circus of the damned toward a thundering in the distance.  At the passing over a spot of darkness that stretches miles, she swallows the urge to stare. It is a black void so absolute it cannot cast shadows; nor can any bottom to its depth be found as though you’ve entered the essence of nothingness. Eli was there. She felt the knowledge wash over her like rain. Eli was there, transformed into something that drowned her victims into obscurity.  This was a comforting thought; their domains weren’t too unalike.

It’s enough to almost make her wish Eli had joined The Lonely. She smothers it before it can bloom further. The Dark chooses its chosen and there is nothing she can do. She is alone, as she was meant to be. Ahead the thundering slams into her ears snapping her from ruminating. Niko appeared no bigger than a dot from this high. The shovel she pointed above her head reflected the Eyes that’d replaced the sun on its blade. Above her a pink man with shriveled skin stuffed into his suit smiled. It was knowing and unbothered; he stared down as calm as if he were choosing a sandwich. Simon Fairchild.

Of course The Vast would entertain a challenge from The Buried. The space around him appeared more than air; his very presence distorts that not bound to earth. His true distance away is impossible to gauge, he is both forever distant yet under only sky, a neighbor. She watches his wisplike white hair flap in the breeze. His calm slides into amusement. Niko’s curses and yells have grown louder now. She stops at what serves best for not too close; she observes.  

None of it is productive. Niko, poor desperate, witless Niko still clung to a blanket stitched from emotions. If she was an annoyance in the old world, now she was insufferable. She remained a prisoner as she’d always been. She’d been a prisoner of her desires, slave to her circumstance, yet another decimal point on a statistic. Yes The One Alone remembers those days before they’d embraced their natures; however faint the memories Niko had been a worm inching for the sky, for escape. Anything was better than bills and so many mouths to feed with so few helping hands. She notices the pockmark of holes littering the ground around Niko’s feet.

There are at least a hundred here. A hundred other worms that’d cherished denial at the crushing that finally bound them physically. They would never know the suffocation of an illusion of control as Niko does. They will smell rancid air and gargle on sod in those depths; they will wonder why them. There will be no answer; no release for their attempts at freedom. It is not the freeing isolation she has accepted. You weren’t even allowed to enjoy it; you couldn’t if you didn’t embrace it. She hears the curses grow louder followed by an earth splitting crack.  

Indeed the ground dents under Niko’s tap against it. A chorus of screams ring as one at another tear in the soil. The worms that’d never lived neither as humans nor now were rattled within their prisons. Simon answered the challenge and so their game at which Fear dominated the other began another wasteful chapter. Though it wasn’t her domain she felt a faint pulse spinning in the bottomless emptiness of the Falling Titan. If Simon knew she saw into his world he didn’t show it.

Honoka was there among his captives, falling, and falling. Falling with a soundless scream against the whipping winds; she was begging like the rest for a splat, for some grounded, definite end. Silly fool, nothing in this world had an end anymore. Once Honoka had been marked by The Vast; had she accepted it Simon might’ve welcomed another for his kind. The One Alone laughed in a sound near breathless and let her fog curl. Avatars serving the same master; they’d have torn each other apart.

One remained the superior number; alone the greatest of words.

Niko’s voice calls after her as she fades from view.

“…Nozomi! Always watching like a creep huh?”

The name reaches her faster than an arrow and pierces the impenetrable within her. It nests in what remains to be called her soul. It was a poison, a gate however small to expose the person long dead within her. To call out to what had been defined by failure, naivety, and longing.

The One Alone shudders as fog might. She makes her own way until silence embraces her tight.

#the magnus archives #love live! #my writing #after 10k years lol #lonely!nozomi

[resetmypatientviolence]

The Eyes Upon (Desire & Decorum)

Characters: Mr. Harper, Miss Parsons, Mr Sinclaire, Prince Hamid x MC

Word Count: 1,377

Rating: PG

Warnings: None!

Song Accompaniment: I’m Not The Only One-- Sam Smith

Description: Choosing to sit with Prince Hamid has all eyes on Pippa Mills-- including the ones who thought she only had eyes for them. 

Author Note: I wondered what the other LI’s would be feeling if you chose to sit with somebody that wasn't them after sharing more than a few moments that perhaps, promised forever. Faceclaim for Pippa is Alia Bhatt as seen below. Apologies for the angst.  MASTERLIST

All eyes, wet and dry, are on Pippa Mills during her father’s funeral service, the heir to Edgewater. Prince Hamid’s are the closest, bright despite the occasion as he allows her to rest her head upon his shoulder. Pippa manages a smile, locking her dark eyes with his, something so warm and safe, ones in which she could spend forever with, a forever her dearest Father more than approved of, sending her heart to new heights before it came crashing down in his final moments. 

All eyes are on Pippa Mills resting against the Prince, her intentions and future clear for all to see and speculate— yet there is no speculation to be had. There is only the truth. 

Luke Harper can only but clear his throat to the truth that sits in the front row as the Bishop speaks, speaking a great man who was gentle and kind and treated him with respect, so much of him in Pippa. Luke gulps back emotion, hand curling into a soft fist, eyes wet— but not from the Bishop’s words. The Earl is at peace, that much is true. 

As is true how Pippa rests against Prince Hamid, certainly a generous and kind man that would make a perfect fit for a beautiful woman such as her. He is nothing but a humble master of the stables, he is no Prince. Was he fool to think that he could compete with such a man? Yet…

By God, her laughter, the looks she offers him, the sweetest apple he tasted against her lips— massaging her feet, hearing those sounds of a pleasure and relaxation under this touch— sounds he could offer when they are alone and in a bedchamber. How soft her skin is, smelling of cloves and the warmth of the sun on a summer days, lips he stared at for too long, wishing, and yearning— and dreaming of the impossible, dreams and thoughts a man like him should never have for a Lady of Pippa’s place, because it only leads to heartbreak. 

Like now. Just like now, Prince Hamid’s cheek upon her soft hair, being her beacon of comfort. Did her request of romantic story mean nothing, truly? Was it just a game? Was it… no, Prince Hamid is a kind man. He is a Prince. And he… Luke brushes his eye. He is Luke Harper, a man that cannot be fit for Pippa, because she is the Heir to Edgewater. He knew this the moment he saw her grace the estate— that she can never be his. 

Luke gulps again and looks down, away from the choice glaring before him. Briar’s hand falls on his arm and they share a glance, everything he wants to say in his eyes. Briar squeezes, softly, then looks forward to the spectacle that is Pippa making her choice known. 

But Luke Harper keeps his eyes lowered, as to not cause further heartbreak from a woman he never had leaning on the person she wants the most.

Annabelle Parsons dabs her cheek, face warm as she listens to the Bishop but watches Pippa and Hamid murmur to one another, the joy of possibility so clear and telling on their faces, smiling despite the sadness that fills the room. Oh, her heart is heavy. It was heavy with the news of the Earl’s death, not only for the loss of a great man— but for Pippa, her dearest… friend.

How she envisioned pulling Pippa to the side to offer more than a polite nod of comfort. To offer her a soft touch, a hug, a brush of her lips to say that you’re not alone— but that did not happen, Pippa’s eyes for one person and one person only: kind and just and free spirited Prince Hamid. Can she fault Pippa for choosing such a man?

A man—

Annabelle looks down, fighting the urge to burst into a quiet cry, to be louder than a mouse. The Earl is not her father. But— by god, why does it hurt so much? She should have known, Prince Hamid so bold in the carriage with her, and Pippa’s skin showing such a slight flush as he touched her arm. She tried, oh she tried, didn’t she? The brush of her leg, Pippa offering a glance that said, Yes, yes, I’m here with you, and so much more with those million of other little moments she stole away with… a woman that captured her heart. 

Pippa’s look of surprise and joy with a flick of her fan, showing this utterly impeccable woman that she is hers through and through, teaching her music, singing the sweetest of song, the unmistakable joy on the woman that came to Edgewater and made it bright again. The stillness in the greenhouse, Pippa offering a suggestive wink and expression— Annabelle’s face warm the entire time, eyes drifting to her coy lips, wondering what she would taste like. 

But—

Pippa’s shoulder moves and she knows they are holding hands now. Annabelle sighs, sinking lower and lower into the pew. Prince Hamid is a perfect match for Pippa— and one that will no doubt be prosperous and happy. It is truly the best option for Edgewater, if Pippa is to keep it despite the Countesses attempts to thwart the Earl’s will. Yes, yes— this is true. 

Prince Hamid is the one thing she is not: a man. 

Ernest Sinclaire sits straight up in his pew, eyes forward, a carefully composed face that offers sadness and compassion for the reason they are all gathered there today. 

If only one could see the inside of his heart being torn to shreds— shreds worse than his ex-wife and the Duke, even. The Earl was a man of great honor and vitality for life— one that passed on to his daughter, the woman he nearly ran over because when he saw her— he could not focus. How could he with a face like hers, haunting him in his dreams every night since? Then she appears and challenges him like no woman— nor man— has done before, confirming everything that his heart knew before his mind did: that he was most ardently in love with her. 

Could he list the ways that she stole his heart, his mind, his emotions? 

He would list them until the end of time. 

But… Ernest tilts his chin up, glancing to the ceiling, then back down, settling on Prince Hamid and Pippa— happy, despite the circumstances before them. Happy… is it wrong to wish he’s that man with her on his side? Prince Hamid gets no ill will wished upon him— for he is a man that deserves the best of the world— so why is he surprised that the best of the world includes Pippa Mills, the woman that utterly stole everything he thought he knew about love and life and finding the joy in oneself. 

He shuts his eyes, unwilling to see the tender notes of affection that everybody can see and know: that Pippa has found her husband, and found her way to keep Edgewater, her rightful legacy. 

He wonders, oh wonders, if she dares to think of the bridge— or perhaps the carriage, after a night of confessions and truths and hopes that soared higher than heavens gates themselves. How soft her skin was under his, how she dared to keep eye contact as they stood closer than before… how the rain looked on her skin, making it shine under the light, a grin on her face the entire time. Or the warmth they sought in the carriage, drawing closer— somehow— than the bridge, confessions and everything he had on the line for her to take, offering her everything but the moon. 

But… he opens his eyes, the service ending, Pippa and Hamid looking into each others eyes, smiling. Ernest sighs, rubbing his neck. There’s a million possibilities and reasons and Prince Hamid is lucky, lucky man than will treat Pippa with all the love in the world, all that this strong, steadfast, and beautiful woman deserves. 

Yet… would he be the one looking into her eyes in the moment if, perhaps, he offered her his arm instead of words of resistance? 

All eyes are on Pippa Mills. 

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[my-ships-will-never-be-sank]

All My Trials (lams)

Summary:

They haunted him. That shade of violet blue, so unique and mesmerizing. They had been the first thing John had noticed that night in the bar. The way the candle-light reflected off his eyes, igniting the flames within as he spoke. And the way they had contrasted with his hair. He can smiles sadly as he remembers how the soft sunlight would stream through his hair, pulling all the shades with it. That auburn, burnt orange, hair paired with those eyes had made his knees weak. And then Alexander had sent him that smile from across the room, just a quirk of his lips, his eyes half lidded.

So John had manned up and strode across to introduce himself under the guise of teasing Aaron. Laf and Herc had followed him over and the five had spent the night chatting away. Then burr had left and the conversation had gotten louder and Alexander had gotten more passionate, his eyes brighter…

John choked back a sob. What he wouldn’t give to see Alexander once more.

Hush little baby, don't you cry You know your mama was born to die All my trials, Lord, soon be over

Alex was ready. He had waited for so long for this chance. A chance to prove to himself and to everyone else that it didn’t matter where you came from. That your past didn’t matter, that if you worked and strived and yearned for something hard enough; you could make it come true.

He had wrote himself out of the trapped life he had feared would ensnare him as it had his mother. Nevis. In all it’s glory it had been tolerable at best. Little work to be found and multiple mouths to feed. Once his father had abandoned them and fucked off back to whoever the hell knows where things had only gotten progressively worse.

Then he’d gotten sick. He can’t remember how anymore but he does remember the day his mother had fallen ill while trying to heal him. He also remembers waking up in her stiff arms. The absence of her labored breathing.

And so his life had gotten even worse.

Then his cousin killed himself.

Alex hadn’t thought it could get worse. But then the hurricane hit. And everything was gone.

So he wrote. He had planned for it to be a short letter to his father, a plea for help, for him to return... Him and James were alone. His job was gone and James barely earned enough for himself with the carpentry. But once he had started writing he couldn’t stop. So he described everything, from the hurricanes coming and subsequent annihilation of everything in its path to the desolation and ruin it left behind. Then the community had given him the money. - someone had read the letter and word had spread that the child among them was nothing less than a genius. And he deserved a chance in the world.

But James… Alex still remembered coming back to the tent with the money clutched in his fist. They were willing to send him to America? To get an education? His brother had just hugged him. “I am not as smart as you little brother, I never had a head for numbers, or the hands to write, but you, you will be amazing. You write Alex. You never stop writing, and you will do us all proud”

And so Alex wrote. He wrote his way to America. He wrote his way to revolution. And he would write his way to freedom.

The river of Jordan is muddy and cold Well, it chills the body but not the soul All my trials, Lord, soon be over

The plan was simple in theory. All he, Captain Henry Lee and their men had to do was burn the mills and get away. A simple stealth like mission that the General himself had recommended him for. He sat up straighter on his horse. He would not fail the general.

But nothing in his life had ever been easy or gone to plan so he wasn’t 100% surprised when they were ambushed. Disappointed? Yes. Surprised? No.  

There had been no warning. The rain had started softly. As it ran down his neck he was reminded of John.

John’s kisses against his neck, John’s fingers against his body, just his sweet Laurens who was still asleep when Alex had risen this morning. Lafayette had been awake (or should he say sneaking back in?) as Alex had dressed. His Pants were on inside out and his shirt was buttoned incorrectly. Alex had smirked as his friend across the tent and whispered:

“Won’t the General be disappointed with you for sneaking out so early?” Lafayette had just flushed crimson and stuck his tongue out at his before wishing him good luck on the mission. He looked down at john and swept a few stray curls off his face. “His fever broke late last night, he should be feeling better by tonight.” He had then given Laf strict orders to leave John alone, to let him sleep (“oui oui mon ami. Calm down!) before grabbing an apple, pressing a kiss to John forehead and slipping out of the tent.

But then the rain ha gotten harder. Soon it was pelting down full force. But there was no shelter so there was nothing to do but ride on. By the time they arrived at the mill all of the men were drenched. The rain had again slowed and the men were joking and laughing among themselves. Henry Lee reached into his satchel. “Well let’s hope these can still light after all that rain.”

The men had broken off into groups starting small fires as to light the torches. By the time Alex threw his the stores were alight and the men were relaxed, trying to dry their socks and telling each other about their families. One man was standing and talking so enthusiastically everyone couldn’t help but listen in. His daughter wanted to become a soldier, he had laughed along with the other men as he had told his story. “She is four years old and wants to be just like her pops when she grows up. Look here she is on my last visit home.” He shows an expertly drawn picture of a little girl being smothered by the uniform coat.

As the last of the fires were started and they were certain they had completed their mission, Alex had looked warily at the column of smoke rising but Lee had reassured him that it wouldn’t be spotted. “We are right on the riverside Alexander, it has been raining all day, if anyone sees it they should think it's fog rolling in. by the time they realise otherwise we will be long g-”

He is cut off by the sound of bullets. The man who had been talking so animatedly about his daughter is cut short by a bullet emerging from between his eyes. The picture that was in his hand falls, lands in the fire pit and immediately turns to ash.

Then the yelling started.

I’ve got a little book with pages three And every page spells liberty All my trials, Lord, soon be over

John had woken to a cold bed. He had reached out an arm to see if Alex had perhaps just rolled away from him when it became evident he was gone. He couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his chest. He knew Alex had that mission today but he wished he had said goodbye.

“He did not wish to wake you mon ami” John looked up to see Laf looking at him. “Are you okay John? Alex said your fever broke last night, do you need anything?”

“Alex” the word was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Laf only laughed and helped him sit up. “Something i can get you right now this second that isn’t away on a mission for the general then?”

“Water would be great, thanks Laf.” Laf wandered off to fetch him he water and he leaned back. God he was pathetic. Getting sick the day before the mission. At least he could take comfort in the fact Henry Lee was actually competent at what he was doing. He would keep his Alexander safe. He was annoyed with himself if he was being honest. This was meant to be their mission.

When the General had approached them two days ago and told them he had a mission he wanted the pair to lead, they had been ecstatic. They had ended their day drinking with Laf who was annoyed he hadn’t been chosen. Not for lack of trying though. He had spent the night whispering in the general’s ear and the pair had ended up disappearing for half an hour. The general had returned with darkened eyes and a frown. Laf hadn’t returned at all. The whole camp had sensed the change in the atmosphere and the men started turning in for the night. Alex and John spent the night comforting Laf until John had lost it completely. Racing off into the night he returned with a very confused General in tow. Until he saw Laf's face. The two had returned to the generals tent and at last the pair could sleep. Until Alex woke up to the sound of John throwing up.

Lafayette returned with a cup of water and the general. John sat up a little straighter and made to get out of his bed before the general shook his head and motioned at him to stay seated. “I take you are feeling better lieutenant colonel?”

“Yes sir - I’ll be reporting to your tent tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Please don’t overly strain yourself John After all, i have another Aide-de-camps who will be more than happy to help with your work - right my dear Marquis?”

Laf flushed a deep red and just nodded his head. John felt like throwing up again. It was too early too see his friend and the general make heart eyes at each other.

The day dragged by. The  rain came down in sheets and John had himself wrapped in as many blankets as he could. He sipped at the tea Laf dropped by and flicked through his journals. He had plans; Ending slavery at the top. He had list and lists of names and places he had to visit. Alex had helped him compile and shorten the lists. The two of them would be unstoppable, once they got the chance the two would change the world.

Freedom and equality for all men. He had seen men tortured in the most brutal of ways growing up for mistakes as small as spilling a glass of wine, seen them die as well. He had seen his father maim and destroy men. He had seen his cousins leering at women. He had seen the women flinch when they felt the eyes of his family gazing upon them.

He had tried to help. Stealing healing balms from his home and bringing them down to the women as a child and staying to help as he got older.

He remembered Caleb as well, the boy no older than John himself. The two had been secret friends, offering smiles as they saw each other, John bringing him food and Caleb crying because ‘one whole roll - just for me?’ He remembers as well the day his younger brother had asked him at dinner why he was friend with a slave. He remembers the deafening silence, he remembers the swift pain across his cheek…

And he remembers waking up to the screams of a mother, of walking downstairs and finding his best friend swinging from the Apple tree.  He remembers how he had hardly recognised him, the blood seeping from open wounds on his back, some inches deep - whipped, the wounds on his wrist showed evidence of manacles, his stomach was carved up and his head was shaven.

“Suicide” his uncle said, shaking his head and walking back into the house. “What a pity.” His father and uncles had exchanged smirks. they hadn't even bothered to change their clothes, which still had fresh blood stains on them.

And John… he had been tasked by his father to collect the body and leave it in the forest for the animals. But he couldn’t. So instead hiding the body, he returned that night to give his friend the burial he deserved, making up his mind, at the age of 14 that this had to stop. That he had to stop it.

Because who else would stand against this barbaric treatment?

As soon as he had turned 16 he left a note for his father explaining he was leaving to join the revolution.

All the while planning his own.

Too late my brothers Too late, but never mind All my trials, Lord, soon be over

The hours passed. John paced.

They should be back. Even if the had stopped to rest for the night they should be back.

The General entered the tent and Laf jumped up. “Any news mon cher?”

He frowned. “They still haven’t returned?” John shook his head and resumed his pacing.

************************************************************************************

There was mass panic. They were outnumbered about 20:1. It was an ambush. Someone had told the Redcoats they were coming. He looked around for Hamilton seeing him hiding behind a cart and raced towards him.  “Henry, it was an ambush, they knew-”

“I know Hamilton, keep your voice down” he hissed in reply.

Henry scanned their surroundings. There was no escape. They were trapped between the freezing lake, a fire that's burning out of control and Redcoats. At least they had completed their mission before they had arrived.

Hamilton scanned their surroundings, no doubt looking for an escape route. The man was a genius but nothing short of a miracle would get them out of this alive. More gunfire. He gritted his teeth as he heard his men dying, hating feeling so useless.

Suddenly the gunfire stopped. “Is that them all sir?”

He paled them all ?? 50 good men dead. His chest felt hollow. He saw Hamilton freeze and knew he was about to do something stupid and reckless. “Hamilton…” he warned.

“At my signal, run.” Henry froze turning to look at the young man beside him. “ What ?”  he hissed.

“Someone has to make it back to the General. Tell him what happened. Tell him there is a spy i the camp. If not - how knows how many more groups will end up like this?”

Henry knew he was right. Someone had to warn the General.  “Alexander, please be careful, stay safe.”

Alexander gave him a rueful smile. “Tell John i’m sorry. I don’t think i can help him keep his promise.” Henry went to grab Alex but it was too late. Two shots from his pistols and the redcoat commander and another soldier were dead.

“Come on you assholes? Really - all of them are dead? You don’t see me down yet - do you, you fucking assholes?”

Henry knew it was the signal. So slipping out quietly as Alexander held all their attention, he managed to get to a horse unseen. Leading the horse quietly along the tree line he slipped into the cover of the trees.

Then a spray of bullets sounded. Then a splash. And a cheer.

Henry felt sick knowing what had happened. Alexander was dead. He had failed all his men in every way.

If living were a thing that money could buy You know the rich would live And the poor would die All my trials, Lord, soon be over

When the sound of a racing horse filled the sound of the camp John was the first one to it. It was hard under the cover of darkness to see who it was. The head lifted and john nearly cried. It was a blood splattered Henry Lee.

He looked to the General first. “It was an ambush. They knew we were coming. We got the fires started but-” his voice broke.

“Dad?” a voice called out. John turned to see Charles Lee pushing his way through the crowd. Henry met his son halfway bringing him in for a hug.

“Where is Alexander? Where are the rest of the men?” a voice called out.

Henry scanned the crowd only to find John standing at the front. “I am sorry John Laurens. He told me to tell you that he was sorry and that he doesn’t think he can help you, and that he won’t be able to keep his promise.”

John took a step back and nearly collapsed to the ground, only stopped by Laf holding onto him. He doesn’t remember Laf following him.

“He sacrificed himself so that one of us could make it back to warn you, General of the fact that there is a spy in our midst. He didn’t give me a chance to come up with a less reckless plan he just ran with his pistols blazing and shot the commander.”

He took a deep breath as he said the words: “Alexander Hamilton is dead. He was shot by the British troops and i heard as he sunk beneath the water of  the Schuylkill river as they celebrated”

John went numb. This was his fault - if he had gone instead of getting sick he would have stopped Alex. Would have knocked him out if needs be. But now…

Now he had to live knowing that while he was waiting around camp, his lover had been killed.

He pushed off Lafayette’s arms off of him with a start. And not looking back he staggered back to the tent by himself. It was fitting he supposed, by himself. He would now sleep by himself, work by himself. Laf had the general and Henry Lee had his son.

He didn’t have anyone.

He looked back through the plans he and Alex had spent so long planning, with tears streaming down his face. Turning over a new page he began to re-plan it all.

He had so much work to do.

Someone tried to interrupt him a few times but he just ignored them all. As the candle light faded he wrote. And when he couldn’t right anymore he went to his chest and took out the letters he had received from Alex. He sat on their shared bed wrapped in one of Alex’s nightshirts as he reread the letters, tracing the words softly.

“My dear Laurens…”

He fell asleep with them clutched to his chest.

There grows a tree in Paradise And the Pilgrims call it the tree of life All my trials, Lord, soon be over

When he awoke the camp was near silent. The were mourning for their friends. But also underlying it all was shock. He could hear the whispers of disbelief as people passed on the message to those who hadn’t heard last night.

“Hamilton is dead?”

“Bright young man…”

“...so much potential…”

“...could have changed the world…”

He tried to block out the words. His Alexander was dead. Nobody could interrupt his vigil. He didn’t speak. He didn’t eat. Had it only been 12 hours since Lee had arrived back? Why was the sun so bright? It didn’t deserve to shine on a day like this. It should be raining, thundering. He nearly wished for a hurricane.

Hurricane…

Someone had to write to James Hamilton. The pit in his stomach grew. How would he word that letter?

“Hi, You don’t know me but i’m your brother’s lover. Actually i was. Because he is dead. Alexander is dead. Hope you enjoy the rest of your life!”

He sank into the chair at his desk. That was an issue for another time.

The day passes and light turns to dark.

He is tempted to turn in early but looking at the empty bed turns his stomach.

He hears a commotion outside his tent. He wants to go tell whoever is out there to fuck off and let him mourn in peace. But he can’t he is just too tired. He is too emotionally drained.

He realises with a start if this is what life without Alexander is going to be -  trying to fill the hole in his life with work - it's not a life he wants to lead. He looks across and sees his pistols by the tent flap. Sitting on his bed he contemplates his choices.

Too late my brothers Too late, but never mind

He was lucky he presumes. Lucky as hell. He has no idea how he managed to avoid being shredded by those bullets. Actually he realises, he has.

A second before they had opened fire he had tripped. He’d fallen backwards and as he hit the water he swam. He was good at holding his breath. A skill that had saved him during the hurricane and it had saved him again now. He came upon an abandoned boat that was flipped, swimming underneath he was hidden. He hears a couple of the soldiers cheering and start celebrating. A pain in his shoulder distracts him. Ah so not 100% lucky. He has no idea how he managed to swim the 50 meters to the boat.  Knowing someone will come looking for a body Alex ducks out from the boat he scans his surroundings. Seeing one of his fellow soldiers he drags him into the water and wincing with the pain in his shoulder makes his way back to the boat. He pushes the body towards where he fell and disappears under the boat. Then he waits.

He knows when they find the body. The shouts are spread and the men start laughing. “Fucking idiots. You’d think that lot would know by now they had spy in their midst.”

“How many groups has that been now Covey?”

“Eight, Sir. Eight in the last Five days.”

Alex felt sick to his stomach. Eight other missions. Countless men. How many had he known? How many would arrive back to cmap? Would any? He just hoped Henry did. The man had a family and lot more to live for.

What did he have?

John. He had John. His dear Laurens. The one good thing he had found, the one star in a black empty sky.

He also had Laf and Herc, along with Burr. But that was it.

Hercules… he hoped his mission regiment was safe. Out of the four of them Herc was the most level headed. He would be fine. He was sure of it.

They were still speaking: “where is he anyway? Doesn’t he want his payment?”

“He said he’ll meet up with Christoph tomorrow. Doesn’t want to be caught out here, too close to ‘the scene’”

The contempt was evident in the soldier's voice. It was obvious he wasn’t a fan of the traitor, whoever it was.

The hours went by.  Alex was still in the freezing water. He was shivering and he was struggling to stop his teeth from chattering. The British redcoats had set up for the night. Using the field as a bed they relaxed.

Alex didn’t sleep. He saw the sun rise through a crack in the boat and heard the men grumbling about the trek back to base. His stomach growled. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. When he was sure every last redcoat had left he waded to shore and collapsed.

Staring up at the sky he was tempted to fall asleep. But he couldn't. If any of them were to back track he’d be dead before he could open his eyes. Forcing himself to his feet, he ripped a part of shirt off and fashioned it into a makeshift sling.  

He looked around. The sun was directly above him and he was getting a headache. He prayed that some of the horses were still around. He had no idea how he would get back if he didn’t. Thankfully lady luck was on his side because there, under the tree where he had left her was his horse. Forcing himself up, he stabilized himself before setting off on the trip back.

Six hours. It had taken six hours for him to get here. He was stopped at the front to the camp.”who are you? State your name and business.” Alex raised his head and glared at the sentry. “I have been shot at, almost killed and frozen. I am exhausted and extremely hungry and all i want to crash in my bed. But first i have to speak to the general.”

It must have been a new sentry because the kid only rolled his eyes. “What’s your name mister?”

It was the second sentry who took that moment to turn around. He dropped his gun and raced towards him. “HAMILTON?”

Alex looked down. “Oh hey Burr! Can i get in now?”

“Your alive?!?!” Alex was worried. Aaron looked like he was about to burst into tears.

“Sir, are you saying this is Alexander Hamilton …” the first Sentry hissed.

“Yes, yes it is. Now go open the gate, i need to talk to the lieutenant colonel for a minute.” The younger man ran off.

“Burr, what’s going on?”

“Everyone thinks you’re dead Alexander. Henry Lee came back saying you had run head first into a suicide mission. John is a mess, the camp is in uproar, Lee blames himself-”

“What do you mean John is a mess?” Alex interrupted.

“He won’t leave the tent, he hasn’t eaten, doubt he slept more than an hour or two last night…”

“I need to see him.”

“You need to talk to the general Alexander! He needs to know immed-”

“Aaron, please shut up” he suddenly felt very tired. All he wanted to do was curl up beside John and sleep.

Aaron paused and looked at his friend. He looked exhausted, drained and looking like he could kneel over any minute. He shook his head. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind am I?”

“I need to see John” is the only reply he gets, for the gate opens and Alexander has spurred the horse on.

The young soldier walks towards Burr as the gates close. “How is he still alive? You heard what Lee sai-”

“Alexander Hamilton is unstoppable. He works and fights and it will be a cold day in hell before he lets something as trivial as death, keep him from the man he loves”

All my trials, Lord, soon be over All my trials, Lord, soon be over

Alexander races through the camp. He lost his hat near the gate and his ponytail has come undone, his red hair, as bright as a flame catches everyone's attention as it streamed behind him. He can hear the whispers starting then the cheering. “Alive! He is Alive”

But he doesn’t slow. He isn’t here for them. He needs to see John. His John. His dear Laurens, who must be so worried. He pulls the horse to a stop. His clothes stick to him,saturated with water. His head was spinning but he only has eyes for the tent flap that has yet to open.

His Laurens. His love.

Alexander is still soaked. His shirt sticks to his body and his trousers are uncomfortable. His shoes are long gone, lost in the river.

He sneezes. And now he is sick. But sick and alive is better than dead.

Someone tries to get him to go see the medic but he ignores them, slowing his horse to a trot.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Henry Lee pushing his way through the crowd. He stops his horse and slides off, trying to keep any and all pressure off his shoulder.

Lee reaches him with tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry Alexander. I shouldn’t have left you. We shou-”

“Stop Henry. It was my choice. Everything worked out well in the end anyway.”He flashed him a pained smile and saw Washington making his way through the crowd. “But if you want to make it up to me,hold off the General. I need to see John”

Not waiting for a reply, Alex slipped into the crowd and made his way to the tent he shared with Laf and John. He pushed open the flap of the tent with a grin on his face.

Which turned to horror when he saw John with the gun to his head.

*******************************************************************************************************

John had made up his mind. He couldn’t do it. There was no way to succeed in ending slavery without Alex. There was no light in his life without Alex. There was no escape and he couldn’t close his eyes for longer than a few seconds without seeing Alex’s eyes.

They haunted him. That shade of violet blue, so unique and mesmerizing. They had been the first thing John had noticed that night in the bar. The way the candle-light reflected off his eyes, igniting the flames within as he spoke. And the way they had contrasted with his hair. He can smiles sadly as he remembers how the soft sunlight would stream through his hair, pulling all the shades with it. That auburn, burnt orange, hair paired with those eyes had made his knees weak. And then Alexander had sent him that smile from across the room, just a quirk of his lips, his eyes half lidded.

So John had manned up and strode across to introduce himself under the guise of teasing Aaron. Laf and Herc had followed him over and the five had spent the night chatting away. Then burr had left and the conversation had gotten louder and Alexander had gotten more passionate, his eyes brighter…

John choked back a sob. What he wouldn’t give to see Alexander once more.

He lifted the pistol to head, tears streaming down his face. “I’ll see you on the other side”

He pulled the trigger

***************************************************************************************************

The shot rang out and Alex screamed.

Johns body fell to the floor.

“No! No no no no no.  John. John no nonnoonono.”

It took nearly five seconds for Alexander to realise that John was still alive, and that there was no blood. He ran to john and grabbed the gun out of his hand and opened the revolver. Out of the six slots, five were full.

He stared down at John who was just staring at the ground in shock. “John? Baby? Are you alright?”

John slowly lifted his head to stare at Alex. then he burst into tears. “You were dead. He said you were dead. And i couldn’t do it alone. I - i - can’t - i couldn’t function without you.”

“Shhh baby, shhh”

“I nearly ruined us, i’m so sorry.”

Lafayette came running in. “Mon dieu! I heard a gunshot what happened”

“Later Laf please.” Alexander begged as he cradled a sobbing John in his arms.

“I understand, mon petit lion, but the general will be here any seco-”

“ALEXANDER HAMILTON! Where are you? What in the dev-” the general barged into the tent. He stopped yelling when he saw Alex and John on the floor. “You must get your arm examined Alexander” John clasped onto him, his head not leaving Alex’s neck, his sobbing quieting to silent crying.

Laf whispered something in his ear and the general nodded. Laf fled the tent while the commander sat at the table.

“Son-”

“I’m not your son” Alex snapped. “I am a soldier. Soldiers get injured. It's war. It's life.” he moved John back and stared at his, ignoring the general, “John you can’t do that again. Promise me. Promise me if i die, don’t throw your life away. Fight. Don’t give up on life just because i’m not in it anymore.”

John just nodded his head. But Alex wasn’t satisfied. “I want to hear you say it Love. Promise me.”

“I - I promise.”

Laf re-entered the tent with a doctor, who immediately went to Alex’s side.

“You need to get this shirt off lieutenant colonel. I can’t begin to heal your wound until i can get a look at it.”

“Just cut the shirt off me” Alex rolled his eyes. “It’s already ruined anyway.”

As the doctor worked, Alex moved John’s head to his lap. He saw Laf and the General leave together and couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at his lips. He was alive. John was alive. And for that moment, that was all that mattered.

#my writing #alexander hamilton x john laurens #lams #All my trials #also find me on AO3 #Jamilton and lams #one shot #angst #pain #suicide attempt #heartbreak #they boys are emotional messes #drowning #historically accurate alexander hamilton

[neganandblake]

I think I liked you better when you didn't have a nice in your hand, Peaches... Chapter 174 - A fireplace and a warm mattress

When Blake finds herself sold out to the Saviours by her abusive fiancé, she realises that she’s certainly not on her own anymore and finds an unlikely friend in Negan. And Negan does NOT like men who beat their girlfriends, one tiny bit…

MASTERLIST

Chapter 174 - A fireplace and a warm mattress

[Negan arrives back at the Sanctuary but there’s someone still on his mind as the night sets in...]

WARNINGS: Smut/Sex

The sky had become pink, tinged with purple, by the time Negan had pulled his truck up into the large Sanctuary lot.

He had left Blake's place a little over an hour ago, a heart-wrenching pain coursing through him the entire journey home.

Shit. He had missed her more than he could say, and seeing her for those few hours, rather than sate his longing for the blonde woman, had in fact only made the pain of leaving her feel far worse.

Negan gave a sigh, running a tanned hand down his face for a moment, before his eyes drifted over to Mia, who was sleeping, buckled into the seat next to him.

Her little head was flopped down onto her own shoulder and her mouth was hanging open. Obviously the excitement of today, and seeing Blake again, had been all too exhausting for the toddler.

Negan got out of the truck (leaving Lucille in the footwell, where she had stayed the entirety of his visit to Blake's too) moving easily around to the passenger door and tugging it open.

The rain had long since stopped leaving the ground sodden and wet beneath his booted feet.

He reached inside to unbuckle Mia, just as he glanced up to see Arat approaching.

"Hey….Negan," she murmured, a hint of warm concern there amongst the formality.

But Negan merely remained quiet, his focus on easing the snoozing toddler from her seat without waking her.

Mia at once gave a small grizzled whine, as Negan hauled her up into his arms with ease.

"Thata' girl, shhh," he hummed lowly, his hand moving up to Mia's tiny back, feeling her head instantly drop to his leather-clad shoulder as she resumed her sleep.

And it was only then, that Negan turned to Arat, shutting the truck's door steadily behind him trying not to wake the sleeping baby..

"Did you see her? I-Is she ok?" Arat said speaking again in a quiet voice. And of course Negan knew who she was referring to, his chest restricting almost instantly at the mere mention of her.

"Peaches' is good," he nodded, his eyes drifting to the ground, as he pressed his lips together.

Goddamnit. He wanted nothing more now than to turn that damn truck around and go out to see her again.

But he stopped, his mind lingering on this thought.

Fuck, he had enough gas, so why didn't he just grow some fucking balls and do it? He was the leader of this god forsaken place and didn't need to answer to anyone. So what was really stopping him?

Negan blinked a couple of times, his heart beginning to pound within his chest.

This was impulsive and probably fucking stupid, but right at this very second he was passed caring.

He looked up at Arat suddenly, giving a small distant frown.

"Can you take sleepin' beauty here up to Frankie an' the girls for the night?" he said, carefully easing Mia into Arat's arms before she could protest.

"I...uh...yeah...sure..but where-" Arat began, but Negan with a grin dancing its way over his lips, merely ignored the curly haired woman once more, moving around to the driver's side of the truck and sliding back into the seat.

For where he was going surely didn't need any explanation…

-------------------------------------------------------

Blake had taken her time to tidy what little mess Mia had made of the living room, before drawing all of the drapes and a lighting a couple of candles as night well and truly set in.

She had made the most of dwelling on their presence here, remembering where Mia and Negan had been, and stood, and what they had touched or commented on. The whole pace filled with more life than it had likely had in it in years.

But god she missed them both already, every fibre of her body screaming for them. Needing them close to her.

Especially Negan on this cold, damp night.

The rain seemed to have eased off somewhat, as all Blake could hear now as the crackling of the fire in the grate and the drip drip drip of the last of the excess rainwater running off the porch guttering.

She sat down onto the couch, sitting back against the cushions and closing her eyes.

She prayed that Negan would keep his words and come back and see her soon.

But gas was a difficult commodity to find at the best of time and the blonde woman knew that each time he made the trip here, that was one less run the Saviours could go out on. One less haul of loot they could bring back for the needy folks back at the Sanctuary.

And Blake knew she was being selfish if she expected Negan to come and see her too often. But still she longed for the dark-haired Saviour, his presence in this home earlier having overwhelmed her senses, bringing back gorgeous memories of night's spent together and the days too of course.

They were a good team, always had been, and Blake was so glad they had found each other.

For now, it almost seemed as though they were always meant to be, and fate had brought them together at the end of all things.

Blake let out a sigh, biting on her lip as her green eyes reached the ceiling above her head.

Mia was her ray of sunlight, making Blake's heart whole again. And Negan was like Blake's oxygen, giving her everything she needed to get better and survive. He was hers and she was his and nothing would change that.

She smiled to herself, lowering her eyes gently, hoping that her sleep tonight would be better. That she would have dreams of love and warmth, instead of nightmares that shattered her sleep into pieces.

Huffing a little, bored after so much excitement long gone now, Blake pushed herself once more from the couch, making to head into the kitchen to grab herself a cup of water from the water she had collected from the well only this morning.

But before she could move, there came a sudden knocking on her front door, sending her jumping in fright at the noise.

Blake frowned, parting her lips, worry flooding through her.

Who would be coming here now, at this time of night?

The blonde woman gulped hard, her eyes fixed now on the darkened hallway beyond the living room door.

Fuck. Sh could hide of course but to what ends?

So not knowing what else to do she slowly crept towards the hallway, hoping perhaps to get a glimpse of who it might be, just as there came another knock, louder this time.

Blake's heart pounded in her chest, as her mind desperately trying to remember where she had stashed her knife.

But she didn't need to….

...for a second later, there came another knock, and with it a low murmur of a voice outside the door.

"Peaches, open up, it's me…"

Blake stopped dead, a look of utter disbelief appearing over her face in the shadowy hallway.

But in an instant, the caramel-blonde woman had moved to the door, and tugged it open with a flourish….

…. to find Negan stood there, breathing hard, looking as though he had almost run here hair windswept and messy, chin lowered to his collarbone..

And now, even in the gloom of late evening, Blake could see the look that lingered in his eyes, one of yearning for her now. And one that Blake was surely she was mirroring as he stared up into his hazel orbs.

The handsome dark-haired man was stood before her now in the same clothes as earlier, his usual rumpled black leather-jacket, white t-shirt, grey pants. But he now had the addition of Lucille hanging loose from his left hand.

He looked like a wolf now, hungry for his prey, ready to devour her at any second.

"Negan...w-what are you doing back here, I-" Blake just about managed to utter, with a disbelieving shake of her head.

But before she could say even another word, Negan had, all of a sudden, lifted his hand to her cheek, stepped over the threshold….

….pressing his lips firmly to hers.

Blake felt herself instantly smiling into the kiss, elated, giddy at the fact that he was here again.

But mid-way through a laugh, she gave his jacket-covered chest a shove, prising her mouth from his.

"You said you'd be back in a day or two..." she said she shaking her head once more.

But Negan didn't reply, merely kissing her again and cutting her off as she audibly squeaked out a giggle into his lips.

"Negan…" she laughed.

But the dark-haired man was unrelenting now, maneuvering Blake backwards as he took a long step into the hallway, kicking the front door shut behind him with his booted heel.

Blake parted her lips, letting out a pleasurable moan as his hot tongue flicked against hers.

She heard him drop the bat in his hand to the floor, his big calloused hands reaching both her hips as he eased her backwards pressing her into the wall behind her.

Blake felt a heat emanating off of him now despite the cold night air that had already settled inside the small house, as he pressed his tall, lean form up against hers, their lips grazing each others again and again, parting and meeting audibly in the gloom.

Blake felt her lower abdomen lurch with arousal as her hands slid up and over his shoulders, her fingers threading through the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

It was the first time she had felt this way in weeks and couldn't deny now that it felt good, her panties flooding with a creamy wetness, as one of his hands reached the wall just over her shoulder, steadying himself against her.

She pulled away breathlessly. "Negan-" she tried, smiling, but Negan barely allowed his name to leave her lips, as he grazed them once again with his own.

But Blake, at this, moved her hand down to his chest, pressing her hand to his chest and forcing him to stop.

The tall Saviour pulled away from her, giving a pout at the disturbance.

"Negan, stop for a second. " Blake said, breathlessly, smiling up at him. "W-What are you doing here?"

Negan stared down at her now, his lips curving up into a wide grin as he leaned into her, his hot breath grazing her ear.

"Missed ya..." he murmured, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her pulse-point causing Blake to close to her eyes and bite down longingly on her plump and bee-stung bottom lip.

But she shook herself, frowning bemusedly at his words.

"You've only been gone two hours," she said with a gentle laugh, which caused him to pull back and look at her.

He was a wolf now waiting for her to become one too.

But Blake merely pursed her lips together, giving a long slow blink.

"C'mon," she muttered with a small roll of her eyes, as Negan dived back in to kiss her again. But this time she dodged neatly out of his reach, grasping his hand and pulling him in the direction of the warm living room. "It's freezing out here."

And from behind her she heard him give a needy groan, but follow her obediently anyway, closing the door with a snap behind him.

Levang Lucille on the floor in the darkened hallway…

Abandoned…

---------------------------------------------

Blake had been right, it was far warmer in here than that cold hallway, despite how hot under the collar Negan had gotten.

He watched the damn goddess in front of him, as she stopped just short of the mattress on the floor in front of the fireplace, before turning back to him , a smile lingering on gorgeous features.

Fuck, Negan was in love with her, and couldn't help the way he was tailing her now like a damn school-kid with his first crush.

He felt like a man obsessed, under her damn spell. Not that he fucking minded all that much of course…

Negan let out a small sigh, lifting his chin and closing the gap between the pair of them as Blake wrinkled her nose, throwing her head back in delight as Negan leaned his face in, his lips finding her throat.

"Negan...s-stop!" she managed to say in between a laugh, prising him from her once more.

He ran his tongue over his lips teasingly as she pulled away. "Can't get enough of you, Darlin'..." he growled, earning himself a shake of the blonde's head.

"Stop," she scolded once more, and this time Negan did ease off with another hard sigh.

She could be a hard one to read, and Negan wasn't going to push his luck now and risk everything with her again.

He needed her now and didn't want to be the one to make some dumbass mistake and have her disappear from his life for god knows how long. Especially as he had only just gotten her back.

So he leaned back against his legs instead, his dark eyes roaming over her soft features, watching as she cocked her head to the side, licking at her bottom lip gently.

"So, did you just dump Mia back at the Sanctuary and then drive back here to make out with me, is that it?" she goaded, with a smirk, folding her arms over her chest. Leaning all of her weight onto one hip.

But Negan lifted his hand and scratched at the underside of his chin with a single tanned digit.

"Oh hell fuckin' yeah, Sweetheart," he growled back. "Daddy's gotta get his kicks somewhere. And where better, than some goddamn love-shack just down the road with a blonde, hot. as. SHIT, fuckin’ fox!"

He gave his eyebrows a waggle, watching with glee as Blake rolled her eyes at his comment.

"Love-shack…" she muttered, with a despairing shake of her head.

"Alright then what would you call it, Peaches?" he asked. "Cause we'd practicaly fuckin' signed the damn papers for this place bein' our next vacation home before you decided moved your oh-so fine fuckin' ass in here. See, we could've been grillin' out out back, got ourselves one of those pop up pools, you coulda' been in that kitchen in there makin' us some margaritas...livin' the apple pie life."

He saw Blake gave a gentle smile,a hint of something lingering in her eyes.

Was it perhaps a yearning for all that?

Because as much as Negan joked about all that shit, there would have been nothing he could have wanted more now, than to share shit like that with her.

His mind now, as it so often did, drifting to the world as it once had been, where the possibilities of where life could have taken them, endless. And yet now that that perfect fucking American dream, of having a goddamn family, and a nice house, and even a damn dog, was nigh on impossible.

And unfortunately both of them knew now that this dream of theirs would only be just that.

"Sounds perfect," she murmured gently. "Although I can cook a mean hot dog. So how about I man the grill, while you make the margaritas."

Negan grinned at this, marvelling at her proudly.

"Oh it's a done fuckin' deal, Sweetheart," he said, with an enthusiasm to his voice.

They stared each other out for a long moment, Blake let her eyes drop to the floor for a second, before gazing back up to him once again.

"So…" she said chewing on her lip and tilting her head to the side. "...you, uhh, planning on booking a room here at Casa el Blake, or was it more of a flying visit? Because, well, it's a pretty long drive back to the Sanctuary from here and it's getting kinda late."

There was a twinkle in her eyes now that hadn't been there a moment ago, causing Negan to tilt his own long head to the side.

"That you anglin' for a slumber party with yours truly, Darlin'?" Negan growled, dipping his chin, his eyes taking every inch of her in as she turned on the spot and smiled at him over her shoulder, tossing a cushion from the couch in his direction.

"Only if you're the big spoon,"she purred teasingly, causing Negan's grin to widen as he showed off his line of straight, white teeth.

Fuck, she really was goddamn amazing…

And the dark-haired man could only let out a shuddering breath, watching as she began to unbutton her shirt, peeling it from her shoulders to reveal just a black cotton bra beneath that clung to her smooth tanned skin like it was the most expensive of silks.

"You can take the couch if you like…" she uttered in a soft voice, as though telling him he was off the hook if that's what he wanted.

But Negan gave a frown, taking a step towards her, parting his lips, his grin disappearing as he closed the gap between them.

"That what you want?" he asked in what was just a whisper, here, in the warm light of the open fire, that flickered over Blake's face, illuminating her in blushes of orange and gold.

But the blonde, to Negan's relief, let out a shallow breath, placing her hand to his chest, her fingers wrinkling the fabric.

She shook her head. "I want you with me..." she said in a mere ghost of a voice, causing, what felt like every inch of Negan, to ache with a longing for her.

And with that, Blake, toying with the zipper of Negan's leather jacket, slowly tugged it down until it was undone. Negan only releasing his breath when the blonde let go, turning away once more to shimmy her pants down her thighs, kicking them away.

Negan noticed her give a small shiver before kneeling down onto the mattress by the fire, before clambering beneath the comforter.

Once in, she gazed up at him, offering him a smile.

You gonna stand there all night?" she asked in a quiet voice.

Damn.

He was done for.

Negan's eyes lingered on hers, a small lump appearing in his throat.

Fuck, he wanted her bad, but was this her saying she wanted him too?

He remembered what she had said to him only a couple of weeks ago, about understandably not being ready for sex again.

Had she changed her mind? It was fucking hard to tell.

And so, giving a hard gulp to steady himself, Negan made up his mind...that rather than put himself in awkward position, only to be turned down by her again, he would be the perfect fucking gentleman. Of course he fucking would be.

"Well shit I thought we were goin' to be braidin' each other's hair first and talkin' about boys," he said with a teasing grin, sliding his jacket from his shoulders and tossing it backwards onto the couch behind him, before pulling his white t-shirt over his head and letting that join the pile.

He noticed Blake's smile falter for a fraction of a second as she caught sight of his bare torso, but she fixed the warm smirk back onto her features before replying.

"Some of us need our beauty sleep," she murmured softly, with a small wrinkle of her nose, making Negan's grin widen.

"Well Jesus fucking Christ, Sweetheart, if you manage get any more damn beautiful, I'm gonna have to start battin' those fuckers away with Lucille," he said with a lick of his lips as he slipped off his boots and his fingers began to expertly unbuckle his black leather belt.

Blake bit her lip, making a face of silent laughter at his words.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a total charmer?" she commented lightly after a second had passed, as Negan pulled off his pants leaving him in just a pair of black boxers.

But the dark-haired Saviour narrowed his eyes brightly, poking his tongue out through his line of white teeth. "Oh, all the fuckin' time, Peaches…" he growled back, pacing across the small space between himself and the mattress, before easing himself down onto it with a stiff groan. "One of my many qualities which makes me so goddamn irresistible to people of the opposite sex."

It was far warmer down here by the a fire, and with cold legs, Negan slid himself beneath the comforter beside Blake as she shifted over making room for him, propping up her head with her elbow and coming to lie on her side.

"That so?" she purred, smirking.

And Negan who grunted again as he shifted underneath the sheets slightly, moved to mirror her pose, a grin still lingering on his lips.

"Mmmhmmm," he murmured back huskily, his hand sliding over around her waist, tugging her suddenly into him. "Most fuckin' definitely, Darlin'"

He practically growled the words into her ear, as she squirmed a little under the covers. But this was not the squirming of the last time he had tried to hold her in bed. For this was full of something different now, as her bare leg brushed his, the curves of her body fitting perfectly in his.

Blake's delicate hand came up, her fingers threading themselves through the back of his hair, as her lips grazed against his, barely touching him but giving him enough to make him almost groan with a longing as she teased him.

The heat of the fire at this distace felt like it was burning his skin, bathing the pair of them in a orange haze that seemed to consume the dark-haired Saviour.

He felt like he was under a spell, unable to breathe, his chocolate eyes filled with a fire, locked with Blake's.

His calloused hand slid over her skin, gliding up her spine, savouring the closeness between them.

"Peaches..."

The word escaped Negan's lips with a whispered breath as her mouth hovered against his own.

His body was urging him on, his heart pounding, his cock throbbing, but still he held off, not wanting to overstep his mark.

Not wanting to fucking force Blake into things she didn't want.

But this teasing of hers was fucking killing him, another hard gulp trailing its way down his bearded throat, the movement catching the blonde's eye.

She pulled away from him for a second, her dark green eyes blown wide as she pressed herself into him, feeling the heat of her burning his skin, the scent of her filling his nostrils.

Negan let out a difficult breath, closing his eyes and groaning out as she felt her hitch her leg up over his, her fingers trailing down his chest and coming to stop just above the waistband of his boxers.

She was everything he had ever wanted now.

Far too good for him.

Like a angel sent from heaven, tangled up with him, a guy that most certainly belonged in Hell.

He felt her now press a kiss to his earlobe, her face and neck hovering in front of him.

And Negan couldn't help but let out a needy grunt, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he felt her teeth graze his ear, tugging on his earlobe wickedly.

"Darlin'..." he groaned, almost pleading with her now. "You've gotta stop this teasin'..."

But she didn't…

...In fact she did the opposite…

Her hand instead sliding down and brushing over his cock, hard and erect beneath his black underwear.

Negan gave a hard swallow, parting his lips as a frown line came to rest between his brows, feeling a drop of pre-cum leak out from his tight swollen head at this contact.

He looked at her, gazing into her eyes, the question there, that Negan barely needed answering now, as his gaze met with hers. That one look for the caramel-blonde woman he loved so fucking much, telling him all he needed to know...

Blake wanted him and he wanted her.

Oh so fucking much.

And without another word exchanged between the pair of them, Negan's mouth found hers.

She tasted good, better than ever before, if that was even possible.

And amidst trembling hands and soft moans, Blake had pushed down her damp panties and Negan's boxers were off…

...and he found himself inside her, before either of them could stop themselves.

His hand was behind the crook of her knee, her thigh hitched up around his hips, perfecting the angle between them, as hot breaths filled the room, mixed with the crackling of the fire beside them.

Blake moaned out in pleasure and so did he. Again and again and again.

Negan felt closer to her now than he had in a long time, thrusting up into her, as she held him close, urging him on, her hips moving against him like waves on the ocean.

He felt now like a man possessed. Obsessed. Infatuated. Not having felt this way about another person in his lifetime. Even Lucille, with who things had always been bittersweet between them, high school sweethearts but probably too young for what each of them had been thrown into...good sex...marriage...even a steady, faithful relationship. And as much as he had loved her, with him and Blake, this was different.

So very intense…

He needed her. She was like his lifeforce, leaving everything else forgotten, like there was only the two of them now.

And here and now, in this little white house away from everything, there was.

Negan breathed the blonde woman in, his nose sliding against the burning skin of her neck, intoxicating him.

Her scent was honey and the ripest and sweetest of peaches.

He longed for her, body so achingly desperate for hers as they writhed against each other, each coming apart moment by moment.

"Negan…" Blake murmured breathlessly, with parted lips grazing over his temples and fingers trailing down his chest.

The heat between them seemed to scorch the sheets tangled around the pair of them, even in the cool night air.

And Negan let a harsh 'fuck' escape his lips as, after when felt like eons of being locked together, needing release, that he felt Blake, her tanned collarbone beaded with sweat, arching her spine against the mattress beneath her.

And at that tell-tale feeling of her soaking walls clenching around his dick, Negan let his head fall forward against Blake's shoulder, his orgasm crashing through each of their bodies like a speeding freight train.

They held each other there in the moment, for what could have possibly been hours to Negan, all sense of time lost on him now.

But eventually, with another groan, the dark-haired Saviour rolled himself off of her, onto his side, his chest rising and falling hard as he tried desperately to catch what little breath he had left in him, feeling well and truly spent.

The tall, naked Saviour gazed at the caramel-blonde woman beside him now, both of them knowing that had been...well, that had been more than just sex.

Instead it was love, and passion, and intensity, and something that Negan knew he would never share with another again as long as he lived.

Blake caught her breath, the slightest of well-pleasured frowns grazing her own beaded brow as she lifted a hand to his stubbly cheek, her thumb grazing along the hollow around his eye and up to the scar that lingered there at his cheekbone.

"I love you.." she managed to say, in what was barely a whisper, and far more of barely held in breath that had escaped her lips almost by accident.

And Negan let his hand slide around her body, pulling her into him, waist-first, as he lifted his mouth to hers tracing her lips with his own as he spoke, in the stillness of the night...

"Fuck, I love you too, Blake," he whispered out in an earnest voice, saying her name out loud, as though the very words were etched into his soul. "I love you too..."

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[wymcrw-archive]

NIGHTMARE

Source: Drabble Prompts        Status: Accepting!

Over the course of five dreams Lucky is visited by the ghosts of the past, the present and the future. It’s like A Christmas Carol if all of the ghosts were Kang Jin and Scrooge went through some serious life altering trauma. Fun times all around!

TW: Dissociation, Traffic accident, blood, alcohol, hospitals, needles, guns

i.                    Park Jihun fears nothing.

He fears nothing because he has experienced nothing. Twoshort years ago he cheated the reaper and against all odds lived to tell thetale. Few things are more terrifying than the end, and after conquering deaththere is little else to be afraid of.

And so when he closes his eyes at night he sees nothing.That same tranquil darkness that had engulfed him before. Silent. Cold. Empty. Tonightthough, it’s different. Tiny whispers carry through the void to torment him,the black seeming to ebb and flow with each hushed syllable. “This secondchance is wasted on you” It hisses. “Liar.” A familiar voice. “You should neverhave woken up”

It isn’t loud. In fat it’s barely audible. But in theinfinite blackness with nothing else to focus on it’s louder than breaking thunder.“You will never be a good man” It comes again, harsher now. He can feel hisskin prickle with cold, his mind racing. “It should have been you” He’s aprisoner in his own body unable to run or hide, tormented by the darkest partof his own consciousness. “Useless. All you do is hurt people”

Silence comes as quickly as it had departed, and he is leftreeling. He can feel himself taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself butthe sound doesn’t come. Instead, a few parting words ring out.

“Nobody missed you last time. They won’t miss you next timeeither.”

With a loud gasp he wakes, eyes shooting open. He doesn’treturn to sleep that night, or even the night after It isn’t the first timethat he’s had that dream, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. Some fear death.But Jihun fears what comes after. The emptiness, and an eternity stuck withnothing but his own thoughts.

ii.                  Park Jihun fears no evil.

He fears no evil because morality is nothing but aconstruct. He has to tell himself that to get through his days. Not everythingin this world is black or white; in fact most everything is a shade of grey.

These thoughts occupy his mind as lets his eyes driftclosed, opening them again to find himself on one of the fittingly grey streetsof New York. Rain lashes his skin as he takes in the scene, the hum of traffic hangingthick in the air and the faint amber glow of nearby streetlamps illuminatingthe city that he once called home. A wave of nostalgia washes over him as hedrinks it in. As much as he has learned to like Wonyang, he truly misses this place.

Hearty and full bellied laughter catches his attention, andit’s only then that he notices the figure stumbling towards him from a baracross the street. Throwing an arm around him, the stranger looks up at Jihunwith a dopey grin before dragging him off down the street. Clearly his new companionis intoxicated. He once again finds himself a passenger in his own body, unableto move or make it co-operate in any way. The pair stumble down the street,sound of splashing puddle ringing out with each uneven step. The scene seemsfamiliar though he can’t quite place it.

The faint jingling of a man fishing around in his pocket givesit away, and it is only then that he realizes exactly what is about to happen.His nostalgic yearning morphs into panic as they approach a nearby car, but no matterhow hard he tries, there is no denying his vessel. He catches sight of areflection in the glass. It’s him. But younger. Two years younger. He fightswith all his will to call out, to get them to turn around and leave, but thewords get stuck. Instead he simply laughs at whatever the other says, the resoundingclick of the door locking behind him seeming to seal his fate.

You know how this story ends. The driver swerves to avoid ahazard that isn’t there, his hazard perception thrown by the alcohol in hissystem. Jihun tries to stop him but can’t. The car ends up wrapped around a streetlamp,and by all rights they should both be dead. Jihun is unconscious, and wakes updays later in hospital to find himself an amputee and his friend wheelchairbound.

Except this time he isn’t unconscious. Instead his vision isstained red from the deep gashes on his face and a thick smell of burning lingersin the air. Shards of glass litter their bodies and bent wreckage pins themboth in place. A searing pain rips through him as he struggles against thebonds, but he still can’t make a sound. No matter how much he tries, he can’tscream. The driver seems to be in an even worse state, but he can’t bare tolook. The best he can do is cough up blood. It’s only a few seconds more beforehe passes out, but it’s enough time to see the cold stare of something unmovingthrough the shattered windshield.

A figure. A man. A reaper. A dragon.

iii.                Park Jihun fears no man.

He fears no man because men are easily manipulated. Personalexperience tells him that they are even easier broken. The best stories alwaysrequire manipulation to some degree, whether it be the facts or the angle. Overthe years he’s learned just how pliable the human will is, and he has noproblem using that to his advantage. He always ensures that he has the strongerhand, no matter the cost.

In these dreams this is not the case. There’s no stackingthe deck, or counting cards. The twisted ghosts of the past bend the rules totheir advantage, baring the darkest parts of his mind and soul. He dreads sleepnow. Works through the night on his articles just to keep himself from driftinginto unconsciousness. He has lived through them once already, is that notenough?

But whilst the human spirit is malleable, the needs of thehuman body are not. And so when he inevitably falls asleep once more, he prepareshimself for the worst.

His head throbs as he fades back into reality, eyesfluttering as they adjust to the blinding white light of the room. It takes meremoments for him to register his surroundings, a sinking feeling taking over assoon as he glances down to the iv in his arm. Where his first nightmare hadbeen nothing but blackness, this was nothing but white. White walls, while floor,white ceiling, white door, white window, white linens, white light. White.

Last time he had found himself in this room, laying on thisbed, it had felt like a prison. An overwhelming sadness overtakes him as helays there, eyes fixed on the space above his pillow. That was how he had spentmost of his days: In silences, stewing in his own self-loathing and staring atthe ceiling. This place held nothing but the most terrible memories, from therealization that he had lost his leg to the moment his marriage truly fellapart.

At the foot of his bed he hears murmuring. One voice belongsto his ex wife, the woman who had effused t leave his side throughout hisrecovery and the other… didn’t belong. Another chill sent shivers down hisspine, and he slowly manages to glance down towards them.

Jin. Truly this was a nightmare. Or at least he hoped so.The two had never met to his knowledge, and knowing what he knew about Jin he’dhoped to keep it that way. He can’t make out the words but they seem intense.His wife seems distraught and Jin has that same malicious glint in his eye asalways. Their tones are hushed and they keep shooting their eyes towards himand then back to each other. “He’s no better than me. All he does is destroy.”He thinks he hears.

The scene fades, as if he’s been hit with some sort ftranquilizer, and when he returns his wife is stepping standing, slowly walkingaway. He reaches out a hand, tries to force himself to call out but the wordsswell and get caught once more. It’s only once the door slams shut behind herthat he manages to sob out a simple “Please… don’t leave me alone again.”

“You think that I trust you enough to leave you alone?” Itcatches him off guard and he flinches slightly at the question. Jin. Sat nextto his bed, cigarette hanging lazily from his lips and glare boring into Jihun.

iv.                Park Jihun fears no beast

He fears no beast, because no matter how feral they can betrained and bought to heel. Or put down. When he’d found himself cornered likea wild animal by his own family, he’d chosen the former. Work under theirthumb, tow the family line and pretend to like it or go back to languishing inobscurity with no support and tens of thousands of dollars of medical bills.

He finds himself at some formal dinner, mixing with an assortmentof deplorables and trying to keep the peace. The contempt on his face is evidentthroughout and he makes no secret of his distaste for such gatherings, but forthe most part he remains civil. ❝ i don’tsuppose you’ve been to the united states before, have you? ❞Jin asks at one point far too casually for his liking. It’s easier to justanswer the questions than to resist them.

There’s something about this that seems more real than the precedingdreams. He knows it isn’t real, but it’s almost disconcertingly convincing.Every movement, every line of speech is identical to the party just a few weeksprior. He has more control this time around, able to move and speak, though helargely chooses not to.

The night passes without incident, and it’s almost relieving.Compared to the visions that had come before this was nothing. But then, itwasn’t over yet. It began to diverge from reality as he began to make his waytowards the exit. A voice called him back, asked him to remain on the premisesuntil the other guests had departed. Apparently Mr Kang had requested a privateaudience. He hadn’t bothered to ask which.

And in this dream, he never finds out. Instead, afterwaiting for the building to empty, he finds himself on the receiving end of a bullet.“It’s nothing personal” Says the person who fires it, the only warning that isgiven before the tremendous boom sets his ears ringing. He doesn’t see a face.Doesn’t bother looking. He’s too busy writhing in agony on floor, desperatelyapplying pressure to wound. He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do, but inthe moment it’s all he can think of.

The awakening isviolent, Jihun thrashing to life in his covers with a startled shout. He sitsup in his beg, clutching at the space where the impact point had been. Hisheart was racing and breaths ragged as he sat there. That had seemed real,because it could have been. For the first time in a long time, something clawedat him: fear. He was in over his head in shark infested waters, and if they wereto get the scent of blood….

v.                  Park Jihun fears Kang Jin.

He fears him because he is no man; he’s a dragon. He fearshim because no matter what cards he holds, the house always wins. He fears himbecause morality is seemingly without meaning. And he fears him because hecould return him to the cold nothingness without so much as breaking a sweat.

Jin makes one more visit in Jihuns dreams before vanishinginto the ether once more. Once again he finds himself confined to a bed in a hospitalroom, the other sat beside him with that familiar cold and steely glare. Hegoes to sit up, wincing at the pain in his chest from the bullet wound of theprevious night.

A hand pushes down on it, forcing him back into the mattresswith a pained yelp. “This is your only warning. Don’t cross me, or next timeyou don’t wake up.”

#lucky #lucky:dev #lucky:meme #tw:dissociation #tw: traffic accident #tw: blood #tw: hospitals #tw: needles #wykj #tw: guns #( this is long and probably pretty bad but I really enjoyed writing it? so there might be more dream sequences in the future ) #( i already have ideas for jaebeom tbh )